"Don't touch that," he said curtly. "I have not come unprepared, as you see. Your plans are known to me. If you value your life you will do as I wish, without delay or disturbance. My men are outside; a word from me will bring them swarming in. Now, the dastaks!" Coja Solomon was an Armenian and a merchant; in neither capacity a fighting man. In a contest of wits he could be as cool and as ready as any man in Bengal; but he had no skill in arms and no physical courage. There was an air of determination about his visitor that impressed him; and he felt by no means comfortable within point-blank range of the pistol covering him so completely. If his thoughts had been read, they would have run somewhat thus: "Pistols have been known to go off accidentally. What will the goods profit me if such an accident happen now? Besides, even if I yield there may still be a chance of saving them. It is a long way to Calcutta: the river is low: God be praised the rains have not begun! There are shallows and rocks along its course: the boats must go slowly: and the Nawab's horsemen can soon outstrip them on the banks. The dog of an Englishman thinks he has outwitted me: we shall see. And he is only a youth: let us see if Coja Solomon is not a match for him." Rising to his feet, he smiled and shrugged, and spread out his hands deprecatingly. "It is true the dastaks are here," he said suavely, "but they only reached me yesterday, and indeed, as soon as I received them, I had the goods put on board the boats for transit to Calcutta." "That is very fortunate," said Desmond. "It will save my time. As Mr. Merriman's representative I will take over the goods--with the dastaks." "If you will excuse me, I will fetch them." "Stay!" said Desmond, as the man moved toward the door. He had not lowered the pistol. "Where are they?" "They are in my office beside the godown." "Very well. It would be a pity to trouble you to bring them here. I will go with you. Will you lead the way?" He knew it was a lie. Valuable papers would not be left in a hut of an office, and he had already noticed a curiously wrought almara {cabinet} at one end of the room--just the place to keep documents. There was the shadow of a scowl on the Armenian's face. The man hesitated; then walked towards the door: stopped as if at a sudden recollection; and turned to Desmond with a bland smile. "I was forgetting," he said, "I brought the papers here for safety's sake." He went to the almara, searched for a moment, and handed two papers to Desmond. "There, sir," he said, with a quite paternal smile; "you take the responsibility. In these unfortunate circumstances"--he waved his hand in the direction of the factory--"it is, believe me, a relief to me to see the last of these papers. "That is well." But Desmond, as he took the papers, felt himself in a quandary. Though he could speak, he could not read Hindustani! The papers might not be the dastaks after all. What was he to do?