He walked straight to the babu, and that
gentleman eyed him with obvious distrust.
"Did you see my trooper murdered?" he demanded; for he had learned
directness under Colonel Kirby, and applied it to every difficulty
that confronted him.
Natives understand directness from an Englishman, and can parry it;
but from another native it bewilders them, just as a left-handed
swordsman is bewildered by another left-hander. The babu blinked.
"How much had you seen when you ran to warn me this afternoon?"
The babu looked pitiful. His fat defenseless body was an absolute
contrast to the Sikh's tall manly figure. His eye was furtive,
glancing ever sidewise; but the Sikh looked straight and spoke
abruptly though with a note of kindness in his voice.
"There is no need to fear me," he said, since the babu would not
answer. "Speak! How much do you know?"
So the babu took heart of grace, producing a voice from somewhere
down in his enormous stomach and saying, of course, the very last
thing expected of him.
"Grief chokes me!" he asserted.
"Take care that I choke thee not, _babuji_! I have asked a
question. I am no lawyer to maneuver for my answer. Did you see that
trooper killed?"
The babu nodded; but his nod was not much more than tentative. He
could have denied it next minute without calling much on his
imagination.
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