“Yon holy man declares I spoke against the Prophet and his tomb, but it is not so. You who know me are aware I am not one to do any such thing. The mullah is quite mistaken.”
But the stern hostility on the countenances of the chiefs relaxed not one atom—that upon those of their followers deepened, and mutterings of hate rumbled forth from the rows of grim and shaggy faces which encompassed him. Sinewy fingers instinctively tightened round sword hilts and rifle locks. Raynier went on,—
“Believers, although of another creed, we are all the children of one Father, for such is the teaching of the Prophet as revealed to him and set forth in the Holy Koran. And I have seen enough of the followers of the Prophet to respect their faith, and never have I uttered word against that faith—no, not even now. But yon mullah cursed me and named me dog—me, the representative of the Sirkar. Should I accept that meekly, think you?”
But all the reply that this drew was a deeper and renewed execration.
“What of Allahyar Khan?” hissed the mullah at the chief’s side. “What of the Sirdar Allahyar Khan?”
The effect upon the Nawab was as that of a sting. Yet he spoke coldly, as though striving to suppress the rage that consumed him.
“Answer me, Raynier Sahib. Was General Raynier Sahib, who commanded troops at the time of the great rising thy father?”
“Surely, Nawab Sahib. But that is a long past and forgotten misfortune. Why revive it?”
“And he commanded the troops that came to Grampur after it had been reconquered?”
It was impossible but that Raynier’s natural perceptions, let alone his experience of Orientals, should have failed to convince him that here, and not in any tale told by the mullah, lay the secret of Mushîm Khan’s changed attitude towards him. Some of their people had been killed at that time, was the solution, and this rascally mullah had stirred up the recollection. He knew how the blood feud can be tossed on from generation to generation among these mountain tribes. Still, there was only one answer possible.