Desmond first sought out Major Coote.

“By George, Burke!” said that officer, “Colonel Clive is in a towering rage at your long absence; he expected your return long ago.  And you ought to know that Colonel Clive in a rage is not quite as mild as milk.”

“I’m afraid I must brave his anger,” said Desmond.  “I’ve found Mr. Merriman’s ladies.”

“You have?”

“Yes, and brought them back with me.  And Peloti will trouble us no more:  we had to fight for the ladies, and Bulger killed him.  Won’t Mr. Clive forgive me?”

“I can’t answer for Mr. Clive; no one can say what he will do.  But I tell you one thing:  you’ll put Warren Hastings’ nose out of joint.  You know he was sweet on Merriman’s daughter.”

“No, I didn’t know it.  I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Don’t you, egad!” said Coote with a laugh.  “Sure, my boy, you’ll see it before long.  Well, I won’t keep you to hear your story.  Go to Mr. Clive at once; and let me know what happens.”

Desmond found Clive in company with Mr. Watts, and Rai Durlabh, Mr. Scrafton and Omichand.  He had some difficulty in obtaining admittance; only his representation that he bore important news prevailed with the darwan.  He learned afterwards that the great bankers, the Seths, had just left the meeting, after it had been decided that, owing to the depletion of the treasury, only one-half of the immense sums promised to Clive and the English in Mir Jafar’s treaty could be paid at once, the remainder to follow in three years.

Desmond entered the room just in time to hear Clive say to Scrafton: 

“It is now time to undeceive Omichand.”

Mr. Scrafton went up to the Sikh, and said quietly in Hindustani: 

“Omichand, the red paper is a trick:  you are to have nothing.”

Omichand stood for a moment dazed:  then he fell back in a faint and was carried by his attendants from the room.  The shock had unhinged the poor man’s reason:  he lingered insane for eighteen months and died.

At the time Desmond knew nothing of the deceit that had been practised on him; but in the light of his after knowledge he understood the strange expression that clouded Clive’s face as the old man was carried away:  a look of pity mingled with contempt.  Catching sight of Desmond, the great soldier flashed out: 

“What do you mean, sir, by absenting yourself so long?  I sent you in advance because I thought you would be speedy.  A snail would have gone more quickly.”

“I am sorry, sir,” said Desmond; “I was unexpectedly delayed.  I had got nearly as far as Rajmahal when I learned the whereabouts of Mrs. Merriman.  She was in hiding with Surendra Nath, one of Mr. Merriman’s men.  I heard that Diggle—­Peloti, sir—­was about to attempt her recapture, and I felt that you yourself, had you been in my place, would have tried to save the ladies.”

Clive grunted.