Ranjoor Singh drew out his purse and counted twelve rupees and three quarters into the palm of his hand. "Which way?" he demanded. "Twenty-five rupees, eight annas of earned emolument--gone while I watched the movements of a murderer! It is not easy to keep brave heart and remember things!" "See here, thou bellyful of memories! Remember and tell me, or I return this money to my purse and march thee by the nape of thy fat neck to the police station, where they will put thee in a cell for the night and jog thy memory in ways the police are said to understand! Speak! Here, take the money!" The babu reached out a fat hand and the silver changed owners. "There!" said the babu, jerking a thumb over his right shoulder. "Through that door!" "That narrow teak door, down the passage?" But the babu was gone, hurrying as if goaded by fear of hell and all its angels. Ranjoor Singh strode across the street in a bee-line and entered the dark passage. He had seen the yellow light of a lamp-flame through a chink in an upper shutter, and he intended to try directness on the problem once again. It was ten full paces down the passage to the door; he counted them, finishing the last one with a kick against the panel that would have driven it in had it been less than teak. There came no answer, so he kicked again. Then he beat on the door with his clenched fists. Presently he turned his back to the door and kept up a steady thunder on it with his heels. And then, after about five minutes, he heard movement within. He congratulated himself then that the noise he had made had called the attention of passers-by and of all the neighbors, and though he had had no fear and no other intention than to enter the house at all costs, he certainly had that much less compunction now. He heard three different bolts drawn back, and then there was a pause. He thought he heard whispering, so he resumed his thunder. Almost at once there followed the unmistakable squeak of a big beam turning on its pivot, and the door opened about an inch. He pushed, but some one inside pushed harder, and the door closed again. So Ranjoor Singh leaned all his weight and strength against the door, drawing in his breath and shoving with all his might. Resistance ceased. The door flew inward, as it had done once before that day, and closed with a bang behind him. Long were the days and oh! wicked the weather-- Endless and thankless the round-- Grinding God's Grit into rookies together; I was the upper stone, he was the nether, And Gad, sir, they groaned as we ground! Bitter the blame (but he helped me to bear it), Grim the despair that we ate! But hell's loose! The dam's down, and none can repair it! 'Tis our turn! Go, summon my brother to share it! His squadron's at arms, and we wait! CHAPTER V