"And you think I'm Rutton—Har Dyal Rutton, as you call him, the former
Maharana who abdicated in your favour?"
The Rajput shrugged expressively, an angry light in his dark, bold eyes. "It pleases my lord to jest," he complained; "but am I a child, to be played with?"
"I'm not joking, Salig Singh, and this business is no joke at all. What I'm trying to drive into your head is the fact that you've made the mistake of your life. I'm not Rutton and I'm nothing like Rutton; I am an American citizen and——"
"Pardon, hazoor, but is this worth thy while? I am no child; what I know I know. If thou art indeed not Har Dyal Rutton, how is it that thou dost wear upon thy finger the signet of thy house"—Salig Singh indicated the emerald which Amber had forgotten—"the Token sent thee by the Bell? If thou are not my lord the rightful Maharana of Khandawar, how is it that thou hast answered the summons of the Bell? Are the servants of the Body fools who have followed the hither, losing trace of thee no single instant since thou didst slay the Bengali who bore the Token to thee? Am I blind—I, Salig Singh, thy childhood's playmate, the Grand Vizier of thy too-brief rule, to whom thou didst surrender the reins of government of Khandawar? I know thee; thou canst not deceive me. True it is that thou art changed—sadly changed, my lord; and the years have not worn upon thee as they might—I had thought to find thee an older man and, by thy grace, a wiser. But even as I am Salig Singh, thou art none other than my lord, Har Dyal Rutton."
Salig Singh put his shoulders against the wall and, leaning so with arms folded, regarded Amber with a triumph not unmixed with contempt. It was plain that he considered his argument final, his case complete, the verdict his. While Amber found no words with which to combat his false impression, and could only stare, open-mouthed and fascinated. But at length he recollected himself and called his wits together.
"That's all very pretty," he admitted fairly, "but it won't hold water. I don't suppose these faithful servants of the Bell you mentioned happened to tell you that Chatterji himself mistook me for Rutton, to begin with, and just found out his mistake in time to recover the Token. Did they?"
The man shook his head wearily. "Nothing to that import hath come to mine ears," he said.
"All right. And of course they didn't tell you that Rutton committed suicide down there on Long Island, just after he had killed the babu?"
Again Salig Singh replied by a negative movement of his head.
"Well, all I've got to say is that your infernal 'Body' employs a giddy lot of incompetents to run its errands."