He knew too well how efficient the Indian Military
Intelligence Department had proved itself. So he began to collect
information about this white man who might seriously inconvenience them or
derange their plans. And he came to the conclusion that the inquisitive
soldier must be put out of the way.
Assassination can be raised to a fine art in a Native State--where a man's
life is worth far less than a cow's if the State be a Hindu one--provided
that the prying eyes of British Political Officers are not turned that way.
True, Dermot was in British territory, but in such an uncivilised part of
it that his removal ought not to be difficult considering his habit of
wandering alone about the hills and jungle.
So thought the _Dewan_. But the old man found to his surprise that it
was very difficult to put his hand on any one willing to attempt
Dermot's life. No sum however large could tempt any Bhuttia on either
side of the border-line, or any Hindu in the Duars. Even the Brahmin
extremists acting as missionaries on the tea-gardens fought shy of him.
Superstition was his sure shield.
Then the _Dewan_ fell back on the bazaar of Lalpuri City. But in that den
of criminals there was not one cut-throat that did not know of the terrible
Elephant God-Man and the appalling vengeance that he had wreaked on the
Rajah's soldiers in the forest.
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