On that evening, about the time when Ahmed had his little fight with the villagers, Kaluja Dass, an Oudh man of pleasant aspect and grave deportment, was preparing a meal for his master in a substantial house lying some little distance in the rear of the Chandni Chauk—Silver Street—the long straight thoroughfare leading from the Lahore gate to the king's palace in Delhi. His brows were drawn down, a deep vertical furrow divided his forehead; he wore a look of worry and embarrassment which accorded ill with his position as khansaman to a subahdar in the army of the king. But the subahdar had announced that he would bring guests home to sup with him, and Kaluja was at his wits' end to provide the meal. The subahdar commanded a regiment, but neither he nor his men had had any pay for weeks. In spite of his impecuniosity, the officer always expected his appetite to be appeased, and was wont to give the rein to a very abusive tongue if the bill of fare was not to his liking.

Kaluja Dass had done his best, but really, without money it was impossible to persuade the merchants in the bazar, however loyal they were, that an officer of the king must be suitably fed. The khansaman had done his best, but he had to confess to himself, as he viewed the dishes, that the supper was not worthy even of a jamadar.

The room in which the meal was set was a large one on the first floor of a house which had once belonged to a prince of the blood. But some years before, when the sahibs came to assist Bahadur Shah—who certainly needed assistance—in the government of his kingdom, the house had been purchased by one of them from its impoverished owner. Craddock Sahib was a hakim, and also, as it appeared, a man of war; in the English way of putting it, he was a surgeon attached to one of the foot regiments in the service of the Company. He had a wife, a son, and a daughter; so large a house was quite unnecessary, as Kaluja thought, for so small a family, especially when the son went away over the black water to his own country, to learn how to become a hakim like his father. But that was a characteristic of the sahibs: they loved spaciousness; and if Craddock Sahib's family was small, his household was correspondingly large; Kaluja Dass as khansaman ruled over quite a regiment of underlings.

Dr. Craddock had been in cantonments when the rising took place. As soon as news of it reached his ears he mounted his buggy and hastened back into the city, against the advice of all his friends. At the gate he was met by a sepoy, who presented a loaded pistol at his head; but quick as thought the doctor lashed him across the face with his whip, and the man slunk howling away. Seeing that the street was full of people, Dr. Craddock jumped from his buggy and made his way by side streets towards his house. He had almost reached it when he was set upon by a group of ruffians, who hacked at him with their knives and left him for dead on the ground.

It happened that next day the doctor's house was granted by the king to a Pathan adventurer named Minghal Khan, who had just entered the city. He had come with high recommendations from the Maulavi Ahmed Ullah. Had he not earned Paradise by going to and fro through the land in the guise of a fakir and preparing the minds of the faithful for the great deliverance at hand? So worthy a missionary deserved well at the hands of Bahadur Shah, and the doddering old king at once made him a subahdar and gave him for residence the house which had just been purged of the defiling presence of an infidel Feringhi.

The first thing Minghal Khan did was to fling out of the house some of the European furniture, treading under heel the many dainty nick-nacks which had stood for so much to the memsahib as mementoes of home. Among the larger articles of furniture which he allowed to remain was a lofty almirah, on the shelves of which stood long arrays of bottles large and small, containing liquids and powders of various colours. Minghal had no respect for the infidel hakim's drugs, but the bottles made a pretty show and pleased his eye.

Those who had known Kaluja Dass as the faithful servant of Craddock Sahib might have been surprised at his remaining in the same house as khansaman to Minghal Khan. No doubt they were somewhat astonished at the change that came over the man. He was never tired of abusing his late master and all the Feringhi race, and though, not being a man of war, he did not actually fight against them, no man in Delhi cursed them more heartily or uttered devouter wishes for their extermination. It was partly this violence of language that induced Minghal Khan to engage him. That important personage at first swore that he would have none to serve him who had served the Feringhis; he even accused Kaluja of favouring the accursed infidels, and only the most vehement protestations of hatred—spittings, revilings, maledictions on countless foregone generations of the sons of perdition—prevented the Pathan from dealing with Kaluja in his haste as too many loyal natives had been dealt with. And then, when the man offered to serve the hazur without pay—so greatly did he honour this doughty enemy of the sahibs—Minghal was satisfied. A man must live, to be sure, but a khansaman had opportunities of squeezing the means of livelihood out of the purveyors honoured with his master's custom; and Minghal, being as arrant a brigand as ever went raiding on the border, was content to accept the service of an experienced domestic on such easy terms.

But Kaluja's place was not an easy one, and became more difficult as money ran short. This evening he had spent his last rupee in buying sweetmeats as garnishment for the meal. The names he bestowed inwardly on his master did not savour of respect. And when by and by Minghal came in with two friends of his kidney, and saw the meagreness of the repast, he cursed Kaluja as a dog and the son of a dog, and bade him go into the bazar and buy something more suited to the dignity, as to the appetite, of a friend of Bahadur Shah.

