“Yes—sahib.”
All the while the zemindar’s eyes were looking furtively from Frank to the lower ground. It was a puzzling situation. The man was not actively hostile, yet his manner betrayed an undercurrent of fear and dislike that could only be accounted for by the downfall of British power in the locality. Thinking Chumru could deal better with his fellow-countryman, Malcolm called him, breaking in on a lively conversation that was going on between his servant and the ekka-wallah.
Chumru, who had told the ryot to dismount, came at once.
“Our friend here says that things are quiet on the river, but there are no boats to be had,” explained Malcolm. Chumru grinned, and the zemindar regarded him with troubled eyes.
“Excellent,” he said. “We shall go to his house and wait while his servants look for a boat.”
This suggestion seemed to please the other man.
“I will go on in front in the ekka,” he agreed, “and lead you to my dwelling speedily.”
Chumru edged nearer his master while their new acquaintance walked towards the ekka.
“Jump down and tie both when I give the word, sahib,” he whispered. “There has been murder done here.”