At sunrise, said the man, a vessel flying Dutch colors had dropped down the river past the English fleet.  Her name was Dutch, and her destination Rotterdam; but Hossain was certain that she was really the Good Intent, which Desmond had pointed out to him as they passed Chandernagore, and which they had more than once seen since in the course of their journeys.  Her appearance had attracted some attention on the fleet; and the Tyger had sent a shot after her, ordering her to heave to; but having a strong northeast wind behind her, she took no notice of the signal and held on her course.

Desmond thanked Hossain for the information, and, leaving his breakfast unfinished, went off at once to see Clive, whom he was to join that morning on a tour of inspection of the northwest part of the French settlement.

“Well, I don’t see what we can do,” said Clive, when Desmond repeated the news to him.  “Mr. Watson no doubt suspected her when it was too late.  Nothing but a regular chase could have captured her after she had passed.  Ships can’t be spared for that; they’ve much more important work on hand.”

“Still, ’tis a pity, sir,” said Desmond. “’Tis not only that Captain Barker is an interloper; he has been in league with pirates, and his being at Chandernagore all these months means no good.”

“It means, at any rate, that he hasn’t been able to get a cargo.  Trade’s at a standstill.  Well, I’d give something to lay Mr. Barker and his crew by the heels—­on behalf of the Company, Burke, for don’t forget, as some of our friends of the Calcutta Council do, that I am here to save the Company, not their private property.  ’Tis too late to stop the vessel now.”

“I’d like to try, sir.”

“I dare say you would.  You’re as ready to take risks as I am,” he added, with his characteristic pursing of the lips; “and ’pon my word, you’re just as lucky!  For I’m lucky, Burke; there’s no doubt of it.  That affair at Calcutta might have done for us but for the morning mist.  I’d like to try myself.  It would punish a set of rogues, and discourage interloping, to the benefit of the Company.  But I can’t spare men for the job.  Barker has no doubt a large crew; they’ll be on the lookout for attack; no, I can’t touch it.”

Desmond hesitated for a moment.  He did not wish to lose the fighting at Chandernagore, but he had the strongest personal reasons for desiring the arrest of the Good Intent.

“Do you think, sir, we shall capture this place tomorrow?” he asked suddenly.

“Scarcely, my boy,” said Clive, smiling; “nor by tomorrow week, unless the French have forgotten how to fight.  Why do you ask?”

“Because if you’d give me leave I’d like to have a shot at the Good Intent—­provided I got back in time to be with you in the fighting line, sir.”

“Well, I can’t keep things waiting for you.  And it seems a wild-goose chase—­rather a hazardous one.”