"This slave is indeed foolish as the beasts," lamented Sher Singh. "Let the Sahib in his mercy obtain for him even now what he has promised, and for the present he will dwell quietly, and aim no more at a dignity that is clearly above his capacity." The reason for this change of front Gerrard had not time to puzzle over at the moment, for as Sher Singh left the tent under the escort of Badan Hazari, the Rajah's minister, Diwan Dwarika Nath, appeared out of the darkness with his attendants, and cast a keen glance at the departing figure. Dismissing his servants to a distance, and apologising for the lateness of his visit, Dwarika Nath proceeded to make various arrangements on his master's behalf with regard to the journey to Agpur, all in a very friendly and polite spirit. But as he rose to take his leave, he turned suddenly on Gerrard. "His Highness might be interested to learn what visitors his _friend_ Jirad Sahib entertains in secret at night," he said. "My visitors come without any wish of mine, but they go when I choose," retorted Gerrard warningly. Dwarika Nath held up a deprecating hand. "There is no need for his Highness to know who the visitor was. I alone recognised him." "It might certainly be safer for you not to bring that recognition to the knowledge of his Highness," mused Gerrard. Dwarika Nath's face grew avaricious. "But there is my duty to his Highness. How could I consent to keep silent on a matter that affects him so nearly?" "I really don't know. Your conscience ain't in my keeping. Settle it for yourself," said Gerrard carelessly. "Now I suppose I have made two enemies to-night!" he remarked to himself as Dwarika Nath turned away with baffled greed in his eyes. [1] Kill! kill! CHAPTER V. GERRARD FINDS FAVOUR. _From Lieut. Robert Charteris, Darwan, to Lieut. Henry Gerrard_:-- "DEAR HAL,--I have not had long to wait for a _billet doux_ from you. I _had_ thought you would draw the line at assassination, but we live and learn. Last night, as I was returning to the shelter of my humble roof, a dirty hairy fellow--but why should I describe him to _you_?--leapt out and fired at me point-blank with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol, and _missed_. I give you my word he singed half an inch off my left whisker. Of course they _say_ he was a ruffianly suitor offended by my just decision in favour of his opponent, but I know better. 'Sweet Hal, by my faith!' thinks I to myself, says I, and what I says I sticks to. I know he ought to have been taken alive, and returned to you postage-paid, with an insulting message inviting you to try again and do your worst. Unfortunately my honest fellows, not being versed in these niceties of behaviour, fell on him in a body and incontinently despatched him. But bring on your minions. Come one, come all, this rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as Sir, your most humble and obedient servant, R. C."