Lord of the World

Umballa began to go about cheerfully. He no longer doubted his star.
Gutter born, was he? A rat from the streets? Very well; there were
rats and rats, and some bit so deep that people died of it. He
sometimes doubted the advisability of permitting Colonel Hare's head
man Ahmed to roam about; the rascal might in the end prove too sharp.
Still it was not a bad idea to let Ahmed believe that he walked in
security. All Umballa wanted was the colonel, Kathlyn and the young
hunter, Bruce. It would be Ahmed, grown careless, who would eventually
lead him or his spies to the hiding-place.

That the trio were in the city Umballa did not doubt in the least, nor
that they were already scheming to liberate the younger sister. All
his enemies where he could put his hand on them!

Cheerful was the word.

The crust of civilization was thin; the true savage was cracking out
through it. In the days of the Mutiny Umballa would have been the Nana
Sahib's right hand. He would have given the tragedy at Cawnpur an
extra touch.

Ten thousand rupees did not go far among soldiers whose arrears called
for ten times that sum. So he placed it where it promised to do the
most good. It was a capital idea, this of cutting Ramabai's throat
with his own money. The lawless element among the troops was his,
Umballa's; at least his long enough for the purpose he had in mind.

When the multitude round the platform dissolved and Winnie was led to
her chamber in the zenana, Umballa treated himself to a beverage known
as the king's peg--a trifle composed of brandy and champagne. That he
drank to stupefaction was God's method of protecting that night an
innocent child--for Winnie was not much more than that.