Bamjee was a pleasant-looking little man, in a gray silk suit and a turban of the same color, blinking through platinum-rimmed spectacles. But he could look as contemptuous as the devil himself. The first part of his answer was drowned by the noise of a snake-charmer's bagpipe and the drums of itinerant troupes of acrobats, but presently he came closer to Asoka and sat on a box beside Quorn. "The police would resign in a body," he said, "if they were told to capture Maraj. Self also. Am get-rich-quick exponent of materialistic fallacy of me first--fallacy because of risks incurred in course of same. Like any other speculator, might go broke. Like any other egotist, might tread on toes of wrong rival and be disemboweled with a dagger--funeral to-morrow afternoon, and nobody, not even you, to pity me, because I took too many chances. But there is one chance that I do not take. I do not monkey with Maraj." "Hell," Quorn answered. "One mean murderer, without caste or backing--who's afraid o' that man?" He knew better, but he wanted to draw Bamjee. "I've heard say Maraj is one o' them Chandala people--folk that are reckoned worse than hyenas--ain't allowed in cities--lower than sweepers--insect-eaters--bums--filthy, no account savages too skeered to look at you excep' sideways." "They are," said Bamjee. "They are worse than that. It may be true that Maraj is one of them. But have you heard of Thuggee?" "Thugs?" said Quorn. "Who hasn't? They were stamped out. They were the guys who used to wander about the country killing total strangers with a handkerchief--just for the love o' killing. Am I right?" "Yes, but they were not stamped out. They invented another way of killing, that is all. Death by suicide. There is humor in that. It is better than murder. He who is murdered is not guilty of his own death, but whoever commits suicide is doomed to wander endlessly in total darkness, earth-bound on the lowest layer of the astral plane. All religions seem to be agreed on that. Even I, who have no religion, nevertheless believe it. This new form of Thuggee, therefore, dooms its victim to almost endless misery in an astral madhouse. Maraj invented it, or so they say. His allies are the Chandala, who are allowed to rob the bodies and who cover up his tracks and run his errands. You can guess who his employers are, can't you?" "Do you mean them temple Brahmins pay him?" "I am not so crazy. And they are so far from being crazy that they pay for nothing. A hint--that is enough. Not even such a cunning devil as Maraj could last long unless he had protection. Nothing for nothing. How does he pay for protection? He acts on hints. He overhears two Brahmins saying so-and-so is an undesirable. There is another suicide. Nobody guilty--nobody caught--only a whisper, and the name Maraj is more dreaded than ever." "Do you mean he kills 'em and makes it look like suicide?"