"Nor that a black-bearded banijara selling shawls was lately stripped of his beard and shown to be as smooth of cheek as I myself—a wretched spy of the Feringhis?"
"Hai! I know of such a banijara, and I could have said he would prove but a broken reed as a spy."
"And dost thou not know that our great Bakht Khan has driven a hundred mines beneath the Ridge, and when the moon is full the Feringhis will all be blown to little pieces?"
Fazl Hak threw a keen sidelong look at this informative sepoy.
"Though I would not counsel thee to write word of that on thy little scrolls to Hodson Sahib," added Ahmed, lowering his voice to a whisper.
The maulavi started; an angry flush suffused his cheeks.
"Thou misbegotten son of——!" he exclaimed; but Ahmed interrupted him.
"Let it be peace, good maulavi," he said. "There is little thou dost not know; thou knowest now that the Pathan trader was not such a sorry spy, since I am he. It is pardonable for a man to prove himself, to one of such honoured merit as thou."
"Thou sayest well," said the maulavi, somewhat mollified. "When the troubles are over, come to me; I will pay thee well."
"Nay, I have other service. But if thou hast aught now that thou wouldst send to Hodson Sahib, deliver it to me; I go to him."