Salig Singh said nothing, and Amber pondered the situation briefly. He understood now how the babu's companion had fallen into error: how Chatterji, possessing sufficient intelligence to recognise his initial mistake, had, having rectified it, saved his face by saying nothing to his companion of the incident; and how the latter had remained in ignorance of Rutton's death after the slaying of Chatterji, and had pardonably mistaken Amber for the man he had been sent to spy upon. The prologue was plain enough, but how to deal with this its sequel was a problem that taxed his ingenuity. A single solution seemed practicable, of the many he debated: to get in touch with Labertouche and leave the rest to him.
He stood for so long in meditation that the Rajput began to show traces of impatience. He moved restlessly, yawned, and at length spoke.
"Is not my lord content? Can he not see, the dice are cast? What profit can he think to win through furtherance of this farce?"
"Well," curiosity prompted Amber to ask, "what do you want of me, then?"
"Is there need to ask? Through the Mouthpiece, the Bengali, Behari Lai Chatterji, whom thou didst slay, the message of the Bell was brought to thee. Thou hast been called; it is for thee to answer."
"Called——?"
"To the Gateway of Swords, hazoor."
"Oh, yes; to be sure. But where in thunderation is it?"
"That my lord doth know."
"You think so? Well, have it your own way. But suppose I decline the invitation?"