'But I do!--only my foot's a beetle-crusher, and the worms don't like it. So that is settled, and we will tell the washerman about the white ties. And look here, George, I'll bring the duplicate of that key back with me. Then you can take yours, and I shall know----' George's hand went up to the back of his chair as if to find another to clasp; then he changed the _venue_ with an odd little laugh. 'Give me a light, old man. I--I can't keep this cigarette going, somehow.' As Dan stooped over him their eyes met, and that was enough. CHAPTER XIV The angel Azrael had turned aside from other doors in Hodinuggur besides that of the red-hot bungalow across the canal. Fuzl Elâhi, the potter, sat once more at his work, with the old calm on his face. The wheel was back in the inner yard again, where the westering sun sent a creeping shadow of the high wall almost to the edge of the spinning circle. It spun so slowly that the eye could see the blue outline of a pot upon the moulding pirn. 'It was a woman seeking something, Over hill and dale, through night and day she sought for something. "Foul play! foul play! look down and decide." "Not I----"' The chant stopped in a start. There was a grip on one shoulder, a thin brown hand over the other pointing accusingly at the wheel. 'Why didst lie to me?' panted a breathless voice, low yet hard. 'Why didst say thou hadst sent it to her? Why? why?' 'I lied not, heart's delight.' The slackening wheel, as his hands fell away from it, showed the Ayôdhya pot, as if in denial of his words; yet he repeated them gently, looking back the while at the girl who had crept from the open door of the hut behind him. 'I sent it; but it hath come back, as all things do in Hodinuggur; as even thou didst, Azîzan. Be not angry with thy father. Lo, it is fate!' She set his deprecating hand aside roughly. 'Let be, father--if father thou art. I tell thee 'tis the pot. Give it me here. Yea; 'tis so, and thou hast put a false bottom of new clay to it. Wherefore?' The old man's forehead wrinkled in perplexity. 'I do it always. Let me finish the task, Azîz. Chândni, the courtesan, will give money for it, as always; then thou shalt have violet sherbet to allay the cough. Pity of me! how thin thou art!' In truth the girl was emaciated to skin and bone: her small face seemed all eyes; yet, though she swayed as she stood from sheer weakness, there was energy and to spare in her grip on the Ayôdhya pot. 'Chândni!' she echoed; then suddenly the fire died down, the tension of her hold slackened. 'Lo, wherefore should I care if it be lies or truth,' she muttered to herself; 'the old man is crazy, and 'tis the Diwân's when all is said and done--not hers. Here, take it, poor soul. I care not now, so I be left alone in peace.'