"That was a man. You are a woman."
For answer to that she stood on tiptoe and blew the lamp out. He would have slammed the door, but her foot was in the way.
"By dark or daylight, Mukhum Dass, your eyes read nothing but the names on hundis (notes)! Now, what does the car say? Does the voice tell nothing?"
"Aye, it is the same."
"You shall have that title-deed tomorrow at dawn—on certain terms."
"How do I know?'
"Because I say it—I, who said that Chamu would repay his son's loan,— I, who knew from the first all about the title-deed,—I, who know where it is this minute,—I, who know the secrets of Jinendra's priest,—I, whose name stands written on the hundred-rupee note with which the butler paid his son's debt!"
"The princess! The Princess Yasmini! It was her name on the note!"
"Her name is mine!"
The money-lender stood irresolutely, shifting his balance from foot to foot. It was his experience that when people with high-born names came to him by night mysteriously there was always profit in it for himself. And then, there was that title-deed. He had bought the house cheap, but its present value was five times what he gave for it. Its loss would mean more to him than the loss of a wife to some men—as Yasmini knew, and counted on.