On the morning of his return from Madras, as the train was sweeping into the station at Puranapore, Mark Cheveril noticed among the passengers gathered on the platform for the up train the Mahomedan, Zynool Sahib. He had never exchanged words with him since the morning at the Kutchery, of which he retained an unpleasant recollection. His feeling was evidently reciprocated by the Mussulman, for a scowl was distinctly visible on his ruddy brown face as soon as he caught sight of the Assistant-Collector.

"That man suggests the hatching of evil plots every time I set eyes on him," said Mark to himself, as he watched the heavy form lurching into one of the carriages for Madras. "Fortunately we give each other a wide berth!"

Mark stepped into his waiting bandy and was driven towards the cantonment, as it was still called though bereft of its military element. When about half-way to his bungalow, he perceived, under the shade of a spreading neem tree, two men apparently engaged in earnest conversation. Without difficulty he recognised one of them as Moideen, the Collector's trusted butler. His companion was surely none other than Zynool, though he had certainly seen his legs disappearing into a railway carriage some minutes ago and knew that he must now be on his way to the city. This then must be his double! Height, gestures, features, and the dense black beard, all seemed an exact facsimile of the Puranapore magnate. Mark, however, soon became preoccupied by other thoughts, and the incident faded from his memory for the time being.

He found the Collector busy in his office preparing for his intended tour on the following morning.

"I want to hear all your news presently, Cheveril," said Mr. Worsley, glancing up from his papers with kindly greeting. "How did the meeting go off—and your speech? Was your ideal Eurasian up to the mark? That isn't meant to be a pun, by the way, though it might be mistaken for one! And how is that charming friend of yours—Hester—hate to call her by her husband's name! You saw her too, eh? Well, come and tell me all about her to-night at dinner. I'll warn Moideen to excel himself in the menu!"

The Collector settled himself to his files again, and Mark to his yesterday's arrears.

When they met at dinner, Mr. Worsley was in his happiest mood and encouraged his guest to give a detailed account of all his doings in Madras. He seemed really interested in the opening of the new hall and reading-room in Vepery, for the benefit of which he had gladdened Mr. Morpeth's heart by sending a handsome donation. He was also eager to hear the latest accounts of Hester, to whom he always referred in a tone of warmest admiration mingled with pity. The incident at the close of the ball at Government House still rankled.

"The worst of it is that the fellow scored—actually scored," he said, describing the scene to Mark. "That sweet girl was punished for my having angered her husband by a chilly attitude when we were introduced earlier in the evening. I simply sat dumfounded on that sofa after the wretch had, one might say, dragged her off! What a life she is bound to have—what a vista of misery!" There was a sorrowful light in the Collector's eyes as he spoke, and he went on: "I declare it's more deadly for a woman to be tied to a bad husband than for a man to be mated to a selfish, unprincipled wife! In the latter case one can sometimes keep the seas between as a protecting barrier; but for that poor child I can only foresee a cruel future. How different things might have been—should have been," he added, darting a keen glance at his companion, whose face looked grave and troubled.

"Well, the sea does protect her just at this moment," returned Mark, rousing himself. "Rayner has taken himself off to Calcutta on a visit to some acquaintance there. But even about that, according to Colonel Fellowes whom I chanced to meet at the station, he behaved badly. The trip was first meant to include Hester, and she was looking forward to it, when Rayner is said to have stumbled on an undesirable acquaintance who persuaded him to go to Bombay and have what he called a 'good time' there."

"And so his poor wife was thrown overboard! Well, she's better without him, anyhow!"

"I was glad to see her looking so well and happy. She was evidently enjoying her visit to the Fellowes."

"I'm truly glad to hear it," said Mr. Worsley warmly. "She needs a respite from that thraldom. Yes, Mrs. Fellowes looks good, and her husband is an excellent fellow, quite the best type of sepoy officer, and has a splendid record. Did very well at the Mutiny."

The dinner was now over, and the soft-footed servants having arranged the fruit and wine, had retired. When Mark saw Moideen's retreating figure, he was reminded of the incident of the morning.

"Has Zynool a twin-brother in town or anywhere?" he asked.

"I hope not; one of Zynool's kidney is quite enough!"

"I ask because I saw, on my way from the station, a man exactly like him in close conversation with your butler."

"Zynool himself, no doubt! I wish he would let Moideen alone. I suspect there has been more mischief done than I'm aware of by these two hobnobbing," said the Collector irritably.

