"But what befell King Bhoya
when the graven image had thus ended his saying?"
"That, good jailer, is another story, and if you please to hear it
another night, I will do my poor best to satisfy you."
"Well, the hour is late."
The warder rose to his feet and resumed his official gruffness.
"Come, rise; it is time I locked your fetters; and, in good sooth, mine
is no golden key."
He chuckled as he watched the prisoners file one by one into the shed.
Following them, he quickly locked each in turn to his staple in the wall
and went out, bolting and double-locking the door behind him.
"You did well, my friend," whispered Desmond in English to the Babu.
"My heart flutters like the wing of a bulbul," answered the Babu; "but I
am content, sahib."
"But say, Surendra Nath," remarked one of the Maratha captives, "last
time you told us that story you said nothing of the golden key."
"Ah!" replied the Babu, "you are thinking of the story told by the second
graven image in King Vikramaditya's throne. I will tell you that
tomorrow."
Chapter 12: In which our hero is offered freedom at the price of honor; and
Mr. Diggle finds that others can quote Latin on occasion.
Next morning, when Desmond left the shed with his fellow prisoners, he
took with him, secreted in a fold of his dhoti, a small piece of clay. It
had been given him overnight by the Babu. An hour or two later, happening
to be for a moment alone in the tool shop, he took out the clay and
examined it carefully.
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