“And the name, sir?”
“Higgeldy Piggeldy,” said Marten.
“Ah! And how is it spelled, please, sahib?”
The sergeant wrote the words slowly and solemnly as my companion spelled them for him.
“And which is the sahib’s birthplace?” he coaxed.
“Look here, now,” roared Marten; “didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask anything else?”
“Ah! Yes, sahib,” said the babu; “but we must have the informations. Please, sir, which is your birthplace?”
“If you don’t chase yourself I’ll break your neck!” roared Marten, springing to his feet.
The officers fell over each other in their haste to get out of Marten’s way. My companion returned to the bench and sat down in ill-tempered silence. The sergeant, urged forward by his fellow officers, came toward us again, and, standing ready to spring, addressed me in gentle tones:
“Sahib, the police wish, please, sir, to know why the sahibs have come to Burdwan.”