“Stop!” cried the Rajah, speaking with fierce energy. “Brahmin or no Brahmin, I’ll have the truth or you die. Was this a plot to hide those jewels and charge the English officer with stealing?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the shivering creature, who had been rescued from so terrible a death; “but I did what I was told. It was he—it was he.” He pointed at the kneeling Brahmin. “Is this true?” said the Rajah.
The old man murmured “Yes,” as he bowed his forehead upon the stones. Then rising, he cried with wild energy, “Spare my life, O Rajah; it was the Wazir.”
“Ah! and that poison?” cried the prince. The old man’s head dropped again. “Was it the Wazir who prepared that draught?”
“It was at their orders I—I—”
“At whose orders?” cried the Rajah.
“Those of the Wazir and the Ra—”
“Silence!” cried the Rajah, catching the old man by the throat. “A word more, and, Brahmin though you are, you die.”