It took
a long time before Suddhoo admitted that this was just what he had asked me to
come for. Then he told me, in jerks and quavers, that the man who said he cut
seals was a sorcerer of the cleanest kind; that every day he gave Suddhoo news
of the sick son in Peshawar more quickly than the lightning could fly, and
that this news was always corroborated by the letters. Further, that he had
told Suddhoo how a great danger was threatening his son, which could be
removed by clean jadoo; and, of course, heavy payment. I began to see how the
land lay, and told Suddhoo that I also understood a little jadoo in the
Western line, and would go to his house to see that everything was done
decently and in order. We set off together; and on the way Suddhoo told me he
had paid the seal-cutter between one hundred and two hundred rupees already;
and the jadoo of that night would cost two hundred more. Which was cheap, he
said, considering the greatness of his son's danger; but I do not think he
meant it.
The lights were all cloaked in the front of the house when we arrived. I could
hear awful noises from behind the seal-cutter's shop-front, as if some one
were groaning his soul out. Suddhoo shook all over, and while we groped our
way upstairs told me that the jadoo had begun.
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