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At night, when all the City was still, came the walk under the evil-smelling boorka, the patrol through Jitha Megji's bustee, the quick turn into Amir Nath's Gully between the sleeping cattle and the dead walls, and then, last of all, Bisesa, and the deep, even breathing of the old woman who slept outside the door of the bare little room that Durga Charan allotted to his sister's daughter.
Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now second year's student in the Mission College." "Of course: you are Kedar Nath's son the boy who said he liked geography better than play or sugar cakes, and I didn't believe you. How is your father getting on?" "He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are depressed, and he also is down on his luck."
He knew too much in the first instance; and he saw too much in the second. He took too deep an interest in native life; but he will never do so again. Deep away in the heart of the City, behind Jitha Megji's bustee, lies Amir Nath's Gully, which ends in a dead-wall pierced by one grated window.
One day, the man Trejago his name was came into Amir Nath's Gully on an aimless wandering; and, after he had passed the buffaloes, stumbled over a big heap of cattle-food. Then he saw that the Gully ended in a trap, and heard a little laugh from behind the grated window.
The message ran then "A widow dhak flower and bhusa, at eleven o'clock." The pinch of bhusa enlightened Trejago. He saw this kind of letter leaves much to instinctive knowledge that the bhusa referred to the big heap of cattle-food over which he had fallen in Amir Nath's Gully, and that the message must come from the person behind the grating; she being a widow.
The khansamah followed her from the bungalow, staggering under the weight of her box and kit-bag, and with Ram Nath's surly assistance made them fast to the front seat. While Amber gave the girl his hand to help her to her place, and lifted himself to her side in a mute glow of ecstasy. Fate, he thought with reason, was most kind to him.
There was no sign whatever from inside the house, nothing but the moonlight strip on the high wall, and the blackness of Amir Nath's Gully behind. The next thing Trejago remembers, after raging and shouting like a madman between those pitiless walls, is that he found himself near the river as the dawn was breaking, threw away his boorka and went home bareheaded.
Another man, a noted runner, formerly a kasid in the employment of the Nawab of the Deccan, was sent in advance to find Surendra Nath's house, give him warning of Desmond's coming, and instruct him to have someone on the lookout for the approach of the enemy, if Diggle were not, indeed, already in possession of the village. The rest pushed on with all speed.
He was drefful sick at last 'n' suffered a heap, 'n' one day he got up offen his bed 'n' tuk down Nath's gun 'n' shot hisself as cool as could be.
"Thank God," he said, with profound emotion, "for a civilised smoke!" "Labertouche!" cried Amber. The pseudo-khansamah rose, bowed formally, and shook hands with considerable cordiality. "It's good to see you whole and sound," he said. "I had to wait until Ram Nath's work began to show results. He's out there, you know, keeping the bottle moving.
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