you, with your mother's milk not yet dry on your lips, rode by my side to throw the dragnet of the British Raj's law around the lying priests of this stinking land. Heathen priests of Shiva and Vishnu, worshiping a monkey and a flower! Aughrrr!" He spat.
Thorneycroft laughed.
"Still the old, intolerant Youssef, aren't you? All right. But I don't need much. Simply this—and that—" He crossed the threshold side by side with the Afghan and followed by the babu. He said a few words, adding: "I hear that you are a much-married man, besides being an amateur of tuwaifs, of dancing-girls. So I'm sure you will be able to help me out. I could have gone to the bazaar and bought the stuff. But there are leaky tongues there—"
It was Youssef's turn to laugh.
"A love affair, child? Perhaps with the daughter of some hill raja?"
"No. Not love. But life—and death. And perhaps—" He was silent. There was again the giant whirring of wings. Then he went on:
"Perhaps again life! Who knows?"
"Allah knows!" piously mumbled Youssef. "He
