"Content yourself," said I; "we are three stout fellows, and well able to defend our charge."
"You had better take two of my men, at any rate, to carry the money."
"I will carry some, if I am permitted," said the man we had brought with us. "Bughwan knows I have eaten nothing to-day and knew not where to get a meal till these kind gentlemen met me; and I may perhaps earn a trifling sum above what they have promised me."
"Good," said I; "how much can you carry?"
"Two thousand rupees," he replied, "if my lord will try me."
"Very well, then take up that bag." The rest we divided between ourselves, and departed. We did not return as we had gone, but avoiding the city, passed by the house of the English Resident, crossed the river below it, and on the other side struck into some close lanes, which led to the suburb we lived in. As we went along, I said to Bhudrinath in Ramasee, which I had now learned, "That fellow must not live; our secret is safe with the Sahoukar, but not with another. What do you say?"
"I agree with you," said he. "We can throw the body into a well; and there is one not far off I think; I bathed there this morning."
"Very well," said I; "when you see the place give the signal. I will settle all our accounts with him for his trouble and carriage of our money."
We came to the well, and the signal was given; I was ready and my victim also, but he struggled hard, as the bag of rupees was on his shoulders, and my roomal had not fair play. He died, however, and we threw him into the well, with a large stone tied in his clothes to sink him. Strange, Sahib, that after protesting his poverty as he had done, we should have found forty-three rupees in his girdle!
You may judge of my father's joy at my success; and to prove his sense of the value of my address and ready wit, he presented me with five hundred rupees out of the sum I had brought. With this at my disposal I determined to make a last attempt for Zora, for I thought that with it I might bribe the old woman who called herself her mother; and late as it was, I pleaded some excuse and set off for the city. I soon reached the now well-known street, and finding the door open I entered, and was ushered into the presence of the old woman and Zora's sister Zenat. They rose on seeing me, and welcomed me kindly. "You have not been with us, Meer Sahib, since the Mohorum," said the old woman as she cracked all her fingers against her temples. "You knew that you would always be our most favoured guest, and yet we have not seen you. Why has there been this estrangement from us?"