When it came he ticked them off rapidly by it. "Sections B and C, warder's duplicate; where's that?" he asked.
The official grew green. "Kishen Rao--" he began--"but he is of the utmost--"
Dr. Dillon turned on him like lightning. "You're a damned scoundrel, sir! What else is missing?" He ran over the rest swiftly, then looked up suddenly with a scowl that made the man literally collapse. "So that's it, is it? Duplicate of B and C sections missing, and duplicate of the alley doors. A pretty little game!" he laughed sardonically.
"Kishen Rao--" gurgled the darogah--"by your Honour's promotion--of the utmost--"
"But it won't play, my friend; it won't play!" went on the doctor, with a curious elation. "I hold the thirteenth trump, now. You go in there,"--he pointed to an inner store-room behind the slip of an office; a windowless place, pitch dark, where the clothes in which the prisoners arrived awaited their release in piles--"and thank your stars you're in such good quarters."
All but that brief order, "You go in there," was spoken in English, as a sort of outlet for the intense satisfaction which was filling him at his own success,--so far.
The next minute he had turned the key on the darogah, and was up the stairs calling Eugene Smith in a low voice to come down and help to bolt and bar; but to come as quietly as he could.
"I've got rid of the lot," he said joyously, after he had explained the position in a few rapid words; "there isn't a soul in this section except the solitary cellers--who, of course, are ironed--a few sick people, and the assistant surgeon; but baboo-jee is an agnostic, and is so confoundedly afraid of the possibility of a future life that he may be trusted to go into green collapse if he hears a shot fired."
So, rapidly, the two men set to work, undisturbed by more than a protesting "Huzoor, what shall we do?" from the posse outside the first gate, and a low knocking at the wicket.
There were double doors here, however, and of the sort which it would need time to negotiate, without powder.