ead of that he set fire to the straw
out of pure villainy, for what could I do to him? I have been a good
friend to the English. Sir, pursue that man: he must be a Frenchman. I
will give you a quarter, nay, a third of my goods, if you recover them."

"That is impossible, Khwaja. I've only twenty men on foot: what is the
use of pursuing fifty on horseback? Your friendship for the British has
come, I fear, a little too late."

The Armenian wrung his hands in despair, whining that he was a ruined
man. Then his tone changed; was there not still a chance? He explained
that, a few hours before his capture, he had met a man who had recognized
him as the agent for Mr. Merriman. The man said that he was a servant of
Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti and was on his way to meet Clive Sahib,
carrying a letter to him from his master. But he was worn out, having
come on foot a day and a night without rest. Coja Solomon unblushingly
confessed that, while the man slept at midday, he had taken the letter
from him and read it.

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought it would be safer with me, for every one knows--"

"Yes, that'll do, Khwaja; go on with your story."

"The letter was written at Malda, a village on the other side of the
river, and the writer, Surendra Nath, informed Mr. Clive that the wife
and daughter of Mr. Merriman were in his house there, and asked him to
send a party to bring them away. Naturally, sir, I was pleased to find--"

"Go on with your story," cried Desmond impatiently, all excitement at
coming upon the track of the ladies at last.

"It was while I was reading the letter that the horsemen came up. The
risaldar took it from me, read it, and questioned me. His face changed.
He smiled evilly, and from the questions he asked me, and from what I
heard him say to his followers, he has gone to Malda, with a design to
take these ladies."

"Stay, Khwaja, what was he like?"

"He was a tall man, with scars on his face, and on his right hand he wore
a black glove."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Desmond.

His look of trouble and anxiety did not escape the Armenian.

"It is but a little since he left me," he said. "If you make your way to
the village--it is three coss on the other side of the river--you may
capture him, sir, as well as regain my property, a third of which is
yours."

"But how--how, man?" cried Desmond impatiently. "How can we overtake him
on foot?"

"He will have to ride near to Rajmahal to find a fo