Presently the second crash came, stronger and more elastic than the
first. The iron bent inward, and it was plainly only a matter of minutes
before the bolt would go. The gateman came creeping to Yasmini's
side, and, with yellow fangs showing in a grin meant to be affectionate,
displayed an Afghan tulwar.

"Ismail!" she said. "I thought you were afraid and ran to hide!"

"Nay!" he answered. "My life is thine, Princess! Gungadhura took away
all weapons, but this I hid. I went to find it. See," he grinned, feeling
the edge with his thumb, "it is clean! It is keen! It will cut throats!"

"I will not forget!" Yasmini answered, but the words were lost in the din
of the third blow of wood on iron.

The odds began not to look so bad--two desperate women and a faithful
Northern fighting man armed with a weapon that he loved and understood,
against a wounded blackguard and three eunuchs. Perhaps the guard
might look on and not interfere. There was a chance to make a battle
royal of it, whose tumult would bring Dick Blaine and Tom Tripe to the
rescue. What was the dog doing? Tess wondered whether any animal
could be so intelligent after all as Tom pretended his was. Perhaps
the maharajah had seen the dog and killed him.

"Listen!" she urged. "Tell your maids to stampede for the street the
instant the door breaks in. That will give the guard their work to do to
hold them. Meanwhile--"

"Thump!" came the timber on the gate again, and even the hinges shook