"The law .... is like a python after monkey's in the tree-tops."

Yasmini, hooded like a bandit in the camel-hair cloak, resumed an air
of leisurely dignity in keeping with the unhurried habit of Sialpore the
moment she was through the gate. It was just as well she did, for Mukhum
Dass, the money-lender, followed by a sweating lean parasite on foot,
was riding a smart mule on his customary morning round to collect
interest from victims and oversee securities.

He was a fat, squat, slimy-looking person in a black alpaca coat, with a
black umbrella for protection from the sun, and an air of sour dissatisfaction
for general business purposes--an air that was given the lie direct by
a small, acquisitive nose and bright brown eyes that surely never made
bad bargains. Yasmini's hooded figure brought him to a halt just at
the corner, where the little road below the Blaines' wall joined the wider
road that led down-hill. Business is business, and time a serious matter
only for those who sign promissory notes; he drew rein without compunction.

"This house is yours?" she asked, and he nodded, his sharp eyes shining
like an animal's, determined to recognize his questioner.

"There is a miscalculating son of lies who brings a lawsuit to get the title?"

He nodded again--a man of few words except when words exacted interest.

"Dhulap Singh, is it not? He is a secret agent of Gungadhura."

"How do you know? Why should the maharajah want my property?"