"We follow thee, Anointed One! Lead us, for thou art Vishnu, thou art
God!"
"Thou hearest!" Nehal Singh said, turning to Nicholson.
"I hear," the Englishman answered significantly. "And I know, as thou
knowest, that it is a lie. Thou art not God. Thou art a Christian."
"No longer. How shall I believe in a God whose disciples mock His
commandments?" His voice became inaudible in the suddenly increased
confusion.
The next instant, the torch-bearers, who guarded the open space around
the two men, were thrust violently on one side, and with a wild
scream, which rang high above the uproar, a half-naked figure rushed
up the steps and with outspread arms stood like an evil phantom at
Nehal's side.
"He is dead!" he shrieked. "He is dead! I killed him--my knife it was
that killed him--the son of the Devil Stafford is dead--my enemy is
dead!" He swung around toward the light, his arms still raised and
Nicholson recognized, with a start of repulsion, Behar Singh's
triumphant, distorted features. "Kill!" he shrieked again. "Kill them
all, son--son--of--the--so is my revenge--". The harsh, grating voice
cracked like a steel blade that has been snapped in half. For a
breathing space Behar Singh stood there, drawn to his full height;
then he reeled and rolled with a heavy thud to the lowest step, where
he lay motionless, his grinning face frozen into a look of diabolical
joy. A slow oozing stream of blood crept over the white marble to
Nicholson's feet.
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