"Salam Aliekoom!" cried he. It was enough—he also was a Thug.
"Those words I have not heard for many a year," said he; "they remind me of my early days, and the goor of the Tupounee."
"Then you have eaten it?" said I.
"I have," replied the man.
"Enough," cried I; "I have met with a friend; but who you are I am as yet ignorant."
"Have you not ever heard of Soobhan Khan Jemadar?" he asked. "You say you came from Murnae: surely I must be remembered there?"
"I have," answered I; "those who knew you have believed you dead. How is it that you are here, and a person of authority?"
"I will tell you hereafter of my situation, but at present I have many questions to ask of you—and first, is my good friend Ismail Jemadar alive?"
"My father!" said I, "surely he is; the good old man has attained a fine age, and is well."
"Shookur Khoda!" cried he; "but you said he was your father; surely he had no children—he was not even married when I left."