The Star of India
Copyright© 2026 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 24: Wana Affghar of Puneput.
Each now touched his ear to the wall, which was a better conductor of sound than the air. As a result, both heard persons talking. They did not speak continuously, and modulated their words so that it was impossible to catch their meaning.
It was quite clear, however, that the strangers on the other side were aware that some kind of danger threatened them, for they used the utmost care. It looked as though they had entered an unsuspected apartment adjoining the one in which the three fugitives took refuge when fleeing from the Ghoojurs, and they were at that moment discussing their situation.
“Now, who can they be?” asked Harkins; “I am inclined to suspect they are Ghoojurs, who have found some secret way into this temple.”
“More likely they are refugees like ourselves, —some poor people who have known of the temple, and imagine they have a good hiding place from the mutineers.”
“We must learn the truth as soon as we can.”
In the hope of finding some spot in the wall where they could hear more distinctly, the surgeon began groping along its face with his hands. He could not see clearly enough in the dim light to discern small objects.
“Helloa! here’s something!” he exclaimed, in the same guarded voice.
“What is it?” asked his companion.
“It feels like the knob of a door.”
“Maybe it’s a door bell; give it a pull and see whether the people are receiving calls,” said Harkins, whose high spirits could not always be repressed even in the most critical moments.
“Here is a door——-”
“Good by,” called the sportsman, as he saw his friend pass through an opening that suddenly presented itself.
Drawing the handle to one side the door slid to the left, and Avery advanced a couple of steps into a smaller room. Then, fearful of a volley from the strangers, he quickly drew back beside Harkins.
“Did you see anybody?” asked the latter.
“No; I didn’t dare wait; there seems to be about as much light in that apartment as there is in this.”
Both were quiet, and the next minute whispers were heard, followed by the cautious movement of feet.
“Be careful,” whispered Harkins; “there are more wonders in the ruins than are dreamt of in our philosophy; there’s deviltry afoot, and we’ll get a shot before you know it.”
“Baird, Baird, is that you?”
The soft voice came from within the smaller apartment. It was low, but its music had charmed Avery many a time. He sprang forward into the room.
“Good heavens! it is Marian!”
She advanced hastily through the twilight, and was clasped in his arms. As Harkins entered, the missionary and his wife came forward and shook his hand.
Suffering and danger drew all near together in this trying hour, and the man whom they had never heard of until within a few days was as dear to all as though his brave devotion had been attested by years of service.
As may be supposed, Mr. Hildreth had an interesting story to tell.
That morning their guide, Luchman, had been gone but a short time, when they were frightened by the appearance of a man who seemed to be a Brahmin fakir. He surprised the fugitives by showing an extraordinary knowledge of every one of them. He said he knew they were fleeing from Delhi to Kurnal, and that a large party of Ghoojurs were hunting for them, believing they carried much riches. Still further, they were aware of the precise part of the jungle where the Feringhees had taken refuge, and would soon come to rob and kill them.
Remarkable as was this statement, Mr. Hildreth believed it, mainly because of the intimate knowledge the fakir showed of his affairs. The Brahmin added that he had received so many kindnesses from the missionaries that he was anxious to befriend them, but the circumstances—as could be readily seen—were such that he could do so only in an indirect manner. He informed them that there was but the one course by which they could save their lives: that was to hasten at once to the sacred temple, dedicated to the worship of Gungah, the goddess of the Ganges who came to restore to King Suguin the sixty thousand sons that had been reduced to ashes. The fakir insisted that though this temple was in ruins, it would not be profaned by any of the roving Ghoojurs, even if they learned the party had taken refuge there.
This theology was altogether different from what Mr. Hildreth had heard since living in India, but he decided to leave the jungle, much as he would have preferred to await the return of Luchman. His anxiety to get away was deepened by several suspicious movements on the part of natives at a distance.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.