“You know my name, Mr. Bakche?”
“And you know mine, I observe. We have made mutual inquiries about one another, no doubt. Mr. Potter informed me about you; and Miss Grison, I presume, gave information about me.”
“Yes,” assented Fuller easily. “She tells me that you are an Indian prince!”
Bakche laughed in a silent manner. “She places me too high, Mr. Fuller, I assure you,” he responded quietly. “I come of a princely family, but I am not of princely rank. You can look upon me as a plain Mahometan gentleman of Tartar descent.”
“Of Tartar descent,” echoed Fuller, who found his companion interesting.
“Yes. Did Miss Grison tell you my full name?”
“Morad-Bakche! Indeed she did and gave me its meaning.”
“‘Desire-accomplished,’” said the other, with half a sigh, “although I fear that my desire will never be accomplished. However, that is by the way. I wonder, Mr. Fuller, if you have read the ‘History of the Moguls.’”
“I regret to say that I have not.”
“Well, it is rather an unusual book for anyone to read unless he is a student. But you will find mentioned therein my ancestor, after whom I am called. He was also Morad-Bakche, the youngest son of Shah Jahan, who was descended from Timur the Tartar. My family were rich and famous when the Mogul emperors ruled at Delhi, but everything belonging to us was swept away in the Mutiny, as you English call it.”