"The old man swears he will turn out Ratan Singh--whoever he may have been--and give the poor chaps a _pucca_ funeral in the shrine itself," said one youth. "I was not aware that we fought with the dead," said Gerrard, rather disgusted. "Seems rayther a spicy idea to me," drawled another. "They do our fellows out of a grave, so we prig one of theirs for 'em." "Surely we can do better for them than a second-hand tomb," said Gerrard, more emphatically than he realised. "Wouldn't it be more to the purpose to leave Ratan Singh in peace, since he has done us no injury, and punish the living who deserve it?" "Eh--what?" demanded an explosive voice behind the group. "And who may you be, young sir, who think your opinion so well worth hearing?" Gerrard turned to confront a short choleric man in uniform, whom he had no difficulty in recognising to be the Brigadier. "My name is Gerrard, sir, and I am attached to the Habshiabad force." "Oho!" General Speathley drew out with some difficulty an eyeglass, and fixing it in his eye, looked up at Gerrard as though he had been too small to see without it. "So this is another of the sucking Caesars who command armies in Granthistan! And what, pray, may be the nature of your very valuable suggestion, sir?" "I have acted as Resident at Agpur, sir, and know something about the people, and I was about to say that they would be far more impressed with the retribution if we buried our glorious dead in the very midst of the city from which they were driven rather than in an old tomb outside it." The astonishment on the General's face was reflected on those around him. Clearly it was not often that Brigadier Speathley heard an opinion different from his own. "Proceed, sir, proceed!" he snapped ferociously. "I'll be bound we haven't been favoured with the full extent of your views yet." The tone was intolerable, and Gerrard grew white with suppressed wrath. "I have no more to say, sir, if the petty and unchristian course of turning a dead man out of his grave has already been decided upon." "I thought so!" cried the General in triumph. "Antony's cursed sentimental notions, of course--might have known it. You are one of those who prefer the blackfellows to your own people, sir, who think the lives of the Company's servants are nothing compared with the fear of displeasing the natives." "At least, sir, I placed myself at Mr Charteris's disposal to rescue or avenge Captain Cowper and Mr Nisbet, or your army might not have been here to-day. And you will permit me to add that I still consider my plan likely to be more impressive, if less disgusting, to the natives than yours."