He therefore had lunch and a cigar quietly. It was, in fact, close on four o'clock when he started, riding, for the city. But at the nearest gate to the bazaar, whence the threat of using the information had emanated, he gave his pony to the _sais_, bidding him go home; since he knew by experience the attention which a European on horseback excites in a native town, and without in the least wishing for concealment, he had no desire to be followed by gossip-mongers. The gate in question was that giving on the poor Hindoo quarter, the glass-bangle makers, the poultry keepers, the burden carriers, and--in a sort of off-shoot half-in, half-out of the city--the leather workers; that curious class, apart from all caste and creed, yet necessary to all, and from their ignorance, their isolation, the most difficult to civilise. So far Jack Raymond, personally, had seen and heard nothing beyond Aunt Khôjee's tale, as reported by Lateefa, to give grounds for more than caution; but he had not gone a dozen yards down the miserable bazaar which served the neighbourhood, before he realised that action might be necessary. Most of the shops were shut, and scarcely a human being was to be seen; signs--in upside-down Eastern fashion--that the peace of the people was disturbed. And it might mean more. These signs, to be seen of all, might have been duly reported to the proper authorities and been disregarded by them. But if they had not been so reported, there could, considering the perfection of organisation for such reports which exists in every native town, be but one explanation of the fact--treachery! He would find out about this, he told himself, merely for his own satisfaction, on his way back, since the minor treachery of police constables and such like had its price, and he had five thousand rupees in his pocket towards a good deed! It would be curious if, after all----