The nawab-ji bowed again, and assured the Presence that there would be no lapse on his part. Akhab Khan had turned away. His attitude betokened utter dejection, but the Princess, not the first of her sex to barter ambition for love, was radiant with hope. "Go, Malcolm-sahib," she whispered, "and may Allah guard you on the way!" "I have one favor to ask," he said. "My devoted servant, a man named Chumru--" She smiled with the air of a woman who breathes freely once more after passing through some grave peril. "How, then, do you think I found out the identity of the English officer who had dared to enter Delhi?" she asked. "Your man came to me, not without difficulty, and told me you were here. It was he who inspired me with the thought that your presence might be turned to good account. But go, and quickly. He is safe." Frank hardly knew how to bid her farewell until he remembered that, if of royal birth, Princess Roshinara was also a beautiful woman. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, a most unusual proceeding in the East, but the tribute of respect seemed to please her. Following the nawab he traversed many corridors and chambers and ultimately reached an apartment in which Chumru was seated. That excellent bearer was smoking a hookah, with a couple of palace servants, and doubtless exchanging spicy gossip with the freedom of Eastern manners and conversation. "Shabash!" he cried when his crooked gaze fell on Malcolm. "By the tomb of Nizam-ud-din, there are times when women are useful." They were let down from a window on the river face of the palace and taken by a boat to the bank of the Jumna above Ludlow Castle, while the nawab undertook to deliver their horses next day at the camp. He carried out his promise to the letter, nor did he forget to put forth a plea in his own behalf against the hour when British bayonets would be probing the recesses of the fort and its occupants. When Nicholson came out of the mess after supper he found Malcolm waiting for an audience. Chumru, still wearing the servant's livery in which the famous brigadier had last seen him, was squatting on the ground near his master. The general was not apt to waste time in talk, and he had a singular knack of reading men's thoughts by a look. "Glad to see you back again, Major Malcolm," he cried. "I hope you were successful?" "It is for you to decide, sir, when you have heard my story," and without further preamble Frank gave a clear narrative of his adventures since dawn. Not a word did he say about the very things he had been sent to report on, and Nicholson understood that a direct order alone would unlock his lips. When Frank ended the general frowned and was silent. In those days men did not hold honor lightly, and Nicholson was a fine type of soldier and gentleman.