"He thinks silently," said I.
Whereat she too was silent for a few minutes, and then broke out into a new tirade of exclamations, but this time in a language of which I knew not one word—perhaps Russian, or Slovak, or Bulgarian. I think she was praying in a sort of wild way to long-neglected saints.
She gave me the impression of being mentally almost unhinged by the sudden anticlimax of helplessness after over-confidence. Yet when she spoke again her voice was calm, and not without a ring of rather gallant humor.
"I suppose he thinks he has stolen the queen bee, and so has the swarm in his power. But the swarm can sting, and will come for the queen bee."
"So they bring their honey with them, who minds that?" Narayan
Singh retorted.
He was enjoying himself, acting the part of a bandit's follower with perfect gusto.
"Oh, so it is honey you are after? And you two are Indians—a
Pathan and—"
"From Lahore," said I.
"Five thousand pounds would buy your services?"
"Five thousand promises would make us laugh," said the Sikh.