He looked almost comatose.
The shutters and the glass windows were open wide to admit the morning breeze.

Nothing was between us and freedom but the fluttering silk curtains and a drop of about seventy feet into an unknown river.
"Hold my hand," I said, "and jump your limit outward!" The Gray Mahatma opened one eye and divined our intention.
"Mad!" he exclaimed.

"So then that is the end of them!" He believed what he said, for he sat still.

But Yasmini came running, screaming to her women to prevent us.
King and I took off together, hand-in-hand, and I take my Bible oath that I looked up, and saw Yasmini and the Gray Mahatma leaning out of the window to watch us drown! Of course, seventy feet is nothing much--provided you are used to the take-off, and know the water, and have a boat waiting handy to pick you up.

But we had none of these advantages, and in addition to that we had the grievous handicap that King could not swim a stroke.
We took the water feet-first, close together, and that very instant I knew what we were up against.