The she-bear with her cubs in Springtime is a mild creature compared to a woman whose ancient prejudices have been interfered with, and a typhoon is more reasonable.
Half-a-dozen of them screamed that two of us were white men who had trespassed within the purdah, and that we should be killed.
"Come!" urged the Mahatma, tugging at King and me.

We went out of that hall at a dead run with screams of "Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!" shrilling behind us.

And it may be that Yasmini conceded that point too, or perhaps she was unable to prevent, for we heard swift footsteps following, and I threw off that fifteen thousand dollar toga in order to be able to run more swiftly.
The Mahatma seemed to know that palace as a rat knows the runs among the tree-roots, and he took us down dark passages and stairs into the open with a speed that, if it did not baffle pursuit, at any rate made it easier for pursuers to pretend to lose us.

Yasmini was no fool.

She probably called the pursuit off.
We emerged into the same courtyard, where the marble stairs descended to the pool containing one great alligator.