had been accepted as Nawab, and nothing had been heard of
Sirajuddaula.

Desmond first sought out Major Coote.

"By George, Burke!" said that officer, "Colonel Clive is in a towering
rage at your long absence; he expected your return long ago. And you
ought to know that Colonel Clive in a rage is not quite as mild as milk."

"I'm afraid I must brave his anger," said Desmond. "I've found Mr.
Merriman's ladies."

"You have?"

"Yes, and brought them back with me. And Peloti will trouble us no more:
we had to fight for the ladies, and Bulger killed him. Won't Mr. Clive
forgive me?"

"I can't answer for Mr. Clive; no one can say what he will do. But I tell
you one thing: you'll put Warren Hastings' nose out of joint. You know he
was sweet on Merriman's daughter."

"No, I didn't know it. I don't see what that has to do with me."

"Don't you, egad!" said Coote with a laugh. "Sure, my boy, you'll see it
before long. Well, I won't keep you to hear your story. Go to Mr. Clive
at once; and let me know what happens."

Desmond found Clive in company with Mr. Watts, and Rai Durlabh, Mr.
Scrafton and Omichand. He had some difficulty in obtaining admittance;
only his representation that he bore important news prevailed with the
darwan. He learned afterwards that the great bankers, the Seths, had just
left the meeting, after it had been decided that, owing to the depletion
of the treasury, only one-half of the immense sums promised to Clive and
the English in Mir Jafar's treaty could be paid at once, the remainder to
follow in three years.

Desmond entered the room just in time to hear Clive say to Scrafton:

"It is now time to undeceive Omichand."

Mr. Scrafton went up to the Sikh, and said quietly in Hindustani:

"Omichand, the red paper is a trick: you are to have nothing."

Omichand stood for a moment dazed: then he fell back in a faint and was
carried by his attendants from the room. The shock had unhinged the poor
man's reason: he lingered insane for eighteen months and died.

At the time Desmond knew nothing of the deceit that had been practised on
him; but in the light of his after knowledge he understood the strange
expression that clouded Clive's face as the old man was carried away: a
look of pity mingled with contempt. Catching sight of Desmond, the great
soldier flashed out:

"What do you mean, sir, by absenting yourself so long? I sent you in
advance because I thought you would be speedy. A snail would