And it would not make the slightest difference now what kind of cock and bull story the mahout might tell to the Maharajah.

However wild it might be it would certainly include the fact that two white men had ridden to Yasmini's palace on the Maharajah's favorite elephant after having been fished out of the river by mahouts at the elephant's bathing ghat.
It was the likeliest thing in the world that representations would be made that very afternoon by telegraph to the nearest important British official, who would feel compelled to make inquiries.

The British Government can not afford to have even unknown white men mysteriously made away with.
The Gray Mahatma took all that for granted and nodded comprehendingly.
His smile, as we neared Yasmini's palace gate, appeared to me to include a perfect appreciation of the situation.

He seemed to accept it as candidly as he had acknowledged my frequent escapes the night before.
Ismail opened the gate without demur and Akbar sauntered in, being used to palaces.

He passed under the first arch into the second courtyard, coming to a halt at a gate on the far side that was too small for his enormous bulk where he proceeded to kneel without waiting for instructions.
"Do you feel proud ?" the Mahatma asked me unexpectedly as he climbed off Akbar's neck.
Suspecting some sort of verbal trap I did not answer him.
"You are like this elephant.