sh-mad."

"And your particular friends--are sane, eh?"

The apostle of Hindu revival pensively twirled an English button of his
creditably-cut English coat.

"Yes. We are sane--thanks to more liberalising influences. Coloured dust
cannot be thrown in our eyes by bureaucratic conjuring tricks, or
imperialistic talk about prestige. To-day it is India's turn for
prestige. 'Arya for the Aryans' is the slogan of the rising generation."
He paused, blinked, and added with an ingratiating chuckle: "You will go
running away with an impression that I am metamorphosed into red-hot
revolutionary. No, thank you! I am intrinsically a man of peace!" With a
flourish he jerked out a showy gold watch. "Ah--getting late! Very
agreeable exchanging amenities with old schoolfellows. But I have an
appointment in the Palace Gardens, at the time they feed the muggers.
_That_ is a sight you should see, Mr Sinclair--when the beasts are
hungry and have not lately snapped up a washerwoman or an erring wife!"

"I'd rather be excused this evening, thanks," Roy answered, with a touch
of brusqueness. "I confess it wouldn't appeal to my sense of
humour--seeing crocodiles gorge, while women and children starve."

"That is what they call in a book I once read 'little ironies of life.'
Good fortune, at least, for the muggers! Better start to sharpen your
sense of humour, my friend. It is incomparable asset against the slings
and arrows of outrageous contingencies." This time his chuckle had an
undernote of malice; and Roy, considering him thoughtfully--from green
turban to patent-leather shoes--felt an acute desire to take him by the
scruff of his English coat and dust the Jaipur market-place with the
remnant of him.

Aloud he said coolly: "Thanks for the prescription. Are you stopping
here long?"

"Oh, I am meteoric visitant. Never very long anywhere. I come and go."

"Business--eh?"

"Yes--many kinds of business--for the Mother." He flashed a direct look
at Roy; the first since their encounter; fluttered a foppish hand--the
little finger lifted to display a square uncut emerald--and went his
way....

Roy, left standing alone in the leisurely crowd of men and animals--at
once so alien and so familiar--returned to Bishun Singh and Suraj in a
vaguely troubled frame of mind.

"Which way to the house of Sir Lakshman Singh?" he asked the maker of
chiraghs, his foot in the stirrup.

Enlightened, he set off at a trot, down another vast street, all