"I am sorry, sir," said Desmond; "I was unexpectedly delayed. I had got nearly as far as Rajmahal when I learned the whereabouts of Mrs. Merriman. She was in hiding with Surendra Nath, one of Mr. Merriman's men. I heard that Diggle--Peloti, sir--was about to attempt her recapture, and I felt that you yourself, had you been in my place, would have tried to save the ladies." Clive grunted. "Go on, sir," he said. "We found the place just in time, sir. Diggle came up with a couple of Frenchmen and a troop of native horse. We beat them off, and I have brought the ladies here." "And forgotten your instructions?" "No, sir. Monsieur Law was advancing from Patna: Diggle was coming ahead to inform the Nawab of his approach. But the whole country knows of your victory, and I fancy Monsieur Law will come no further." "And Diggle?" "He was killed in the fight, sir." "Indeed! And how many did his men muster?" "Nearly sixty, sir." "And yours?" "A score of Sepoys, sir; but I had two seamen with me: Bulger, whom you know; and Mr. Toley, an American, mate of one of Mr. Merriman's ships. They were worth a dozen others." Clive grunted again. "Well, go and tell Mrs. Merriman I shall be glad to wait on her. And look here, Burke: you may consider yourself a captain in the Company's service from this day. Come now, I'm very busy: go and give Mrs. Merriman my message, and take care that next time you are sent on special service you are not drawn off on any such mad expedition. Come to me tomorrow." Desmond trod on air as he left the house. Clive's impulsiveness had never before seemed to him such an admirable quality. As he went into the street he became aware, from the excited state of the crowd, that something had happened. Meeting a Sepoy he inquired, and learned that Sirajuddaula had just been brought into the city. The luckless Nawab had arrived in his boat close to Rajmahal, and with the recklessness that characterized him, he had gone ashore while his servants prepared a meal. Though disguised in mean clothes he had been recognized by a fakir, who happened to be at the very spot where he landed. The man had a grudge against him; his ears and nose had been cut off some time before at the Nawab's order. Hastening into Rajmahal he had informed the governor, who sent a guard at once to seize the unhappy prince and bring him to Murshidabad. Before the next morning dawned Sirajuddaula was dead. Mir Jafar handed him to his son Miran with strict orders to guard him. Acting on a mocking suggestion of Miran, a courtier named Muhammad Beg took a band of armed men to the Nawab's room, and hacked him to death. Next morning his mutilated body was borne on an elephant's back through the streets, and it was known to his former subjects that the prince who had ruled them so evilly was no more. Such was the piteous end, in his twenty-sixth year, of Sirajuddaula.