“There’s Surendra Nath and his father,” said Mr. Merriman, as they came near the steps.

His jolly face beamed when he stepped on to the ghat {landing stage}.

“Hullo, Babu!” he said, “glad to see you again.”

He shook hands with both the men; the elder was much like his son, a slightly-built Bengali, with white hair and very bright eyes.  Both were clad in dhotis of pure white; their legs were bare from the knee, their feet shod with sandals.  When the greeting had passed between them and their master, the old man moved towards Desmond, put his hands together, and made a deep salaam.

“I have heard what the sahib did for my son.  I thank the sahib,” he said.

“Yes, ’twas excellent good fortune for Surendra Nath,” said Mr. Merriman.  “I knew you would be overjoyed to see your son again.  But how is the bibi {lady}, and the chota {young} bibi?”

“They were well, sahib, when last I heard.  They are on a visit to Watts Sahib, at Cossimbazar.”

Merriman’s face fell, but he had no time to say more, for he was accosted by a friend.

“Glad to see you back, Mr. Merriman.  I’ve wanted your voice on the Council for some time past.”

“Is anything wrong, Mr. Holwell?” asked Merriman anxiously.

“Everything is wrong.  Alivirdi died a fortnight ago; Sirajuddaula has stepped into his shoes; and Drake has made a mess of everything, with Manningham’s and Frankland’s assistance.  I want you to come and dine with me this evening; we must have a serious talk; I’ve asked two or three men of our sort in anticipation of your consent.”

“Very well.  Let me present my friend, Mr. Burke.  He escaped from Gheria; you’ve heard that Colonel Clive captured the place?”

“Yes; we had despatches from Admiral Watson some days ago.  I had heard of Mr. Burke’s adventures—­

“Your servant, sir; I am delighted to meet you—­

“Well, Merriman, three o’clock; I will not detain you now; you’ll want to get home.”

Mr. Merriman’s bearers were at hand with his palanquin; he got into it; the men set off at a swinging pace, warning the bystanders with their cry of “Tok!  Tok!” and Desmond walked by the side of the chair, amused to watch the self-important airs of the peon who went in front.  They passed the fort and the Company’s house, and arrived at length at a two-story flat-roofed house with a veranda, the windows filled, not with oyster shells as at Bombay, but with thin screens of reeds.

“Here we are,” said Merriman with a sigh of relief.

“Now I’ll hand you over to the baniya {factotum}; he’ll show you to your room.  I’m vexed that my wife is not here; of course she didn’t know when to expect me; and Mrs. Watts is an old friend of hers.  ’Tis a relief in one way; for Mr. Watts is a shrewd fellow—­he’s head of our factory at Cossimbazar, and senior member of Council here—­and he would have sent the ladies away if he scented danger.  Sorry I shall have to leave you; I must dine with Mr. Holwell; he’s our zamindar—­judge of the Cutcheri court and collector of taxes:  a fine fellow, the most cool-headed man on the Council.  But the khansaman will give you something to eat:  and I’ll be back as soon as I can.  You can take it easy on the veranda, and you’ll find a hookah if you care to try it.”