Hamilton caught the old creature by her skinny arm: 

“You waste your words talking to me,” he said.  “I am a police magistrate, and I can have your whole place here closed, and all of you put in prison, if I choose.  The girl is willing to come with me, and I will take her and pay you well for her.  You have her ready for me to-morrow night, or you go to prison—­which you please.”  The old woman shivered at the word magistrate, and fell trembling on her knees.

“Let the Sahib have mercy!  That great black brute will kill me if the police come here.  I take Saidie to my house, the Sahib comes there when he will.  He pays, he has her.  It is all finished.”

She spread out her thin black hands in a shaking gesture of finality, and then fell forward and kissed Hamilton’s boots after the complimentary but embarrassing manner of natives.  Hamilton drew back a little.  He was angered that Saidie should be witness, auditor of all this.  She stood silent, passive, gazing at the hot, angry colour mounting to his face.  He bent forward and dragged the old woman up by her arms.

“Take this for yourself now,” he said, putting a hundred-rupee note into her hand, “and make no more difficulty.  Take every care of Saidie, and you will have your two thousand rupees very shortly.”

The old woman seized the note, and began to mumble blessings on Hamilton, which he cut short:  “Give me the name of your street and the house where you live, that I may find you easily,” he said, and noted down the directions she gave him.  Then he turned to the girl and put his arm round her neck.

“Dear Saidie!  I trust to you.  Remember it is your innocence, your virtue, I love more than your beauty.  Do not dance nor let anyone see you till I come again.”

He kissed her on the lips as she promised him.  The soft, warm form thrilled against him as their lips met.  Then with a mental wrench he turned and went out of the room and quickly down the dark passage.

At the end his way was barred by the immense form of the negro.

“Something for me, master; do not forget me!  I keep the pretty things here for the gentlemen to see.”

Hamilton drew back with loathing.  Then he reflected—­it was better, perhaps, to keep all smooth.

He dived into his pockets and found a roll of small notes, which he pushed into the negro’s hand.  The man bowed and let him pass, and Hamilton went on out into the street.

It was evening now.  The calm, lovely golden light of an Indian evening fell all around him as he walked rapidly back to his bungalow.  As he entered it, how different he felt from the man who had left it that morning!  How light his footstep, how bright and keen the tone of his voice!  It quite surprised himself as he called out to his butler that he was ready for dinner.  Then he bounded up to his room humming.  His very muscles were of quite a different texture seemingly now from an hour or two ago!