“It may be that Kīlin Sahib wishes it also.” The suggestion was made in a meditative tone, and Ferrers turned and looked at the Mirza.
“What do you mean? Hasn’t he just refused to let me go?”
“It is one thing to go for a while and return, and another to depart permanently, sahib,” was the answer.
“You mean that he hopes to make me throw up the frontier altogether? What business has he to try and turn me out?”
“Nay, sahib, it is not for me to say. But it may be he has no desire that there should always be one near him who might carry tales to your honour’s uncle.”
“What tales could I carry? The man’s straight enough. He does himself more harm by one of his own letters that I could do him in a year.”
“Even if your honour told all that you know?”
“Why, of course. What are you driving at, Mirza? I wish you wouldn’t be so abominably mysterious.”
“If Firoz Sahib knows nothing now that his honoured uncle would care to hear, it may be he might learn something.”
“There you go again! What is it? Do you know anything?”