“Aye! The liar says the Germans gave it to him! He swears they will send more. Who are the Germans? Who is a man who talks of a jihad that is to be, that he should have gold coin given him by unbelievers? I saw a German once, at Nuklao. He ate pig-meat and washed it down with wine. Are such men sons of the Prophet? Wait and watch, say I!”
“Money?” said King. “He admits it? And none dare kill him for it? You say his time is not yet come?”
More than ever it was obvious that the hakim was a very simple man. The Pathan made a gesture of contempt.
“I dare what I will, hakim! But he says there is more money on the way! When he has it all--why--we are all in Allah's keeping--He decides!”
“And should no more money come?”
This was courteous conversation and received as such--many a long league removed from curiosity.
“Who am I to foretell a man's kismet? I know what I know, and I think what I think! I know thee, hakim, for a gentle fellow, who hurt me almost not at all in the drawing of a bullet out of my flesh. What knowest thou about me?”
“That I will dress the wound for thee again!”
Artless statements are as useful in their way as artless questions. Let the guile lie deep, that is all.
“Nay, nay! For she said nay! Shall I fall foul of her, for the sake of a new bandage?”