“One night, dadababu,” he said, “I sees bicycles. But I don’t asks Jagan, because after rains he has fever, and I don’t disturb him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Bishu?” asked Mr. Banerjee.

“Dadababu, I don’t see the bicycles again. I—I forgets them,” said Bishu. “I don’t realise…”

“This morning,” said Mr. Banerjee, “the police asked me if any of the servants were involved with that man. I could have told them your name, but I didn’t. But, taking into consideration what has happened, I don’t think I can keep you in this house any longer.”

Bishu was standing barefoot, his hands behind his back, staring at the floor. Then he said:

“Dadababu, I do not knows this man. When you tells me, ‘Get me good man,’ I tells Mejda, and he says: ‘I sends man from Khurda district, I knows him, he is from our village, he is good man.’ I not knows the man, dadababu.”

“Be that as it may, you should have been more careful,” said Mr. Banerjee. “I can keep you no longer.”

Bishu was silent. Then, looking at the floor, he said again:

“Dadababu, I works for seven years in this house, this is my first mistake. Please forgive me … I never gives you trouble before. Last year, you goes out of Calcutta for one month and didi alone in the house. If I thief, I could steal then from the house, but I does not steals anything. Please forgive me this time.”

“I can’t change my mind, Bishu,” said Mr. Banerjee. “You will have your full month’s salary and your notice.”