"Well, go and tell Mrs. Merriman I’ll 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 to-morrow." 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 learnt that Siraj-uddaula 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 by the Nawab’s orders. 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 Siraj-uddaula was dead. Mir Jafar handed him to his son Miran with strict orders to guard him carefully. 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 Siraj-uddaula. Immediately on arriving in Murshidabad, Desmond had sent a kasid to Calcutta to inform Mr. Merriman that his wife and daughter had been found and were safe. The merchant set off at once on horseback and arrived in the midst of preparations for the return of the army to Calcutta. Desmond was present at his meeting with the ladies; the scene brought a lump into his throat, and his embarrassment was complete when one and all overwhelmed him with praise and thanks. Nor was Surendra Nath forgotten. His readiness and courage at the critical moment had undoubtedly saved the ladies; Mr. Merriman declared that he would henceforth have a higher opinion of the Bengali character. The Babu beamed with joy when his employer announced that he would give him the _Hormuzzeer_ and a considerable part of his business. "I change the name to _Merriman_, sir," he said, "and my family will hold that name in veneration and esteem unto third and fourth generations."