Yusuf seemed to consider this a title conferring a dignity, for he smiled gravely and bowed.
“And you too, old Beeswax,” continued Chumbley, addressing Ismael, who seemed disappointed at Yusuf getting all the honours, but who now smiled and bowed as well. “You think that Murad will come down on you both for betraying his secrets?”
“It is not betraying, master,” said Yusuf. “We have found the place, and we show it to you. Murad did not trust us.”
“All right,” continued Chumbley. “Well, let me tell you this, that by this time Rajah Murad, or the Sultan as you call him, is safe under lock and key.”
“Thy servant does not understand,” said Yusuf.
“The chief means he is shut up in a little box with the key in his pocket,” interpreted Ismael, gravely.
“That will do,” said Chumbley, smothering a laugh. “He is safe in prison, and you will never see him here again.”
“It is enough,” said Yusuf. “The English are my masters, and I trust to them that their servant shall not have the kris.”
“Now then, how long have you known of this place?”
“Two days, master: a friend told me that his brother was there as guard, but he knew no more.”