d took a pinch of fine
rappee, Desmond mechanically noticing that the box bore ornamentation of
Dutch design.

"If I were not your friend," continued Diggle, "I might say that your
attitude is one of sheer obstinacy. Why not trust us? You see we trust
you. I stand pledged for you with Angria; but I flatter myself I know a
man when I see one: si fractus illabitur orbis--you have already shown
your mettle. Of course I understand your scruples; I was young myself
once; I know the generous impulses that rule the hearts of youth. But
this is a matter that must be decided, not by feeling, but by hard fact
and cold reason. Who benefits by your scruples? A set of hard-living
money grubbers in Bombay who fatten on the oppression of the ryot, who
tithe mint and anise and cumin, who hoard up treasure which they will
take back with their jaundiced livers to England, there to become pests
to society with their splenetic and domineering tempers. What's the
Company to you, or you to the Company? Why, Governor Pitt was an
interloper; and your own father: yes, he was an interloper, and an
interloper of the best."

"But not a pirate," said Desmond hotly, his scornful silence yielding at
last.

"True, true," said Diggle suavely; "but in the Indies, you see, we don't
draw fine distinctions. We are all bucaneers in a sense; some with the
sword, others the ledger. Throw in your lot frankly with me; I will stand
your friend."

"You are wasting your breath and your eloquence," interrupted Desmond
firmly, "and even if I were tempted to agree, as I never could be, I
should remember who is talking to me."

Then he added with a whimsical smile, "Come, Mr. Diggle, you are fond of
quotations; I am not; but there's one I remember--'I fear the Greeks,
though'--"

"You young hound!" cried Diggle, his sallow face becoming purple. His
anger, it seemed to Desmond afterwards reflecting on it, was out of
proportion to the cause of offense. "You talk of my eloquence. By heaven,
when I see you again I shall use it otherwise. You shall hear something
of how Angria wreaks his vengeance; you shall have a foretaste of the
sweets in store for an obstinate, recalcitrant pig-headed fool!"

He strode away, leaving Desmond a prey to the gloomiest anticipations.

That evening, when the prisoners were squatting outside the shed for the
usual hour of talk before being locked up for the night, a new feature
was added to the entertainment. One of the Marathas