"Yes, read it to us," said the chief.
He read it over slowly twice.
"Well, what is it?" asked his master.
"What Moro Trimmul wrote from Tooljapoor—what they asked you, my lord, to join in; and here is your name with five thousand men in figures after it, and the Wuzeer's with a lakh."
"Is it genuine, think you? that is what we want to know," said Gopal Singh.
"Certainly," replied the Karkoon; "there is the private mark on the seal, and the signature 'Hé Venunti'—'this supplication'—is all the Maharaj can write. No one could forge that, it is too crooked. How did that man get it?"
"He stole it, Amrut Rao," said the chief; "and we are discussing whether he ought to live or to die. What dost thou think?"
"As a traitor to the salt he has eaten, he ought to die, master," said the Karkoon, looking at the Lalla, who felt that his fate was in the Brahmun's hands,—"but——"
"That is just what I said! he is not fit to live," interrupted the chief. "Let him die. Ho!"
"But"—continued the Karkoon in Canarese, persistently interrupting the chief, and waving back Lukshmun, Rama, and others, who were advancing—"if I may speak. He says he wants to take them to Beejapoor. Let him have his own way. A bargain may be made with Ali Adil Shah through his secretary the Meerza—not by him" (and he pointed to the Lalla), "but by us. The letters will not alter the matter one jot, and my lord can act as he pleases afterwards. We can send people with the Lalla."