Azimoolah as a tiger would be a libel on the so-called royal brute. He might fittingly be described as representing in disposition the fiends of the nether world, whose mission is to destroy all good, to develop all evil, to drag down the souls of human beings to perdition. He was the bad tool of a bad master, if he did not absolutely lead that master to some extent. Allied to the twain was Teeka Singh, soubahdar of the Second Cavalry. The trio were as cowardly a set of villains as ever made common cause in a bad case. Between the King of Delhi and the Nana there had been numberless communications and frequent interviews, spreading over a period of some years. The imbecile puppet of Delhi fondly imagined that he could be a king in power as well as name, and he looked to Nana of Bhitoor as a man who could help him to gain this end. Actuated by similar motives, Nana Sahib fraternised with the King for the sake of the influence he would command. But between the two men there was an intense hatred and jealousy. Each hoped to make the other a tool. It was the old fable of the monkey and the cat realised over again. Both wanted the nuts, but each feared to burn his fingers. In one thing they were unanimous--they hated the English. They writhed under the power of the Great White Hand, and wished to subdue it. But although the King betrayed this so that he incurred the mistrust of the English, the Nana was a perfect master in the art of dissembling, and all that was passing in his mind was a sealed book to his white friends. When the revolt broke out in Meerut, old Sir Hugh Wheeler fondly believed that the storm could not possibly spread to Cawnpore. But as the days wore on, signs were manifested that caused the General considerable uneasiness. Some of the native soldiers became insubordinate and insolent. Still he felt no great alarm, for in an emergency he had his trusted and respected friend the Rajah to fly to for assistance. The General, iron-willed and dauntless himself, showed no outward signs of mistrust. He had passed his life amongst the natives. He loved them with a love equalling a father’s. He respected their traditions, honoured their institutions, venerated their antiquity; and while the storm, distant as yet, was desolating other parts of the fair land, he betrayed no doubts about the fidelity of his troops. Morning after morning he rode fearlessly amongst them, his genial face and cheery voice being seen and heard in all quarters. But as the mutterings of the storm grew louder and more threatening, anxiety for the hundreds of helpless people on his hands filled him. He could no longer shut his eyes to the fact that there was danger--a terrible danger--in the air. It was his duty to use every endeavour to guard against it, and he felt that the time had come to appeal to his friend the Rajah. He rode over to the Bhitoor Palace, and was received by the Nana with studied courtesy and respect.