Ahmed found himself in a small square chamber, dimly lit by an oil-lamp. The air was close, and pervaded by an odour new to him: the pungent odour that salutes one at the entrance of a chemist's shop. The room was naturally lofty, but its height was artificially diminished now by a large blanket spread from corner to corner.

Against the further wall stood a charpoy, and on it lay a tall grey-bearded man clad in the customary garments of a respectable Mohammedan. A table was at his side, with a tray holding a dish and a phial or two. The khansaman was standing at the foot of the bed. At the entrance of Ahmed he uttered a cry, and seized a knife from the table. There was a silence, in the tenseness of which time seemed to be abolished. The khansaman stared with eyes that spoke his fear. Then Ahmed held up his hand and spoke: "Be at peace, good khansaman," he said; "I have news of the sahib's daughter."

The man's overcharged feelings found relief in a sob, and the recumbent figure started up.

"Is it true? You do not mock me?" he cried. "Who are you?"

"I am Ahmed Khan, of Lumsden Sahib's Guides, and I am sent into this city by Hodson Sahib, to say that the hazur's daughter is safe at Karnal."

The shock of this good news rendered the doctor speechless. He was seized with a violent trembling, and the khansaman hastily poured a little liquid into a glass and gave it to his master. When he had recovered he asked Ahmed many questions: whether he had seen the missy sahib, how she looked, whether she had received his note, why the messenger had not returned. To these Ahmed replied as well as he could, but he said nothing of the part he had himself played in the saving of the girl.

Then he himself asked questions, and learnt from the khansaman the simple story of the doctor's rescue. He had been left for dead by the mutinous sepoys a few yards from his door, and had there been found by Kaluja Dass, who had conveyed him by night to the secret underground chamber. It was situated immediately below the fountain in the garden, and was ventilated and dimly lit in the daytime through an ingenious series of openings in the ornamental stonework at the base of the fountain. What appeared to an observer in the garden as a delicate pattern of tracery was really the ventilating system of the room below. There he had remained ever since. The healing of his wounds had been slow, and his anxieties and the deprivation of fresh air had retarded the full recovery of his strength. No one but the khansaman knew of the secret entrance through the surgery wall, and it had been a happy thought of his to place the almirah against it, and to make the sliding panel. The blanket was stretched across the ceiling so as to prevent a stray beam of light from the oil-lamp from filtering through the apertures to the garden.

The doctor was much gratified that Ahmed had been allowed to enter the city to search for him. He inquired for his old friend General Barnard, to learn with sorrow of his death. He asked eagerly what steps had been taken to capture the city, and sighed heavily when he heard how the little army on the Ridge was waiting until the reinforcements and the siege-train which Sir John Lawrence was collecting in the Panjab should arrive. Again he pleaded with the khansaman to take him from the city, but Ahmed supported the good servant's contention that to attempt to escape now would be to court innumerable perils, and that it was better to remain in hiding until the city should be retaken. Ahmed promised to acquaint General Wilson—who had succeeded General Reed in the command—of the doctor's safety, and to send word to his daughter in Karnal. The khansaman asked very anxiously how the information was to be conveyed to the British lines. He was greatly disinclined to trust any messenger whom he did not know.

"I will take it myself," replied Ahmed.

During the conversation Dr. Craddock kept his eyes fixed on Ahmed's face, in the manner of a man seeking to recall something.

"Surely I have seen you before!" he said at length. "Have you been in Delhi before?"

"Never, sahib."

"Perhaps it was in Lahore?"

"No, sahib; I have never been there."

"I must be mistaken, then, but it seemed to me that I knew your face."

And now he was eager to get away. He did not forget the double duty he had to fulfil: news must be conveyed to the Ridge of the great assault intended for the morrow. He would have been content to inform Fazl Hak of this, and trust him to send it by one of his messengers; but the discovery of the doctor was a matter so personal to him that he was disinclined to entrust it to any one. Accordingly, he took leave of the doctor, receiving from him an affectionate message for his daughter, and then, accompanied by the khansaman, he returned by the narrow winding stair to the upper room. The two crept silently through the passage to the back staircase, and passed the servants' quarters, and came to the door leading to the garden. The khansaman noiselessly drew the bolt, and Ahmed stepped out. There was a sudden rush in the darkness. In a moment he was overwhelmed and thrown to the ground. Struggle as he might, he could not prevent the two men who had seized him from binding his arms, and then he was dragged back into the house and up the stairs, being finally deposited at the door of Minghal Khan's room.

The great man was very ill-tempered at being roused from sleep by the loud calls of his darwan. He cried out to know why his sleep was thus disturbed.

"Hazur, I have done a great deed!" cried the darwan; "even caught a dog of a robber. Open, O Great One, and see what thy servant has accomplished in his great zeal."

Minghal Khan came to the door and called for the khansaman to bring a light. Several minutes passed, and the khansaman did not appear. Growing impatient, Minghal dispatched the khitmutgar—the second of Ahmed's captors—to fetch a lamp from the kitchen. Meanwhile the darwan explained.

