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Updated: May 5, 2025
It did not seem to occur to any one of them as strange that a British officer in khaki uniform should be sporting Yasmini's talisman; the thing was apparently sufficient explanation in itself. "Ye all know this?" he asked, holding up his wrist. Whose is this?" "Hers!" The answer was monosyllabic and instant from all thirty throats.
Positivelee not, sahib! The risaldar-major is all vitalitee!" "Where did he give you the ring?" "Into the palm of my hand, sahib." "Where in what place in what street at whose house?" "At nobody's house, sahib. It was in the dark, and the dark is very big." "Did he give it you at Yasmini's?" "Oh, no, sahib! Positivelee not!" "Where is he now?"
I say, that religion is good for priests, which is why they cherish it, and add to it, and persuade foolish women to believe it! As for the gods, if they are anything they are our servants!" "Your husband is going to have an interesting time," laughed Tess. Yasmini's blue eyes suddenly turned soft and serious. "Do you think I can not be a wife " she asked.
One after one, five other men reported him nearly all the way through Delhi, through the Chandni Chowk where the last man but one nearly lost him in the evening crowd to the narrow place where, with a bend in the street to either hand, is Yasmini's. The last man watched him through Yasmini's outer door and up the lower stairs before hurrying back to the squadron.
But there, were other footsteps. The curtain parted again to admit a second European, a somewhat older man, who glanced back over his shoulder deferentially and, to Yasmini's unerring eye, tried to carry off prudish timidity with an air of knowingness. "Who is he?" demanded Ranjoor Singh; and Yasmini rattled the bracelets on her ankles loud enough to hide a whisper. "An agent," she answered.
Almost as much as in Yasmini's daring they took ingenuous delight in Tess, persuading Yasmini to interpret questions and reply or, very rarely, bringing with them some duenna who had a smattering of English. All imprisoned folk, and especially women in the shuttered zenanas of the East, develop a news-sense of their own that passes the comprehension of free-ranging mortals.
The cave was spacious and not gloomy, for there was a wide door, apparently unguarded, and another square opening cut in the rock to serve as a window. Through both openings light streamed in like taut threads of Yasmini's golden hair strings of a golden zither, on which his own heart's promptings played a tune.
But even so, surmise what one might, it was not easy to persuade the eye that Yasmini's careless smile and easy poise were assumed. If she recognized indignation and feared it, she disguised her fear amazingly. King saw her whisper to a guard. The fellow nodded and passed his shield to another man. He began to make his way in no great hurry toward the edge of the arena.
But as he felt his way down the stairs, that were dimly lighted now, he knew he had all his senses with him, for he "spotted" and admired the lurking places that had been designed for undoing of the unwary, or even the overwary. Yasmini's Delhi nest was like a hundred traps in one. "Almost like a pool table," he reflected. "Pocket 'em at both ends and the middle!"
The iron bent inward, and it was plainly only a matter of minutes before the bolt would go. The gateman came creeping to Yasmini's side, and, with yellow fangs showing in a grin meant to be affectionate, displayed an Afghan tulwar. "Ismail!" she said. "I thought you were afraid and ran to hide!" "Nay!" he answered. "My life is thine, Princess! Gungadhura took away all weapons, but this I hid.
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