"Thank you," replied Ramma Lal gratefully. "Agni will bless you for your beneficence."
The men released their hold. One closed the window, the other shut the door, and placed himself before it.
Ramma Lal took off his silk hat, muffler, and coat. He advanced to the idol and salaamed low three times. Then he raised his eyes and sang.
Travers knew the song. It was a ribald ditty of the bazaars, and it had as much to do with the worship of Agni as with the laws of gravitation.
He watched the Baboo with increasing interest. He had evidently some ulterior object in view, but what was it? Ah!
Ramma Lal had gradually approached the idol. Still singing, he had bowed his head till it had almost touched Agni's knees. Travers hardly saw the movement of the hands. Only an Oriental could have done it so swiftly. The two candles were suddenly extinguished, and the room was in absolute darkness.
With loud imprecations the two grooms rushed to where the Baboo had been—to collide with each other, and incidentally bring down the huge candlesticks. Then recovering, they dashed about the room in search of their prisoner, only to seize the boy who had the clothes. Finally one of them struck a light.
They were alone with the boy. The window was again wide open.
The men leaned out. There was no moon. The lights of the searchers flashed in the distance. They turned blankly to each other.
"There'll be pop to pay for this," said the boy, who was still suffering from rough usage in the dark. "You'll both jolly well get sacked."