I thanked my host; and, without any sort of pressing, yielded to his every wish—even unto playing écarté with him, while smoking his cheroots and drinking his brandy-and-water. The stakes were not very high. Only a rupee a game. During the deals, my host would frequently exclaim:
"By Jove! what a godsend it is to have some one to talk to for a few hours! I have been out for five days; and, during that time, have not uttered a word in my own language. Haven't had the luck to come across a soul. This escorting treasure is the most awful part of an officer's duty, especially at this season of the year."
"But it must be done," I suggested.
"Yes. But why not by native officers?"
"Would the treasure be safe with them?"
"Safe? Just as safe as it is now, if not safer; for, although I am responsible for the money in these boxes, I don't know that the whole amount is here. I didn't count it; and, if there was any deficiency, I should say so. Now, a native officer would satisfy himself on the subject before he took charge. Don't you see?"
Here our conversation was interrupted by a havildar (native sergeant), who appeared at the door of the tent, saluted the Lieutenant, and uttered in a deep and solemn tone of voice the word Sa-hib!
"Well. What's the matter?" said the Lieutenant.
"Maun Singh Sipahee is very ill."