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"A ring an emerald ring." Dhola Baksh shrugged. His eyes shifted from Amber to the encircling faces of the bystanders. "I am a poor man," he whined. "How should I have money to lend? Come to me on the morrow; then mayhap I may have a few rupees. To-night I have neither cash nor time." The hint was lost upon Amber. "A stone of price " he persisted.
Now, on the reflection that it had been given him for a special purpose, which had been frustrated by the death of Dhola Baksh, so that he had no further use for it, he decided against the counsels of prudence. "What's the odds," he asked himself, "if I do lose it? I don't want the damn' thing it's brought me nothing but trouble, thus far."
He would, however, gladly have surrendered the jewel to those who coveted it, in exchange for a promise of immunity from assassination, had he known whom to approach with the offer and been free to make it. But he must first show it to Dhola Baksh of the Machua Bazaar. After that, when its usefulness had been discharged, he would be glad of the chance to strike such a bargain....
Money passed upon the instant, sealing the bargain. The Malay rose to go. Dhola Baksh lifted a stony stare to Amber. "Your, pleasure, sahib?" he enquired with a thinly-veiled sneer. What need to show deference to a down-at-the-heel sailor from the Port? "I want money I want to borrow," said Amber promptly. "On your word, sahib?" "On security." "What manner of security can you offer?"
They could do nothing to help you; on the other hand, to be seen with them, to have it known that you communicate with them, would be the equivalent of a seal upon your death warrant. You remember the money-lender's name?" "Dhola Baksh of the Machua Bazaar." "Trust him and trust Doggott.... Four minutes more!" "Rutton!" cried Amber in a broken voice. Cold sweat broke out upon his forehead.
I don't place that yet.... But the 'Body' plainly that is India; the 'Scarlet Evil' could anything more fittingly describe English rule from the native point of view?" Amber felt of his head solicitously. "And yet," he averred plaintively, "it doesn't feel like wood." Labertouche laughed gently. "Now to-night you will learn something from this Dhola Baksh something important, undoubtedly.
Amber waited, knowing that patience must be his portion until the bargain should be struck. Dhola Baksh himself, a lean, sharp-featured Mahratta grey with age, appraised with a single look the new customer, and returned his interest to the Malay. But Amber garnered from that glance a sensation of recognition. He wondered dimly, why; could the goldsmith have been warned of his coming?
Then he found himself looking into the muzzle of Amber's weapon, and became apparently rigid with terror. "Sahib !" "Make no outcry, dog, and tell me no lies, if you value your contemptible life. Why did you drug me at whose instance?" "Sahib!..." "Answer me quickly, son of vipers!" "By Dhola Baksh, hazoor, I am innocent!
With true Oriental deliberation Pink Satin finally made up his mind to move on; and Amber lurched heavily into the premises occupied by one Dhola Baksh, a goldsmith. A customer, a slim, handsome Malayan youth, for the moment held the attention of the proprietor. The two were haggling with characteristic enjoyment over a transaction which seemed to involve less than twenty rupees.
Sorry I couldn't communicate with you safely before you left Calcutta. But we've not a minute to waste. Get into your yarn, please; explanations later, if we can afford 'em." Inhaling with deep enjoyment, he narrowed his dark eyes, listening intently to Amber's concise narrative of his experiences since their parting before the stall of Dhola Baksh in the Machua Bazaar.
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