"
"Am I arrested?"
"No. You're a witness."
"On the contrary, I am prosecutor! I demand as stated formerly full
rigor of the law. I demand capture and arrest, together with fine and
imprisonment of party assaulting me, failing which I shall address
complaint to government!"
"Come along. We'll talk about that at the office."
So the babu was escorted to the stuffy little police office, where
he was made to sit on a bench beside ten native witnesses of other
crimes; and presently he was called to a desk at which a native clerk
presided. There he was made to recite his story again, and since he
had had time in which to think, he told a most amazing, disconnected
yarn that looked even more untruthful by the time the clerk had
written his own version of it on a sheet. To this version the babu
was required to swear, and he did so without a blink.
Then there was more delay, while somebody was found who knew him and
could certify to his address, and it was nearly evening by the time
he was allowed to go.
* * * * *
It was also nearly evening when a messenger arrived at the barracks
to report the death of a Sikh trooper by murder in the bazaar. The
man's name and regimental number proved him to have been one of D
Squadron's men, and since its commander, Ranjoor Singh, was then in
quarters, the news was brought to him at once.
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