“Did you study that lesson? Have you learned it?”
Ommony did not catch the chela’s answer. He felt the floor jerk underfoot and stepped off a trap-door. It moved, and a hand came through, then the outline of a face that appeared to be listening. He bent down to lift the heavy trap and Dawa Tsering climbed out on hands and knees, sweating profusely and rubbing dust out of his eyes.
“Yow, there are rats in that place, Gupta Rao—big ones, and it is dark! Go down and look if you don’t believe me.”
“What were you doing down there?” Ommony inquired.
“I? Down there? Oh, I was looking to see if there was a passage by which that mob could reach you from the rear. Yes, I was! Don’t laugh at me, or I will call you by your right name! Why didn’t you turn me loose with my knife to drive the mob forth, instead of singing to them like a nurse to a lot of children? I could have cleaned the place of that rabble in two minutes. You should have left it to me!”
“Did you kill any rats?” asked Samding, grinning mischievously. He was holding the door open, waiting for them.
“Thou! I will kill thee, at any rate!”
The Hillman rushed at the chela, but Ommony tripped him. Samding slipped through the door and let it slam.
“There, did you see that?” Dawa Tsering grumbled, picking himself up. “That chela uses the black arts! He threw me to the floor with one wink of his eye. Did you see? He is no good! He is a bad one! Now I am never tempted to slay the Lama, which is why I endure his objectionable righteousness; but that chela—I never see him but I want to squeeze his throat with my two thumbs, thus, until his eyes pop out!”