“Krishna!” exclaimed Chutter Chand. He jumped for a corner, seized a two-handed Samurai sword, drew it from the scabbard, and laid it on the desk. “I will let my snakes loose!” he almost screamed, in Hindustanee.
But the Hillman sat down on the floor, on the exact spot where the Lama had been, and Ommony sat down in the chair facing him, motioning to Chutter Chand to resume the other chair and be sensible.
“But this is the ruffian who came and threatened me!” said Chutter Chand. “That knife of his is saw-edged! Take it from him, Ommonee!”
The Hillman appeared to know no English, but seemed to have made up his mind about Ommony. Friendship he might not believe in, but he could recognize good faith. He watched Ommony’s face as a child follows a motion picture.
“What is your name?” asked Ommony.
“Dawa Tsering.”
“Where are you from?”
“Spiti.”
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Chutter Chand. “Does he say he is from Spiti? They are all devils who come from that country! It is there they practise polyandry, and their dead are eaten by dogs! He is unclean!”
“Who is that Lama who was in here just now?” Ommony went on.