"No, it couldn't have been Zynool. There's the puzzle. Because I happen to have seen Zynool stepping into the train for Madras. It's really mystifying, now I come to think of it! If the man was not Zynool, as is physically impossible, it must have been his double."

"I have it," exclaimed Mr. Worsley. "It must have been my Tahsildar at Lerode, Mahomet Usman. I once saw him and Zynool side by side, and I own the likeness was remarkable. I happened to mention the fact and observed they both looked displeased. Mahomet Usman looked particularly glum and vowed he was no relative of Zynool's. But if the man is about to-day, why did he not present himself at the office? However, I shall clear the matter up soon, for I have intimated a visit to him to-morrow. I wonder he didn't look in when he was here. But there's no use trying to fathom these natives. Let's get to our cheroots and pass to pleasanter topics."

Mr. Worsley seemed in such comfortable health and spirits when Mark bade him good-night, that he was not a little surprised next morning when, at the hour appointed for starting on tour, one of the clerks who was to accompany the party called at his bungalow to say that the Collector was reported very unwell—quite unable to move from his bed, far less to travel.

Mark hurried to his chief to find him haggard and suffering. He wished at once to summon the doctor, but the Collector had a prejudice against all medical surveillance and would not hear of it, setting down his symptoms to mere biliousness caused by Moideen's efforts to please his palate. He certainly recovered wonderfully before evening, but on Mark's visiting him early next morning he found him suffering violent pain and attacked at intervals by severe sickness. This time he did not wait to consult the sufferer, but went at once to summon Dr. Campbell, just catching him before he started for the Dispensary in the town.

The doctor soon showed by his manner that he regarded the case as serious. The patient was fast sinking into a comatose condition. After a minute examination Dr. Campbell turned to Mark, and taking him aside told him that he had no doubt it was a case of poisoning, probably an overdose administered last night, which, with the help of the milder one on the previous night, was threatening to prove very serious.

"The action of the poison has been more effective than the poisoner intended probably," remarked the doctor.

"This is very serious," said Mark, alarm written on his face.

"Serious! I should say so! But I'll try to save him yet. I'll be back in a minute. Meanwhile, Cheveril, see you keep close watch by his bed. Don't leave him for an instant," whispered the doctor, and hurried away. He returned in a short time followed by his assistant, and the needful antidotes were skilfully applied with good result.

Neither the doctor nor Mark ever quitted the patient's bedside till the sun went down. Mr. Worsley seemed to be having some peaceful sleep, though his face looked as drawn and haggard as if he were emerging from a long illness.

Putting his arm through Mark's, Dr. Campbell drew him to the verandah which adjoined the bedroom.

"He's safe now, Cheveril, but it's been a close shave. Look here, this has been Moideen's work. It must be brought home to the villain at once."

"Yes," answered Mark. "I'm confident that man is at the root of it. But what if the Collector won't believe it? He has a very soft side to Moideen, you know."

"Too well I know it! But the man's a criminal and must be brought to justice. We dare not let his master be in his power a day longer."

Suddenly Mark recalled his glimpse of the butler in close conversation under the neem tree with Zynool's double. That the interview was in some way closely connected with the barely averted catastrophe, he did not doubt? But how to prove it?

The doctor had now left, and he sat watching the patient, noting the stronger breathing of the sleeping man, and trying to unravel the tangle of recent events without success. He had always distrusted Moideen since that first evening when he had watched his brown be-ringed feet planted behind the screen door while the Collector explained some of the difficulties of the government of Puranapore. He had no doubt of Moideen's present villainy, but how to get the Collector to admit it to his mind and to send from his side the capable servant of years, would prove a difficulty. The doctor's statement he would impatiently brush aside when he returned to health, and would point out that in this country one is always liable to such visitations; milk, fruit, and water all having possibilities of deadly effects. That this evil man should continue to have his master's confidence would, Mark felt certain, prove fatal sooner or later. Not that Moideen wished to kill his master, far from it. Probably he only exercised his unscrupulous power when he desired to further his own or his accomplices' nefarious designs. The evil spell must be broken, he resolved—but how?

Help came from an unexpected quarter! The "maty boy," a humble individual, and for a wonder, a Hindu, for Moideen generally saw to it that his staff was composed of Mahomedans, now thrust in his turbaned head at the door, but withdrew it again in an instant. Mark, perceiving that something was amiss, went to see. On looking out he perceived the "maty" and another servant exchanging dumb signs of dismay. On inquiring what the matter was, they told him in chorus:

"Butler done gone—also Ismail"—the latter being the Collector's dressing boy. "Not one left in godown; all empty, wife, children, all done gone!"

