"Oh! Which way went the murderer?"
"Grief overwhelms me!" said the babu.
"Grief for what?"
"For my money--my good money--my emoluments!"
Direct as an arrow though he was in all his dealings, Ranjoor Singh
had not forgotten how the Old East thinks. He recognized the
preliminaries of a bargain, and searched his mind to recall how much
money he had with him; to have searched his pocket would have been
too puerile.
"What of them?"
"Lost!"
"Where? How?"
"While standing here, observing movements of him whom I suspected to
be murderer, a person unknown--possibly a Sikh--perhaps not--removed
money surreptitiously from my person."
"How much money?"
"Rupees twenty-five, annas eight," said the babu unwinking. He
neither blushed nor hesitated.
"I will take compassion on your loss and replace five rupees of it,"
said Ranjoor Singh, "when you have told me which way the murderer
went."
"My eyes are too dim, and my heart too full with grief," said the
babu. "No man's memory works under such conditions. Now, that money--"
"I will give you ten rupees," said Ranjoor Singh.
This was too easy! The babu was prepared to bargain for an hour,
fighting for rupee after rupee until his wit assured him he had
reached the limit. Now he began to believe he had set the limit far
too low.
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