“It is; it is; it is! Where are the rest?” clamoured Turroo. “Patience! This was offered for sale in Delhi, and was about to be melted down. The man who sold it is in the village. He is Goora Dutt, the brother-in-law of thy nephew, Zālim Sing.” “May every curse light on him!” screamed the venerable Turroo. “He was caught and convicted; he hath confessed. Thou wilt get nearly all thy property back, my father; but thou wilt be liberal to the police?” “As I live, I will give much buchseesh, I swear it on the cow’s tail!” “There is a gang of gamblers here in Paroor. We have known it long. Goora Dutt is the chiefest among them. They were--for all things are known to the police--without money; they were in debt, and their creditors were hungry; therefore they agreed to rob thee, and they did. They carried off thy money and jewels. Though Chūnnee Sing was convicted and sentenced for the same, he never fingered a tolah of gold nor one rupee.” “And where is it? where is it? Oh, speak!” “It is buried by a neem tree near Goora Dutt’s garden. They had no time to carry it farther, and it is convenient to their houses. The rupees are gone, but the gold and pearls and carbuncles are still mostly there. They feared to sell them, for the size and number and marks were known.” In half an hour’s time Turroo Sing’s treasure, which was buried in a kerosene-oil tin (oh, to how many uses are those tins put!), was dug up in the presence of the entire village, and shown to its owner, who wept with joy as he tore open the parcel and counted his pearls--his forty pairs without blemish. But there were some very glum faces in the crowd--four families were implicated in the robbery--and when Zālim Sing had come to overwhelm his grand-uncle with felicitations, that fierce old person had spat at him--like an infuriated toddy cat. “Thou hadst a hand in it, oh, badmash, son of lies!” he screamed, foaming at the mouth. “Thy brother-in-law, Goora Dutt, is thy shadow. ’Twas he fetched the police for Chūnnee, who hath languished in jail for thy sins. Take this robber, and release Chūnnee Sing.” * * * * * Zālim Sing’s popularity had been on the wane for a considerable time. He had assured his neighbours in his most plausible manner, that Girunda and Gyannia had run away, ungrateful wretches that they were--just like their father, the jail-bird. But the neighbours believed a wholly different tale. A ryot, living in the nearest village, had met Zālim, one dark night, driving a pair of children before him. People began to whisper, and then to talk openly, of screams heard from Zālim’s house; of the boy Girunda being seen carrying loads as heavy as a pony’s--and now, after all these months, public opinion set in, in full tide, in favour of Chūnnee.