Then he took, from beneath a black cloth lying near at hand, a human bone, upon which, with a preparation which seemed to me compounded of blood and charcoal, he proceeded to write a name.
“The dog—the dog!” again muttered Prabu; “it is the Rajah’s name.”
“Hush, hush, Prabu!” I whispered. “Would to Heaven he would show his face, that we might be sure of our man!” Almost as I spoke my wish was granted: he arose, and turned towards us the but too well remembered features.
“Enough, Claud, it is he!” exclaimed my brother; and the next instant he had passed the threshold, and was struggling with his old enemy.
“Rogue—rogue! thou shalt not escape me this time,” he said, as he clutched him by the neck almost to suffocation.
“Remove your hands, Martin,” I cried; “you will kill him, and then we shall learn nothing.”
“True,” replied Martin; but as he pulled forth his pistol and held it to the hunchback’s head, he said: “Nevertheless, he shall die, if he attempts to move from this spot without my permission. Now, dog! thief!” he added, “if thou wouldst live another hour, answer three questions.”
“Let the sahib put them: Huc-cuk will answer, if not forbidden by the demons,” replied the old rogue, but with trembling limbs and chattering teeth;—at which, indeed, there was nothing astonishing, for he stood, as it were, in the center of a triangle composed of two glittering creeses (Prabu’s and mine) and a loaded rifled pistol.
“Is the girl whom you stole from Mynheer Ebberfeld’s house alive and uninjured?” asked Martin.
“As I would save my worthless life, sahib, she is both alive and uninjured.”