“Gott in Himmel!” exclaimed Tugendheim, losing his self-control at last.  “Can I offer what I have not got?”

“Is there nothing you can do?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“In what way?  How?” asked the German.

“In the way of making amends to us Sikhs for all those lies you have been party to,” said Ranjoor Singh.  “If you were willing to offer to make amends, I would listen to you.”

“I will do anything in reason,” said Tugendheim, looking him full in the eye and growing more at ease.

“I am a reasonable man,” said Ranjoor Singh.

“Then, speak!” said Tugendheim.

“Nay, nay!” said Ranjoor Singh, “it is for you to make proposals, and not for me.  It is not I who stand waiting to be burned alive!  Let me make you a suggestion, however.  What had we Sikhs to offer when we were prisoners in Germany?”

“Oh, I see!” said Tugendheim.  “You mean you wish me to join you—­to be one of you?”

“I mean,” said Ranjoor Singh, “that if you were to apply to be allowed to join this regiment for a while, and to be allowed to serve us in a certain manner, we would consider the proposal.  Otherwise—­is my meaning clear?”

“Yes!” said Tugendheim.

“Then—?’ said Ranjoor Singh.

“I apply!” said Tugendheim; and at that moment the havildar and his men returned with some straw they had found in another tumble-down hut.  They had it stuffed under their overcoats to keep it dry.  “Too late!” said Tugendheim with a grimace, but Ranjoor Singh bade them throw the straw inside for all that.

“In Germany we were required to set our names to paper,” he said, and Tugendheim looked him in the eyes again for a full half minute.  “Do you expect better conditions than were offered us?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“I will sign!” said Tugendheim.

“What will you sign?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Anything in reason,” answered Tugendheim.

“Let me tell you what I have here, then,” said Ranjoor Singh, and he groped in his inner pocket for a paper, that he brought out very neatly folded, sheltering it from the rain under his cape.  “This,” said he, “is signed by the Turkish captain and mate of that sunken steamer.  It is a receipt for all our money, to be taken and divided equally between you—­mentioned by name—­and them—­mentioned also by name, on condition that the ship be sunk and we be let go.  If you will sign the paper—­here—­above their signatures—­it will entitle you to one-third of all that money.  They would neither of them dare to refuse to share with you!”

“What if I refuse to sign?” asked Tugendheim, making a great savage wrench to free his wrists, but failing.

“The suggestion is yours,” said Ranjoor Singh.  “You have only your own judgment for a guide.”

“If I sign it, will you let me go?” he asked.

“No,” said Ranjoor Singh, “but we will not burn you alive if you sign.  Here is a fountain-pen.  Your hands shall be loosed when you are ready.”