As he stooped to pick up a cushion that lay on the floor beside a divan, his eye was caught by a scrap of crumpled paper. He snatched at it like a hawk and with quick fingers straightened it out--the fingers of the mittened hand that Desmond knew so well. On the paper was writing; the characters were English, but Diggle appeared to have some difficulty in making them out.
"'Your servant Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti,'" he said slowly, aloud.
"Who is Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti?" he asked his man, standing behind.
"Truly, huzur, I know not. It is a common name in Bengal--a vile Hindu; an unbeliever--"
"How did this paper come here?" cried Diggle impatiently.
"How should I know, sahib? I am a poor man, an ignorant man; I do not read--"
"Come with me and search the back of the house," said Diggle, turning away with an oath.
Desmond stepped noiselessly across the floor and joined the khansaman. They made their way out stealthily down the stairs, through the garden at the back, into a mango grove. There they remained hidden until Diggle, finding his search fruitless, remounted with his men and galloped away.
Desmond felt in a maze of bewilderment. It was clear that Diggle was ignorant of the whereabouts of the ladies; where had they been spirited to, and by whom? Apparently there had been an attack on the house, and they had been carried away: was it by friends or foes? What was the meaning of the paper found by Diggle? Had the Babu had any hand in the latest disappearance, or was it his letter that had put someone else on their track? Desmond had heard nothing of Surendra Nath or his father since the sack of Calcutta.
There was no clue to the solution of the problem. Meanwhile it was necessary to get back to Calcutta. The journey had been delayed too long already, and Hossain's employer, the grain merchant, would have good reason for complaint if he felt that his business was being neglected.