"You are dacoits," said a hoarse voice from inside; "or you would not come at this hour."
"No, we are not," we entreated. "Please open. We are well-to-do people. We will harm no one, and pay for all."
"Middu, Middu!" ("Cannot be, no.") "You are dacoits. I will not open."
To show that we were not what they imagined, faithful Chanden Sing and Dola tapped again so gently at the door that the bolt gave way. The next moment ten strangers were squatting down round a warm fire drying their shrivelled-up, soaked skins by the flame of dried tamarisk and dung. The landlord, a doctor by the way, was reassured when he saw that we had no evil intentions, and found some silver coins in the palm of his hand. Yet he said he would rather that we slept somewhere else: there was a capital empty hut next door.
On our agreeing to this, he conducted us to the place, and there we spent the remainder of the night, or rather the early morning.
CHAPTER XLIV
The interior of a serai—Vermin—Fish, local jewellery, and pottery for sale—Favourite shapes and patterns—How pottery is made.
Our abode was a one-storeyed house built of stones and mud with a flat roof. There were two rooms, the first lighted by the door, the second and larger having a square aperture in the ceiling for the triple purpose of ventilation, lighting and outlet for the smoke of the fire, which burnt directly underneath in the centre of the room. The beams and rafters supporting the roof had been brought over from the other side of the Himahlyas, as no wood is to be found in Western Tibet.