Nicholson rises, signs to the chiefs that they may go.
All rise and bow to him, with both hands to the forehead.
As they turn to go he stops them.
"Stay, gentlemen, one moment. I have a matter with you, Mehtab Singh! Thou camest here intent to show contempt for me, who represent your Queen. But you forget that you are dealing with a Briton—one of that band who never brooks an insult even from an equal, much less from a native of this land. Were I a common soldier it would be the same; a Briton, even though alone, amongst a thousand of your kind, shall be respected, though it brought about his death. That's how we hold the world. To plot against your master brings but trouble on yourself. Take off those shoes."
Mehtab Singh. Face—Dark rouge, not black. Dress—Big turban, coloured dressing gown and girdle, white socks, and black shoes.
[Mehtab starts, draws himself up, and glares at Nicholson angrily.]
Nicholson [very quietly and deliberately]—"Take—off—those—shoes." [Points at them.]
A pause. Mehtab looks round as if for help, takes a step towards Nicholson, but catches his eye, and stops. He sinks slowly on one knee, head down, and slowly takes off his shoes.
Rises, keeping his head down, slowly turns—Nicholson still pointing—and walks slowly out, shoes in hand.