his heels. The sky was cloudy, and the moon obscured. Never
glancing back, Chunda Lal led the way along a path skirting a high
wall upon which climbing fruit trees were growing until they came to a
second door and this also the Hindu unlocked. He stood aside.

"To the end of this lane," he said, in his soft queerly modulated
voice, "and along the turning to the left to the river bank. Follow
the bank towards the palace and you will meet them."

"I owe you my life," said Stuart.

"Go! you owe me nothing," returned the Hindu fiercely.

Stuart turned and walked rapidly along the lane. Once he glanced back.
Chunda Lal was looking after him ... and he detected something that
gleamed in his hand, gleamed not like gold but like the blade of a
knife!

Turning the corner, Stuart began to run. For he was unarmed and still
weak, and there had been that in the fierce black eyes of the Hindu
when he had scorned Stuart's thanks which had bred suspicion and
distrust.

From the position of the moon, Stuart judged the hour to be something
after midnight. No living thing stirred about him. The lane in which
now he found himself was skirted on one side by a hedge beyond which
was open country and on the other by a continuation of the high wall
which evidently enclosed the grounds of the house that he had just
quitted. A cool breezed fanned his face, and he knew that he was
approaching the Thames. Ten more paces and he came to the bank.

In his weak condition the short run had exhausted him. His bruised
throat was throbbing painfully, and he experienced some difficulty in
breathing. He leaned up against the moss-grown wall, looking back into
the darkness of the lane.

No one was in sight. There was no sound save the gently lapping of the
water upon the bank.

He would have like to bathe his throat and to quench his feverish
thirst, but a mingled hope and despair spurred him and he set off
along the narrow path towards where dimly above some trees he could
discern in the distance a group of red-roofed buildings. Having
proceeded for a considerable distance, he stood still, listening for
any sound that might guide him to the search-party--or warn him that
he was followed. But he could hear nothing.

Onward he pressed, not daring to think of what the future held for
him, not daring to dwell upon the memory, the maddening sweetness, of
that parting kiss. His eyes grew misty, he stumbled as he walked, and
became oblivious of his su