The muskets of several soldiers, crowding to the door, were immediately pointed at Djalma and the three Stranglers, whilst others went in pursuit of Faringhea.  The negro, the Malay, and the Indian, seeing the impossibility of resistance, exchanged a few rapid words, and offered their hands to the cords, with which some of the soldiers had provided themselves.

The Dutch captain, who commanded the squad, entered the cabin at this moment.  “And this other one?” said he, pointing out Djalma to the soldiers, who were occupied in binding the three Phansegars.

“Each in his turn, captain!” said an old sergeant.  “We come to him next.”

Djalma had remained petrified with surprise, not understanding what was passing round him; but, when he saw the sergeant and two soldiers approach with ropes to bind him, he repulsed them with violent indignation, and rushed towards the door where stood the officer.  The soldiers, who had supposed that Djalma would submit to his fate with the same impassibility as his companions, were astounded by this resistance, and recoiled some paces, being struck in spite of themselves, with the noble and dignified air of the son of Kadja-sing.

“Why would you bind me like these men?” cried Djalma, addressing himself in Hindostanee to the officer, who understood that language from his long service in the Dutch colonies.

“Why would we bind you, wretch?—­because you form part of this band of assassins.  What?” added the officer in Dutch, speaking to the soldiers, “are you afraid of him?—­Tie the cord tight about his wrists; there will soon be another about his neck.”

“You are mistaken,” said Djalma, with a dignity and calmness which astonished the officer; “I have hardly been in this place a quarter of an hour—­I do not know these men.  I came here to meet a Frenchman.”

“Not a Phansegar like them?—­Who will believe the falsehood?”

“Them!” cried Djalma, with so natural a movement and expression of horror, that with a sign the officer stopped the soldiers, who were again advancing to bind the son of Kadja-sing; “these men form part of that horrible band of murderers! and you accuse me of being their accomplice!—­Oh, in this case, sir!  I am perfectly at ease,” said the young man, with a smile of disdain.

“It will not be sufficient to say that you are tranquil,” replied the officer; “thanks to their confessions, we now know by what mysterious signs to recognize the Thugs.”

“I repeat, sir, that I hold these murderers in the greatest horror, and that I came here—­”

The negro, interrupting Djalma, said to the officer with a ferocious joy:  “You have hit it; the sons of the good work do know each other by marks tattooed on their skin.  For us, the hour has come—­we give our necks to the cord.  Often enough have we twined it round the necks of those who served not with us the good work.  Now, look at our arms, and look at the arms of this youth!”