dressed in ordinary American business clothes except for the pale blue turban that bound his head. His beady eyes flickered down for an instant and rested upon Carmelita, who looked, startled, at him, as if she were viewing a ghost. She recoiled a little under his scrutiny. Dudley, arms folded, was looking straight ahead. Kendall was surprised but offered a silent, grudging tribute to Banning's strategy. This Hindu might be thoroughly well. Probably his wound, after all, had been a superficial one. Banning had kept him in the hospital—or perhaps it was the Hindu's idea—and not ventured to produce him the first day. Now, with the case already won, he had brought him there to testify for the prosecution, preferring to take no chances.
As for Rao-Singh, he had come for his triumph.
He was sworn in. "Now, Your Highness, do you recognize the prisoner?" Banning's manner was a little obsequious. He pointed to Dudley.
"Yes, he is Dudley Drake." Rao-Singh followed Banning's finger with a malignant eye and his voice was deeply guttural.
"Do you recognize him as the person who fired the shot that wounded you?"
Rao-Singh could not forbear a quick glance at the cringing Carmelita. She was so com-
