[Moro Scindia paused here, as one who had reached the end of his narrative, and I continued my interrogations.]

Q. Although you never again saw your cousin you must, I think, have heard something of her fate.

A I learned of it through Nana Kandia, the servant who had secretly embraced Lona’s cause, and who had borne her message to me.  It seems that, after my interview with her, my cousin was seized with a consuming desire to see her English lover once more before her death; so she devised a plan by which, with Kandia’s help, Darrow Sahib was to be secretly conducted to her under cover of night.  She wrote a letter asking him, as a last request, to meet her messenger on Malabar Hill, and instructing him how to make himself known.  This she gave to Kandia to post early in the morning of the day upon which their plan was to be put into execution.  As he was about leaving the house Ragobah called him into his chamber and demanded to know what was taking him forth so early in the morning.  Kandia saw at once that the purpose of his errand had been discovered, and determined to meet the issue bravely.  “I was going to post a letter, Sahib,” he replied quietly.  “Let me see it!” Ragobah roared.  “I have no right to do so,” Kandia replied, springing toward the door.  But he was not quick enough for the wary Ragobah, who felled him to the floor with a chair before he had reached the threshold.  When he returned to consciousness he found his assailant, who had skilfully opened the letter, standing over him perusing it in malicious glee.  When he had finished reading he carefully resealed it and placed it in his pocket.  Then he called two of his servants and gave Kandia into their charge with orders to gag him, to bind him hand and foot, and, as they valued their lives, not to permit him to leave the room till he ordered it.

What occurred between that time and the return of Ragobah, wounded and furious, late in the evening, we can only surmise.  He doubtless posted the letter, and went himself to meet Darrow Sahib on Malabar Hill.  When he returned home he hobbled into his wife’s apartment and then ordered Kandia to be sent to him.  His left leg was badly crushed and his face, contorted with pain and fiendish malevolence, was horrible to look upon.

“Our trusty friend here,” he said, addressing his wife and pointing to Kandia, “could not conveniently post your letter this morning, my dear, so I did it myself.”  Lona’s face turned ashen pale, but she made no reply.

“I thought,” he continued in his sweetest accents and with the same demoniac sarcasm, “that you would be anxious to know if the Sahib received it,—­our mail service is so lax of late,—­so I went tonight to Malabar Hill to see, for I felt certain he would come if he got your note, and, sure enough, he was there even ahead of time.  I was obliged to forego the pleasure of bringing him to you on account of two most unfortunate accidents.