"Why did you do that?"
"I thought it would be safer with me, for every one knows--"
"Yes, that'll do, Khwaja; go on with your story."
"The letter was written at Malda, a village on the other side of the river, and the writer, Surendra Nath, informed Mr. Clive that the wife and daughter of Mr. Merriman were in his house there, and asked him to send a party to bring them away. Naturally, sir, I was pleased to find--"
"Go on with your story," cried Desmond impatiently, all excitement at coming upon the track of the ladies at last.
"It was while I was reading the letter that the horsemen came up. The risaldar took it from me, read it, and questioned me. His face changed. He smiled evilly, and from the questions he asked me, and from what I heard him say to his followers, he has gone to Malda, with a design to take these ladies."
"Stay, Khwaja, what was he like?"
"He was a tall man, with scars on his face, and on his right hand he wore a black glove."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Desmond.
His look of trouble and anxiety did not escape the Armenian.