“Stay, Khwaja, what was he like?”

“He was a tall man, with scars on his face, and on his right hand he wore a black glove.”

“The scoundrel!” exclaimed Desmond.

His look of trouble and anxiety did not escape the Armenian.

“It is but a little since he left me,” he said.  “If you make your way to the village—­it is three coss on the other side of the river—­you may capture him, sir, as well as regain my property, a third of which is yours.”

“But how—­how, man?” cried Desmond impatiently.  “How can we overtake him on foot?”

“He will have to ride near to Rajmahal to find a ford, sir.  He will cross there, and ride back down the river some five coss before he comes to Malda.”

“But could he not swim the river?”

“He could, sir, but it is a feat he is not likely to attempt, seeing that there is no need for haste.  I implore you, sir, start at once.  Otherwise I am a ruined man; my old age will be spent in poverty and distress.”

“If he can not cross, how can I?” said Desmond.

“There is sure to be a boat on the bank, sir, unless they have all been seized by the Nawab, who, rumor says, is coming from Bhagwangola by river to Rajmahal.”

Desmond felt uneasy and perplexed.  He doubted whether his duty to Clive did not forbid him to go in search of the ladies, and there was no possibility of communicating in time with either Clive or Coote.  Then it suddenly occurred to him that pursuit of Diggle might well come within his duty.  Diggle was in the service of the Nawab; it was possible that he was even leading an advance guard of Law’s Frenchmen.

“Were there any other Europeans besides the risaldar among the horsemen?” he asked.

“Two, sahib, and they were French.  I suspect they were from the force of Law, sahib; he was, I know, at Patna a few days ago.”

Desmond hesitated no longer.  His affection for Mr. Merriman prompted an attempt to save the ladies:  his mission from Clive was to discover the movements of the French.  If he set off on Diggle’s track he might succeed in both.  It was a risky adventure—­to pursue fifty men under such a leader as Diggle, with only a score.  But twice before he had tried conclusions with Diggle and come off best:  why should fortune fail him again?

Hurriedly explaining the situation to Mr. Toley and Bulger, he hastened with his men down to the river.  There was no boat at the village ghat.  He looked anxiously up and down.  On the opposite side he saw a long riverboat moored in a narrow backwater.  He could only get it by swimming, and here the current ran so swiftly that to swim would be dangerous.  Yet on the spur of the moment he was preparing to take to the water himself when one of his men, a slim and active Sepoy, volunteered to go.

“Good!  I will give you ten rupees if you bring the boat across.  You are a good swimmer?”