The Hillman smiled winningly, as one who has talked his way into a hard man’s heart. He held his hand out, leaning forward as he squatted on the mat.
“Tin Lal is in the jail,” said Ommony.
“Oh, is that so? That makes it easy. I will wait outside the jail. They will not keep him in there for ever.”
“What is that house, where you tried to kill me this afternoon?” Ommony asked.
“A place kept by Tibetans, where the Lama stays when in Delhi. That is where the actor people come to see him.”
“Why did you attack me?”
“Why not? You had said, the Lama shall have the stone. Therefore it was clear to me that you must have it. Therefore, if I should take it from you I could sell it to the Lama. I am no fool!”
Ommony, with something like contentment in his eye, began to translate for the benefit of the others as much as he could remember of Dawa Tsering’s tale, tossing occasional questions to the Hillman to get him to repeat some detail. It was the company the Lama kept that seemed to interest him most.
“If you like,” said McGregor, when the tale was finished, “I’ll have those Tibetans searched.”
Ommony was about to refuse that offer, but his words were cut short by an uproar on the porch. Diana—on guard and therefore unable to be tempted from her post—was barking like a battery of six-pounders. He strode into the hall and listened—heard retreating footsteps—some one in no hurry pap-pad-padding firmly on soft-soled shoes toward the garden gate.