“The wen-necked hunchback!”
As at night these words had been the last upon our lips, so were they the first in the morning.
“I will seek out this fellow at once,” said my brother.
“But how, Martin? It would be to look for a needle in a haystack; for the house and grounds of the Chief Mahomed are well-nigh as large and intricate as those of the Rajah’s karaton.”
“I will seek Mahomed himself, and beg of him to produce the rogue.”
“A bold notion, truly, but not a wise one; for if, as I suspect, he be here for Mahomed’s amusement, or, worse, as a spy or an ally in some secret scheme, such a demand would, in all probability, bring us a couple of creeses between our ribs. Besides, brother mine, we cannot be sure the fellow is he whom we seek; for wens and hunchbacks are so plentiful in these Indian islands, that it can be no uncommon occurrence to find them met together upon the same person—but here comes Prabu.”
“Prabu,” said Martin, as that personage joined us, “I am determined to see this hunchback, even if I demand him of the Chief Mahomed.”
“Is the sahib tired of his life?—it would be madness,” he replied, hastily. “But,” he added, “it is not necessary; I have discovered where this man is lodged, and there must we seek him.”
“Where?” asked my brother, eagerly.
“In the second pandapa in the gardens, about a hundred yards to the back of the palace.”