into bed, 'is called the nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?'
'I heard,' I answered. 'Imray made a mistake.'
'Simply and solely through not knowing the nature of the Oriental, and the coincidence of a little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan had been with him for four years.'
I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for exactly that length of time. When I went over to my own room I found my man waiting, impassive as the copper head on a penny, to pull off my boots.
'What has befallen Bahadur Khan?' said I.
'He was bitten by a snake and died. The rest the Sahib knows,' was the answer.
'And how much of this matter hast thou known?'
'As much as might be gathered from One coming in in the twilight to seek satisfaction. Gently, Sahib. Let me pull off those boots.'
I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard Strickland shouting from his side of the house—
'Tietjens has come back to her place!'
And so she had. The great deerhound was couched statelily on her own bedstead on her own blanket, while, in the next room, the idle, empty, ceiling-cloth waggled as it trailed on the table.
