"Did you see my trooper murdered?" he demanded; for he had learned directness under Colonel Kirby, and applied it to every difficulty that confronted him. Natives understand directness from an Englishman, and can parry it; but from another native it bewilders them, just as a left-handed swordsman is bewildered by another left-hander. The babu blinked. "How much had you seen when you ran to warn me this afternoon?" The babu looked pitiful. His fat defenseless body was an absolute contrast to the Sikh's tall manly figure. His eye was furtive, glancing ever sidewise; but the Sikh looked straight and spoke abruptly though with a note of kindness in his voice. "There is no need to fear me," he said, since the babu would not answer. "Speak! How much do you know?" So the babu took heart of grace, producing a voice from somewhere down in his enormous stomach and saying, of course, the very last thing expected of him. "Grief chokes me!" he asserted. "Take care that I choke thee not, _babuji_! I have asked a question. I am no lawyer to maneuver for my answer. Did you see that trooper killed?" The babu nodded; but his nod was not much more than tentative. He could have denied it next minute without calling much on his imagination. "Oh! Which way went the murderer?" "Grief overwhelms me!" said the babu. "Grief for what?" "For my money--my good money--my emoluments!" Direct as an arrow though he was in all his dealings, Ranjoor Singh had not forgotten how the Old East thinks. He recognized the preliminaries of a bargain, and searched his mind to recall how much money he had with him; to have searched his pocket would have been too puerile. "What of them?" "Lost!" "Where? How?" "While standing here, observing movements of him whom I suspected to be murderer, a person unknown--possibly a Sikh--perhaps not--removed money surreptitiously from my person." "How much money?" "Rupees twenty-five, annas eight," said the babu unwinking. He neither blushed nor hesitated. "I will take compassion on your loss and replace five rupees of it," said Ranjoor Singh, "when you have told me which way the murderer went." "My eyes are too dim, and my heart too full with grief," said the babu. "No man's memory works under such conditions. Now, that money--" "I will give you ten rupees," said Ranjoor Singh. This was too easy! The babu was prepared to bargain for an hour, fighting for rupee after rupee until his wit assured him he had reached the limit. Now he began to believe he had set the limit far too low. "I do not remember," he said slowly but with great conviction, scratching at his stomach as if he kept his recollections stored there. "You said twenty-five rupees, eight annas? Well, I will pay the half of it, and no more," said Ranjoor Singh in a new voice that seemed to suggest unutterable things. "Moreover, I will pay it when I have proved thy memory true. Now, scratch that belly of thine and let the thoughts come forth!" "Nay, sahib, I forget."