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Updated: June 9, 2025
After another cannon, a three-cushion one to judge by the whir, I argued no more. I had found my ghost and would have given worlds to have escaped from that dâk-bungalow. I listened, and with each listen the game grew clearer. There was whir on whir and click on click. Sometimes there was a double click and a whir and another click.
I went into the next room and the daylight streamed through the open door. I was immensely brave. I would, at that hour, have played Black Pool with the owner of the big Black Pool down below. "Has this place always been a dak-bungalow?" I asked. "No," said the khansamah. "Ten or twenty years ago, I have forgotten how long, it was a billiard-room." "A how much?"
All we need to know is where he is and how to get there will you attend to that?" "Ha, sahib." "Thanks. I wonder if my supper's ready." He turned and walked away, with a little salute-like movement of his hand that was reminiscent of his father. The two Rajputs watched him in heavy-breathing silence until the little group of lights, where the horse-tents faced the old dak-bungalow, swallowed him.
A ghost that would voluntarily hang about a dak-bungalow would be mad of course; but so many men have died mad in dak-bungalows that there must be a fair percentage of lunatic ghosts. In due time I found my ghost, or ghosts rather, for there were two of them. Up till that hour I had sympathized with Mr. Besant's method of handling them, as shown in "The Strange Case of Mr.
After all the fuss, we had only about thirty miles to travel, when we got out and drove three miles in a kind of native cart to a dak-bungalow, a very poor and uncomfortable specimen of its kind.
The very improbability of billiards in a dâk-bungalow proved the reality of the thing. No man drunk or sober could imagine a game at billiards, or invent the spitting crack of a "screw-cannon." A severe course of dâk-bungalows has this disadvantage it breeds infinite credulity.
After another cannon, a three-cushion one to judge by the whir, I argued no more. I had found my ghost and would have given worlds to have escaped from that dâk-bungalow. I listened, and with each listen the game grew clearer. There was whir on whir and click on click. Sometimes there was a double click and a whir and another click.
It comes down from a time when the railway and the hotel did not exist; when the occasional white traveler went horseback or by bullock-cart, and stopped over night in the small dak-bungalow provided at easy distances by the government a shelter, merely, and nothing more. He had to carry bedding along, or do without.
He was never voluble. To-day he seemed tongue-tied. Macfarlane continued with an uneasy effort to hide a certain doubt stirring in his mind. "I hear there was a European died at the dâk-bungalow early this morning. I wanted to go round and see, but I haven't been able. It's fairly widespread, but there's no sense in getting scared. Halloa, Merryon!" He broke off, staring.
He had the soldier's instinct for making the most of his height. The square, lounging figure that sauntered towards him looked almost short by comparison. They met about fifty yards from the dâk-bungalow. "Hullo!" said Max. His tone was coolly fraternal, but his hand came out at the same time and Noel remembered the grip of it for some minutes after.
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