Another knock. 'Lady?'
'Ask him what he wants,' whispers Goolab.
I felt her tremble, but she did it well, calling out in a sleepy voice: 'Who is it?'
'Sefreen Singh, my lady.' A pause. 'Are you … pardon me … are you alone?'
She waited and then called: 'I'm asleep … what was that? Of course I'm alone …' Goolab grimaced over her head at me—he was enjoying this, rot him!
'A thousand pardons, lady.' The voice was all apology. 'I have orders to search. There is a badmash about. If you will please to open …'
'Well, he's not here,' she was beginning, but Goolab was at her ear again:
'We must let him in! But first … beguile him.' He winked. 'If he is to enter with a weapon ready, let it not be a steel one.'
She glared, but nodded, gave me a melting glance as she disengaged her right tit from my unwitting grasp, and called out impatiently. 'Oh, very well … a moment …'
Goolab drew his sabre noiselessly, passed it to me, and took the short sword from my belt, pricking his thumb on the point. 'He's mine. If I miss … take off his head.' He limped swiftly to the latch side of the door, motioned me to stand behind it, and nodded to the widow. She set her hand on the bolt and spoke softly:
'Sefreen Singh … are you alone?' Honey wouldn't have melted.
'Why … why, yes, my lady!'
'You're sure?' She gave a little murmuring laugh. 'In that case … if you promise to stay a while … you may come in …'
She slipped the bolt, opened the door, and turned away, glancing over her shoulder, and in steps Barnacle Bill, not believing his luck, to receive Goolab's updriven point beneath his bearded chin before he'd gone a step. One savage, expert thrust into the brain—he went down without a sound, Goolab breaking his fall, and when I turned from fumbling the door to with a shaking hand the old ruffian was wiping his blade on the dead man's shirt.
'Eighty-two,' chuckles he, and Bibi Kalil gave a long, shuddering sigh between clenched teeth; her eyes were shining with excitement. Aye, well, that's India for you.
'Now, away!' snaps Goolab. 'This buys us moments, no more! Do you show him the way down, chabeli! I'll bide here until you're at the street door —'
'Why?' cries the widow.
'Oh, to beguile my leisure!' snarls he. 'In case others come knocking, you witless heifer! Can I keep up, with my foot afire? But I can hold a door—aye, or parley, perchance! They may think twice before putting steel into Goolab Singh!' He thrust us away. 'Out with him, woman, so that he can sing the praise of this night's work to Hardinge sahib! Go! Never fear, I'll follow!'
But first she must embrace him, and he laughed and kissed her, saying that she was a good-sister to be proud of. Then she had me by the hand, and we were through the low door and down stone steps to a passage which ended in an iron grille. Beyond it the alley lay dark and deserted, but she shrank back, gasping that we must wait. Between the danger behind and the unknown perils out yonder, I was scared neutral, and in a moment Goolab came hobbling down, yelping at each step.
'I heard them on the outer stair! God's love, if this doesn't win me the White Queen's seal on Kashmir, there's no gratitude left! What, an empty street! Well, empty or not, we cannot wait! My sabre, Flashman—we stout bellies need a full sweep! Now, harken—back to back if we must, but if it grows hot, each for himself!'
'I'll not leave you, my lord!' cries Bibi Kalil.
'You'll do as I bid, insolence! At all costs, he must win clear, or our labour's wasted! Now one either side of me, and open the gate, softly … '
'But Donkal is not come!' wails the widow.
'Donkal be damned! We have five feet among us, but we'll lack three heads if we linger! Come on!'
We stumbled into the alley, the widow and I supporting his ponderous weight, and blundered ahead into the dark, myself in blind panic, Bibi Kalil whimpering softly, and the Lord of Kashmir gasping blasphemies and encouragement—all we needed was a bowl to put to sea in. From beyond the house we could hear voices raised, and the distant sound of hammering on a door, with someone calling for Sefreen Singh. We reached the alley end, and as Bibi Kalil sped ahead to scout, Goolab hung on my shoulder, panting.
