"Not here, sir!" cried Jehándar Beg, with an ominous scowl passing over his face, at which Afzool Khan involuntarily allowed his hand to steal to his sword hilt, as it lay on the ground. "Not here?"
"Not here," echoed Fazil demurely, dropping his eyes.
"But they were here when you came this morning?"
"Certainly they were; and one of our people took them home for me."
"Yet you promised they should be forthcoming whenever I required them? Beware, Fazil Khan, how you entangle yourself in this matter," returned the Kótwal, sternly.
"I do not think I made any promise, Meerza Sahib," replied Fazil; "'tis you who must be mistaken, pardon me for saying so. I said they concerned the King, our lord and master, and would be shown to him only: and in Durbar to-day they will be presented to him. You will be there, of course?"
"By Alla!" exclaimed the Kótwal; "but if——"
At the oath the old Khan fairly took his sword in his left hand, and placed it across his knees, while he looked grimly at his host; and Fazil saw the upper portion of his father's moustache, where it touched his cheek, quivering with suppressed rage.
Jehándar Beg checked himself, and said, deferentially, "Forgive the oath, Khan Sahib, and you know enough of Persians to excuse it. It would have been pleasant, as fellow-servants of the King, to have shared your confidence. As it is denied, I yield the point; and you are welcome to all the credit of the service you will do my lord. But what say you, gentlemen, to assisting me to re-examine that Khayet who is detained without; you acknowledge, Meah Sahib, at least, that he was rescued by you—perhaps from death?"