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‘Here, you!’ cried Flory to the Inspector. ‘Can you speak Hindustani?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then tell them to fire high, right over the people’s heads. And above all, to fire all together. Make
them understand that.’
The fat Inspector, whose Hindustani was even worse than Flory’s, explained what was wanted,
chiefly by leaping up and down and gesticulating. The sepoys raised their rifles, there was a roar, and
a rolling echo from the hillside. For a moment Flory thought that his order had been disregarded, for
almost the entire section of the crowd nearest them had fallen like a swath of hay. However, they had
only flung themselves down in panic. The sepoys fired a second volley, but it was not needed. The
crowd had immediately begun to surge outwards from the Club like a river changing its course. They
came pouring down the road, saw the armed men barring their way, and tried to recoil, whereupon
there was a fresh battle between those in front and those behind; finally the whole crowd bulged
outwards and began to roll slowly up the maidan. Flory and the sepoys moved slowly towards the
Club on the heels of the retreating crowd. The policemen who had been engulfed were straggling back
by ones and twos. Their pagris were gone and their puttees trailing yards behind them, but they had
no damage worse than bruises. The Civil Policemen were dragging a very few prisoners among them.
When they reached the Club compound the Burmans were still pouring out, an endless line of young
men leaping gracefully through a gap in the hedge like a procession of gazelles. It seemed to Flory
that it was getting very dark. A small white-clad figure extricated itself from the last of the crowd and
tumbled limply into Flory’s arms. It was Dr Veraswami, with his tie torn off but his spectacles
miraculously unbroken.
‘Doctor!’
‘Ach, my friend! Ach, how I am exhausted!’
‘What are you doing here? Were you right in the middle of that crowd?’
‘I wass trying to restrain them, my friend. It wass hopeless until you came. But there iss at least one
man who bears the mark of this, I think!’
He held out a small fist for Flory to see the damaged knuckles. But it was certainly quite dark now.
At the same moment Flory heard a nasal voice behind him.
‘Well, Mr Flory, so it is all over already! A mere flash in the pan as usual. You and I together were
a little too much for them–ha, ha!’
It was U Po Kyin. He came towards them with a martial air, carrying a huge stick, and with a
revolver thrust into his belt. His dress was a studious négligé–singlet and Shan trousers–to give the
impression that he had rushed out of his house post-haste. He had been lying low until the danger
should be over, and was now hurrying forth to grab a share of any credit that might be going.
‘A smart piece of work, sir!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Look how they are flying up the hillside! We
have routed them most satisfactorily.’
‘We!’ panted the doctor indignantly.
‘Ah, my dear doctor! I did not perceive that you were there. Is it possible that you also have been
in the fighting? You–risking your most valuable life! Who would have believed such a thing?’
‘You’ve taken your time getting here yourself!’ said Flory angrily.