Moghul grinned again—grinned with the self-assurance of a man who knows that he holds the winning trump card, that he can play at any moment to the discomfiture of his opponent.
“I think not so, Jewan, my faithful one. Come, fill the pipe again; it need not be put out, even if you do not like my errand. Ah, ah, ah! By my faith, one would think by the look on your face that you had been called upon to disgorge a lac of rupees, instead of to give up possession of a woman that can only cause you a world of trouble.”
“I am not so sure of that. At any rate, having caged the bird, I mean to keep her. She shall pipe for me alone.”
“Oh, oh!—ah, ah! Pass the pipe; this smoke is comforting. You mean to keep her, eh? By the Prophet’s beard, Master Jewan, they are big words. Blow the charcoal, Hadjee,” turning to one of his companions, “that rice does not boil fast enough, and it is not good to laugh much on an empty stomach. You mean to keep her? Ah, ah! That is a good joke. Methinks you will need a strong cage then, and a good keeper.”
“I have both.”
“Have you so? But you forget, my friend, that bars may be broken and keepers bribed.”
“Neither of which you will dare to do.”
“And why, my faithful Jewan?”
“For two reasons.”
“And they are—”