Page:The Mating of the Blades.djvu/124

 precision, he remembered Sir James Rivet-Carnac's warning that he would be followed, turned swiftly beneath the haggard light of a street lamp, saw that a short, lean Madrassi was slinking close behind him, and had the point of his blade on the man's windpipe.

“Be careful,” he whispered, “this knife may slip. Talk just as if we were friends.”

“Yes, saheb.” The man's teeth clicked together like castanets.

“All right. Now—answer quick and low. From the police, aren't you?”

“Yes, saheb.”

“Anybody else following me?”

“No, saheb.”

“Sure you are speaking the truth?”

“Yes, yes, yes! By Vishnu and Shiva!”—as the blade was pricking his skin.

“Good. Now come along. And walk gently—be careful or …”

And he walked the Madrassi away from the Great Eastern Hotel and into a little, shadow-blotched park which he had visited earlier in the day and which was deserted, except for the ubiquitous crows.

“Sorry I have to be rough,” he said; and, the next minute, he had him on his back, had him gagged securely with his handkerchief and the heavy leather gloves he carried in his pocket; tore off the man's turban cloth and waist shawl, and tied him hand and foot.

Then, very leisurely, he left the park and walked