“Is it you, Mahal?” asked M. Joshua, in a low voice.
“It is I,” was answered from without, also in a low tone.
“And the Malay?”
“He has succeeded.”
“Really!” cried M. Joshua, with an expression of great satisfaction; “are you sure of it?”
“Quite sure: there is no devil more clever and intrepid.”
“And Djalma?”
“The parts of the letter, which I quoted, convinced him that I came from General Simon, and that he would find him at the ruins of Tchandi.”
“Therefore, at this moment—”
“Djalma goes to the ruins, where he will encounter the black, the half blood, and the Indian. It is there they have appointed to meet the Malay, who tattooed the prince during his sleep.”