He was only half-way up the stairs when he heard the back door burst in with a crash. Immediately afterwards there was a terrific report, that shook the house. He ran back, waited a minute or two to allow the fumes of the explosion to clear away, and re-entered the room. It was a wreck. The fountain had fallen into it, and it was choked with rubbish. Creeping over obstacles he saw a gap above his head, through which, by and by, it might be possible to reach the garden. He hurried back to the surgery. Whatever might have happened to the crowd in the garden, those who had entered the house had kindled a fire; the room was already full of smoke. In another minute all the little company had descended the spiral stairs to the secret room, leaving the wall of the surgery closed behind them. Below they would be safe for a time, the underground room being connected with the house only by the stone staircase. Meanwhile the mutineers, daunted by the sudden explosion, had withdrawn to the further side of the garden. Some in terror had recrossed the wall; but the fire was alight; there had been no sign of any attempt at escape on the part of the garrison; and the fanatical throng exulted in the belief that ere long their victims would be consumed with the house. Half-an-hour passed. The waiting men noticed that the uproar above, which had diminished, now broke out again with redoubled clamour. And it was not yells of execration and of triumph, but the cries of men in fight, mingled with the sound of musketry. Ahmed ventured to mount on the heap of rubbish towards the small gap where the fountain had been. He came to the surface, and as he put his head cautiously out, the first sight that met his eyes was a red-coated British officer, with flashing sword, chasing the darwan across the garden. The chase was brief; the man fell; and the officer, turning to rejoin his men, caught sight of Ahmed, who had crawled out of the hole and was running towards him. He came with outstretched sword to deal with another mutineer, as he supposed, and observing the khaki uniform, hastened his step with a muttered imprecation: it was a new thing for the wearers of the khaki to turn traitors. But Ahmed drew himself up and stood at the salute. "Hazur," he said, "there is a sahib below, and I am of Lumsden Sahib's Guides." CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH Duty Three months had passed. The Guides were on their homeward march to Hoti-Mardan. They had spent a busy three months in breaking up the numerous bands formed by rebels who escaped from Delhi. For Delhi had fallen; the old king was a prisoner; and, though Lucknow still held out against Sir Colin Campbell, the back of the Mutiny was broken.