"Hazur, my eyes were heavy with sleep, but before seeking my charpoy I went, as is my wont, to see that all was safe for the night. In that I am not as other darwans, that eat and drink and take no thought for their masters. And lo, beneath the portico, I found a lathi and a rope with a hook at the end, and I wondered with a great wonderment. And I called the khansaman, but he came not; peradventure he has gone out on some evil work this night. And then I called Said the khitmutgar, and together we talked of what this thing might be. And even as we talked we heard the gentle drawing of the bolt, and we stood at the door, and when this son of perdition came out we seized on him, and have even now brought him before thee; surely no punishment can be too great for him."

The khitmutgar returned with a light. Minghal and the darwan recognized at the same moment that the prisoner was no other than the deferential trader whom they had seen in the morning. Of the two the darwan was the more amazed.

"Dog, what is this?" cried Minghal. "Comest thou in the night to rob me? What hast thou to say, rogue?"

Being a robber by profession himself, Minghal felt no moral indignation, and no great personal rancour against this trader who had broken into his house. It was his chief thought to turn the incident in some way to account.

"Hazur," began Ahmed, "I am the most unworthy of thy servants. I did but come to visit my good friend the darwan."

"Hazur, he has a lying tongue," interrupted the scandalized darwan. "A friend! Allah slay me if I would ever speak two comfortable words to such a dog."

"Chup!" cried Minghal. "Say on, banijara."

"The darwan has even eaten of my sweetmeats——"

"Perdition light on him!" cried the darwan. "Verily I should choke if——"

"Chup, I say! Make thy story short, dog."

"And when I found him not at the door I made bold to enter. But bethinking me then that the hazur, not knowing of my great friendship with the darwan, might see me and conceive ill thoughts, I feared, and was seeking to slip out when this pig, who has eaten my sweetmeats, set upon me most vilely, as the hazur sees."

"Verily thou art a monstrous liar, banijara," said Minghal. "What of the rope and the hook, and the lathi? What hast thou to say of them, dog?"

"Hazur, what should I know of them; is thy servant a camel-driver?"

Minghal laughed. The trader's explanation was too glib. He wondered what the truth was. Had the man heard of his recent present of rupees and come to rob him? or was there more in it? He looked keenly at Ahmed, and suddenly noticed something strange about his beard. He stepped up to him and, taking it in his hand, began to pull, not too gently. Ahmed protested; it is an insult to a Mohammedan to pluck his beard; but Minghal laughed again, and continued pulling. In the struggle at the door a small portion of the false beard had become detached, and Minghal scented a disguise. He pulled, the beard came away gradually, with no little pain to Ahmed, for the adhesive was a strong one.

"Hold thy light nearer, khitmutgar," said Minghal.

The beard came off, and there was the banijara revealed as a smooth-faced youth. The darwan uttered cries of amazement and reproach. Minghal gave a chuckle of satisfaction.

"Wah! I know thee who thou art," he said. "Did not my heart kindle when I beheld thee? As Asadullah that old dog Rahmut Khan comes to Delhi to trouble me; as a mean banijara the puppy comes to spy upon me that he may carry away the scent to the old dog. Verily it is a good day for thee, darwan, and thou shalt have five rupees—no, that is too much—two rupees, for bakshish. Go find that khansaman."

"I have sought for him, hazur, but found him not," said the khitmutgar.

"Go seek again."

The khitmutgar departed, and returned in a minute with Kaluja Dass, grave and imperturbable as ever.

"Where hast thou been?" demanded Minghal.

"Hazur, where could I be but in my own little place, sleeping the sleep of a just servant when his work is done?"

"Bring me the keys of the strong rooms below."

In these strong rooms the princes of Delhi, who had once owned the house, had kept their valuables, and on occasion their prisoners. They were now empty. The khansaman brought the keys. Ahmed was taken down by a narrow staircase like that which led to Dr. Craddock's hiding-place. A door was opened. He was pushed in, Minghal and the servants entered after him. The room was stone-walled, stone-flagged, and bare. There was no window, but a small grating high up in one of the walls; below it was an iron staple.

"I know thy wiles," said Minghal. "Thou hast escaped me twice; thrice thou shall not. Bring a chain," he added to the khansaman. "Verily Allah is good," he continued, when the man was gone. "Thou art a Feringhi, and when all the Feringhis are ground between the upper and the nether mill-stone, there will be one among them whom they know not. But that will be when I have had my profit of thee."

The chain was brought, and Ahmed was firmly fettered to the staple.

"Give me the key, khansaman; I will keep it," said Minghal. "And know, all of you, that if this dog slips his leash, I will not only dismiss you all that moment from my service, but I will even have you flogged very thoroughly, so that you will groan for many days. That is my word; take heed to it."

And then they all went out, Minghal turned the key in the door, and Ahmed was left alone.