Whatever the Gray Mahatma's real motive, there was no possible doubt about hers; she was looking forward to a tangible, material profit.
The Gray Mahatma led the way through the door by which we had entered, stalking along in his saffron robe without the slightest effort to seem dignified or solemn.
"Keep your wits about you," King whispered; and then again, presently: "Don't be fooled into thinking that anything you see is supernatural.
Remember that whatever you see is simply the result of something that they know and that we don't.

Keep your hair on! We're going to see some wonderful stuff or I'm a Dutchman." We passed down the long corridor outside Yasmini's room, but instead of continuing straight forward, the Gray Mahatma found an opening behind a curtain in a wall whose thickness could be only guessed.

Inside the wall was a stairway six feet wide that descended to an echoing, unfurnished hall below after making two turns inside solid masonry.
The lower hall was dark, but he found his way without difficulty, picking up a lantern from a corner on his way and then opening a door that gave, underneath the outer marble stairway, on to the court where the pool and the flowering shrubs were.

The lantern was not lighted when he picked it up.

I did not see how he lighted it.