I saw Godfrey write a line upon a sheet
of paper, fold it, and toss it on the table in front of Goldberger.
The coroner opened it, read the line, and stared at the impassive
Mahbub, who stood beside his master with folded arms, staring over the
heads of the crowd.
"In other words," said Goldberger, slowly, "your attendant is a Thug."
The yogi bowed.
"Yes," he said, calmly; "Mahbub is Thuggee."
CHAPTER XIV
THE FINGER-PRINTS
A shiver ran through the crowd, like a gust of wind across a field of
wheat. The words, "Mahbub is Thuggee," seemed to rend the veil which
obscured the tragedy. Surely it was clear enough, now: here was a man
killed by Thuggee's peculiar method, and here was the Thug. It was as
simple as two and two!
Every eye was on the bare-legged Hindu, impassive as ever, staring
straight before him. The camera-men hastily pushed in fresh plates and
trained their machines upon him. Two policemen edged close to his
side.
But Francisco Silva looked about him with scornful eyes, and presently
he opened his lips as though to speak, and then he closed them.
Goldberger seemed perplexed. He looked as though, while rolling
smoothly along the road toward a well-understood goal, he had suddenly
struck an unforeseen obstacle.
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