I had now only two matters on my hands; one to discover Zora, if I could, the other to endeavour to get the bills of exchange I had brought with me cashed. Of the first I had but little hope; for since the day I went to her house, although I had constantly men on the watch about it, I could discover nothing of her or of the old nurse; the latter I had bribed handsomely, and I knew if it was possible to convey to me any information of her I loved, she would do so. I had several times passed the house myself, in the hope of seeing Zora by some accident or other, but it was in vain; and at the time I now speak of, I had almost given her up in despair. Had it not been, Sahib, for the wild interest of my trade, I should have sunk into apathy and wretchedness—so fondly, so deeply did I love her. It was this which rescued me from myself, for I could not be behind the rest in seeking adventures; and once that I had a band entirely under my own direction, I was incessantly occupied in finding employment for it, and taking my own part in the catastrophes which ensued.

The day after the rescue of our brethren we held a consultation, at which the principal members of the band were present. I need not relate particulars; suffice it to say, that all agreed in thinking we had remained long enough consistently with our safety, and it was resolved to depart in the course of the next day, or at most the day after. One by one the parties, as they were then divided, were to take the nearest road towards Beeder, which led through Puttuncherroo; and the last-mentioned place was to be the rendezvous whence we should proceed in company. Little time, therefore, remained to me; and as soon as I possibly could, I took Bhudrinath and Motee-ram with me, and we went into the city. We sat down on the steps of the Char Minar. Wonderful, indeed, were the stories we heard of our skirmish with the Kotwal's soldiers; the accounts of the killed and wounded on each side were ludicrously inconsistent, and you may imagine how we enjoyed the various relations we heard, all either from persons who declared that they had been eyewitnesses of the matter, or who had heard it from undoubted authority. But it was not our errand to waste time by listening to idle tales, not one of which contained a word of truth, but to get the money for the bills we had found among the effects of Syud Mahomed Ali, alias Kumal Khan, and we had repaired to the Char Minar as the most likely place to meet with a person who could read them, and without suspicion tell us upon whom they were drawn.

Observing as we sat a miserable half-starved-looking wretch, with a pen stuck between his turban and his ear, an ink-bottle hanging by his side, and a roll of paper under his arm, I fixed upon him as a likely person to suit our purpose. I beckoned to him, and he ran eagerly towards us. "Canst thou read Goozerattee?" I asked.

"Noble sir, I can not only read but write it, for it is my native tongue; what are my lord's commands?"

"Simply," said I, "to read a hoondee—no great matter;" and I handed him one of the bills.

"It is an order, Sahib, drawn in favour of Kumal Khan (my lord's name I presume), by Bearee Mul of Nandair, upon Gopal Chund Bisn Chund of the Begum Bazar, for four hundred rupees, at nine days' sight."

"Is it correctly drawn?" I asked.

The fellow looked at the bill, and turned it round and round, examining every part of it. "Does your worship suspect it?"

"Alla forbid!" said I; "for if it is wrong, I and these worthy associates of mine are ruined, for we have more like it, and for larger sums."

"I see nothing wrong in the bill," said the man; "but let me see the others." I showed them.

"They are all correct," said he; "you have only to take them for acceptance, and you are sure of your money."

"Is the firm upon whom they are drawn well known?"

"They have a great deal of country business in hoondees," said the man, "and are on that account perhaps less known than many of our leading bankers, but nevertheless the firm is most respectable."

"Where did you say they live?"

"In the Begum Bazar. If your worships wish it I will accompany you thither."

"Good," said I, "do so; we are strangers, and might not readily find the house. You shall be rewarded for your trouble."

We went out of the city by a small gate at the end of a street which led down from the Char Minar,—I think it is called the Delhi gate,—and turning to the left, after crossing the river, we were soon in the midst of the populous and wealthy suburb in which the bankers we sought resided. The road through the principal street was almost entirely blocked up by bags of grain, bales of merchandize, tethered bullocks belonging to the grain-carriers, and empty carts; and it was as much as we could do to keep together, both from these causes and the crowd of people. The noise too of the crowd, of the buying and selling in the bazar, the curses and execrations of bullock-drivers and unloaders, the cries of men measuring grain, and a thousand others, made a din and confusion which I had never heard equalled. However, by dint of pushing and elbowing our way, we reached a respectable-looking house, and were introduced to one of the partners by the man we had taken with us.

I put a bold face on the matter and presented one of the hoondees. The Sahoukar was an old man, and taking a pair of spectacles from a fold in his turban, he placed them on the end of his nose and carefully read the hoondee; he afterwards turned it round and round, and examined it most carefully, looking from time to time most suspiciously at me over his glasses. I own this would have been unpleasant had I been alone, but with the two companions I had brought with me I cared not; had it come to the worst, our weapons were ready, and we would have used them for our liberty.

