'Tell _him?_ echoed the kite-maker, wondering if he stood on his head or his heels when he was asked to take so fervent a message to a man, from so discreet a lady as Aunt Khôjee. It did not take long, however, to make him understand; for the old scavenger had swept out the men's quarters also. But, to the dear old lady's disgust, he was inclined to laugh at, and be sceptical over, both her indignation and that of those who had bought the amulet. The tale was not likely to be true. Why should the _Huzoors_ go such a roundabout way to work when they had soldiers and guns? To be sure, these were few in Nushapore at the present moment, and folk were saying that the talk about Sobrai and Noormahal and Dilarâm--God curse the low-born pryers who know not how to keep silence for decency's sake!--had set the _pultan_ (native regiment), which was a high-class Mohammedan one, by the ears; but there were plenty of _rigiments_ close by. And, if it _was_ true, what good would a message to _Rahmân-sahib_ do? It would only make him angry. And if the tale were a lie, what would he care? Did the _Huzoors_ ever care what folk said? Never! That was why they ruled the land. But Aunt Khôjee was firm; even when Lateef--who had told her everything--protested that he had no time to lose; that if he was to have any chance of getting at the ring, which, he trusted, was still concealed among the kites, it must be before their selection for the flying match. Since, once they were chosen, none might touch them till the 'Sovereignty of Air' was decided. Even now he might be too late for the courtyard, and have to go to the turret, ready to seize his chance during the trials. And what is more--here he gave a glance at the sky--if he knew aught of kite-flying, those with fair ballast would surely be chosen to-day; and therefore, of course, the one which had the ring hidden in the guise of a bit of brick within a little calico bag! 'Then it is safe so far. It will be guarded till evening, and then thou canst see to it,' asserted Aunt Khôjee autocratically. 'Not till after sundown, mayhap, and I must return then; and who can tell what may happen if it is left longer,' persisted Lateef. 'Let what may happen! The _daghdars_ will not kill thee--they are kind; and what is the ring, now, but empty honour, since there is no heir? But the other is different. _Rahmân-sahib_ is bracelet-brother. He hath been kind--we owe him this. Wouldst thou be even as Jehân, Lateef, willing to steal honour from any?' Never in her long life had Aunt Khôjee been so obstinate. 'I care not, so Jehân doth not steal the ring,' muttered Lateef revengefully. 'Nay, sister, I will not go!'