She felt thankful when she was alone again, for the part she had played had taxed all her faculties to keep up. But the hours passed wearily enough now. She alternated between hope and fear. Every sound startled her. She watched the hands of the clock with feverish eyes. The hours seemed to go by leaden-footed. Ten, eleven, twelve struck, still Moghul had not come. She almost despaired. But the hour of one had barely chimed when the key was turned in the lock of the door. The door opened, and Moghul Singh appeared. In his hand he carried a coil of rope and a large dark-coloured shawl. “I am true to my promise, you see,” he said, as he handed her the shawl. “You must conceal yourself in this as much as possible.” She took the shawl and enveloped herself in it, while Moghul went out on to the terrace, and having made one end of the rope fast to the railings of the verandah, he lowered the other over. “The sentries will have to answer for that,” he remarked, with a grin, as he returned to the room. “Are you ready?” “Yes.” “Come then.” With palpitating heart and trembling limbs she followed him. He led the way down silent corridors and dark passages, past sleeping Sepoys and drunken servants, he moving quickly and noiselessly, she following like a shadow, but feeling sick and ill, and with a terrible sense of fear pressing upon her. The open air was reached at last; the night breeze blew refreshingly cool upon her fevered face. “We must be cautious here,” he whispered. It was a large courtyard they had to cross, but nothing seemed to be stirring but themselves. He opened a gate with a key which he took from his pocket, and then they stood in a private road. Down this road he led her for some distance till a small strip of jungle was reached. Here in the shadow of the trees a buggy and horse were standing. A native boy was holding the horse’s head. Moghul helped Flora into the vehicle; when she was seated he drew his tulwar, and approaching the boy, who still held the reins, he almost severed his head from his body; then, springing into the buggy, he cried--“Dead men tell no tales.” The deed was so sudden, that there was scarcely time for reflection, but Flora almost fainted with horror as she witnessed it. Moghul whipped the horse. It started off at a gallop, and very soon the Palace was left far in the rear. CHAPTER XXXVI. MOGHUL SINGH IS OUTWITTED. The house to which Moghul Singh took Flora Meredith was about four miles from the Palace, and on the opposite side of Delhi. It was simply an ordinary bungalow, built for the most part of bamboo. It was in a dilapidated condition, and situated in the native quarter. At this place Moghul had three or four of his native mistresses. It was quite a common thing in India for men in Singh’s position to keep up such establishments. In fact it was looked upon rather as a social distinction.