"I wish to speak a few words with you, if you will follow me into the next room," said the Sahoukar, pointing to one which led from that in which we sat. He rose, and I followed him.

"How came you to be possessed of this?" said he, anxiously; "and who are you?"

"It matters not who I am," I replied; "and it must suffice for you to know that I am to receive the money for that hoondee, and for these also;" and I showed him the others.

"Most extraordinary!" he exclaimed after he had examined them. "I cannot understand it. It is most strange that they should be presented by another. Young man, by what authority are you here to receive this money?"

"By his for whom they were drawn," I replied.

"His name, and the Sahoukar's who drew them?"

"Kumal Khan,—and the Sahoukar's Bearee Mul."

"That will not do," said the Sahoukar; "you have blundered in your errand, young man; the drawer's name any one could have told you."

"Perhaps this may enlighten you further upon the subject," said I, and I took from my waistband the seal of the Syud.

He examined it, and going to a box in the room he took from it a bundle of papers. He turned them over rapidly. "Ay, here they are," said he, reading, "'Accounts of Syud Mahomed Ali;' and now, young man, if there is deceit in that seal it can be easily proved, for behold the seal of the worthy Syud himself;" and he showed me an impression on one of the papers.

I confess I had been in much suspense, for had I by any unlucky chance got hold of the wrong seal my detection would have certainly followed; but still I had taken the ring from the man's own finger, and it was not likely that he had any other. The instant I saw the impression, however, I was satisfied that it was the right one.

"Now for the proof," said the Sahoukar, rubbing the seal over with ink and wetting a piece of paper with his tongue. "If you have attempted deceit, young man, your detection is certain. Shall I stamp it?"

"Certainly," said I; "I am innocent of any attempt to deceive you. The worthy Syud gave me the seal in order that you might be satisfied."

He pressed the seal to the paper and withdrew it; the impression was perfect, and exactly corresponded with that on the paper of accounts. "This is correct," he said, at length; "though I cannot read Persian, the letters appear the same, and the size is exact. I cannot, therefore, doubt longer; but still it is most strange."

"I can only say," said I, "that I am the Syud's confidential agent, whom he has sent to you for the money; if you will not pay it, say so, that I may write to him."

"By no means," said the Sahoukar; "the money is here. But why did not the Syud come himself? the bills are made payable to him alone."

"True," said I, "they are; but if you are in his confidence, as you seem to be, you will know that there are good reasons for his absence from the city at present, and as he wanted the money he has sent me for it."

"And where is he?"

"That I cannot tell you," said I; "it can be divulged to no one; suffice it for you to know that when the proper time comes he will emerge from his place of concealment." And I told the truth, Sahib, for will he not rise at the day of judgment? And Ameer Ali laughed heartily at his own conceit.

"Well," said the Sahoukar, "no doubt remains as to your right to the money. When do you want it? the bills are at nine days' sight."

"Now; I have no time to lose, I must depart in the morning. You can deduct the interest for nine days. But stay," I continued, "the Syud told me that if he owed you anything you were to deduct it, and if any balance of his remained in your hands you were to pay it to me."

"Good," replied the Sahoukar; "I will see;" and he turned to his books. "Ah, here is the account. Last balance struck the fifteenth of Suffer, nearly a year ago,—in his favour three hundred and twelve rupees, four annas."

"So much the better," said I; "now pay me the moneys and write a receipt; I will sign it with the seal, which I must take back with me."

The Sahoukar called to a man inside. "Here," said he, "register these hoondees and get the money for them, and make out a receipt. Your name?" said he to me.

"Ameer Ali, an unworthy Syud." The money was duly counted out, a trifling deduction made for interest, and the whole paid to me. I put my own seal as well as that of the Syud to the receipt, and after seeing the balance in the Sahoukar's books duly cancelled there was no longer cause to delay.

"How will you carry all that money?" said the Sahoukar; "this is not a safe place for people to be seen out at so late an hour" (for the evening was now closing fast) "with such a sum in their possession."

"Content yourself," said I; "we are three stout fellows, and well able to defend our charge."

"You had better take two of my men, at any rate, to carry the money."

"I will carry some, if I am permitted," said the man we had brought with us. "Bughwan knows I have eaten nothing to-day and knew not where to get a meal till these kind gentlemen met me; and I may perhaps earn a trifling sum above what they have promised me."

"Good," said I; "how much can you carry?"

"Two thousand rupees," he replied, "if my lord will try me."

"Very well, then take up that bag." The rest we divided between ourselves, and departed. We did not return as we had gone, but avoiding the city, passed by the house of the English Resident, crossed the river below it, and on the other side struck into some close lanes, which led to the suburb we lived in. As we went along, I said to Bhudrinath in Ramasee, which I had now learned, "That fellow must not live; our secret is safe with the Sahoukar, but not with another. What do you say?"

