iend Angria you
would view it in another light. I trust that during the nocturnal hours
you have come to perceive the advantages of choosing the discreet part.
Let us reason together."

There were several natives with them in the workshop, but none of them
understood English, and the two Englishmen could talk at ease.

"Reason!" said Desmond in reply to Diggle's last sentence. "If you are
going to talk of what your pirate friend spoke of yesterday, it is mere
waste of time. I shall never agree."

"Words, my young friend, mere words! You will be one of us yet. You will
never have such a chance again. Why, in a few years you will be able to
return to England, if you will, a rich man, a very nawab {governor}. My
friend Angria has his faults; nemo est sine culpa: but he is at least
generous. An instance! The man who took the chief part in the capture of
the Dutchman two years ago--what is he now? A naib {deputy governor}, a
man of wealth, of high repute at the Nizam's court. There is no reason
why you should not follow so worthy an example; cut out an Indiaman or
two, and Desmond Burke may, if he will, convey a shipload of precious
things to the shores of Albion, and enjoy his leisured dignity on a
landed estate of his own. He shall drive a coach while his oaf of a
brother perspires behind a plow."

Desmond was silent. Diggle watched him keenly, and after a slight pause
continued:

"This is no great thing that is asked of you. You sail on one of Angria's
grabs; you are set upon the shore; you enter Bombay with a likely story
of escape from the fortress of the Pirate; you are a hero, the boon
fellow of the men, the pet of the ladies--for there are ladies in Bombay,
forma praestante puellae. In a week you know everything, all the purposes
that Angria's spies have failed to discover. One day you disappear; the
ladies wail and tear their hair; a tiger has eaten you; in a week you
will be forgotten. But you are back in Angria's fortress, no longer a
slave, downtrodden and despised; but a free man, a rich man, a potentate
to be. Is it not worth thinking of, my young friend, especially when you
remember the other side of the picture? It is a dark side; an unpleasant
side; even, let me confess, horrible: I prefer to keep it to the wall."

He waved his gloved hand, deprecatingly, watching Desmond with the same
intentness. The boy was dumb: he might also have been deaf. Diggle drew
from his fob an elaborately chased snuffbox an