The man uttered an exclamation in French, which ended in a wheeze as Bulger’s strong fingers clutched his windpipe. But the next moment an unlooked-for diversion occurred. Attracted by the sound of the rapid scuffle, a number of natives armed with lathis[#] rushed across the compound into the street, and came swiftly to the rescue. Desmond and his companion had perforce to release their prisoners and turn to defend themselves. With their backs against the wall they met the assailants; Desmond with his rapier, Bulger with his hook, dexterously warding off the furious blows of the excited natives. Diggle and the Frenchman took instant advantage of the opportunity to slip away, and the Englishmen had already got home more than one shrewd thrust, provoking yells of pain from the attackers, when the onslaught suddenly ceased, and the natives stood rigid, as if under a spell. Looking round, Desmond saw at the gate a bent old figure with dusky wrinkled face and prominent eyes. He wore a turban in which a jewel sparkled, and his white garment was girt with a yellow sash. [#] Bludgeons. "What is this, sahib?" he said severely in careful English, addressing Desmond. "’Tis pretty plain what it is," said Desmond somewhat hotly; "we have been set upon by these six ruffians----" The new-comer motioned with his hand, and the men slunk away. "I regret, sahib. The men are badmashes; Calcutta is unhappily in a disturbed state." "Badmashes or not, they came from your house--if this is your house." "It is my house, sahib. My name is Omichand. I must inquire how the badmashes came to be in my compound. I fear my darwan is at fault." "And what about the two men?" "The two men, sahib?" "Yes, the two Europeans who came first from the house, and were protected by these ruffians?" "You must be mistaken, sahib. English sahibs do not visit at the houses of Indian gentlemen. If the sahib had been longer in Calcutta he would know that." A smile flickered on the Indian’s face, but it was gone instantly. Desmond was nonplussed. It was useless to contradict the merchant; he was clearly not disposed to give any information; Diggle was gone. All he could do was to return and report the matter to Mr. Merriman. "Come along, Bulger," he said, with an unceremonious gesture to Omichand. "We can do no good here." "The old Ananias!" growled Bulger, as they walked away. "What in thunder is Diggle’s game here? I’d give a year’s baccy to have a chanst o’ usin’ my hook on him." Mr. Merriman looked grave when he heard what had happened. "To think of that villain once more escaping our clutches! The other fellow was a Frenchman, you say? There’s mischief brewing. Sure if I was president I’d be tempted to arrest that wily old Omichand. Not that it would be of much use probably. Peloti is a bold fellow to venture here. You are sure ’twas he?"