“It is very sweet and good of you to say it, but I am afraid your eyes will soon be disagreeably opened. No rational being could doubt that Miss North is setting her cap at the Commissioner, and that would hardly be a match you could welcome, would it? Look at her dress--so absurdly unsuitable at her age. Oh, I know to a day how old she is, Mrs North, and I will say that eight years between you don’t warrant your dressing as if you were mother and daughter. But I grant that Miss North is one of the people who always look younger than they are, while you invariably look older.” The expression of Mrs Hardy’s sympathy rarely corresponded with the good-will which prompted it, but Georgia received the stab in heroic silence, and cast about for some means of changing the subject. “I suppose we may as well go home now,” she said at last in despair, rising as she spoke. “Where is my husband, I wonder?” “Over there, talking to the Commissioner and Bahram Khan,” responded Mrs Hardy. “Dear me! something must have happened. There is a messenger who seems to have brought some news. How grave they all look! What can it be?” Watching eagerly, they saw Bahram Khan take his leave of Mr Burgrave and Dick and rejoin his friends. As the two gentlemen returned to the rest of the company the Commissioner said, slightly raising his tones in a way that attracted general attention, “Well, except for the sake of the poor fellow himself, I can’t pretend to be sorry. The way is now clear for important developments.” Dick’s reply was inaudible, but the Commissioner rejoined sharply, “Of course you put this down to Bahram Khan’s account?” “I make no accusations,” said Dick, unmoved. “You can’t perceive more clearly than I do that it’s impossible to connect him with it.” “You deal in ambiguities, I see.” Mr Burgrave’s temper was evidently ruffled. “There is no ambiguity in my mind,” was the reply, as Dick beckoned to a servant to fetch up his dog-cart. “Are you coming with me, Georgie, or shall I take Mabel?” “Oh no, Mr Anstruther will drive her home,” said Georgia, aghast at the thought of an encounter between Dick in his present mood and Mabel at her prickliest. “Dick,” as the Commissioner turned to speak to Mrs Hardy, “what has happened?” “Hush! speak lower. Bahadar Shah is dead.” “What! poisoned?” “No, shot. He was out hunting, and one of his most trusted servants was carrying his spare gun loaded. As he handed it to him it went off, and Bahadar Shah was shot through the heart.” “And what happened to the servant?” “The rest fell upon him and clubbed him to death immediately.” “But of course it was Bahram Khan’s doing?”