The Armenian rubbed his hands and smilingly assented; but Desmond, who had had some practice in reading faces since he left Market Drayton eighteen months before, felt an uneasy suspicion that Coja Solomon was a scamp.  Returning to the factory, he acquainted Mr. Watts with the result of his interview and his opinion of the agent.  The chief’s eye twinkled.

“You haven’t been long reckoning him up, Mr. Burke.  I’m afraid you’re right.  I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Calling “Qui hai {’Is there any one?’—­used as a summons}!” he ordered the peon who appeared in answer to his summons to go to the black merchants’ houses, a row of two-story buildings some forty yards from the southwest bastion, and bring back with him Babu Joti Lal Chatterji.

In less than ten minutes the man returned with an intelligent-looking young Bengali.  Mr. Watts addressed the latter in Hindustani, bidding him hasten to Murshidabad and find out quietly what the Faujdar was doing with the dastaks.  When he had gone, Mr. Watts showed Desmond over the fort, introduced him to his wife, and then took him round the English settlement.

Next day Joti Lal Chatterji returned from Murshidabad with the news that the dastaks, duly signed by the Faujdar, had been delivered to Coja Solomon a fortnight before.

“’Tis rather worse than I expected,” said Mr. Watts gravely.  “There is something in this that I do not understand.  We will send for Coja Solomon.”

No one could have seemed more genuinely surprised than the Armenian when informed of what had been learned.  He had received no dastaks, he declared; either a mistake had been made, or the papers had been intercepted, possibly by some enemy who had a grudge against him and wished to embroil him with his employer.  It was annoying, he agreed; and he offered to go to Murshidabad himself and, if necessary, get other dastaks signed.

“Very well,” said Mr. Watts, from whose manner no one could have guessed that he suspected his visitor.  “We shall look for you tomorrow.”

The man departed.  Nothing was heard of him for two days.  Then a letter arrived, saying that he remained in Murshidabad, awaiting the return of the Faujdar, who had been summoned to Rajmahal by the Nawab Sirajuddaula.  Three more days slipped by, and nothing further was heard from Coja Solomon.

Desmond became more and more impatient.  Bulger suggested that they should break into the godown and remove the goods without any ceremony—­a course that Desmond himself was not disinclined to adopt; but when he hinted at it to Mr. Watts that gentleman’s look of horror could not have been more expressive if his consent had been asked to commit a crime.

“Why, Mr. Burke, if we acted in that impetuous way we’d have all Bengal at our throats.  Trade must pass through the usual channels; to convey goods from here to Calcutta without a dastak would be a grave misdemeanor, if not high treason; and it would get us into very hot water with the Nawab.  I can only advise patience.”