nder, squinting through his polished emerald. The
great, tawny African brutes blinked and turned their shaggy heads this
way and that, uneasily. Kathlyn stood very still. How, how could they
save her? At length the lions espied her, attracted by the white of her
robe. One bounded forward, growling. The others immediately started in
pursuit.

Suddenly the center of the arena opened and a tremendous roar followed.
A low wail of terror ran round the arena. Surely this Mem-sahib had all
the gods with her. A great crevice had opened up between Kathlyn and the
lions, one of which lay dead. Then came the rush toward the exits, a mad
frantic rush. Not even Umballa, who knew that not the gods, but man had
contrived this havoc, not even Umballa waited, but fled, beating down all
those who blocked his path.

Bruce and Ramabai dropped over the railing to Kathlyn's side. But the
key upon which their escape depended would not unlock the door.

CHAPTER V

THE COURT OF THE LION

When Bruce dropped down into the arena to Kathlyn's side he had never
given a thought to the possibility of the key not being the right one.
Trapped!--and Ahmed but a few yards away with a zenana gharry, ready to
convey them to the camp, freedom! It took the heart out of him for a
moment. The confusion all about, the pall of dust, the roaring of the
frightened lions which had escaped destruction, the shrill cries of the
panic-stricken populace, who now looked upon the white Mem-sahib as the
daughter of Shaitan, these dulled his inventive faculties for the
nonce. Here was the confusion, properly planned, and he could not make
use of it. Possibly, when no further explosion shook the air, the mob
and the soldiers would return out of curiosity. And then, good-by!

But the sight of a lion emerging from the murk, the wrong side of the
crevice, roused him thoroughly.

"Save yourself!" said Kathlyn in despair: "there is no possible way of
saving me. I have never in all my life injured any one, and yet God
makes me go through all this. . . . I am mad, you are, the whole world
is! . . . Run!"

Bruce laughed; it was that kind of laughter with which men enter
battle. He drew Lal Singh's revolvers and thrust one into her hand.

"Shoot at the keyhole. Leave the lion to me. With the pandemonium no
one will note the shots, or if they do, will think that more explosions
are on the way. I'll get you out of this nightmare; that's what I was