On swept the gallant red-coats, greeted by cheers both from Mahomedans and Hindus, each claiming that they had come to be their defenders. Jubilant shouts rent the air, though by some they were undistinguishable from the resounding yells of the rioters. One of these with his party was now making his way up the street at the corner of which Alfred Rayner happened to be standing. "Ha!" he laughed. "Here comes Zynool. He's not going to be cowed by the Collector. Now we shall have some fun!" The Mahomedan was mounted on a huge horse, which Rayner at once recognised as one of his own Australians. It was a powerful animal and stood higher than the Collector's Arab, and was evidently too fresh from want of exercise. It champed at its foam-bespattered bit, and tossed its head, seeming to resent Zynool's tight rein. "Didn't think a native could have managed Abdul so well!" thought Rayner, as he looked with admiration on the portentous rider, who was made more colossal in size by reason of the padded green coat he had donned in spite of the heat. He was flanked by a following of his own people. Someone behind him rode the other Australian, and it was evident that neither Zynool nor his party were in a mood to receive any check from the Collector. Owing to the pressure in front, the riders were forced back, so that quite unexpectedly Rayner found himself in closer proximity to his enemy than he quite relished. He began to push back, trying to disappear round the corner into the street at right angles to the one in which he stood, when a terrified Hindu, seeking to clear a passage for himself, all at once thrust him forward, till he almost fell against the Australian horse and its rider. "Out of my way, you old Hindu sow," growled Zynool, kicking the supposed ayah. "Have a care, sahib," said a more kindly bystander, "she's only an old ayah. Go home, old woman, this is no place for you!" Zynool cast a glance on the cowering form, thinking he had done it more injury than he had meant. The light from one of the oil-lamps fell sheer on Rayner's face. In a moment the plethoric voice of the Mahomedan changed to a low, hissing sound. "Thou! Thou! Trapped, by Allah! This is a prize better than any Hindu!" For an instant, Rayner gazed on the man he had wronged with terror-stricken eyes, then he made a desperate plunge to strike away. Zynool saw the movement, and determining his prey should not escape, he urged his horse forward and deliberately set it to trample down his enemy, who fell before the onset and made no attempt to rise. "Seize him! Seize him!" cried Zynool to the men on foot behind him, though indeed he had already made sure his enemy could not escape. "It's no ayah, 'tis mine enemy, La'yer Rayner!" In spite of his disguise, the face of the fugitive was not difficult to recognise, for the heat of the day had partially erased the stain which Hester's fingers had so cleverly applied.