As he slipped into breeches and brown riding boots he cursed softly the
entanglement that had thrust upon him this thing of ill flavour. Of
course the watchman, even if he did keep his mouth shut, which would be
a miracle in that land of bazaar gossip, would have but one opinion of
why Bootea had spent the night in the bungalow. But if Barlow squared
this by speaking of a secret mission, that would be a knowledge that
could be exchanged for gold. Perhaps not all servants were spies, but
there were always spies among servants.

"Damn the thing!" he muttered; but he was helpless. The old man would
give no sign of what, no doubt, was in his mind; he would hold that
leathery face in placid acquiescence in prevalent moral vagary.

Then he tapped lightly on the wooden door, calling softly,
"Bootea--Bootea!"

When it was opened he said: "Food is coming, Gulab. A man of caste
brings it, and it is but eggs from which no life has been taken, so you
may eat. Then the _chowkidar_ will go with you."

Jungwa brought the breakfast and put it down, saying, "I will wait,
Sahib, outside the bathroom door."

"Here is money--ten rupees for whatever is needed. Be courteous to the
lady, for she is not a _nautchni_."

"The Sahib would entertain none such," the _chowkidar_ answered with a
grave salaam.