"We will go at four," said Jacobs, coming into my room after tiffin. "I said three this morning, but it is not a bad plan to keep natives waiting."
"Why do we go?" I inquired, languidly.
"The Certain Mighty Personage has a prisoner whom I wish to purchase."
"Who is it?"
Leaning over until his mouth almost touched my ear, he whispered quietly:
"Number One."
"The devil, you say!" I ejaculated, surprised out of grammar and decorum by the startling news.
"Are you thinking of marrying Miss Eastinhoe?" I demanded, after a pause of some tiffins.
"Yes," he answered, "if her settlements are satisfactory."
Arrived at the residence of the Certain Mighty Personage, we were received in a jemadar where a sahib charpoyed the sowans and tiffined the maharajah.
"I'll have you exposed in the newspapers," said Jacobs, sternly, to the Certain Mighty Personage, "if you do not deliver into my hands, before the dark half of the next moon, the man Number One."
The Uncertain Mighty Personage signed a contract to that effect, with extreme reluctance, and with many forcible remarks disrespectful to both the ancestors and posterity of Jacobs.
"What do you want of Number One?" I inquired, as we rode away.
"He is the only man alive that can keep a plated watch from turning black in this accursed climate."
"But why did you bring me along, when you didn't need me?"
"To frighten him with the threat of the Calcutta Jackal. Besides, how else could you tell the story?"