"He was murdered, then," thought Fazil; "would I had not struck him! yet there is one traitor and robber the less." "And the man who was brought in, what of him?" asked the Kótwal. "He moaned and groaned, my lord, worse than a woman; said he had been robbed at the temple; spoke of Pahar Singh who had wounded him, Maun Singh who had throttled him, then of the Shah's secretary--may his name be honoured!--and some ten thousand rupees. In short, noble sir, we could make nothing of the matter, for he began to weep if we spoke to him, and told us to take him to the King without delay. So we brought him here, and must speak for himself. It appeared to me like the dream of some opium-smoker," continued the speaker to those about him; "we could not understand it at all." "Shouldst thou know the men who brought him?" "Well, my lord, I can't say for certain," replied the officer, "but one of our people said they were not what they seemed; and he thought one was Bulwunt Rao, who is a Silladar of the noble Khan yonder, and who goes about bazars at night, sometimes; the other's face was tied up, and he did not speak." "I was the other, Meerza Sahib," interposed Fazil, quietly. "I thought as much," said the Kótwal, drily. "Were they armed, Peer Sahib?" "Yes, to be sure, my lord," he replied; "would any one go about in those quarters at night without being armed? Yes, they had sword and shield." "Where are the weapons?" "Here, my lord," replied the other Duffadar, who now interposed, "in my keeping; the young Khan gave them up to me. He has another sword now." "Yes, there is blood on the blade, and here are cuts, fresh ones, on the shield," said Jehándar Beg, examining Fazil's weapons. "How, young sir, do you account for these?" "I will reserve what I have to say; it is no use speaking now," returned Fazil, who had observed his old friend shake his head, and who again nodded approvingly. "Bring in the wounded man," cried the Kótwal; and the bed on which our poor friend the Lalla lay, was carried in and set down; "we must confront the parties." "Get up, good man," said an attendant Mutsuddee; "this is the Kótwal; make your reverence, and tell what happened to you." "Ah, protect me, befriend me. I have been robbed and murdered.... I cannot get up.... I am a poor man and a stranger. Look at my blood," gasped the Lalla by turns to all about him. "Who did it? and who art thou?" cried the Kótwal. "Where hast thou come from?" Now, it might be awkward for the Lalla to answer these questions. He knew he had a few gold coins left, enough to keep him for some time--for he had been used to poverty, and could endure it--if he could only get free. Any man with quick wits, could do something for himself in the city; and had he not done good service? These thoughts passed rapidly through his mind ere he spoke. "Asylum of justice!" he said, in his most humble tones, "I don't know who did it, but I was robbed in the temple."