They are. Cotton blankets from
Muenchen-Gladbach. Only, the middle blankets have been omitted, and
the outer ones have served as a cushion to prevent accidental
discharge. They have been imported in small lots at a time, and
brought here four or five at a time in ox-carts from one or other of
the Delhi railway stations by men who are no longer in this part of
India--men who have been pensioned off."
"How did you get them through the Customs?" wondered Ranjoor Singh.
"Did you ever see a rabbit go into his hole?" the German asked.
"They were very small consignments, obviously of blankets. The duty
was paid without demur, and the price paid the Customs men was worth
their while. That part was easy!"
"Of what size are the bombs?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"About the size of an orange. Come, I'll show you."
He led him to an opened bale, and showed him two hundred of them
nestling like the eggs of some big bird.
"My God!" moaned Sita Ram. "Are those dynamite? Sahibs--snakes are
better! Snakes can feel afraid, but those--ow! Let me go away!"
"Let him go," said the German. "Let him take his message."
"Go, then!" ordered Ranjoor Singh; and the German walked to the door
to let him out.
"What is your message?" he asked.
"To Yasmini first, for she is in touch with all of them," said Sita
Ram.
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