o infinity. He recognized King, and actually smiled.

"Well spoken!" he said rather patronizingly. "You are brave and honest.
Your Government is helpless, but you and your friend shall live because
of that offer you just made to me."

Yasmini was collecting eyes behind King's back, and it needed no expert
to know that a hurricane was cooking; but King, who knew her temper well
and must have been perfectly aware of danger, went on talking calmly to
the Mahatma.

"You're reprieved too, my friend."

The Mahatma shook his head.

"Your Government is powerless. Listen!"

At that moment I thought he intended us to listen to Yasmini, who was
giving orders to about a dozen women, who had entered the hall through a
door behind the throne. But as I tried to catch the purport of her
orders I heard another sound that, however distant, is as perfectly
unmistakable as the boom of a bell, for instance, or any other that
conveys its instant message to the mind. If you have ever heard the roar
of a mob, never mind what mob, or where, or which language it roared in,
you will never again mistake that sound for anything else.

"They have told the people," said the Mahatma. "Now the people will tear
the palace down unless I am released. Thus I go free to my assignation."

We were not the only ones who recognized that tumult. Yasmini was almost
the first to be aware of it; and a second after her ears had caught the
sound, women came running in with word from Ismail that a mob was
thundering at the gate demanding the Mahatma. A second after that the
news had spread all through the hall, and although there was no panic
there was perfectly unanimous decision what to do. The mob wanted the
Mahatma. Let it have him! They clamored to have the Mahatma driven
forth!

King turned and faced Yasmini again at last, and their eyes met down the
length of that long carpet. He smiled, and she laughed back at him.

"Nevertheless," said the Mahatma, laying a hand on King's shoulder, and
reaching for me with his other hand, "she is no more to be trusted than
the lull of the typhoon. Come with me."

And with an arm about each of us he started to lead the way out through
the maze of corridors and halls.

He was right. She was not to be trusted. She had laughed at King, but
the laugh hid desperation, and before we reached the door of the
audience hall at least a score of women pounced on King and me to drag
us away from the Mahatma and make us prison