he fled Bombay his belongings went inland, so I was told.  I believed the story and felt sure I should one day find him on Indian soil.  Years passed and I did not find him.  It was but a few months ago that I discovered his ruse and learned his whereabouts.  I could scarcely contain myself for joy.  My life-work was at last to be completed.  Nothing now remained but to plan his destruction.  This, however, was not so easy a thing to do, since, in order to make my revenge complete, I must disclose my identity before killing him.  At length I decided upon a plan.  I would come upon him at night, when asleep, gag him and bind him to his bed.  Then he should learn the name of his doomsman, and the horrible nature of the death that awaited him.”

Ragobah paused here as if overcome by his disappointment, and I said, “And how did you intend to kill him?” He gave a throaty chuckle, as he replied:  “It was all so very pretty!  I had only to saturate the bedclothes with oil and set fire to them.  I should have lighted them at his feet and watched the flames creep upward toward his head till safety compelled my retreat.  It was for this purpose I went to New York.  You already know the fatal delay I incurred.  When I landed I made all haste to the home of Darrow Sahib, in Dorchester, only to learn that he had killed himself a few days before my arrival.  The morsel for which I had striven and hungered for twenty long years was whipped from my hand, even as I raised it to my mouth.  My enemy was dead, beyond the power of injury, and my hands were unstained by his blood.

“I then determined to kill his daughter.  It was the night of my enemy’s burial.  The Sahibah was alone in the house and was intending to leave it that night.  I knew she would see that everything was securely fastened before she went away, and so, when I opened one of the windows, I was sure she would come to close it.  Crouching down outside I awaited her approach, intending to spring up and stab her while she was pulling the window down.  Everything happened as I planned—­what ails the Sahib?  I did not kill her!  No, at the last moment something—­never mind what—­stayed my arm!  The death of an innocent girl did not promise me any lasting satisfaction and I gave up the idea, returned to New York, and re-embarked for Bombay as innocent in act as when I left it.  My life had been a failure and I had no desire to prolong it.  When you arrested me on the charge of murder, nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to have been able to plead guilty.

“You already know why I so hated Darrow.  He robbed me of the only woman I ever loved.  Maddened by jealousy, I told her I had thrown him into the well in the cave here.  It was a lie, but she believed it, and fled from me, and in a few minutes had thrown herself into that bottomless hole.  See, Sahib,” he said, entering the cave and pointing down the dark shaft,—­“that is the road she took in order that her bones might