"There is a journey. Across Hind to Simla."
"The hour has arrived?"
"At least the excuse. Give these to one in authority with the British Raj, whose bread we eat." Ahmed slid across the table a very small scroll. "The Mem-sahib is my master's daughter. She must be spirited away to safety."
"Ah!" Lal Singh rubbed his fat hands. "So the time nears when we shall wring the vulture's neck? Ai, it is good! Umballa, the toad, who swells and swells as the days go by. Siva has guarded him well. The king picks him out of the gutter for a pretty bit of impudence, sends him afar to Umballa, where he learns to speak English, where he learns to wear shoes that button and stiff linen bands round the neck. He has gone on, gone on! The higher up, the harder the fall."
"The cellar?"
"There are pistols and guns and ammunition and strange little wires by which I make magic fires."
"Batteries?"
"One never knows what may be needed. You have the key?"
"Yes."
"Hare Sahib's daughter. And Hare Sahib?" with twinkling eyes.