The Frenchman twisted nervously at his slim grey moustache. "I comprehend, Dewani," he said presently; "it is expedient that Amir Khan be eliminated."
"It would be a merciful thing," Sewlal added—"it would save bloodshed."
"Well, Dewani, I must depart now. It will be interesting to see what your Bagrees do, especially when they become hungry."
CHAPTER V
For two days the Bagrees sat nursing their wrath at the reproaches of
Dewan Sewlal.
And the Dewan, in spite of his bold denunciation of the decoits, was uneasy. If they went back to Karowlee with a story of ill treatment, of broken promises, that hot-headed old Rajput would turn against Sindhia. And the present policy of the Mahratta Confederacy was to secure allies in the revolt against the British which was being secretly planned. The Dewan was also afraid of Nana Sahib. He saw in that young man a coming force. The Peshwa was actually the ruler of Mahrattaland; he had a commanding influence because he was the head of the Brahmins—the Brahmins were the real power—and his adopted son, his inborn subtle nature developed by his residence in England, now had great influence over him. The Dewan knew that; and if he failed to carry out this mission of removing the dangerous one from Nana Sahib's path it might cost him his place as Minister.
In his perplexity the Dewan asked Baptiste to formulate some excuse for getting Nana Sahib up to Chunda—some matter affecting the troops, so that he might casually get a sustaining suggestion from the wily Prince.
It so happened that when Nana Sahib swung up the gravelled drive to the Sirdar's bungalow on a golden chestnut Arab, Sewlal was there. But when, presently, Baptiste's durwan came in to say that Jamadar Hunsa of the new troops was sending his salaams to the Dewan, the latter gasped. He would have told the Bagree to wait, but Nana Sahib, catching the name Hunsa, commanded:
"By all means, my dear Baptiste, have that living embodiment of murder in. His face is a delight. You know"—and he smiled at the General—"that that frightfulness of expression is the very reason why the genial Kali has such a hold upon our people. You've seen her, Baptiste; four arms, one holding a platter to catch the blood that drips from a head she suspends above it by another arm; the third hand clasps a sword, and the fourth has the palm spread out as much as to say, 'That is what will happen to you.'"
The Frenchman shivered. He was snapping a finger and thumb in mental torture.