resistance were futile. And in a twinkling his dignity, his Urdu and
his cloak of mystery, were discarded, and he was merely an
over-educated and over-fed Bengali, jabbering babu-English.

"Oah, as for thatt," he affirmed easily, with an oleaginous smirk, "I
daresay I shall be able to make adequate explanation. It shall be as
you say, sar. I confess to fright, however, because of storm." He
included Amber affably in his confidences. "By Gad, sar, thees climate
iss most trying to person of my habits. The journey hither _via_
causeway from mainland was veree fearful. Thee sea is most agitated.
You observe my wetness from association with spray. I am of opinion if
I am not damn-careful I jolly well catch-my-death on return. But
_thatt_ is all in day's work."

He rolled sluggishly toward the door, dragging his inadequate overcoat
across his barrel-like chest; and paused to cough affectingly, with one
hand on the knob. Rutton eyed him contemptuously.

"If you care to run the risk," he said suddenly, "you may have a chair
by the fire till the storm breaks, babu."

"Beg pardon?" The babu's eyes widened. "Oah, yess; I see. 'If I care to
run risk.' Veree considerate of you, I'm sure. But as we say in Bengal,
'thee favour of kings iss ass a sword of two edges.' Noah, thanks; the
servants of thee Bell do not linger by wayside, soa to speak. Besides,
I am in great hurree. Mister Amber, good night. Rutton Sahib"--with a
flash of his sinister humour--"_au revoir_; I mean to say, till we meet
in thee Hall of thee Bell. Good night."

He nodded insolently to the man whom a little time since he had hailed