"I agree with you," said he. "We can throw the body into a well; and there is one not far off I think; I bathed there this morning."

"Very well," said I; "when you see the place give the signal. I will settle all our accounts with him for his trouble and carriage of our money."

We came to the well, and the signal was given; I was ready and my victim also, but he struggled hard, as the bag of rupees was on his shoulders, and my roomal had not fair play. He died, however, and we threw him into the well, with a large stone tied in his clothes to sink him. Strange, Sahib, that after protesting his poverty as he had done, we should have found forty-three rupees in his girdle!

You may judge of my father's joy at my success; and to prove his sense of the value of my address and ready wit, he presented me with five hundred rupees out of the sum I had brought. With this at my disposal I determined to make a last attempt for Zora, for I thought that with it I might bribe the old woman who called herself her mother; and late as it was, I pleaded some excuse and set off for the city. I soon reached the now well-known street, and finding the door open I entered, and was ushered into the presence of the old woman and Zora's sister Zenat. They rose on seeing me, and welcomed me kindly. "You have not been with us, Meer Sahib, since the Mohorum," said the old woman as she cracked all her fingers against her temples. "You knew that you would always be our most favoured guest, and yet we have not seen you. Why has there been this estrangement from us?"

I did not like to accuse the old woman of turning me from the door, as I have related before, so I said I had been absent from the city, and having only just returned had come to pay my respects to her. "And now, mother," said I, "where is Zora? Why is the rose separated from the nightingale?"

"Zora!" said the old woman; "why, have you not forgotten that foolish girl? Is there not Zenatbee, who is dying for you, and has raved about you ever since she saw you?"

"Toba! Toba!" cried Zenat, covering her face affectedly. "For shame, mother! how can you speak so? how can you tell such lies?"

"I say the truth, Meer Sahib; I swear the foolish girl's head has been turned by your beauty;" and she stroked my chin caressingly.

What could I do? I saw at once that if I did not affect love for Zenat I should never hear aught of Zora; but I could not forget her so easily, and I hated Zenat for her love. I thought it better to come to terms at once if I could. "Mother," said I, "I am proud of your daughter's love, and to one so young as I am such marks of preference as you say she is inclined to show me are most flattering; nevertheless, I cannot forget Zora; and tell me, by your soul, am I to see her or not? Now hear me; I am not a rich man, not one who could lavish thousands upon her, but what I have is hers for ever, and yours too, if you will give her to me. Will you part with her?"

"What do you offer?" said the old woman. "Methinks you must be one of our nobles in disguise to come here with such a proposition."

"I am no noble," said I, "but a poor Syud. I have five hundred rupees, and they are yours if you make Zora mine for ever; say the word, and to-morrow I will be present; we will send for a Moola, and the nika shall be performed."

"Five hundred rupees!" cried the old woman, and she and her daughter burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "Five hundred rupees!" continued she at length, when she could speak; "oh, man, thou art either mad or drunk!"

"I am neither the one nor the other," I replied, very angrily; "I am as sober as either of you, nay far more so."

"Then if you are so," said the old wretch, "what, in the name of Alla, has come to you, that you think we would part with Zora for five hundred rupees? Five thousand and twice as much would not be sufficient."

"Then," said I, "you are a pair of the devil's children, and I spit at you. Not content with spurning me from your house like a dog, you now deny me the only happiness I looked to on earth. Women, have you no hearts?"

"Yes," cried the old hag in a fury; "yes, we did spurn you, as I do now. Begone! and never dare to intrude as you have done this night, or I will see if I cannot bring a few stout fellows together to beat you out with sticks like a dog and a son of a dog as you are."

"Peace! woman," cried I; "beware how you revile my father."

"May his mouth be filled with earth and his grave defiled! May your mother——"

I could bear this no longer. I ran to the door for my shoes, and held one in my hand threateningly. "Now," said I, "another word of abuse, and I will beat you on the mouth."

It did not check her. A fresh torrent poured from her lips, and I was really provoked. I could bear it no longer. I rushed at her, beat her on the face with my shoe, and spat on her. The daughter hurried to the stair-head and raised cries of alarm. "Thief, thief! He is murdering us! Kasim Mahomed Ali, where are ye? We are murdered—we are defamed! Bring your swords, and kill him!"

I had pretty well belaboured the old woman, and thought it high time to be off; so I rushed to the door, and seizing Zenat threw her to the other side of the room with all my force. I saw that she had a heavy fall, and I ran down the stairs: about half way I met a man with a drawn sword; he stood, and was about to make a cut at me, but I seized his arm and hurled him down the steps, and as he rolled to the bottom I leaped over him and was outside the house in a moment. Well, thought I, as I went along, I have not got Zora, but I have slippered the old shitan her mother, which is some satisfaction, and Bhudrinath will laugh rarely when he hears of my exploit.