CHAPTER VI.
We rode our tiffins back and met Miss Eastinhoe with her friends.
"Let us go on a tiger-hunt," we all remarked, casually.
As we drove home a voice suddenly broke on the darkness.[3]
[3] Another curious Oriental phenomenon, not sufficiently explained by the author.
"Peace, Abdallah Hafiz," it said.
"By the holy poker, the Jibena-inosay!" answered Jacobs, who had recognized the broken voice.
"I have business with thee," continued the voice; "I will be with thee, anon."
"It is Lamb Ral," my companion explained, as the voice faded away. "Facetious as ever; now you have him, and then again you don't have him. We call him the Little Joker, for short."