There he saw, only some ten feet beneath him, a furious
crowd, many hundreds strong, and those nearest the wall busy digging a
hole through it into the building.
Well, if he had to die, it was the will of God; he would fight his way
through, or fall sword in hand. Standing up in full view, for a second
the observed of all observers, armed to the teeth, he calmly jumped into
the jaws of those baying wolves. The shock of the fall was unwillingly
broken by the astonished forms of those on whom he fell, and before they
could grapple with him he was pushing boldly through the crowd. But the
odds and press were too great for him, and after a brief close scuffle
he was for want of elbow-room overpowered and disarmed. Many shouted
"Kill him! Kill him! he is a Cavignari-ite!" But above the uproar,
holding his hands above his head, Taimus made himself heard. "Peace!
peace!" he cried. "I undoubtedly eat the salt of the Sirkar, but I am
alone and disarmed, a Mahomedan amongst Mahomedans, and the bearer of a
letter to the Amir. Kill me if you like, but yours be the shame and
disgrace." As he spoke, amidst the crowd of angry, scowling faces he saw
a friend, a man of influence and standing; at his word the crowd gave
way, and battered, bleeding, and closely guarded, Taimus was taken
before the Chief. But help was now out of the Amir's power, as he sat
bemoaning his fate in the women's apartments.
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