There was just a little break in Strickland's voice, and the man caught it. Bending low, he answered in the abject, fawning whine that confounds right and wrong more surely even than most modern creeds, "Protector of the Poor, is the police service shut to an honest man?"
"Out!" cried Strickland, and swiftly as the groom departed he must have heard our shout of laughter behind him.
"If you dismiss that man, Strick, I shall engage him. He's a genius," I said. "It will take you months to put this mess right, and Billy Watson won't give you a minute's peace."
"You aren't going to tell him?" said Strickland, appealingly.
"I couldn't keep this to myself if you were my own brother. Four men held in your district -four or forty at Peshawur - and what was that you said about Multan?"
"Oh, nothing. Only some camel men there have been -"
"On account of a curb-chain. Oh, my aunt!"
"And whose memsahib was thy aunt?" said Adam, with the mango stone in his fist. We began to laugh again.
"But here," said Strickland, pulling his face together, "is a very bad child who has caused his father to lose honour before all the policemen of the Punjab."
"Oh, they know," said Adam. "It was only for the sake of show that they caught the people. Assuredly they all knew it was bunao [make-up]."