He pointed to a man passing some distance away from the bungalow. Dermot looked at him with curiosity. His head was bare, and his thick black hair shone with oil. He wore a European shirt and a _dhoti_, or cotton cloth draped round his waist like a divided skirt. His legs were bare except for gay-coloured socks and English boots. Gold-rimmed spectacles completed an appearance as unlike that of the ordinary tea-garden coolie as possible. He was the typical Indian student as seen around Gower Street or South Kensington, in the dress that he wears in his native land. There was no doubt of his being a Bengali Brahmin. Daleham called him. "Hi! I say! Come here!" When the man reached the foot of the verandah steps the assistant manager said to him: "I have told this sahib that you are a graduate of Calcutta University." The Bengali salaamed carelessly and replied: "Oah, yess, sir. I am B.A." "Really? What is your name?" asked Dermot. "Narain Dass, sir." "I am sorry, Mr. Dass, that a man of your education cannot get better employment than this," remarked Dermot. The Bengali smiled superciliously. "Oah, yess, I can, of course. This--" He checked himself suddenly, and his manner became more cringing. "Yess, sir, I can with much facility procure employment of sedentary nature. But for reasons of health I am stringently advised by medical practitioner to engage in outdoor occupation. So I adopt policy of 'Back to the Land.'" "I see, Mr. Dass. Very wise of you," remarked Dermot, restraining an inclination to smile. "You are a Brahmin, aren't you?" "Yess, sir," replied the Bengali with pride. "Well, Mr. Dass, I hope that your health will improve in this bracing air. Good-morning." "Good-morning, sir," replied the Bengali, and continued on his way. Dermot watched his departing figure meditatively. He felt that he had got hold of a thread, however slender, of the conspiracy against British rule. "You seem very interested in that coolie, Major Dermot," remarked Noreen. "Eh? Oh, I beg your pardon," he said, turning to her. "Yes. You see, it is very unusual to find such a man doing this sort of work." He did not enter into any further explanation. The suspicion that he entertained must for the present be kept to himself. When Daleham left them the girl felt curiously shy. Perfectly at her ease with men as a rule, she now, to her surprise, experienced a sensation of nervousness, a feeling almost akin to awe of her guest. Yet she liked him. He impressed her as being a man of strong personality. The fact that--unlike most men that she met--he made no special effort to please her interested her all the more in him. Gradually she grew more at her ease. She enjoyed his tales of the jungle, told with such graphic power of narrative that she could almost see the scenes and incidents that he depicted.