‘It will be so, if God pleases,’ said Strickland, tugging off his boots. ‘It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselessly for many days---ever since that time when thou first earnest into my service. What time was that?’ ‘Has the Heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly to Europe without warning given; and I-even I-came into the honoured service of the protector of the poor.’ ‘And Imray Sahib went to Europe?’ ‘It is so said among those who were his servants.’ ‘And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?’ ‘Assuredly, Sahib. He was a good master, and cherished his dependants.’ ‘That is true. I am very tired, but I go buck-shooting to-morrow. Give me the little sharp rifle that I use for black-buck; it is in the case yonder.’ The man stooped over the case; handed barrels, stock, and fore-end to Strickland, who fitted all together, yawning dolefully. Then he reached down to the gun-case, took a solid-drawn cartridge, and slipped it into the breech of the ‘360 Express. ‘And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly! That is very strange, Bahadur Khan, is it not?’ ‘What do I know of the ways of the white man. Heaven-born?’ ‘Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more anon. It has reached me that Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and that even now he lies in the next room, waiting his servant.’ ‘Sahib!’ The lamplight slid along the barrels of the rifle as they levelled themselves at Bahadur Khan’s broad breast. ‘Go and look!’ said Strickland. ‘Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, and he waits thee. Go!’ The man picked up a lamp, and went into the dining-room, Strickland following, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. He looked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth; at the writhing snake under foot; and last, a gray glaze settling on his face, at the thing under the tablecloth. ‘Hast thou seen?’ said Strickland after a pause. ‘I have seen. I am clay in the white man’s hands. What does the Presence do?’ ‘Hang thee within the month. What else?’ ‘For killing him? Nay, Sahib, consider. Walking among us, his servants, he cast his eyes upon my child, who was four years old. Him he bewitched, and in ten days he died of the fever--my child!’ ‘What said Imray Sahib?’ ‘He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on the head; wherefore my child died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the twilight, when he had come back from office, and was sleeping. Wherefore I dragged him up into the roof-beams and made all fast behind him. The Heaven-born knows all things. I am the servant of the Heaven-born.’ Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the vernacular, ‘Thou art witness to this saying? He has killed.’