earing. He said that he had heard I
was recently arrived from Sengali. He had friends in that village, and
would be glad to hear of them.

"I told him that for the present I was occupied with pressing business,
but a little later I would be at his disposal, and pleased to give him
any information in my power. He thanked me courteously, and said he
would return in the evening, when, perhaps, I would be more at leisure.
I had cut short this interview, paying, indeed, little heed to the
stranger, for I had noticed that my friend, the munshi, not knowing of
my presence in the inn, was in the act of taking his departure. I
hastened after him.

"The venerable munshi was delighted to see me, and insisted on my
sharing his evening meal. We moved in the direction of his home, and he
gave me the chit-chat of the day. Until our repast was finished I did
not mention the object of my visit. Only after we were comfortably
seated on the veranda, enjoying the cool night air, did I approach the
subject, discreetly, as was fitting, by talking on topics quite at
variance from the one in my mind. But after a time I ventured to ask
whether many travellers had passed recently. He looked at me shrewdly
and smiled.

"'At last, my friend, you tell me the reason of your coming here. You
are in search of some one.'

"'Truly I am,' I replied, 'and it is a matter of life or death to find
the man I am seeking.'

"Thereupon, without further preamble, I related the story of Baji Lal
and the missing Sheikh.

"At the end of my narrative Munshi Khyraz--such was my host's name--sat
silent for a spell. I knew my friend, and allowed him his own time to
make any comment. Presently he broke from his reflections.

"'About the time you mention,' he began, 'just before the first rains, a
stranger was brought into this town by some woodcutters. Their story was
that the wounded man had been attacked by his servant when travelling,
and left for dead in the jungle.'

"I started, and leaned toward him eagerly.

"'A clue!' I cried. 'A clue! Where is he now?'

"The old sage looked at me with disapproval in his eyes.

"'Excitement and impetuosity of speech are for the young, my friend,' he
said, gravely. 'They are not becoming in the matured.'

"I lay back again on my cushions, feeling justly censured. The light of
displeasure dying from his eyes, the munshi proceeded:

"'I had the victim of this outrage carried to my house, and, his wounds
not proving