This was the first time that Kalipada had ascended those stairs. He ran to the upper floor,—the old jersey on his shoulders,—his face flushed with anger and the pain of his illness. As it was Sunday, Sailen and his company were seated in the verandah, laughing and talking. Without any warning, Kalipada burst upon them and shouted:
"Give me back my note!"
If he had begged it of them, they would have relented; but the sight of his anger made them furious. They started up from their chairs and exclaimed:
"What do you mean, sir? What do you mean? What note?"
Kalipada shouted: "The note you have taken from my box!"
"How dare you?" they shouted back. "Do you take us to be thieves?"
If Kalipada had held any weapon in his hand at that moment he certainly would have killed some one among them. But when he was about to spring, they fell on him, and four or five of them dragged him down to his room and thrust him inside.
Sailen said to his companions: "Here, take this hundred-rupee note, and throw it to that dog!"
They all loudly exclaimed: "No! Let him climb down first and give us a written apology. Then we shall consider it!"
Sailen's party all went to bed at the proper time and slept the sleep of the innocent. In the morning they had almost forgotten Kalipada. But some of them, while passing his room, heard the sound of talking and they thought that possibly he was busy consulting some lawyer. The door was shut from the inside. They tried to overhear, but what they heard had nothing legal about it. It was quite incoherent.