"Now," she said, "I will tell a little of the why of things." And
Colonel Kirby hoped it was the punkah, and not funk, that made the
sweat stream down his neck until his collar was a mere uncomfortable
mess. "For more than a year there has been much talk in India. The
winds have brought it all to me. There was talk--and the government
has known it, for I am one of those who told the government--of a
ripe time for a blow for independence.
"There have been agents of another Power, pretending to be
merchants, who have sown their seed carefully in the bazaars. And
then there went natives in the pay of the merchants who had word with
native sowars, saying that it is not well to be carried over sea to
fight another's quarrels. All this the government knew, though, of
course, thou art not the government, but only a soldier with a ready
pistol and a dull wit."
"What bearing has this on Ranjoor Singh?" asked Kirby. It was so
long since he had been spoken to so bluntly that he could not sit
still under it.
"I am explaining why the colonel sahib shall beg for his Ranjoor
Singh," she smiled. "Does the fire burn yet, I wonder?"
She struck a gong, and a maid appeared in the door like an instant
echo.
"Does the fire still burn?" she asked.
The maid disappeared, and was gone five minutes, during which Kirby
and Warrington sat in silent wonder.
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