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Updated: June 24, 2025
Its loss would mean more to him than the loss of a wife to some men as Yasmini knew, and counted on. "Open the door and let me in, Mukhum Dass! The terms are these " "Nay, we can talk with the door between us." "Very well, then, lose thy title-deed! Dhulap Singh, thine enemy, shall have it within the hour!" She took her foot out from the door and turned away briskly.
The priest went through the form of blessing him, taking more than the usual time about the ceremony for sake of the annoyance that it gave. Gungadhura was too superstitious to dare interrupt him. "Better tell that Mukhum Dass to sell me the house cheap," said the maharajah as a sort of afterthought. Patali had been whispering to him. "Tell him the gods would take it as an act of merit."
Then, when the pain had left his thighs and he felt comfortable, he began with a bomb. "Mukhum Dass the money-lender has been to me to give thanks, and to make a meager offering for the recovery of his lost title-deed! He has it back!" Gungadhura swore so savagely that Patali screamed. "How did he find it? Where?"
Yasmini, hooded like a bandit in the camel-hair cloak, resumed an air of leisurely dignity in keeping with the unhurried habit of Sialpore the moment she was through the gate. It was just as well she did, for Mukhum Dass, the money-lender, followed by a sweating lean parasite on foot, was riding a smart mule on his customary morning round to collect interest from victims and oversee securities.
It was obvious that a keener wit than the babu's had inspired him; but, though he was brow-beaten for an hour he did not implicate Yasmini. But that was not all, either. The murderer of Mukhum Dass was refusing stolidly to plead guilty to another charge, and Blaine's butler had come out with the whole story of the burglary.
Almost exactly at dawn Sita Ram, as sleepy as a homing owl, reached his own small quarters in the densest part of town. He had his hand on the door when another hand restrained him from behind. "You know me?" said a voice he did not know. A moment later his terrified eyes informed him. "Mukhum Dass? I owe you nothing!" "Liar! You have my title-deed! Hand it over before I bring the constabeel!"
With funds ample extravagant supplies of ready cash, he felt he could even negotiate the awkward circumstance that he himself was deeply in debt to Mukhum Dass at the time of the murder. Money and brains combined can accomplish practically anything. Delhi and Bombay and Calcutta were full of clever lawyers. The point was, he must hurry.
The parchment's as old as Methuselah I'll take my oath on that. There's even different ink been used for the map and the margin notes. But that's new blood or my name's Mike! That blood's not a week old! Phew! I bet it's that poor devil Mukhum Dass! Now let's figure on this: Mukhum Dass burgled my house, and was murdered about an hour afterward.
He snapped at his parasite angrily, and the man went away to sit down. Then: "Where are the title-deeds of the house you say you own?" she asked him suddenly. Mukhum Dass kept silence, and tried to smother the raging anger in his eyes.
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