"See, Hidayetullah," said the blind faquir "when next he comes, say then to me, 'May I bring thee tobacco, Pir Saheb, if he be sitting near, but say 'May I bring thee tobacco, Moulvie Saheb, if he be sitting afar off. If this, speak to him across the room that I may hear his voice in answer, and call him by his name, Abdulali Habbibullah.
The Pushtoo-knowing English dog, that Abdulali Habbibullah," and he drew his Khyber knife and circled round Ross-Ellison. A clatter of heavy boots, the opening of wooden "windows" that looked inward on to the high-walled courtyard, and in a minute a throng of Pathans and other Mussulmans entered the compound from the house some obviously aroused from heavy slumber.
The blind man, listening intently, sat motionless for a minute and then again asked sharply: "Who spoke? Who spoke?" "Many have spoken Pir Saheb," replied the squat Pathan. "Who said 'You are right, brother, but now? Who? Quick!" he cried. "Who? Why, 'twas one of us," replied the squat Pathan. "Yea, 'twas Abdulali Habbibullah, the money-lender. I have known him long...."