The intelligence was certainly unexpected. As the doctor's assistant appeared at that moment to relieve Mark at his post by the patient's bedside, he felt free to investigate this extraordinary piece of news for himself. Moideen was certainly nowhere to be seen; moreover, when Mark was conducted by the "maty" to Moideen's godown, by which humble name the comfortable and commodious quarters fitted up by the Collector for his favoured servant were still called, he found them empty. A sense of relief at once began to prevail. The man had by his flight sentenced himself. Without being arraigned, he had realised his position too well. Possibly the sight of Dr. Campbell's resolute face had struck terror into his conscience-stricken heart, or perhaps he had overheard the doctor's words in the verandah. Anyhow Mark felt that it was the best news he could have heard, though the big Jailer shook his head over it, when, on coming to inquire for the sick man, he was informed of the unexpected event.

"I've a good mind to have him tracked and convicted. What do you say, Judge?" he asked, turning to Mr. Goldring, who had also arrived to ask after the Collector.

"If anybody except Worsley was in question I'd have no hesitation in setting everything in train for a capture, but you know, Samptor, what Worsley is! He'll simply set himself to obstruct justice in this case. He'd hate the publicity of the affair," added the Judge, his blue eyes full of perplexity.

"Well, after all, the wretch is jolly well punished," returned the Jailer. "He's lost his fine soft berth and 'master's favour,' and all the rest of it. But I don't believe we've got to the bottom of this affair yet. Moideen didn't want to put an end to his master, be you sure of that!"

"No, the doctor thinks it was an accident," broke in Mark, "an overdose of the poison which acted with more deadly effect than was intended. Probably he was frantic when he saw what he had done. There may be a clue."

Mark proceeded to narrate his seeing of Moideen with the man whom the Collector seemed to have no doubt was the Tahsildar of Lerode.

"A clue indeed!" exclaimed Samptor, much interested. "Mahomet Usman no doubt desired for reasons of his own to have the Collector's visit postponed for a few days. That's all—though a valuable life was to be risked to attain that end. We're not unfamiliar with such methods, are we, Judge?"

"Unfortunately not," responded Mr. Goldring, shaking his head.

"Something wrong with his accounts," suggested Mark. "That's the conclusion I've come to. If the Collector will give me permission, as soon as he's able to be left, I'll hurry off to Lerode and look into the matter. We must get to the bottom of Mahomet Usman's tricks. Who knows what frauds may have been going on!"

"Let me tell you, you'll find Mahomet Usman's books in perfect order," returned Samptor. "He only wanted the extra day or two to accomplish that. They'll not be a pie wrong! It was to prevent any such discovery, don't you see, that our poor Collector has nearly been sacrificed. By all means, Cheveril, go to Lerode, but the wily Mussulman has got the start of you. His revenue collection will be all square by to-morrow or the next day. No doubt Moideen had his orders to keep the Collector quiet till then. That comes of letting those natives creep so close! Moideen was a clever dog, made himself indispensable to his master's comfort. Poor Worsley, pity his wife isn't of the sort to be at his side with the sharp eyes of my wife!"

Events turned out as Mr. Samptor predicted. Not the most searching examination of Mahomet Usman's books disclosed the slightest defalcation, though Mark felt convinced that the Tahsildar was aware that the new Assistant was watching for his halting, and also knew the reason why. As to finding any explanation of his conspiracy with the absconding Moideen, Mark was completely baulked.

The Collector had been very irritable and impatient when his health admitted of his being told the cause of his illness, and the certain proof which Moideen had given of his guilt by his flight only intensified his annoyance. He seemed indeed aggrieved by the whole incident and desirous of ignoring it.

Mark felt a new sense of anxiety and a need for greater daily vigilance in the combination of circumstances in which he was now placed. The relations of the Hindus with the Mahomedans in the town were increasingly unsatisfactory, even threatening; though there remained a difference of opinion as to who was the aggressive party. Dr. Campbell continued to hold a brief for the Hindus, as indeed did all the members of the little community except the Collector. Moideen had been replaced by a Mahomedan from Madras bearing a good certificate from his former master, and who seemed a much less complex character than the sinister Moideen.

Perhaps there was no one concerned in the situation who took a graver view of the possibilities of a disturbance among the seething masses of the native town than did the young Assistant-Collector, who went about his daily work with a watchful air and an anxious heart.