To Kulmuck's hut therefore at once went the Judge, my brother, several subordinates of the Court, a _posse_ of peons, and some coolies with mattocks and picks. The whole floor of the hut was examined without discovering any sign of earth having been recently turned up; nevertheless it was dug up all over without avail. The whole of the compound was then treated in the same way, still without finding anything: doubt was beginning to attach to Timbuckjee's statement, when someone said: 'Try the roof.' In less than two minutes afterwards there was a shout, and one of the peons drew forth from the thatch a piece of rag evidently containing rupees. The little parcel was immediately handed to the Judge, who opened it before all present, and counted out the number of rupees which Timbuckjee had seen Saul Jan count out to Kulmuck. This discovery proved the truth of all that Timbuckjee had said, and at the same time proved the guilt of Saul Jan and Kulmuck. I am glad to say that both these ruffians were sentenced to be hanged. Great efforts to save Saul Jan were made by the Moplahs, who declared that he had been defrauded of his _undoubted_ rights, and that Lutchmon Sing deserved his fate. And nothing would convince these brutal and savage disciples of a brutal and sensual creed that the murder deserved capital punishment. They threatened resistance, used very violent language, and seemed altogether so highly irritated and incensed that three companies of the European regiment stationed at Canamore were marched from thence to Tollicherry in order to overawe them, and along with the three companies half a battery of Horse Artillery. These decisive and judicious measures had the effect desired; the would-be rebels thought ball cartridges, grape-shot, and fixed bayonets unpleasant things to face, and that under the circumstances discretion was the better part of valour. The execution, therefore, took place without either disturbance or bloodshed. No. XI. AN HOUR LOST AT MR. G.'S DINNER. After the execution of the two Moplahs for the murder of poor Lutchmon Sing, nothing worth recording took place at Tollicherry during some months. People got up in the morning, went to bed at night, and ate their dinners in a very routine, humdrum sort of way, and nothing occurred to vary the monotony of existence except a new number of Lever's 'Charles O'Malley,' or the issue of cards for a dinner or evening party at the First Judge's house, which was a regular monthly institution with that most hospitable and generous man.