"My lord, my lord!" cried the Lalla piteously; "mercy, I am no thief; I am a poor Khayet of Delhi, travelling to Beejapoor, on business of my own—a stranger—a poor stranger."
"What business, Lalla?"
"My lord, we are merchants, and have dealings with people there for clothes and jewels. There is a dispute about the accounts, and I have come to settle them," said the Lalla glibly enough. It was one of the stories he had made up by the way.
"Who are the merchants?" asked the chief.
"The Gosais of the Mutt at Kullianee, where I was yesterday; they sent me on," replied the Lalla.
"O, hear!" cried Gopal Singh; "they knew nothing about thee, except that thou hadst a bill on them for a thousand rupees, and the money was given thee in gold. Is not this true? Did I not hear it myself?"
"Thou art no merchant, dog," exclaimed Pahar Singh. "Did ever merchant make an obeisance like that? Ah, we are true testers of gold here; the true and the false are soon found out. Who art thou? speak truly, and fear not."
"By the shrine at Muttra, by the Holy Mother, I am what I say, a poor Khayet, a Mutsuddee only. O noble sirs," continued the Lalla, "give me my property, and let me go. I will seek shelter in the bazar: let me go, for the love of your children."
"I beg to petition," interposed Lukshmun, joining his hands, "that, as I brought him, my share of the gold be given me before he goes. I took care of him on the road—did I not, master?"
"Silence!" roared the chief; "any one who speaks shall be flogged. Who art thou, O liar? Mutsuddee thou art, but whose? Thy speech betrays thee—beware!"