"Which of the elephants are tethered here?" asked Dick. "That big
one that killed a tiger in the arena the other day?"

"Yes. Did you see that? Akbar was scarcely scratched. Quickest
thing ever I saw--squealed with rage the minute they turned 'stripes'
loose--chased him to the wall--downed him with a forefoot and crushed
him into tiger jelly before you could say British Constitution!"

"I guess that tiger had been kept in a cage too long," said Dick.

"Don't you believe it. He was fighting fit. But they'd given old Akbar
a skinfull of rum, and that turns him into a holy terror. He's quite quiet
other times."

Dick looked at his watch. Tess had been in the palace about three hours,
and he was confident she would come away as soon as possible, if
for no other reason than to put an end to his anxiety. She was likely
to appear at the gate at any minute. At any minute Tom Tripe was likely
to attack the jorum, and if present symptoms went for anything, it would
not take much of it to make him worse than useless. At present he
was growing reminiscent.

"Once old Akbar had a belly-ache and they gave him arrak. They didn't
catch him for two days! He pulled up his picket-stake and lit out for
the horizon, chasing dogs and hens and monkeys and anything else
be could find that annoyed him. Screamed like a locomotive. Horrid sight!"

"Where does this road outside lead to?" asked Dick.

"Don't lead anywhere. Blind alley. Why?"