with in any way by Abd-ur-Rahim and his men--a fact which confirmed Stratford’s conviction that it had been arranged with them beforehand by Fath-ud-Din’s emissaries that they were to mutiny and desert when they did, and that their indignation respecting the misappropriated _bakhshish_ was only part of a deep-laid plot. For some two or three hours the deputation sat waiting patiently outside the quarters allotted to the prisoners, while ambassadors went to them at intervals to represent the uselessness of their remaining, and to advise them to withdraw. Then fortune favoured them, and they stole a march on Stratford. He had gone into the inner rooms to speak to the ladies, while Kustendjian was busy in his own quarters, and the deputation grasped their opportunity, and, after surprising and binding the man on guard at the door, walked in. Dick’s bearer was the only person who saw them enter, and he seized the moment, while they were admiring Stratford’s toilet arrangements, in the first room they reached, to rush to his master’s quarters and throw a sheet over Fitz, who was lying on the bedstead, very hot and discontented, in his shirt and trousers. There was just time for him to turn his face to the wall and for the man to arrange the sheet over his head in the manner of the natives when they sleep, before the deputation entered. A murmur of delight broke from them when they saw the shrouded figure, and they sat down in a semicircle on the floor, to wait until their desired leader should awake, all with their eyes fixed on the sheet, beneath which Fitz lay writhing in agonies of laughter. In vain did the bearer attempt to dislodge them by threats of his master’s anger when he awoke, in vain prophesy that their presence would do him harm; they simply reiterated their determination to see the General Dīk. At last, between laughter and the sheet, Fitz could bear no more; and, almost suffocated with heat, he threw out an arm and pushed the covering partially aside. A murmur of astonishment showed him at once that he had done more than he intended. “But the General Dīk has light hair, and this man’s is black!” were the words he heard, and the leader of the party added authoritatively--“That is not the arm of the General Dīk!” “The General Dīk!” exclaimed the bearer, trying to improve matters--“nay, this is the _chota sahib_. Think ye that the Major Sahib would have suffered you to enter his quarters, ye sons of swine?” “But the little gentleman was lost!” was the cry, as Fitz threw off the sheet and sat up. “Where, then, is the General Dīk? Let us even seek Abd-ur-Rahim and ask him of the matter, for surely they have murdered our Lord Dīk!”