"The house of Mukhum Dass!" Yasmini announced.
"The money-lender?"
"Yes."
Dick made a wry face, for the man's extortions were notorious. But Yasmini never paused to cast up virtue when she needed assistants in a hurry; rather she was adept at appraising character and bending it to suit her ends. Ismail, hot and out of breath from running at the cart-tail, was sent to pound the money-lender's door, until that frightened individual came down himself to inquire (with the door well held by a short chain) what the matter was.
"I lend no money in the night!" was his form of greeting. He always used it when gamblers came to him in the heat of the loser's passion at unearthly hours—and sometimes ended by making a loan at very high interest on sound security. Otherwise he would have stayed in bed, whatever the thunderous importunity.
Yasmini was down at the door by that time, and it was she who answered.
"Nay, but men win lawsuits by gathering evidence! Are title-deeds not legal in the dark?"
"Who are you?" he demanded, reaching backward for a little lamp that hung on the wall behind him and trying to see her face.
"I am the same who met you that morning on the hilltop and purchased silence from you at a price."
He peered through the narrow opening, holding the lamp above his head.