“I am his servant--for she said so--and he said so. As the custom is he gave me the key of the great bag--on which I sit--as he said himself, for safe-keeping. Then why--why in Allah's name--am I not to have the key of this bag too? Of this little bag that holds so little and is so light?”
“It might be money in it?” hazarded one of the herd.
“Nay, for that it is too light.”
“Paper money!” suggested another man. “Hundies, with printing on the face that sahibs accept instead of gold.”
“Nay, I know where his money is,” said Ismail. “He has but little with him.”
“A razor would slit the leather easily,” suggested another man. “Then with a hand inserted carefully through the slit, so as not to widen it more than needful, a man could soon discover the contents. And later, the bag might be dropped or pushed violently against some sharp thing, to explain the cut.”
Ismail shook his head.
“Why? What could he do to thee?”
“It is because I know not what he would do to me that I will do nothing!” answered Ismail. “He is not at all like other sahibs I have had dealings with. This man does unexpected things. This man is not mad, he has a devil. I have it in my heart to love this man. But such talk is foolishness. We are all her men!”
“Aye! We are her men!” came the chorus, so that King looked up and watched them over the open book.