The saices were sent scattering among the crowd to give the alarm and send the rest of his contingent hurrying back; Jaimihr and his ten drove home their spurs, and streaked, as the frightened jackal runs when a tiger interrupts them at their worry, hell-bent-for-leather up the unlit street.
Then Maharajah Howrah's custom-accorded dignity stood him in good stead.
It flashed across his worried brain that space had been given him by the gods in which to think.

Jaimihr--one facet of the problem and perhaps the sharpest--would have his hands full for a while, and the priests--wish how they would--would never dare omit the after-ritual in Siva's temple.

He--untrammelled for an hour to come--might study out a course to take and hold with those embarrassing prisoners of his.
He turned--updrawn in regal stateliness--and intimated to the high priest that the ceremony might proceed without him.

When the priests demurred and murmured, he informed them that he would be pleased to give them audience when the ritual was over, and without deigning another argument he turned through a side door into the palace.
Within ten minutes he was seated in his throne-room.

One minute later his prisoners stood in front of him, still holding each other's hands, and the guard withdrew.