not
think it impossible. They might have succeeded--who can say?--if Fuzl
Khan had not betrayed them."

"And he is still with us. He would betray us again."

"I am not sure of that. See what he has suffered! Today his whole body
must have writhed with pain. But for the majum {a preparation of hemp} he
has smoked and the plentiful ghi {clarified butter} we rubbed him with,
he would be moaning now. I think he will be with us if we can only find
out a way. You have been here longer than I; can not you help me to form
a plan?"

"No, sahib; my brain is like running water. Besides, I am afraid. If we
could get rid of our fetters and escape we might have to fight. I cannot
fight; I am not a man of war; I am commercial."

"But you will help me if I can think of a plan?"

"I cannot persuade myself to promise, sahib. It is impossible. Death is
the only deliverer."

Desmond was impatient of the man's lack of spirit. But he suffered no
sign of his feeling to escape him. He had grown to have a liking for the
Babu.

"Well, I shall not give up the idea," he said. "Perhaps I shall speak of
it to you again."

Two nights later, in the dark and silent hours, Desmond reopened the
matter. This time the conversation lasted much longer, and in the course
of it the Babu became so much interested and indeed excited that he
forgot his usual caution, and spoke in a high-pitched tone that woke the
Biluchi on the other side. The man hurled abuse at the disturber of his
repose, and Surendra Nath regained his caution and relapsed into his
usual soft murmur. Desmond and he were still talking when the light of
dawn stole into the shed; but though neither had slept, they went about
their work during the day with unusual briskness and lightness of heart.

That evening, after the prisoners had eaten their supper in their
respective eating rooms, they squatted against the outer wall of the shed
for a brief rest before being locked up for the night. The Babu had
promised to tell a story. The approaches to the yard were all guarded by
the usual sentries, and in the distance could be heard the clanking of
the warder's keys as he went from shed to shed performing his nightly
office.

"The story! the story!" said one of the Marathas impatiently. "Why dost
thou tarry, Babu?"

"I have eaten, Gousla, and when the belly is full the brain is sluggish.
But the balance is adjusting itself, and in a little I will begin."

Through the farther gate cam