In truth, the news that John Nicholson was coming to Delhi made even Jim Douglas hesitate at risking anything unnecessarily, so long as things went smoothly. As for the letter to Major Erlton, it was no doubt true that the number of spies sending information to the Ridge had made it difficult of late to send any, since the guards were on the alert.
It was, indeed, even for the Queen herself, who had a missive she was peculiarly anxious should not fall into strange hands.
"There is no fear, Ornament of Palaces," said Ahsan-Oolah urbanely; "I will stake my life on its reaching." He did not add that his chief reason for saying so was that a similar letter, written by the King, had been safely delivered by Rujjub Ali, the spy, whose house lay conveniently near the physician's own, and from whom both the latter and Elahi-Buksh heard authentic news from the Ridge. News which made them both pity the poor old pantaloon who, as they knew well, had been a mere puppet in stronger hands. And these two, laying their heads together, in one of those kaleidoscope combinations of intrigue which made Delhi politics a puzzle even at the time, advised the King to use the vox celeste as an antidote to the vox humana of the city, which was being so diligently fostered by the Queen and Bukht Khân. Let him say he was too old for this world, let him profess himself unable longer to cope with his coercers and claim to be allowed to resign and become a fakir! But the dream still lingered in the old man's brain. He loved the brocaded bags, he loved the new cushion of the Peacock throne; and though the cockatoo's crest was once more showing a yellow tinge through the green, the thought of jehâd lingered sanctimoniously. But other folk in the Palace were beginning to awake. Other people in Delhi besides Tiddu had heard that Nikalseyn was on his way from the Punjâb and not even the rose-red walls had been able to keep out his reputation. Folk talked of him in whispers. The soldiers, unable to retreat, unwilling to fight, swore loudly that they were betrayed; that there were too many spies in the city. Of that there could be no doubt. Were not letters found concealed in innocent looking cakes and such like? Had not one, vaguely suggesting that some cursed infidels were still concealed in the city, been brought in for reward by a Bunjârah who swore he had picked it up by chance? The tales grew by the telling in the Thunbi Bazaar, making Prince Abool-Bukr, who had returned to it incontinently after the disastrous failure of faith on the 2d, hiccough magnificently that, poor as he was, he would give ten golden mohurs to anyone who would set him on the track of a hell-doomed. Yea! folk might laugh, but he was good for ten still. Ay! and a rupee besides, to have the offer cried through the bazaar; so there would be an end to scoffers!
"What is't?" asked the languid loungers in the wooden balconies, as the drum came beating down the street.
"Only Abool offering ten mohurs for a Christian to kill," said one.
"And he swore he had not a rupee when I danced for him but yesterday," said another.
"He has to pay Newâsi, sister," yawned a third.
"Then let her dance for him--I do it no longer," retorted the grumbler.
So the crier and his drums passed down the scoffing bazaar. "He will find many at that price," quoth some, winking at their neighbors; for the Prince was a butt when in his cups.
Thus at earliest dawn next morning, the 7th of August, Tiddu gave a signal knock at the door of the roof, rousing Jim Douglas who, since the child's arrival, had taken to sleeping across it once more.