Caerlaverocks' second footman, entered my service as valet, and
being a cheerful youth chose to gossip while he shaved me. I
checked him, but he babbled on, and I could not choose but learn
something about the disposition of the Caerlaverock household
below stairs. I learned--what I knew before--that his lordship
had an inordinate love for curries, a taste acquired during some
troubled years as Indian Viceroy. I had often eaten that
admirable dish at his table, and had heard him boast of the skill
of the Indian cook who prepared it. James, it appeared, did not
hold with the Orient in the kitchen. He described the said
Indian gentleman as a "nigger," and expressed profound distrust
of his ways. He referred darkly to the events of the year
before, which in some distorted way had reached the servants'
ears. "We always thought as 'ow it was them niggers as done it,"
he declared; and when I questioned him on his use of the plural,
admitted that at the time in question "there 'ad been more nor
one nigger 'anging about the kitchen."

Pondering on these sayings, I asked myself if it were not
possible that the behaviour of certain eminent statesmen was due
to some strange devilry of the East, and I made a vow to abstain
in future from the Caerlaverock curries. But last month my
brother returned from India, and I got the whole truth. He was
staying with me in Scotland, and in the smoking-room the talk
turned on occultism in the East. I declared myself a sceptic,
and George was stirred. He asked me rudely what I knew about it,
and proceeded to make a startling confession of faith. He was
cross-examined by the others, and retorted with some of his
experiences. Finding an incredulous audience, his tales became
more defiant, until he capped them all with one monstrous yarn.