"There is danger in the air, Huzoor," he said briefly; "they cried a reward for the infidels in the bazaar yesterday. There is talk of some letter."
"The child must go--go at once," replied his hearer, alert in an instant; but Tiddu shook his head.
"Not till dark, Huzoor. The bullocks are to pass out with the moon, and he must pass out with them. In a sack, Huzoor. Say nothing till the last. Then, the Huzoor knows the cloth merchant's by the Delhi gate?"
Jim Douglas nodded.
"There is a court at the back. The bullocks are there, for we are taking cloth the Lâla wants to smuggle out. A length or two in each empty sack; for he hath been looted beyond limits. So he will have no eyes, not the caravan either, for secret work in dark corners. Bring the boy drugged as he came here, the Rajpootni will carry the bundle as a spinner, to the third door down the lane. 'Tis an empty yard; I will have the bullock there with the half-load of raw cotton. We have two or three more as foils to the empty bags. Come as a Bunjârah, then the Huzoor can see the last of the child, and see old Tiddu's loyalty."
The familiar whine came back to his voice; he could scarcely resist a thrust forward of his open hand. But dignity or no dignity, Jim Douglas knew that itching palm well, and said significantly:
"It will be worth a thousand rupees to you, Tiddu, if the child gets safe."
A look of offended virtue came over the smooth face. "This slave is not thinking of money. The child is as his own child."
"And the mem as your mother, remember," put in the other quickly.
Tiddu hesitated. "If his servant saves the baba, cannot the master save the lady?" he said with the effrontery of a child trying how far he might go; but Jim Douglas' revolver was out in a second, and Tiddu, with an air of injured innocence, went on without a pause: