“Sir,” replied Firoz Khan, “last night Dunkar Rao’s piglet son broke into the mosque and stole the treasure. The sanctuary has been defiled by the feet of a profligate idol worshiper. The jewels which were bequeathed to the mosque by a Mohammedan king in the days before these Hindu unbelievers came to rule in Aurungnugur, have been desecrated by impious hands. But, Allah Akbar!” he grimly ejaculated, as his fingers impulsively clutched his sword hilt, “we shall know all soon. Many things will happen before the call to prayer at sunset. It will be a red sunset, Huzoor.”
Lambert cast a look toward the trunk where the pious Mohammedan king’s jewels lay concealed, and thought how close his neck was to Firoz Khan’s beautiful sword.
“Well,” he interrogated, “it hasn’t all been found out then?”
“Huzoor, I with my own eyes saw the piglet and a companion creep from the mosque at the third hour after midnight. Their feet are young, otherwise they would now be in Gehenna. But we have yet to know who assisted them in the mosque.”
Lambert scrambled off his bed and began to dress hastily, managing to substitute a valise strap in lieu of his stolen suspenders. His mind was working quickly over the situation, in which he saw extreme danger to the girl.
“Now,” he said, “I’ve got an appointment with the prime minister. It’s mighty important and——”
“Be careful, sir,” warned Firoz Khan. “As long as you are under my roof no harm shall come to you. Neither shall any man touch a hair of your possessions.”
Lambert glanced from Firoz Khan’s face to the trunk with a shade of relief. It was much to feel assured the
