“The serpent is deadly. Many time Ranjab have take the poison from its fangs and it becomes his slave. He would have take the poison from the serpent in his master's house, but the serpent change before his eye and he become the slave. She speak to him on the voice of the wind and he obey. It is the law. Kismet! His master have of wives two. Two, sahib, the living and the dead. They speak with Ranjab to-day and he obey.”
There was dead silence in the room for many minutes after the remarkable utterances of the mystic. Master and man looked into each other's eyes and spoke no more, yet something passed between them.
“The sahibah has sent Roberts for a priest,” said the Hindu at last.
“A priest? But I am not a Catholic—nor Frederic.”
“Madam is. The servants are saying that the priest will be here too late. They are wondering why you have not already killed me, sahib.”
“Kill you, too?”
“They are now saying that the last stroke of the gong, sahib, was the death-sentence for Ranjab. It called me here to be slain by you. I have told them all that I fired the———”
“Go down at once, my friend,” said Brood, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. “Let them see that I do not blame you, even though we permit them to believe this lie of ours. Go, my friend!”
The man bent his head and turned away. Near the door he stopped stock-still and listened intently.
“The sahibah comes.”