"Bhojpoorees!" said I; "then I dare say they are Thugs. What Bhojpooree was ever an honest man?"
"No, they are not Thugs, Meer Sahib, for I have tried them with the password. But, between you and me, I think my friend Hittah Singh only wants an opportunity to be as great a rascal as I am myself,—may Alla pardon me!"
"I have no doubt of it," said I. "Where is he?"
"Shall I call him?"
"Do so," said I. "If I cannot persuade him, I will bully him; and, if the worst comes to the worst, you know we are more than three hundred to six, and they would have but little chance."
"True, Meer Sahib; but no violence, I pray; have some consideration for my good name. If the Europeans heard of violence having been done, they would turn me out of my place."
"And you would turn Thug, I suppose. But quick, Potailjee, call the man here."
He was absent for a short time, and returned with a short mean-looking fellow; and I could plainly see that rascal was written on his countenance. You know the old proverb—"Chor ke daree men, tinka" (there is always a straw in a thief's beard). Salutations were exchanged, and I came to the point at once.
"Look you, Duffadar Sahib," said I to him, "you may have guessed what we are?" He nodded assent. "This is good," I continued, "as perhaps you may have guessed at our object."