Baboo Dass leaned across the table, and in a gurgling whisper said: "Because of this foolish belief that he would rule all India. The Buddhists would think he was a Buddha. That word Rikaz means, in theologic way, that in the man possesses the three sapphires is buried the treasure of holy knowledge."
Swinton, turning his head at a faint sound, saw his bearer standing in the back doorway.
"Did master call?" the servant asked.
"No. Go!"
Trembling with apprehension, Baboo Dass slipped the case back in his breast. A revulsion of bibulous despondency took possession of him; he slipped a white cotton sock from one of the feet he had pulled from their shoes in his exuberancy, and wiped his eyes.
"Baboo Dass is right," Perreira declared, thrusting into the gap. "On the hill I am working like mole in the ground, but I got my eyeteeth looking when I am in the light. I am Britisher—Piccadilly Circus is home for me—if I work for native prince I don't sell my mess of pottage."
Perreira tapped the breast pocket of his jaran coat. "I got little book here——" The half-caste gulped; a wave of sea green swept over his face; he gurgled "Sick," and made a reeling dash for the verandah. At the door, he recoiled with a yell of terror. The baboo dived under the table.
Thinking it was the tiger, Swinton grabbed his rifle and sprang to the door, discovering a native standing against the wall.
"What do you want?" the captain asked in rapid English.
"Sahib, I am the night chowkidar of the compound."