"Serious! I should say so! But I'll try to save him yet. I'll be back in a minute. Meanwhile, Cheveril, see you keep close watch by his bed. Don't leave him for an instant," whispered the doctor, and hurried away. He returned in a short time followed by his assistant, and the needful antidotes were skilfully applied with good result.
Neither the doctor nor Mark ever quitted the patient's bedside till the sun went down. Mr. Worsley seemed to be having some peaceful sleep, though his face looked as drawn and haggard as if he were emerging from a long illness.
Putting his arm through Mark's, Dr. Campbell drew him to the verandah which adjoined the bedroom.
"He's safe now, Cheveril, but it's been a close shave. Look here, this has been Moideen's work. It must be brought home to the villain at once."
"Yes," answered Mark. "I'm confident that man is at the root of it. But what if the Collector won't believe it? He has a very soft side to Moideen, you know."
"Too well I know it! But the man's a criminal and must be brought to justice. We dare not let his master be in his power a day longer."
Suddenly Mark recalled his glimpse of the butler in close conversation under the neem tree with Zynool's double. That the interview was in some way closely connected with the barely averted catastrophe, he did not doubt? But how to prove it?
The doctor had now left, and he sat watching the patient, noting the stronger breathing of the sleeping man, and trying to unravel the tangle of recent events without success. He had always distrusted Moideen since that first evening when he had watched his brown be-ringed feet planted behind the screen door while the Collector explained some of the difficulties of the government of Puranapore. He had no doubt of Moideen's present villainy, but how to get the Collector to admit it to his mind and to send from his side the capable servant of years, would prove a difficulty. The doctor's statement he would impatiently brush aside when he returned to health, and would point out that in this country one is always liable to such visitations; milk, fruit, and water all having possibilities of deadly effects. That this evil man should continue to have his master's confidence would, Mark felt certain, prove fatal sooner or later. Not that Moideen wished to kill his master, far from it. Probably he only exercised his unscrupulous power when he desired to further his own or his accomplices' nefarious designs. The evil spell must be broken, he resolved—but how?
Help came from an unexpected quarter! The "maty boy," a humble individual, and for a wonder, a Hindu, for Moideen generally saw to it that his staff was composed of Mahomedans, now thrust in his turbaned head at the door, but withdrew it again in an instant. Mark, perceiving that something was amiss, went to see. On looking out he perceived the "maty" and another servant exchanging dumb signs of dismay. On inquiring what the matter was, they told him in chorus:
"Butler done gone—also Ismail"—the latter being the Collector's dressing boy. "Not one left in godown; all empty, wife, children, all done gone!"