“On my word, Roger,” laughed Walter, smothering his own annoyance at the turn taken by events, “you look as glum as Lot’s wife when she lost the use of her feet.”
“Who wouldn’t!” demanded Sainton. “We had the silver as good as in our breeches pockets, when some imp of mischief set the King to scratch his nose and talk about marriage.”
“All is not lost yet. I trust to your wit to make his Majesty realize to-morrow in what fashion he spoiled our market. At the worst, we retain our goods, and still can trade in the bazaar.”
Two journeys through the tortuous streets of the city, joined to the labor of unpacking and packing their bales at the palace, had occupied so much of the short November afternoon that the sun was setting with the rapidity peculiar to the tropics ere they reached the caravansary.
The smoke of many fires clung to the ground, spreading over the streets and open spaces a hazy pall some ten feet in height. Beneath, all was murky and dim; above, the tops of trees and the upper stories of houses were sharply silhouetted against the deep crimson-blue of the sky, whilst the stars were already twinkling in myriads overhead. This coverlet of smoke creeps nightly over every Indian town in the cold weather. It is disagreeable to the eyes and nose if not to the artistic senses, and the haze is ofttimes so dense during the hours before midnight that, in the crowded bazaar, the range of vision becomes lessened and even familiar objects cannot be recognized until they are close at hand.
The phenomenon was familiar enough to the two travelers not to excite their notice on this occasion save in one respect. It was essential that heed should be given to the fondness of native servants for appropriating articles which did not belong to them. Naught could be easier than for a pack animal to be slyly driven into a by-path, whence it would never return, whilst search for it and its valuable burden would be time wasted. So now, as on every other night when they chanced to be belated, Mowbray and Sainton kept a sharp eye on their train, and stood at the gate of the caravansary until each mule and bullock had filed within its portals.
They were engaged in this task when the chant of palki-bearers and the glare of torches lighting up the roadway apprised them that some person of importance was being carried toward Agra from the direction of Delhi and the north. The carriers were singing cheerfully, announcing in rhyme the close of a long march, and setting forth the joys of rice and ghi at the end of the day’s toil.
But the verse stopped suddenly, and the rapid shuffle of naked feet through the dust gave place to the objurgations of the torch-bearers addressed to the muleteers and bullock tenders of the Englishmen’s cortège. Native servants curse each other fluently on the slightest provocation, so a lively exchange of compliments affecting the paternity and ancestry of both parties instantly broke out. In reality, nothing could be done. The mules and bullocks, eager as their drivers to have finished with the day’s work, were crowding into the caravansary, and the palki, or litter, could not pass for a minute or so unless the bearers quitted the beaten track and made a détour behind the mud hovels which faced the rest-house. Glad of a moment’s respite the coolies preferred to halt, and wag their tongues scandalously.
Walter, somewhat amused by the scene, did not interfere. There was only one palki, but the number of retainers and loaded ponies behind showed that the traveler was some one of consequence.
The occupant of the litter, evidently wondering what caused the commotion, drew apart the curtains on the side opposite to that on which Mowbray was standing, Sainton, urging on the rearmost of their train, being at some little distance.