Historical fiction; India -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Thugs (Indic criminal group) -- Fiction
"I dare say you are right," said I, handing the rest to him; "what are
these for?"
"Here is a second for four hundred."
"Not much," said my father; "but go on."
"The third is for--let me see again," said Bhudrinath; "ah, I am right,
it is for two thousand two hundred; and the last is for two hundred and
forty."
"That is, let me see," said I, "four thousand eight hundred and forty.
Well, we have got a good prize."
"Yes!" cried my father, "we should be well off if they were worth
anything to us; but they are no better than the waste paper we have
burned."
"How?" said I; "we should get the money if we presented them, surely?"
"You do not reflect," said my father, "that if we did so, it would lead
to our detection in this matter: so destroy them."
"Indeed," said I, "I will not, but will keep them for stolen money; and
I dare say were we to affect to be this Kumal Khan's agents, we might
get the amount."
"As you will," said my father; "but remember you take no steps about
them without consulting me." So I kept them, and had afterwards reason
to be glad that I had done so.
CHAPTER XIII.
As we were to leave the village the next morning, I thought I might as
well go and take leave of Mohun Lall, and accordingly went to his house
in the evening.
"So you could make nothing of that rascal who was hung up," said he,
when we were seated; "these thieves are hardened vagabonds, and though
I have hung several in this way, I have never been able to get anything
out of them."
"I could not," said I; "the fellow was, as he called it, faithful, and
died worthy of a better cause."
"It is no use of speaking of him," said Mohun Lall; "the fellow is
dead, and I would that all his brethren were hanging as high as he is;
but I have heard a strange piece of news since you left me, Meer Sahib,
which I do not care telling you, and you may perhaps be able to give me
some assistance."
"Command me," said I; "anything that I can do will be but a poor return
for your attention."
"The matter is this," said he; "a person by name Syud Mahomed Ali, who
is very respectably connected at Hyderabad, came from the city with
letters to the governor of Nirmul, two or three years ago, directing
him to be employed as a collector of any small district which might
become vacant. He lived some time with him, and when an opportunity
offered, was appointed by him his naib, or deputy, in a district
not far from Nirmul. Latterly, the governor has had a good deal of
difficulty in getting him to remit the revenue collections, and one or
two complaints which reached him privately made him suspicious. This
feeling was increased by hearing that he had sent off his baggage in a
clandestine manner,--whither, no one knew, and this morning both he and
his people have suddenly disappeared."
"It is most extraordinary," said I; "but as I never heard of this
person before, I do not see exactly how I am to be of any use to you or
your friend."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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