A rush was made for the ground-floor of the palace opposite to the stables, where some kind of firework was hissing and spitting fiercely, and as the men ran there was a blinding flash by the door of the place used as an ammunition-store, just as if some powder had been thrown there and the sparks had set it alight.

“Forward, my lads, before it gets worse,” shouted Wyatt.—“Darrell, lad, you must risk it,” he cried; “we can’t leave them to perish. Up with you, and bring out Hulton and the doctor.”

A strange feeling of dread ran through the young officer, for the instinct was strong upon him to run for his life and escape by the gate before the native fuse, which had been placed at the bottom of the magazine door, should do its deadly work of causing an explosion and bringing that side of the old building tottering down.

But education was stronger than instinct. It was the master. Before the lad’s eyes were his brother-officer and the men of the troop following; Sergeant Stubbs was carrying the keys, rushing right up to the magazine door—right, as it were, into the fire and the explosion which must occur; and nearly overhead was the room occupied by Hulton and the doctor.

Dick Darrell could not help his thoughts nor his natural instincts, whichever way they might lead. He had his duty to do as a soldier, and he neither hesitated nor shrank, but rushed forward to perform his task, meeting the two sentries, who had come hurrying down from the roof.

The next minute he was ascending the stairs leading to the officers’ quarters, reaching the broad corridor and the way into their sitting-room, thinking that it was a pity for that beautiful tulwar to be destroyed, when he fell over somebody on to some one else, sending a thrill of horror through his nerves as he heard deep groans.

“Who is it?” he cried.

A bright flash which came through the open door and window showed him the two servants, with their white cotton garments deeply stained with blood; while, as he gathered himself up, he found that something wet and warm had soaked his own thin silken garments, and his hands felt sticky.

The chill of horror came again. The two servants stabbed at the door; and not many yards farther lay Hulton’s room. Had he and the doctor been assassinated too?

Pity would have deterred him—duty urged him on; and the recollection of the terrible danger below, driven from his brain for the moment, came back as he dashed on, just as the door was thrown open and Hulton and the doctor hurried out.

“Who’s that? You, Darrell? What is it?”

“Fire—the magazine. Quick, for your lives!”

They hurried down the corridor, momentarily expecting the floor to open with the roar and red rush of an explosion; but they paused to seize the two men lying by the sitting-room door, and among them dragged them to the head of the stairs, and then to the bottom and out into the yard, where, as soon as they were in safety, Dick left the wounded with the doctor, and ran to where, in the midst of thick smoke, axe-blows were falling upon the entrance to the magazine.

For the perpetrator of the diabolical outrage had done his work cunningly and well. Several small patches of loose powder must have been arranged about the bottom of the door, and the great keyhole plugged with it, before the fuse was rammed in and ignited, attracting the attention of the guard.

It was perilous work, for, in the effort to tear out the fuse from where it had been jammed, it broke up, and this caused the first explosion, which had destroyed the lock, others immediately following in spite of the way in which buckets of water had been dashed down.

The men worked with fierce energy to hack out the lock, in the desperate effort to get the door open before some fragment of the fuse or spark, driven in by one of the little explosions, should act upon the bags and kegs of powder and ready-filled cartridges within. Each blow, too, that was struck with the axe might, they well knew, strike off sparks, which would increase the peril. But they did not shrink, one man taking up the axe as another tired, till, just as Dick ran up, there was a loud cheer, for the door was flung open, revealing the bright sparks emitted by something smouldering within; and, even as the door was thrown wide, the puff of air finished what was going on. For, as two men rushed in together, there was a faint report, followed by another and another, and pieces of shattered, smouldering paper were thrown about the place.

The men outside involuntarily drew back as they realised that a box of carbine cartridges had been started by a spark. But the men within seized the box, and sent those which were left flying out into the yard, where another one or two exploded, as, in the midst of a dense smoke, the two brave fellows within sought for and threw out every scrap of smouldering cartridge-case, some of which were in close proximity to the flannel powder-bags of the six-pounder guns.

This work was done in momentary expectation of one of the kegs starting the general destruction; but the gallant effort saved the place, and, hot and panting, blind almost with smoke, the two men staggered out at last, to be met with a roaring cheer.

“Water—quick—water!” cried one of the pair in a hoarse voice. “I’m choking.”

“Are you hurt, Wyatt?” cried Dick, catching him by the arm.

“Fingers a bit scorched, lad, and my pyjamas ruined; but never mind—we’ve won. Here, who was working with me in the dark there?” cried Wyatt. “He saved the place, and he must be burned. Here, who are you—why don’t you speak, my lad?”

The lantern was cautiously brought forward and held by Sergeant Stubbs up over the blackened face and singed hair of one of the privates.

“Why, it’s Bob Hanson, sir.”

“Hanson!” cried Wyatt, stepping forward to gaze wonderingly in his companion’s face. “Then shake hands, my lad; you and I were never so close to death before.”

