the torture's sake. His eyes were his only organs that really lived
still, and they expressed the steely hate and cruelty, the mad fanaticism,
the greedy self-love--self-immolating for the sake of self--that is
the thoroughgoing fakir's stock in trade. And his lips were like
the graven lips of a Hindu temple god, self-satisfied, self-worshiping,
contemptuous and cruel. He chuckled again, as Brown finished his
inspection.

"So that crittur's holy, is he? Well, tell him that I'm set here
to watch these crossroads. Tell him I'm supposed to question every
one who comes, and find out what his business is, and arrest him if
he can't give a proper account of himself. Say he's been here three
days now, and that that's long enough for any one to find his tongue in.
Tell him if I don't get an answer from him here and now I'll put him
in the clink!"

"But, sahib--"

"You tell him what I say, d'you hear?"

The Beluchi made haste to translate, trembling as he spoke, and wilting
visibly when the baleful eyes of the fakir rested on him for a second.
The fakir answered something in a guttural undertone.

"What does he say?"

"That he will curse you, sahib!"

"Sentry!" shouted Brown.