A little more decision might have saved him the quick question, "With or without leave?"
"Huzoor" palpitated the fat man, "he went out to bathe in the Holy Pool by permission this morning. He is of the utmost sobriety. A Brahmin, promoted by your Honour to, as your Honour knows, general head ward-keeper. He is not to be suspected."
"Leave till 5 P.M.," commented the doctor, looking over the register. "Mark him down absent without leave. Go on."
So, rapidly, the last man ducked under the wicket.
"Is that the lot?"
"Everyone, Protector of the Poor," protested the burly official, with smiles. "The prison is empty of the unfettered."
"Then let it remain so for the present," said Dr. Dillon, coolly, as he stepped forward, closed the wicket, slid the bolt to its place, and turned on the darogah, all in one swift sequence.
"Now, then!" he went on sharply, "you and I have to settle a bit of business. Your keys--" he took out a revolver, and laid it on the table beside him--"every key you have; duplicates, triplicates, everything! I'm going to keep this gaol myself for a bit. Do you understand?"
"Huzoor!" bleated the man, helplessly, putting his big bunch on the table.
Dr. Dillon smiled sarcastically. "Won't do, my friend. I want the lot by the list. Where's the register?"