A low murmur indicative of the satisfaction felt by all present rose on the night air, Dick feeling a thrill of pleasure at this public acknowledgment of Hanson’s bravery. He, the man for whom the intercession had been made which saved him from the most degrading punishment that could be inflicted.

But it was a time for action, and while Stubbs was set to the duty of once more making the ammunition secure, Wyatt and Dick went to work to try and trace out everything possible regarding this horrible attempt to destroy their means of offence and defence.

“You see, we have been on the wrong tack, Dick,” said Wyatt in a low voice as they stood together. “The scoundrel who did all this was not after my tulwar each time, but had planned striking a terrible blow at our prestige, for we should make a poor show without our gains.”

“He must have reached the roof somehow,” said Dick.

“But why come through our rooms?”

“Because it is probably the only way down into the courtyard. He could not attempt the stairs on account of the sentries.”

“It must be some one who knows the place and all about our arrangements.”

“Yes,” said Dick; “but come and let’s question the doctor’s patients.”

“The doctor’s patient? What would Hulton know?”

“No, no; his fresh patients—the two servants.”

“What! do you think they were in it?”

“They were in it, certainly,” said Dick sadly. “The poor fellows were badly stabbed.”

“But I saw them sleeping before I came to you.”

“Yes; but I found them both lying outside the door weltering in their blood. I have an idea—but come along.”

They passed together to where the men were lying freshly bandaged by the doctor, Ram Dad being sensible and able to explain what had happened.

“A dacoit, sahibs,” he said firmly. “Come up by the stairs, and we tried to stop him; but he was naked and covered with oil, and, though we tried hard to hold him, he struck us both with his knife, and ran through the room, to climb up the side of the window and on to the top.”

“Hah!” cried Wyatt. “Then he may still be there. Come and have the upper terrace searched.”

This was carefully done by a dozen men despatched in different directions, every possible hiding-place being examined by the aid of the lanterns, without result. It was evident that the marauder could not have descended without help in the shape of a rope, for to have dropped from the parapet meant death; and, wearied out at last with searching and conjecture, the task was given up and the men dismissed.

“Dick,” said Wyatt at last, “we must have a traitor in our midst.”

“I have been thinking that,” was the reply; “but we have not a single man with us that was not brought, or it would be an easy task to find out who is the enemy. The servants would not help.”

“I would not trust them,” said Wyatt bitterly. “We are their masters, and, to them, foreigners and enemies to their faith, which they know well enough we hold in contempt.”

“Perhaps so,” said Dick; “but it seems hard upon them to talk like this. We were ready to suspect them before, and we found two of them cruelly stabbed in our defence.”

“Yes, old fellow, as you nearly were the other night. Dick, Dick, old lad, that was an escape! Well, there, I will not believe it of any one we have in quarters if you can give me a plausible suggestion for thinking otherwise.”

Dick was silent, and his companion stood waiting. “Well, what are you thinking?” he said. “Have you an idea?”

“Just the shadow of one,” said Dick thoughtfully; “but give me time. Let’s do what there is to do, and then go and wash and change. I’m horrible with blood.”

“And I with gunpowder,” said Wyatt. “Well, there is nothing more to do. We shall have no further attack to-night; the sentries are doubled, and we may as well try for a bit of sleep. This is my delicious night’s rest!”

“Yes, it horrible.”

“We’ll go and see the wounded again, and then look how Stubbs has managed, and go to our room.”

The doctor said that the two servants were badly hurt, but not dangerously, and he and Hulton were going to stay and watch them till morning. Wyatt protested but Hulton was firm. “Let me have my own way,” he said. “I can be of use over this, and I’ve been of little enough lately.”

So the two officers went down to the yard, visiting posts on their way, and upon reaching the room used as a magazine, it was to find that Stubbs and a squad of gunners had moved everything to an inner chamber on the ground-floor, where it would be far more difficult for an attack to be made.

Stubbs was just locking up as Wyatt and Dick approached, and triumphantly showed them the key.

“It’s just under Mr Darrell’s bedchamber, gentlemen,” he said; “but I suppose he won’t mind.”

“Oh, no; not at all,” said Dick, with a queer smile, which looked to be absolutely without mirth. “Only,” he added, “I should not have chosen my sleeping-place there.”

“I didn’t think of it, sir, till I’d got nearly everything in; but I’ll see what we can do to-morrow.”

“No,” said Wyatt shortly, and to Dick’s great discomposure; “it is a capital place for it, Stubbs, and it shall stay.—But there are two ways of looking at such things, Darrell,” he continued. “I’ll be hanged if I’m going to sleep over a powder-magazine that our enemies are trying to blow up, and I certainly won’t let you.”

“Enemies, sir!” said Stubbs. “Then you feel that it is the work of the enemy?”

“Certainly, Stubbs,” replied Wyatt; “and of some one high in power.”