The thought of Lesley made him smile good-humouredly. What with the _râm rucki_ and the green sleeves, and now this possible good deed, it was hopeless to escape that young person. He walked on more cheerfully, and in a few minutes found himself in the courtyard of Dilarâm's house on his way to Govind's den on the second story; since his--as yet unknown--quarry had given that address. The whole house, however, was so still, so deserted, that he half feared his journey might be in vain. But it was not so. The door, marked 24 in rough white letterings, was ajar, and Govind, yawning, dishevelled, rose from a corner with an apology of a _salaam_ as his visitor entered. The room was almost empty. Even the printing-press had disappeared, gone, like all else, in the attempt to live upon lies; for, even with Govind's nose for nastiness, he had been driven to sell the goodwill, stock, and block of the '_Ear of the Wise_' to another unwise aspirant towards literary fame. His last issue had been the one detailing the horrors of Sobrai's disgrace and Noormahal's death; to the unusual success of which, especially among the Mohammedan soldiers in cantonments, had been due the unexpected offer to buy the going concern. The would-be purchaser being a new discontent, who, having been turned out of a regimental office for falsifying returns, was keen on revenging himself by spreading disaffection in the native army. Govind had naturally jumped at the offer, and for two days past had been debauching himself on the proceeds, in certain anticipation of more money to come from the sale of something which could no longer be used as copy; for, he told himself, even if his first bold bid for a buyer produced no results, almost every native newspaper in Nushapore would be glad of anything which might help to damage--when the proper time came--the good faith of their rulers. But now, as the figure of a _sahib_ showed at the door, his _bhang_-dulled eyes lit up with triumph; the next moment, however, he was murmuring a humble '_Gharib-nawâz!_' and wishing that the earth would open and swallow him--wishing he had never sent the letter! But who could have dreamt of its being answered by _Rahmân-sahib_! 'Oh! it is you, is it?' remarked Jack Raymond, recognising an old club _baboo_ whom he had run in for theft of cigars. 'You are Govind Râm, editor, are you? That simplifies matters. I suppose you wrote this, and that the talk of knowing a man who knows, etc., is the usual business. You have a paper--you want five thousand rupees for it--just like your cheek! You'll get two. Hand it over.'