He slept a little before dawn, and was aroused by voices below. He listened.
"I am Jawahir Lal, the water carrier. Each day at dawn I water the garden of Ramabai to pay a debt."
Bruce looked toward Ramabai, who slept the sleep of the profoundly wearied. A bheestee, perhaps a messenger.
"Go around to the rear gate, which can be opened," said the trooper.
Bruce went to the window overlooking the garden. He saw the water carrier enter through the bamboo gate, heard the water slosh about jerkily as the bheestee emptied his goatskin. He watched the man curiously; saw him drop the skin and tiptoe toward the house, glance to right and left alertly. Then he disappeared. Presently at the head of the stairs Bruce heard a whisper—"Ramabai!"
"Who is it?" Bruce whispered in the dialect.
"Ahmed."
Ahmed. Who was Ahmed?
Bruce shook Ramabai. "Ahmed is here. Who is he?" he asked softly.
"Ahmed?" drowsily. Then, wide awake enough: "Ahmed? He was Hare Sahib's head animal man. Where is he?"