They had wearied of their tolerant king, who had died mysteriously;
they were now wearied of the council and Umballa; in other words, they
knew not what they wanted, being People.
Who was this fair-skinned woman who stood so straight before Umballa's
eye? Whence had she come? To be ruled by a woman who appeared to be
tongue-tied! Well, there were worse things than a woman who could not
talk. Thus they gabbled in the bazaars, round braziers and dung fires.
And some talked of the murder. The proud Ramabai had been haled to
prison; his banker's gold had not saved him. Oh, this street rat
Umballa generally got what he wanted. Ramabai's wife was one of the
beauties of Hind.
Through the narrow, evil smelling streets of the bazaars a man hurried
that night, glancing behind frequently to see if by any mischance some
one followed. He stopped at the house of Lal Singh, the shoemaker,
whom he found drowsing over his water pipe.
"Is it well?" said the newcomer, intoning.
"It is well," answered Lal Singh, dropping the mouthpiece of his pipe.
He had spoken mechanically. When he saw who his visitor was his eyes
brightened. "Ahmed?"
"Hush!" with a gesture toward the ceiling.
"She is out merrymaking, like the rest of her kind. The old saying: if
a man waits, the woman comes to him. I am alone. There is news?"
"There is a journey. Across Hind to Simla."
"The hour has arrived?"
"At least the excuse. Give these to one in authority with the British
Raj, whose bread we eat." Ahmed slid across the table a very small
scroll. "The Mem-sahib is my master's daughter. She must be spirited
away to safety."
"Ah!" Lal Singh rubbed his fat hands. "So the time nears when we
shall wring the vulture's neck? Ai, it is good! Umballa, the toad,
who swells and swells as the days go by. Siva has guarded him well.
The king picks him out of the gutter for a pretty bit of impudence,
sends him afar to Umballa, where he learns to speak English, where he
learns to wear shoes that button and stiff linen bands round the neck.
He has gone on, gone on! The higher up, the harder the fall."
"The cellar?"
"There are pistols and guns and ammunition and strange little wires by
which I make magic fires."
"Batteries?"
"One never knows what may be needed. You have the key?"
"Yes."
"Hare Sahib's daughter. And Hare Sahib?" with twinkling eyes.
"In some dungeon, mayhap. There all avenues seemed closed up."
"Umballa needs money," said Lal Singh, thoughtfully. "But he will not
find it," in afterthought.
"To-morrow?"
"At dawn."
These two men were spiders in that great web of secret service that the
British Raj weaves up and down and across Hind, to Persia and
Afghanistan, to the borders of the Bear.