"Hazur, thy servant has not a pice," faltered the khansaman.

"Pig, wouldst thou answer me? Go, get thee some of the Feringhi's lumber that remains, and sell it. Wouldst thou keep my guests waiting? Quick, or by my father's beard I will hamstring thee."

Kaluja hastened from the room. During his absence Minghal inveighed against the parsimony of the king, which kept his faithful servants in such straits.

"Where is justice?" he cried. "Did he not command two days ago that twelve rupees' worth of sweetmeats should be bestowed upon those seventy sowars who came in from Alipur, with a tale—lies, by my beard!—that they had slain a hundred Feringhis and pursued a host for three full koss? And yesterday did he not give large gifts to the Gujars who stole forty camels from the Feringhis' camp? He is lavish to them, and yet will not part with a rupee to one who has journeyed in the heat of the day and faced death a hundred times in conveying the Maulavi's chapatis to the faithful!"

"The king has no treasury: how can he pay you?" said one of his friends.

"Bah! Has he not untold wealth in that palace of his? And are not the queen's arms heavy with jewels? Verily he will not long be king when we have smitten these accursed Feringhis."

"And when will that be, friend? The smiting was the other way this morning."

"Hai! what is that? Do not our numbers grow day by day? What can the Feringhis do? Can they scale these walls? Have we not a hundred guns and more upon them? Within a little we shall issue forth like a swarm of locusts and devour them. The work grows apace. This day a kasid came with news that a regiment has risen at Jajjar; troops are coming to us from Kotwal; the Feringhis have been smitten at Lahore. What can this handful of white-faced dogs do against our great host?"

Further conversation was interrupted by the return of the khansaman laden with dainties from the bazar.

"Wah! Did I not say that there is abundance of good things in Delhi? But why, pig, hast thou not brought spirits? Wherewithal dost thou suppose we will comfort our hearts?"

"Hazur, the bottles are empty."

"Dog, thou liest! All the Feringhis lay in a plentiful store of the strong waters. Hast thou drunk them thyself, thou thief, and broke the Prophet's command? Verily I will myself come and see if thou art telling the truth."

"Hazur, I will look again," said the khansaman hastily, and with an anxious air. "Maybe I have overlooked a bottle or two that still remain. It is not meet that the noble hazur should have the great trouble of searching himself."

He went away, and soon returned with a full bottle of brandy. Forbidden though the drinking of intoxicating liquors was, many professed faithful followers of the Prophet paid scant heed to the prohibition. They drank if they could afford to buy. Minghal and his guests imbibed freely, diluting the liquor but little. The bottle was soon empty: the guests, less accustomed to the spirit than Minghal himself, were completely overcome; and Minghal, flushed and unsteady, called for more. Kaluja humbly declared that there was no more in the house; but Minghal, cursing him for a liar, cried that he would see for himself. He rose and staggered across the room. Catching sight of the row of bottles on the almirah, he gave a maudlin chuckle of delight and reached out his hand to take one down.

"Hazur, have a care!" cried the khansaman. "Those bottles contain not what thou desirest. They are the hakim's medicines; some cause the pains of hell, some kill."

"Thou liest in thy throat, dog. I will drink, I say."

He took down one of the bottles and carried it to the divan where he had been reclining. Then, removing the stopper, he poured a quantity of liquid into his cup and raised it to his lips. Before he could drink, however, he choked, caught his breath, and dropped the cup as if it stung him. The liquid fell upon his sandalled feet, and he sprang up with a yell of pain.

"I am burning!" he screamed, gasping with the ammonia fumes. "It is the fire of Tophet at my feet and nose."

"Hazur, did I not say to thee, 'Touch not'? But thou wouldst not hear."

"Dog, dost thou prate while I burn? The pain consumes me. Dost thou stand and look? Run for the hakim ere I perish."

The khansaman started, and threw a scared look over his shoulder. Then he appeared to recover himself.

"It needs not to call a hakim," he said. "I will myself ease the hazur's pain."

He took some ghi from a dish, and smeared it quickly on the tortured feet. The grease gave instant relief. Minghal was effectually sobered now, but his temper must needs find a vent. His rolling eyes lighted on his two guests, who had lain undisturbed in a drunken stupor.

"Carry me those swine to the street!" he cried furiously. "Will they remain here and bring down the wrath of Allah upon me? Fling them out, I say."

Kaluja having reasons of his own for clearing the apartment, caught the men by the heels and dragged them unceremoniously to the door. Then he suggested that the hazur would be the better for a long night's sleep, and assisted his master to his bedroom. When he returned to the other room, he secured both the inner and the outer doors; then, furtively as a thief might move, he went to the almirah. Looking round as if to make sure even now that no one was observing him, he slid a portion of the back of the almirah aside, disclosing the stone wall of the room. He put his hand on one of the slabs of stone: it yielded to his touch, and opened slowly inwards. He stepped in, drew back the panel of the almirah to its former place, and disappeared.