‘Ha! a message from the Sultaun. Well, I attend thee,’ and he descended. ‘Now speak; what is it?’
Jaffar regarded him for an instant, and chuckled; it was the laugh of the devil within him. ‘Pardon the question,’ he said, ‘I would ask after thy house; thy wife is sick, I have heard?’
‘Ay, truly; but by my beard I understand thee not, Jaffar; dost thou mock me?’
‘No, by Alla! Hath she been really ill? At the point of death?’
He laughed again—but slightly. ‘They say Kasim Ali Patél saved her life once, Khan Sahib.’
‘Why dost thou ask? away with thy ribald jokes, Jaffar—I like it not. Thou knowest I will not brook insult, least of all from thee.’
‘Pah!’ said the other, ‘I mean no insult; I mean well to thee.’
‘Well?’
‘Ay, well! Art thou sure thy wife was ill? was there no pretence? no deception of thee, to gain her own ends?’
‘Pretence! deception!’