He seized the dagger and thrust it into his belt, for the sounds of a key being inserted in the lock told that the enemy was at hand. Haidee blew out the light and seized his hand, leading him through the doorway. Scarcely had they got on to the steps, and closed and locked the door, than the other one was opened. Then they heard the voice of Moghul Singh cry, “Death to the Feringhee, in the name of the Prophet!” In a moment his voice changed, and he uttered an imprecation as he discovered that the man he had come to slay was no longer there, but had escaped. CHAPTER VIII. A PERILOUS MISSION. For many hours did Walter Gordon remain in his hiding-place behind the clump of trees, in company with the faithful ayah, Zeemit Mehal. He watched with sickened heart the flames wreathe themselves around the pretty bungalow, where he had known so many happy hours, until, in a little while, a heap of smouldering and blackened ruins was all that marked the spot where had once stood the peaceful home of his beloved. Many times did he narrowly escape being discovered by the howling demons, as they rushed about in frenzied excitement. His horse, used to scenes of commotion, remained quietly grazing where it had been tethered. Out on the compound, with the red flames flushing the white face, as if in mockery, was the dead body of Mrs. Meredith. It was an awful sight, and Walter would have jeopardised his life to have gone out and placed the body in some spot where it might remain until a chance of burial presented itself. But Mehal restrained him. “To expose yourself is to court instant death,” she said. “Be quiet.” Presently a gang of ruffians entered the compound, led by a well-known butcher of the town, named Mezza Korash. The man had long been notorious for his undisguised hatred for the British, and had on several occasions been imprisoned for robbery, and for offering insult to Her Majesty’s subjects. Their object was plunder, and some of the gang entered the smoking ruins of the bungalow in search of any valuables that might have escaped the flames. As Mezza reached the spot where poor Mrs. Meredith was lying he suddenly stopped, and, spurning the corpse with his foot, burst into a coarse laugh. “Ah, ah, comrades! look at this dog’s flesh,” he cried. “It was my hand that slew her. I was the first to fire a shot, and that shot was into the heart of this Feringhee woman. Glory to the Prophet, and death to the British!” He hurried away, followed by his brutal companions, whose laughter made the night hideous. As Gordon heard the words of the self-confessed murderer, his blood boiled; and if Zeemit had not forcibly held him back, he would have rushed out. But when the cowardly crew had gone away, he said-- “Zeemit, summary retribution must be meted out to that villain, and mine shall be the hand to strike him down. If he escapes me, I shall never be able to look Miss Meredith in the face again.”