“Thank you,” said Cunningham quite quietly. “And now, Alwa-sahib”—(he could strike while the iron glowed, could this son of Cunnigan!)—“for the plan. There is little time. Jaimihr must escape tonight!”
“Sahib, did I understand aright?”
Alwa's jaw had actually dropped. He looked as though he had been struck. Mahommed Gunga slammed his sabre ferule on the stone floor. He too, was hard put to it to believe his ears.
“Jaimihr is the key to the position. He is nothing but a nuisance where he is. Outside he can be made to help us.”
“Am I dreaming, or art thou, sahib?” Alwa stood with fists clinched on his hips and his legs apart—incredulous. “Jaimihr to go free? Why that Hindoo pig is the source of all the trouble in the district!”
“We are neither of us dreaming, Alwa-sahib. Jaimihr is the dreamer. Let him dream in Howrah City for a day or two, while we get ready. Let him lead his men away and leave the road clear for us to pass in and out.”
“But—”
“Oh, I know. He is your prisoner, and your honor is involved, and all that kind of thing. I'm offering you, to set off against that, a much greater honor than you ever experienced in your whole life yet, and I've put my order in the shape of a request for the sake of courtesy. I ask you again to let me arrange for Jaimihr to escape.”
“I was mad. But it seems that I have passed my word!” swore Alwa.
“I give you your word back again, then.”