The hall was now packed tight with yelling rebels, so closely pressed together that to use their muskets was impossible. They had no escape from the shots fired by the men above as fast as they could reload. Then a new terror was added to the scene. Ahmed now saw the meaning of the knocking he had heard. Over the gap in the floor the khansaman had laid the doctor's sitz-bath, in the bottom of which he had pierced a number of holes. He was now engaged in emptying the contents of his master's bottles into the bath, the doctor adding water from time to time. It would have puzzled the most expert chemist to define the chemical composition which fell in a steady shower on the heads of the panic-stricken mutineers. The liquid fizzed and smoked, and changed colour like a chameleon--now green, now yellow, now brown, now an indescribable mixture of tints. There was only one desire among the discomfited enemy: to escape from this cockpit in which they suffered pangs due to the hakim's mysterious art as well as to the more familiar weapons of war. Pushing, shouting, scrambling over each other, they forced their way out into the compound, and there was such a wringing of hands and such a chorus of groans as surely Delhi had never heard or seen before. The attack at the front had been effectually beaten off. The doctor hoped that the enemy would now retire altogether. But Ahmed ran up to the roof to see whether they were indeed withdrawing. The street was still full of rebels, and an excited altercation was going on among them. The central figures were Minghal Khan, who had hitherto been content to hound the men on without showing much eagerness to lead them, and the fakir, who bore many marks of the chemical baptism he had received. The uproar was too great to allow Ahmed to hear what was being said; he could only guess at it by the gesticulations of the men and by what happened afterwards. The fakir had, in fact, called on the fanatics who surrounded him, to bring combustibles for the burning of the house. Against this Minghal vehemently protested: the king's orders were that no houses should be fired: this would be only to assist the Feringhis. But the fakir scoffed at orders: it was the duty of all the faithful to destroy the infidels by any means in their power. Then Minghal used another argument: there was valuable property in the house--his property, his all. The fakir's answer to this was a horrible laugh, and the taunt that Minghal had shown no disposition to go into the house and fetch his valuable property. Minghal was overborne. Devoted adherents of the fakir brought up shavings, pieces of wood, jars of oil. Then, waving his arms, his long beard dripping in many-coloured drops, the fakir led the shouting mob round to the lane at the back. Not even he cared to face the front again.