“I told you I am a friend,” said Ommony, speering about in his mind for a clue as to how to carry on.
“Aye. I wish I had believed you. Give me the knife.”
“Do you know your way around Delhi?”
“No. May devils befoul the city! That is, I know a little. I can find my way to the te-rain.”
Ommony felt in his pocket, found an envelope, and penciled an address on it in bold printed characters.
“Midway between ten and eleven o’clock to-night, go out into the streets and get into the first gharri[[3]] you meet. Give that to the driver. If the driver can’t read it, show it to passers-by until you find some one who can. Then drive straight to that address, and I will pay the gharri-wallah[[4]]. If your throat needs doctoring, it shall have it.”
“And my knife?”
“I will return it to you to-night, at that address.”
“All right. I will come there.”
“I suppose, if I had given you the knife back now, you would have killed me with it?”