"Ah, but listen! The whole thing was a wicked plot on the part of the Mussulmans to annoy their neighbours. The site was near the river and the burning-ghaut of the Hindus; and so, of course, they have been up in arms more or less ever since. Now wasn't that a most unprincipled proceeding, Mr. Cheveril?" "On whose part?" asked Mark coldly. The chilliness of his tone was not lost on Mrs. Goldring, who tossed her head, saying: "On whoever the cap fits! For my part I've never had any doubt who is the real culprit, but my position forbids me to say." The usual tennis-party was to be held that evening in Mrs. Goldring's compound. The hostess never doubted that the new Assistant would put in an appearance after the favour she had been extending to him. She was not a little mortified, therefore, when he politely declined, pleading as his excuse, when she pressed him, that he must see how the Collector was now, and, if well enough, keep him company. "Believe me, you are wasting your fragrance on the desert air, Mr. Cheveril. The Collector vastly prefers his cheroot and Moideen's company to yours or mine," said Mrs. Goldring with a malicious air. But Mark lifted his hat and disappeared down Mr. Worsley's avenue. The late conversation had by no means a reassuring effect on the young man. He glanced with new interest on Moideen. Beneath his obsequious demeanour, he thought he could detect an uneasy smile as he met him and ushered him into his master's writing-room. The Collector welcomed him with a cordial smile, making light of his morning's ailment. "It was only a touch of liver, though Moideen tried to make me believe I was in the grip of fever." Then he turned to talk of office matters, and was anxious to hear Mark's impressions of his first day at his new work. After briefly recording the business which the clerks had put into his hands, he led up to the visit of Zynool. "So the rascal turned up at last!" said the Collector. "I've been summoning him for weeks, and he has evaded me. Now he comes the only day I've been away since I was on tour." Mark was about to remark that it was clear now that it was owing to his absence the Mahomedan had presented himself that morning. "Then you don't like the man?" he asked, with an air of relief, remembering Mrs. Goldring's assertion that Zynool and the Collector were hand-in-glove. "My impression was certainly most unfavourable," he said, the blood mounting to his face, "as you will believe when I tell you that without any ostensible cause he actually approached me with a bribe--drew from the inner folds of his muslin a bag of gold, and said he wished to lay a gift in my palm. He looked daggers when I told him to pick up his money and go. Rather a humiliating experience for my first day in office, wasn't it? I hope I don't look a likely subject," wound up Mark, with rather a sore smile.