"Stable the horses in here!" said the German; and they did so, Ranjoor Singh dipping water out of a rain-pool and filling a stone trough that had once done duty as receptacle for gifts for a long- forgotten G.o.d. Then they pushed the carriage under a tangle of hanging branches.
"Look about you!" advised the German, as he emptied food for the horses on the temple floor; and babu Sita Ram made very careful note of the temple bearings, while Ranjoor Singh and the German blocked the old doorway with whatever they could find to keep night-prowlers outside and the horses in.
Then the German led the way into the dark, swinging a lantern that he had unearthed from some recess. Babu Sita Ram walked second, complaining audibly and shuddering at every shadow. Last came Ranjoor Singh, grim, silent. And the rain beat down on all three of them until they were drenched and numb, and their feet squelched in mud at every step.
For all the darkness, Ranjoor Singh made note of the fact that they were following a wagon track, into which the wheels of a native cart had sunk deep times without number. Only native ox-carts leave a track like that.
It must have been nine o"clock, and the babu was giving signs of nearly complete exhaustion, when they pa.s.sed beyond a ring of trees into a clearing. They stood at the edge of the clearing in a shadow for about ten minutes, while the German watched catwise for signs of life.
"It is now," he said, tapping Ranjoor Singh"s chest, "that you begin to be at my mercy. I a.s.sure you that the least disobedience on your part will mean your instant death!"
"Lead on!" growled Ranjoor Singh.
"Do you recognize the place?"
Ranjoor Singh peered through the rain in every direction. At each corner of the clearing, north, south, east and west, he could dimly see some sort of ruined arch, and there was another ruin in the center.
"No," he said.
"This is the oldest temple ruin anywhere near Delhi. On some inscriptions it is called "Temple of the Four Winds," but the old Hindu who lived in it before we bribed him to go away called it the "Winds of the World." It is known as "Winds of the World" on the books of the German War Office. I think it is really of Greek origin myself, but I am not an Orientalist, and the text-books all say that I am wrong."
"Lead on!" said Ranjoor Singh; and the German led them, swinging his lantern and seeming not at all afraid of being seen now.
"We have taken steps quite often to make the people hereabouts believe this temple haunted!" he said. "They avoid it at night as if the devil lived here. If any of them see my lantern, they will not stop running till they reach the sea!"
They came to a ruin that was such an utter ruin that it looked as if an earthquake must have shaken a temple to pieces to be disintegrated by the weather; but Ranjoor Singh noticed that the cart-tracks wound around the side of it, and when they came to a fairly large teak trap-door, half hidden by creepers, he was not much surprised.
"My G.o.d, gentlemen!" said Sita Ram. "That place is wet-weather refuge for many million cobras! If I must die, I will prefer to perish in rain, where wife and family may find me for proper funeral rites. I will not go in there!"
But the German raised the trap-door, and Ranjoor Singh took the unhappy babu by the scruff of his fat neck.
"In with you!" he ordered.
And, chattering as if his teeth were castanets, the babu trod gingerly down damp stone steps whose center had been worn into ruts by countless feet. The German came last, and let the trap slam shut.
"My G.o.d!" yelled the babu. "Let me go! I am family man!"
"Vorwarts!" laughed the German, leading the way toward a teak door set in a stone wall.
They were in an ancient temple vault that seemed to have miraculously escaped from the destruction that had overwhelmed the whole upper part. Not a stone of it was out of place. It was wind and water-tight, and the vaulted roof, that above was nothing better than a mound of debris, from below looked nearly as perfect as when the stones had first been fitted into place.
The German produced a long key, opened the teak door, and stood aside to let them pa.s.s.
"No, no!" shuddered Sita Ram; but Ranjoor Singh pushed him through; the German followed, and the door slammed shut as the trap had done.
"And now, my friends, I will convince you!" said the German, holding the lantern high. "What are those?"
The light from the solitary lantern fell on rows and rows of bales, arranged in neat straight lines, until away in the distance it suggested endless other shadowy bales, whose outlines could be little more than guessed at. They were in a vault so huge that Ranjoor Singh made no attempt to estimate its size.
"See this!" said the German, walking close to something on a wooden stand, and he held the light above it. "In the office in Delhi that the police have just sealed up there is a wireless apparatus very much like this. This, that you see here, is a detonator. This is fulminate of mercury. This is dynamite. With a touch of a certain key in Delhi we could have blown up this vault at any minute of the past two years, if we had thought it necessary to hide our tracks. A shot from this pistol would have much the same effect," he added darkly.
"But the bales?" asked Ranjoor Singh. "What is in the bales?"
"Dynamite bombs, my friend! You native soldiers have no artillery, and we have seen from the first the necessity of supplying a subst.i.tute. By making full use of the element of surprise, these bombs should serve your purpose. There are one million of them, packed two hundred in a bale-much more useful than artillery in the hands of untrained men!
"Those look like bales of blankets. They are. Cotton blankets from Muenchen-Gladbach. Only, the middle blankets have been omitted, and the outer ones have served as a cushion to prevent accidental discharge. They have been imported in small lots at a time, and brought here four or five at a time in ox-carts from one or other of the Delhi railway stations by men who are no longer in this part of India-men who have been pensioned off."
"How did you get them through the Customs?" wondered Ranjoor Singh.
"Did you ever see a rabbit go into his hole?" the German asked. "They were very small consignments, obviously of blankets. The duty was paid without demur, and the price paid the Customs men was worth their while. That part was easy!"
"Of what size are the bombs?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"About the size of an orange. Come, I"ll show you."
He led him to an opened bale, and showed him two hundred of them nestling like the eggs of some big bird.
"My G.o.d!" moaned Sita Ram. "Are those dynamite? Sahibs-snakes are better! Snakes can feel afraid, but those-ow! Let me go away!"
"Let him go," said the German. "Let him take his message."
"Go, then!" ordered Ranjoor Singh; and the German walked to the door to let him out.
"What is your message?" he asked.
"To Yasmini first, for she is in touch with all of them," said Sita Ram. "First I will go to Yasmini. Then she will come here to say the regiments have started. First she will come alone; after her the regiments."
"She had better be alone!" said the German. "Go on, run! And don"t forget the way back? Wait! How will she know the way? How will you describe it to her?"
"She? Describe it to her? I will tell her "The Winds of the World," and she will come straight."
"How? How will she know?"
"The priest who used to be here-whom you bribed to go away-he is her night doorkeeper now!" said Sita Ram. "Yes, she will come veree quickly!"
The German let him out with an air mixed of surprise and disbelief, and returned to Ranjoor Singh with far less iron in his stride, though with no less determination.
"Now we shall see!" he said, drawing an automatic pistol and c.o.c.king it carefully. "This is not meant as a personal threat to you, so long as we two are in here alone. It"s in case of trickery from outside. I shall blow this place sky-high if anything goes wrong. If the regiments come, good! You shall have the bombs. If they don"t come, or if there"s a trick played-click! Good-by! We"ll argue the rest in Heaven!"
"Very well," said Ranjoor Singh; and, to show how little he felt concerned, he drew his basket to him and began to eat.
The German followed suit. Then Ranjoor Singh took most of his wet clothes off and spread them upon the bales to dry. The German imitated that too.
"Go to sleep if you care to," said the German. "I shall stand watch," he added, with a dry laugh.
But if a Sikh soldier can not manage without sleep, there is n.o.body on earth who can. Ranjoor Singh sat back against a bale, and the watch resolved itself into a contest of endurance, with the end by no means in sight.
"How long should it take that man to reach her?" asked the German.