"Pouf, mon Prince," and Jean Baptiste snapped a thumb and finger expressively.
"See, Dewani?" Nana Sahib queried; "I like Hunsa's idea; and you've heard what the Commandant says."
The Dewan turned to the Bagree, "Will Ajeet consent to the Gulab acting thus?"
Hunsa's answer was illuminating: "The Chief will agree to it if he can't help himself."
There was a lull, each one turning this momentous thing over in his mind.
It was the jamadar who broke the silence; somewhat at a tangent he said: "As to a decoity, Your Honour said that we being of that profession should undertake one."
The Dewan roared; the burden of his expostulation was the word liar.
But Nana Sahib laughed tolerantly. "Don't mind me, Dewani; fancy all the petty rajas and officials stand in with these decoits for a share of the loot—I don't blame you, old chap."
Hunsa, taking the accusation of being a liar as a pure matter of course, ignored it, and now was drooling along, wedded to the one big idea that was in his mind:
"If a decoity were made perhaps it might even happen that one was killed—"