'Aye, get up, Sefreen, and let them in!' croaks he. 'All clear, sweetheart? Bless her plump limbs, when we come to Jumoo she'll have a new emerald each day, and singing girls to tell her stories—aye, and twenty stalwart lads as bodyguards—on, on, quickly! Oh, for five sound toes again!'
We stumbled round the corner and on into a little court where four ways met, and a torch guttered in a bracket overhead, casting weird shadows. Bibi Kalil sped to one of the openings—and screamed suddenly, darting back, Goolab stubbed his gouty foot and tumbled down, cursing, and as I hauled him up two men came bounding out of the alley and hurled themselves on us.
If they'd been out to kill, we'd have been done for, with me hauling at the stranded Goolab—but capture was what they were after. The first clutched for my sword-arm, and got my point in the shoulder for his pains. 'Shabash, Afghan killer!' roars Goolab, still on his knees, and ran him through the body, but even as the fellow went down, his comrade threw himself on Goolab, choking off the triumphant yell of 'Eighty-three!' and bearing him to earth. Bibi Kalil ran in, screaming and tearing at the attacker's face with her nails, while I danced about making shrill noises and looking for a chance to pink him—until it occurred to me that there were better uses for my time than this, and I turned tail up the nearest alley.
Well, Goolab had said each for himself, but I won't pretend that I've ever needed leave to bolt. I hadn't been given the precious gift of life to cast it away in back alleys, brawling on behalf of fat rajas and randy widows, and I was going like a startled fawn and rejoicing in my youth when I saw a glare of torchlight ahead of me, and realised with horror that round the next corner running feet were approaching. Serve you right, poltroon, says you, for leaving pals in the lurch, now you'll get your cocoa—but we practised absconders don't give up so easy, I can tell you. I came to a slithering halt, and as the powers of darkness came surging into view, full of spite and action, I was stock-still and pointing back to the little court, where Goolab and the widow could be seen apparently disembowelling the Second Robber, who wasn't taking it quietly.
'Here they are, brothers!' I shouted. 'On, on, and take them! They're ours!'
I even started back towards the court, stumbling artistically to let them catch up—and if you think it was a desperate stratagem … well, it was, but it seldom fails, and it would have succeeded then if I'd had the wit to follow a yard or two farther as they raced past me. But I was too quick to turn again and flee; one of them must have seen me from the tail of his eye and realised that this vociferous badmash wasn't one of the gang, for he pulled up, yelling, and came after me. I held my lead round one corner and the next, saw a convenient opening and dodged through it, and crouched gasping in the shadows as the pursuit went tearing by. I leaned against the wall, eyes closed, utterly done with fear and exertion, getting my breath back, and only when I took a cautious peep out did it strike me that the scenery was familiar … the little wicket in the opening … I squealed aloud, wheeling round, and sure enough, there before me was the outside stairway up to the porch, and two fellows were carrying down the earthly remains of Sefreen Singh, and from various parts of Bibi Kalil's garden about a dozen bearded faces were regarding me with astonishment. Among them, not ten feet away, arms akimbo and scowling like a teetotal magistrate, was General Maka Khan, and beside him, exclaiming with unholy delight, was the Akali fanatic.
I've said I don't give up easy, and it's with pride that I recall tumbling out into the alley and tottering away, calling for the police, but they were on me within five yards, bearing me bodily into the garden, while I announced my name and consequence at the top of my voice, until they stuffed a gag into my mouth. They dragged me round to the garden room and thrust me into a chair, two holding my arms and a third my hair; they were street rascals, but the others who crowded in were Khalsa to a man, some in uniform; apart from Maka and the Akali there were Sikh officers, a burly naik*(*Corporal.) of artillery with a hideously-pitted face, and Imam Shah, knives and all. He threw my blood-stained short sword on the table.
'Two dead in the street, lord general,' says he. 'And your aide, Sefreen. The others who were with this one have not yet been found —'
'Then stop the search,' says Maka Khan. 'We have what we want—and if one of the others is who I think he is … the less we see of him the better.'
'And the widow?' cries the Akali. 'That practising slut who has betrayed us?'
'Let them both go! They'll do us less harm alive than if we had their deaths to answer for.' He pointed at me.
