In that room, enticingly dark save for small wicks guttering in corner niches, the Lady Rakshasi was more than ever the sleek, slumbrous cat of the jungles. The dusty emerald of her eyes lighted with invitation as he entered. She purred a word of command and the servant vanished. She and Ramey were alone. "My Lord is gracious," she whispered in her husky voice, "to answer thus the plea of his humble servant." She touched the soft pillows beside her invitingly. "Would my Lord tarry and rest?" He was, an inner consciousness warned Ramey, playing with fire. But an instinct stronger than reason lowered him beside her. This woman had something! The Hollywood of the world he had left behind would call it "oomph." More strictly rhetorical admirers would call it charm, fascination, allure. But he would have been a poor man indeed who could go without learning what the Lady Rakshasi wanted. "Yes, my Lady?" asked Ramey. "What would you of me?" * * * * * The Lady Rakshasi turned slowly on one elbow, studied him long and lazily before answering. When she spoke her tone was servile still, but there was a question in her voice, and the suspicion of a challenge in her curious, heavy-lidded eyes. "I called thee, my Lord," she replied, "to warn thee of an evil rumor which has of late gathered boldness in the temples. Believe truly that thy servant means no ill, nor doubts thy glory. But there are those who whisper that thou and thy companions are not gods at all--but only men! Some strangely say, men of another day." "But, of course--" began Ramey. Then stopped, remembering the necessary deceit by which Sugriva hoped to maintain peace in the colony. He finished lamely--"But of course they jest! Surely all saw us come from the heart of the holy image?" Rakshasi smiled. "Aye, even so, my Lord. Thus told I them. But there be ever those who doubt. And they murmur that ofttimes the actions of thy companions are strangely ungodlike. They eat, they sleep like mortals. From place to place they transport themselves on foot rather than by instantaneous translation, as all men know is the way of gods. And many are the questions they ask, when all know the gods are omniscient." It was not, Ramey had to concede ruefully, not just a chink in the armor. It was a gaping hole, big enough to drive a Mack truck through. He and his friends _were_ touring around Chitrakuta like a bevy of wide-eyed schoolkids, and certainly putting on one hell of an unecclesiastical show! "When the gods walk amongst men," he told her firmly, "they conduct themselves in the fashion of their worshippers. It is no man's right to question these things."