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He felt convinced that the fortress was not Suwarndrug; the Gujarati's anxiety to pile up testimony to the contrary was almost sufficient in itself to prove that. If not Suwarndrug, it was probably one of Angria's strongholds, possibly Kulaba. In that case the grabs now beating out were certainly the Pirate's, and the men knew it.
It was clear that Fuzl Khan's first onslaught had failed; had he got home, the overseer, powerful as he was, must have been killed on the spot. In the darkness the Gujarati's knife had probably missed its aim. He had now two enemies to deal with, and but for intervention he must soon be overcome and slain.
If the attempt was to be made at all, it must be made with the men whom he knew intimately and with whom he had opportunities of discussing a plan. But he was at once faced by the question of the Gujarati's trustworthiness.
It was Desmond's trick at the wheel between eight and midnight. Gulam Abdullah was on the lookout; the rest of the crew were forward squatting on the deck in a circle around Fuzl Khan. Desmond, thinking of other things, heard dully, as from a great distance, the drone of the Gujarati's voice.
"Poor fellow!" thought Desmond, looking at the strong, fierce face and the gigantic frame now stiff and cold. "Little he knew, when he said he'd serve me to his life's end, that the end was so near." He had the body carried into the town, and reverently buried according to Mohammedan rites. From the lascar he had learned all that he ever knew of the motives of the Gujarati's action.
The Gujarati was none too quick witted. He was patently taken aback, and hesitated for a reply. The grab was standing steadily on her course shorewards. Desmond was to all appearance unconcerned; but the crew were looking at one another uneasily, and the Gujarati's brow was darkening; his fidgetiness increasing. Surendra Nath was the only man among the natives who showed no anxiety.
The man wore a look of sullen surprise, which Desmond cheerfully ignored. "Now, Fuzl Khan," he said, "we are running into Bombay harbor. You know the channel?" The man grunted a surly affirmative. "Well, you will take the helm, and steer us in to the most convenient moorings." He turned away, smiling at the look of utter consternation on the Gujarati's face.
Drawing his sword, Desmond sprang from the tree and dashed across the open, reaching the scene of the struggle just in the nick of time to strike up Diggle's weapon ere it sheathed itself in the Gujarati's side. Diggle turned with a startled oath, and seeing who his assailant was, he left his companion to take care of himself, and faced Desmond, a smile of anticipated triumph wreathing his lips.
From a point some distance beyond the end of the jetty shone a faint glimmer of light. Desmond silently drew the Gujarati's attention to it. "They are gambling," whispered the man. "So much the better for our chances," thought Desmond. Turning to the Babu he whispered: "Now, Surendra Nath, you know what to do?" "Yes, sahib."
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