y, and I knew that King must be in even
worse condition. The old, black panther was sleeping as I went by, and I
envied him.

There was a choice of two ways when I reached the _panch mahal_, for it
was feasible to enter through the lower door, which was apparently
unguarded, and climb the stone stairway that wound inside the wall.
However, I chose the marble front steps, and barked my knuckles on the
door at the top.

I was kept waiting several minutes, and then four women opened it in
place of the customary two; and instead of smiling, as on previous
occasions, they frowned, lining up across the threshold. They were older
women than the others had been and looked perfectly capable of showing
fight; allowing for their long pins and possible hidden weapons I would
not have given ten cents for my chance against them. So I asked for King
and the Mahatma.

They pretended not to understand. They knew no Hindustani. My dialect of
Punjabi was as Greek to them. They knew nothing about my clothes, or the
suitcase that King and I shared between us and that, according to
Yasmini, had been carried by her orders to the palace. The words "King"
and "Mahatma" seemed to convey no meaning to them. They made it
perfectly obvious that they suspected me of being mad.

I began to suspect myself of the same thing! Feeling as sleepy as I did,
it was not unreasonable to suspect myself at any rate of dreaming; yet I
had sufficient power of reasoning left to argue that if those were
dream-women they would give way in front of me. So I stepped straight
forward, and they no more gave way than a she-bear will if you call on
her when she is nursing cubs. Two more women stepped out from behind the
curtains with long slithery daggers in their hands, and somehow I was
not minded to test whether those were dream-daggers or not.

It was a puzzle to know what to do. The one unthinkable thing would be
to leave King unsought for. Suddenly it occurred to me to try that door
underneath the steps; so I kissed my hand irreverently to the
quarterguard of harridans, and turned my back on them--which I daresay
was the most unwise move that I ever made in my whole life. I have done
things that were more disastrous in the outcome, but never anything more
deserving of ruin.

Have you ever been tackled, tripped and hog-tied by women? Run rather
than risk it!

They threw a rope over my shoulders from behind, and I felt the foot of
one termagant in the small of