Mr Perowne gazed fixedly in the dark, lurid eyes before him, as if fascinated by their power, and then said sternly:
“It is quite true, sir; quite true.”
“No, no!” cried the Malay Rajah, excitedly, “not true that she is gone; not true that she cannot be found?”
“Yes, sir,” repeated the merchant again, in a low, troubled voice. “She was taken from us last night.”
The Rajah uttered some words in his own tongue that sounded like a passionate wail, as he staggered back, as if struck heavily, reeled, clutched at the nearest person to save himself, and then fell with a crash upon the floor.
The little party assembled crowded round the prostrate man; but at a word from Dr Bolter they drew back, and he went down on one knee beside the young man to loosen his collar.
“A little more air. Keep back, please!” said the doctor, sharply. “Mary, a glass of water.”
As Mrs Bolter filled a glass from a carafe upon the sideboard, the doctor took a bottle of strong salts offered by one of the ladies present, and held it beneath the young man’s nostrils, but without the slightest effect.
Then the water was handed to the doctor, who liberally used it about the young Prince’s face, as the Resident drew near and gazed upon the prostrate figure, keenly noting the clayey hue of the face and the great drops of dank perspiration that stood upon the brow.
“What is it, doctor?” he whispered.