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"'Tis fate, my young friend," said Diggle, with all his old blandness; Desmond never ceased to be amazed at the self command of this extraordinary man. "I have let some blood, I perceive; my sword arm is for the time disabled; but my great regret at this moment you will understand the feeling is that this gallant friend of yours lies low with the wound intended for another.
Looking round his little fort, he felt a tremor as he saw that five out of his twenty-four men were more or less disabled. True, there were now more than a dozen of the enemy in the same or a worse plight; but they could afford their losses, and Desmond indeed wondered why Diggle did not sacrifice a few men in one fierce overwhelming onslaught.
"I list!" said Diggle suddenly. "There are footsteps again. Is it Burke coming back? The door's open, Job." The innkeeper went to the door and peered into the dark. A slight figure came up at that moment a boy, with a bundle in his hand. "Is that you, Grinsell? Is Mr. Diggle in?" "Come in, my friend," said Diggle, hastening to the door. "We were just talking of you.
We beat them off, and I have brought the ladies here." "And forgotten your instructions?" "No, sir. Monsieur Law was advancing from Patna: Diggle was coming ahead to inform the Nawab of his approach. But the whole country knows of your victory, and I fancy Monsieur Law will come no further." "And Diggle?" "He was killed in the fight, sir." "Indeed! And how many did his men muster?"
"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he was vexed that his face still betrayed the irritation of the morning. "Very well," said Diggle with a shrug. "Far be it from me to probe your sorrows. They are nothing to me, but sure a simple question from a friend " "Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively, "I did not mean to offend you."
It was four o'clock, and Tuesday afternoon the day before the Good Intent was to sail from the Pool. Desmond was kicking his heels in his inn, longing for the morrow. Even now he had not seen the vessel on which he was to set forth in quest of his fortune. She lay in the Pool, but Diggle had found innumerable reasons why Desmond should not visit her until he embarked for good and all.
Toley, 'I may be wrong, sir, says I, 'but I lay my whiskers that Diggle has been an' sold him to the Pirate, an' that's the last we shall ever see of as nice a young fellow as ever hauled on a hawser. How did you get out of the Pirate's den, sir?" "That's a long story, Bulger. I'll tell you all in good time. You're looking for a job, are you?
"By thunder, sir," said Bulger, "give me the chanst and I'll learn the mounseer the why and wherefore of it. And as for Diggle well, I may be wrong, but I'll lay my share o' the prize money out o' the Good Intent that he's hatchin' mischief, and not far off neither. Show a leg, mateys." Before Major Coote reached Daudpur he was overtaken by a horseman bearing a message from Clive.
"Here, sir," cried Desmond, starting up from the place where, in Bulger's company, he had been splicing a rope. "Idling away your time as usual, of course. 'Tis for Mr. Diggle, as you can see if you can read." "But how am I to find him, sir?" "Hang me, that's your concern.
There were some twenty men armed with matchlocks, and forty with swords and lathis. All were natives. His heart sank as he measured the odds against him. What was his dismay when he saw, half a mile off, another body following up. And these were white men! Was Diggle bringing the French of Chandernagore into the fray? Desmond posted his twelve armed peons behind the hackeris.