This necessarily occupied some time, during which, the litter having been removed to the door, Jehándar Beg stood in the centre, as yet boldly if not defiantly. Could the Wuzeer only arrive—and he was expected momentarily—all would be changed. Before him the King, bold as he seemed now, would quail; those friends in the assembly, who had already exchanged glances with him, would at once rise. There might be bloodshed, and of the result he had no doubt: it had been calculated beforehand, and was certain. Much depended on a mysterious arrangement of the Wuzeer's, which he suspected; but to the particulars of which he had not been admitted. Need he deny the papers? He dare not. They were facts which could neither be denied nor evaded.
"Unhappy, godless man," cried the King, when several had been read, and others were being examined, "are these true? Dost thou admit them? Hast thou eaten my salt and found it so bitter, that that of others seemed sweeter to thee? Speak, Jehándar Beg! are these true? are they thine own?"
Upon his reply hung many a life had he chosen to denounce those present; but with all his bad faith, there was no meanness in the man.
"The letters, my prince, are true; as they are addressed. I have no more to say. Whatever my fate is to be, let it come; I am ready to meet it," returned the Kótwal, firmly.
"And these for Khan Mahomed? The writing in the corner is yours, and the date of receipt is to-day."
"It is my writing; why should I tell a lie?" returned Jehándar Beg, sullenly; "but I know not the contents."
"Enough," replied the King; "my friends, we would do no injustice. Let us await the Wuzeer's arrival—it cannot be long now—and hear the result from his own lips."
FOOTNOTE:
[11] A celebrated Mahomedan saint of the Dekhan, whose tomb is at Sugger.