India for a
year or two. I've no doubt the stories are exaggerated, but the treasure
is real enough, and big enough to make the throne worth fighting for.
Jaimihr counts on being able to break the power of the priests and
broach the treasure."

"And Jaimihr is--er--in love with you!"

"He tried very hard to prove it, in his own objectionable way!"

"And Jaimihr wants the throne--and Howrah wants to send a force against
the British, but dare not move because of Jaimihr--I have Mahommed
Gunga and five or six men to depend on--the Rangars are sitting on the
fence--and the government has its hands full! The lookout's bright! I
think I see the way through!"

"You are forgetting me." The missionary spread his broad stooped
shoulders. "I am a missionary first, but next to that I have my
country's cause more at heart than anything. I place myself under your
orders, Mr. Cunningham."

"I too," said Miss McClean. She was looking at him keenly as he gazed
away into nothing through slightly narrowed eyes. Vaguely, his attitude
reminded her of a picture she had once seen of the Duke of Wellington;
there was the same mastery, the same far vision, the same poise of
self-contained power. His nose was not like the Iron Duke's, for young
Cunningham's had rather more tolerance in its outline and less of Roman
overbearing; but the eyes, and the mouth, and the angle of the jaw were
so like Wellesley's as to force a smile. "A woman isn't likely to be
much use in a case like this--but, one never knows. My country comes
first."

"Thanks," he answered quietly. And as he turned his head to flash one
glance at each of them, she recognized what Mahommed Gunga had gloated
over from the first--the grim decision, that will sacrifice all--take
full responsibility--and use all means available for the one unflinching
purpose of the game in hand. She knew that minute, and her father knew,
that if she could be used--in any way at all--he would make use of her.

"Go ahead!" she nodded. "I'll obey!"

"And I will not prevent!" said Duncan McClean, smiling and straightening
his spectacles.

Cunningham left them and walked over to the parapet, where the whole
garrison was bending excitedly now above the battlement. There were more
than forty men, most of them clustered near Alwa and Mahommed Gunga.
Mahommed Gunga was busy counting.

"Eight hundred!" he exclaimed, as Cunningham drew near.

"Eight hundred what, Mahommed Gunga? Come and see, sahib."