n Delhi, his every movement had been watched. If he was
thus known to the maulavi, was it not possible that he was also being
spied upon by agents of the mutineers? Might they not be giving him the
rope by which to hang himself? As he passed through the streets on the
way back to his serai he felt that he was slinking along like a
criminal. He seemed to see an enemy in every passer-by.

But before he reached the serai he had partially got the better of this
feeling. After all, Fazl Hak himself appeared to have no idea that the
bearded Afghan who had stood before him was a youth in disguise. It was
a pleasure to find a gap in that wise person's knowledge, and as for the
mutineers, the summary manner in which they had disposed of the man
caught at the Kashmir gate, and the disguised fakir at the Ajmir gate,
disposed him to believe that if he were suspected he would not now be
alive.

Though thus gaining reassurance as to his safety, he had to confess that
the discovery of Craddock Sahib seemed as far off as ever. He had
counted much on the khansaman, and to find that the man was not only
disloyal, but had actually taken service with one of the most malignant
of the enemies of the sahibs, was much more than a disappointment. Since
it appeared clear that the khansaman could have had no hand in the
concealment of the doctor, he had no clue to follow, and to seek a
hidden man without a clue in this immense city, with its labyrinths of
streets and lanes, was a task that staggered him by its hopelessness.

After a night's rest, however, his fit of black despair had passed. He
awoke with a settled determination to do his utmost, not merely to find
the hakim, but to prove to Fazl Hak and to Hodson Sahib that he was
worthy of the mission entrusted to him. In his interview with the
maulavi his self-esteem had received a wound--not a very serious one, as
his good sense informed him, but still one that could only be healed by
accomplishment. The question was, how to achieve his end? Obviously he
could not force things; it seemed as though the most he could do was to
be alert and vigilant, trusting that chance would throw an opportunity
in his way.

It occurred to him that a visit to Minghal Khan's house might help him a
little. It would at least enable him to learn for himself, perhaps,
whether the chaprasi's report about the khansaman was justified. He
still felt a lingering hope that the informant was mistaken. The missy
sahib