“She did not roll, then?” said Strickland, bewildered and angry.
“It was only the curb-chain that was lost. Then I cut the saddle and went to drink in the shop. I drank and there was a fray. The rest I have forgotten till I recovered.”
“And the mare the while? What of the mare?”
The man looked at Strickland and collapsed.
“She bore faggots for a week,” he said.
“Oh, poor Diamond!” said Mrs. Strickland.
“And Beshakl was paid four annas for her hire three days ago by the woodcutter’s brother, who is the left-hand man of our rickshaw-men here,” said Adam, in a loud and joyful voice. “We all knew. We all knew. I and the servants.”
Strickland was silent. His wife stared helplessly at the child; the soul out of Nowhere that went its own way alone.
“Did no man help thee with the lies?” I asked of the groom.
“None. Protector of the Poor—not one.”