"I go down the hill to-morrow, little son," said Strickland.
"Wherefore?" said Adam, reaching out for a ripe mango and burying his head in it.
"Imam Din has caught the men who did the dacoity, and there are also others at Peshawur under suspicion. I must go to see."
"Bus!" said Adam, between the sucks at his mango, as Mrs.
Strickland tucked the napkin round his neck. "It is enough.
Imam Din speaks lies. Do not go."
"It is necessary. There has been great dikhdari (trouble-giving]."
Adam came out of the fruit for a minute and laughed. Then, returning, he spoke between slow and deliberate mouthfuls.
"The dacoits live in Beshakl's head. They will never be caught.
All people know that. The cook knows, and the scullion, and
Rahim Baksh here."
"Nay," said the butler behind his chair, hastily. "What should I know? Nothing at all does the servant of the Presence know."
"Accha," said Adam, and sucked on. "Only it is known."
"Speak, then," said Strickland. "What dost thou know? Remember the sais was beaten insensible."