As they entered the Palace gates the _mahout_ of the animal carrying
Barclay, Dermot, and two planters called to a native standing idly in the
courtyard:
"Why wert thou not out with thy elephant, Ebrahim?"
The man addressed, a grey-bearded Mussulman, replied:
"Shiva-_ji_ is bad today. I fear him greatly."
"Is it the madness of the _dhantwallah_?"
"It is the madness."
And the speaker cracked his finger-joints to avert evil luck.
Dinner was not a very jovial meal among the English guests that night. Much
to their relief the Rajah did not come in to them. The ladies retired early
to their rooms, and the men were not long in following their example.
Barclay and Dermot, who were the only occupants of the floor on which their
rooms were situated--it was the top one of the wing--went upstairs
together. At the Deputy Superintendent's door a man squatted and, as they
approached, rose, and saluted them in military fashion. It was Barclay's
police orderly.
"Hast got it?" asked his master in the vernacular.
"I have got it, Sahib. It is here," and the man placed a small covered
basket in his hands.
"_Bahut atcha. Ruksat hai_" (very good. You have leave to go), said his
officer, using the ordinary Indian formula for dismissing a subordinate.
"Salaam, Sahib."
The orderly saluted and went away down the passage.
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