“Honable Tonee, you know well eet ees he, that mos’ accurse’ black devil of all black devils to whom I pray to save my Manuelo.”
“Daisy, it can’t be our royal Bhakdi that you’re referring to in these unmeasured terms?”
And suddenly she clung to him, weeping abjectly through her clicking teeth.
“No, no, nevair say hees name—nevair spik it! Wair ees there I can be hid—wair ees there I can be hid far away? I am a-frighten to die—Manuelo—ah-h—Manuelo!”
The Honourable Tony felt for the small, untidy silken head in the darkness, patting it with deft but reluctant fingers.
“My dear kid, if it’s Bhakdi who’s been frightening you into this state, it’s a good deal simpler than one, two, three to straighten it out. Tell you what: you curl up in this wicker chair—there, put your head back, and take a long breath—and I’ll stroll over to the royal residence and put the fear of God and England into the little blighter. Don’t howl; it’s going to be absolutely all serene, I swear——”
But at that the soft convulsion of weeping deepened to mysterious vehemence.
“No, no, nevair stir—nevair—nevair! He mus’ not know I come here; he mus’ not know I have see you—eef he know that, you die——”
“Daisy, you’ve been running in too much to the cinemas. What you need is a good stiff dose of ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ ‘Off with his head’, what? My good child, the little bounder eats out of my hand—either or both. He——”
“No, no, no, he keel you,” the frantic, obstinate little voice stammered in desperate urgency. “That he tell to me—that he say to me—he keel you.”