“Badmashes or not, they came from your house—­if this is your house.”

“It is my house, sahib.  My name is Omichand.  I must inquire how the badmashes came to be in my compound.  I fear my darwan {doorkeeper} is at fault.”

“And what about the two men?”

“The two men, sahib?”

“Yes, the two Europeans who came first from the house, and were protected by these ruffians?”

“You must be mistaken, sahib.  English sahibs do not visit at the houses of Indian gentlemen.  If the sahib had been longer in Calcutta he would know that.”

A smile flickered on the Indian’s face, but it was gone instantly.  Desmond was nonplussed.  It was useless to contradict the merchant; he was clearly not disposed to give any information; Diggle was gone.  All he could do was to return and report the matter to Mr. Merriman.

“Come along, Bulger,” he said, with an unceremonious gesture to Omichand.  “We can do no good here.”

“The old Ananias!” growled Bulger, as they walked away.  “What in thunder is Diggle’s game here?  I’d give a year’s ‘baccy to have a chanst o’ usin’ my hook on him.”

Mr. Merriman looked grave when he heard what had happened.

“To think of that villain once more escaping our clutches!  The other fellow was a Frenchman, you say?  There’s mischief brewing.  Sure if I was president I’d be tempted to arrest that wily old Omichand.  Not that it would be of much use, probably.  Peloti is a bold fellow to venture here.  You are sure ’twas he?”

“Absolutely.  His disguise was good:  he has altered his face in some way, and his dress is altogether changed; but I couldn’t mistake the covered hand.”

“’Tis an odd thing, that mitten.  Probably it conceals some defect; the man’s as vain as a peacock.  The mitten is a thing by which he may be traced, and I’ll send my peons to start inquiries tomorrow.  But I’ve something to say to you:  something to propose.  The Hormuzzeer is ready to sail, save for that consignment at Cossimbazar I mentioned.  My agent there is an Armenian named Coja Solomon; I’ve employed him for some years, and found him trustworthy; but I can’t get delivery of these goods.  I’ve sent two or three messengers to him, asking him to hurry, but he replies that there is some difficulty about the dastaks—­papers authorizing the despatch of goods free from customs duty.

“Now, will you go up the river and see what is causing the delay?  I’ll give you an introduction to Mr. Watts; he will do all he can for you, though no doubt his hands are full.  You can take Surendra Nath with you to interpret; and you had better have some armed peons as an escort, and perhaps a number of men we can trust to work the boat if you can release the goods.  Are you willing?”

“I will gladly do anything I can, sir.  Indeed, I wished for an opportunity to see something of the country.”

“You may see too much!  I’d say beware of tigers, but Surendra Nath is so desperately timid that you can depend on him not to lead you into danger.”