Diana’s tail thumped on the floor. Flies buzzed in and out through the window. There was nothing in the situation to cause nervousness, and yet Ommony confessed to himself that he felt an inclination to shudder; the sort of inclination that forewarns a man of something that his eyes can not see. He spoke first, purposely in English, hoping to catch the chela off-guard:
“Maitraya has suggested that those young women who are with the party are your wives. That seems improbable. Tell me the truth about it.”
If eyes mean anything, the chela understood; he was laughing. No muscle of his face moved. He pretended to assume that the words were some form of greeting, and answered in kind, in Tibetan, then broke into Urdu:
“Tsiang Samdup sends a blessing. He is unwilling that you should speak of what occurred this morning.”
“You mean, of the performance of the dog?” asked Ommony.
But the chela appeared to be an expert in dealing with stupidity. “Of anything that occurred.” Ommony chose another angle of assault:
“Whatever the holy Lama wishes. Kindly tell him so. As long as I am his guest, I will be silent. Wait!”
The chela had started to go, but Ommony stepped between him and the door and stood with his back to it.
“Don’t be alarmed.”
But the chela had only retreated a pace or two. Excepting that, he seemed hardly more than curious to know what would happen next. It was Ommony who felt uncomfortable. “I want you to tell me,” he said, “whether it was Tsiang Samdup or some one else who educated you and those young women.”