She did not
speak. She looked.
And Ranjoor Singh looked too. Under the writhing German, and back
again over him, there crawled a six-foot hooded cobra, seeming to
caress the carcass of his prey.
"He will be dead in five--ten minutes," said Yasmini, "and then I
will catch my snake again! If you want to ask him questions you had
better hurry!"
Then Ranjoor Singh recalled the offices that men had done for him
when he was wounded. He asked the German if he might send messages,
and to whom. But the dying man seemed to be speechless, and only
writhed. It was nearly a minute before Ranjoor Singh divined his
purpose, and pounced on the hand that lay underneath him. He wrenched
away another pistol only just in time. The snake crawled away, and
Yasmini coaxed it slowly back into its basket.
"Now," she said, "when he is dead we will drive back to Delhi and
amuse ourselves! You shall run away to fight men you never quarreled
with, and I will govern India! Is that not so?"
Ranjoor Singh did not answer her. He kept trying again and again to
get some message from the German to send perhaps to a friend in
Germany. But the man died speechless, and Ranjoor Singh could find no
scrap of paper on him or no mark that would give any clue to his
identity.
"Come!" said Yasmini. "Lock the door on him.
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