Lancey took the cigarette, but at this point his honest soul recoiled from the part he seemed to be playing. He rose, and, laying the cigarette respectfully on the ground, said—
“Sanda Pasha, it’s not for the likes o’ me to be sittin’ ’ere smokin’ with the likes o’ you, sir. There’s some mistake ’ere, hobviously. I’ve been treated with the consideration doo to a prince since I fell into the ’ands of the Turks, and it is right that I should at once correct this mistake, w’ich I’d ’ave done long ago if I could ’ave got the Turks who’ve ’ad charge of me to understand Hinglish. I’m bound to tell you, sir, that I’m on’y a groom in a Hinglish family, and makes no pretence to be hanythink else, though circumstances ’as putt me in a false position since I come ’ere. I ’ope your Pashaship won’t think me ungracious, sir, but I can’t a-bear to sail under false colours.”
To this speech Sanda Pasha listened with profound gravity, and puffed an enormous cloud from his lips at its conclusion.
“Sit down,” he said sternly.
Lancey obeyed.
“Light your cigarette.”
There was a tone of authority in the Pasha’s voice which Lancey did not dare to resist. He lighted the cigarette.
“Look me in the face,” said the Pasha suddenly, turning his piercing grey eyes full on him guest.
Supposing that this was a prelude to an expression of doubt as to his honesty, Lancey did look the Pasha full in the face, and returned his stare with interest.
“Do you see this cut over the bridge of my nose?” demanded the Pasha.