torn paper, please."

So Sita Ram, piecing together little bits of paper got a very good idea
of what was in the letter that he carried. The bonfire in the road looked
beautiful and gladdened his esthetic soul, but the secret information
thrilled him, which was better. He crossed the river, and very late that
night he found Tom Tripe, as sober as a judge, what with riding back
and forth to the Blaines' house and searching in a cellar and what-not.
He gave him the letter, and received a rupee because Tom's dog
frightened him nearly out of his wits. Tom swore at the letter fervently,
but that was Tom's affair, who could not guess the contents.

Almost exactly at dawn Sita Ram, as sleepy as a homing owl, reached
his own small quarters in the densest part of town. He had his hand
on the door when another hand restrained him from behind.

"You know me?" said a voice he did not know. A moment later his
terrified eyes informed him.

"Mukhum Dass? I owe you nothing!"

"Liar! You have my title-deed! Hand it over before I bring the constabeel!"

"I? Your title-deed? I know nothing of it. What title-deed?"

Mukhum Dass cut expostulation short, and denied himself the pleasure
of further threatening.

"See. Here is a letter. Read it, and then hand me over my title-deed!"