Narayan Singh had jumped from the car behind and seized Feisul, thrown
him to the floor out of the path of bullets, and tied his arms. It was
actually Mabel, hardly realizing what she was doing but obeying the
Sikh's orders yelled in her ear as he struggled to keep his wiry
prisoner down, who tied the king's feet, using her Arab girdle.
Feisul, of course, was all for dying at the head of a remnant of his
men. That would be the first impulse of any decent leader in like
circumstance. But his loyal friends, eager to die with him if they
must, but unwilling to die at all if there were an alternative, were
overwhelming him with streams of words and promises. Suddenly two of
them jumped into the car and began to untie his arms and feet. Grim,
looking swiftly to right and left, saw Jeremy and pounced on him so
fiercely that an onlooker might have guessed another fight to the death
was under way. Too excited to say what he had in mind, he tugged at
Jeremy's clothes.
"I get you, Jim--I get you!" Jeremy laughed gaily, and in ten seconds
had stripped himself down to his underwear.
Hadad must have been discussing details of the plan with Grim along the
road; for he got busy at the same time, persuading Feisul to part with
his garments--not that his consent really mattered at the moment; they
were pulled off him by half a dozen hands at once, and Jeremy had the
best of that bargain all right, for in addition to silk headdress and a
fine black Arab full-dress coat, there was linen of a sort you can't
buy--better stuff than bishops wear and clean, which Jeremy's own
wasn't.
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