nvinced me that he was speaking true words.

"'Yes, this is the simple truth,' he went on. 'And yet'----here his
voice faltered, and he glanced down pityingly on his wife crouched upon
the ground, rocking herself and wringing her hands. 'And yet I know,
_we_ know, Devaka and I, that Sheikh Ahmed has been murdered.'

"I started aghast, and involuntarily drew my garments around me.

"'Nay,' he said reproachfully, reading my unacknowledged and almost
unformed thought, 'but not at our hands, Chunda Das.'

"'Then how do you know that he is dead?' I questioned, already ashamed
that a doubt could have crossed my mind as to my friends being art and
part in such a dastardly deed. 'What makes you think so?'

"'I do not think; I know,' he said decisively. 'And I will tell you why.
The night after the Sheikh left was cold and windy, for the monsoon was
approaching. Devaka and I were sitting together, and as we listened to
the wind blowing outside she expressed the hope that our guest was
safely at his destination, for in his state of health the inclement
weather would be harmful. Before I could answer her we were startled to
hear quite close to us a faint cry. I got up and looked around, and so
did Devaka, for she is brave, my wife. But we could not find anything to
account for the disconcerting sound.

"'We sat down again, but before long we heard once more the wailing
cry, louder now and more prolonged. We started up, and this time went
outside in spite of the rain carried by the lashing wind. However, we
could discover no one--neither man nor beast. So we went in again, and
shut the door.

"'And all that night long this strange thing continued. Sometimes the
sound was softly sobbing, then it would grow to a heartbreaking wail. We
could not go to bed. Fear kept us awake, for we had come to the
conclusion that it was the spirit of Sheikh Ahmed trying to make us
understand that he had been murdered on the road.

"'Day after day, and night after night we were haunted by the cries and
sobs of this spirit. Can you wonder that our hearts grew weak from fear,
that we shunned our neighbours lest they should enter our dwelling and,
hearing these sounds, suspect that we had done some grievous wrong? That
is my story, Chunda Das.'

"And the strong man sank to the ground, as he buried his face in his
hands.

"'It is even a relief to be here,' he cried, in broken tones, 'here,
prisoners in this place of shame, because at least we a