“Hai, darwan!” he said, with the bluntness of servant addressing servant; “sleeping again!  Go and tell your master I’m here to see him:  a khitmatgar from the fort.”

The man rose sleepily and preceded him into the house.  He made the announcement, salaamed and retired.  Desmond went in.

In a little room on the ground floor Coja Solomon reclined on a divan, smoking his hubblebubble.  A small oil lamp burnt on a bracket above his head.  He looked up as Desmond entered; if he thought that his visitor was somewhat better set-up than the average khitmatgar, he did not suspect any disguise.  The light was dim, and Coja Solomon was old.

“Good evening, Khwaja,” said Desmond quietly.

The man jumped as if shot.

“No, don’t get up, and don’t make a noise.  My business with you will not take long.  I will ask you to hand over Mr. Merriman’s dastaks.  I know that they are in your possession.  I have come to get them, and to take away the goods—­Mr. Merriman’s goods.”

The Armenian had meanwhile removed the mouthpiece of his hubblebubble, and was bending over as if to replace it by one of several that lay on a shelf at his right hand.  But Desmond noticed that beneath the shelf stood a small gong.  He whipped out a pistol, and pointed it full at the merchant.

“Don’t touch that,” he said curtly.  “I have not come unprepared, as you see.  Your plans are known to me.  If you value your life you will do as I wish, without delay or disturbance.  My men are outside; a word from me will bring them swarming in.  Now, the dastaks!”

Coja Solomon was an Armenian and a merchant; in neither capacity a fighting man.  In a contest of wits he could be as cool and as ready as any man in Bengal; but he had no skill in arms and no physical courage.  There was an air of determination about his visitor that impressed him; and he felt by no means comfortable within point-blank range of the pistol covering him so completely.  If his thoughts had been read, they would have run somewhat thus:  “Pistols have been known to go off accidentally.  What will the goods profit me if such an accident happen now?  Besides, even if I yield there may still be a chance of saving them.  It is a long way to Calcutta:  the river is low:  God be praised the rains have not begun!  There are shallows and rocks along its course:  the boats must go slowly:  and the Nawab’s horsemen can soon outstrip them on the banks.  The dog of an Englishman thinks he has outwitted me:  we shall see.  And he is only a youth:  let us see if Coja Solomon is not a match for him.”

Rising to his feet, he smiled and shrugged, and spread out his hands deprecatingly.

“It is true the dastaks are here,” he said suavely, “but they only reached me yesterday, and indeed, as soon as I received them, I had the goods put on board the boats for transit to Calcutta.”

“That is very fortunate,” said Desmond.  “It will save my time.  As Mr. Merriman’s representative I will take over the goods—­with the dastaks.”