“We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knows anything about it?”
“He may, for aught I know, but I don't think it's likely. He has only been here two or three days.”
“What's your notion?” I asked.
“I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side of the ceiling-cloth?”
There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom door. This showed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep and wished to put Strickland to bed.
“Come in,” said Strickland. “It is a very warm night, isn't it?”
Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot Mohammedan, said that it was a very warm night, but that there was more rain pending, which, by his honor's favor, would bring relief to the country.
“It will be so, if God pleases,” said Strickland, tugging off his hoots. “It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselessly for many days—ever since that time when thou first came into my service. What time was that?”
“Has the heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly to Europe without warning given, and I—even I—came into the honored service of the protector of the poor.”
“And Imray Sahib went to Europe?”