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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Come with me and search the back of the house," said Diggle, turning away with an oath. Desmond stepped noiselessly across the floor and joined the khansaman. They made their way out stealthily down the stairs, through the garden at the back, into a mango grove. There they remained hidden until Diggle, finding his search fruitless, remounted with his men and galloped away.
But the khansaman will give you something to eat: and I'll be back as soon as I can. You can take it easy on the veranda, and you'll find a hookah if you care to try it." "No, thanks," said Desmond with a smile; "I've no fancy that way." Shortly afterwards Mr. Merriman left the house in his palanquin, wearing the short white calico jacket that was then de rigueur at dinner parties.
The journey had been delayed too long already, and Hossain's employer, the grain merchant, would have good reason for complaint if he felt that his business was being neglected. "We must go, khansaman," said Desmond in sudden determination. The man was nothing loath. They returned by the way they had come. Then he struck off for the point lower down the river where his boat was moored.
In another room a cooking pot had been left, and it was evident that it had but lately been used. The simple furniture was in some disorder. The khansaman had with much labor managed to mount the stairs. "Allah is Allah!" he said. "They are gone!" The khansaman's surprise was clearly genuine, and Desmond refrained from visiting on him his disappointment.
Here we found a fine old Khansaman, who gave us an account of the incidents of the Mutiny which came under his notice. He had received a flying party of two hundred men, women, and children, who arrived at dead of night, some on horses, some on foot, and all worn and haggard by their march from Delhi, from which they had escaped.
Before the door, lolling in unstudied dishabille, squatted a bearded, turbaned Mohammedan, whom from his rotundity Desmond guessed to be the khansaman of the big house. "Pardon the curiosity of an ignorant sailor from Gujarat. What nawab owns the great house yonder?"
"Surely he was in error; for your face, O khansaman, is open as the sun, your lips are fragrant with the very attar of truth. But he is filled with rage and fury; in his madness he will not tarry to inquire. If he should meet you well, it is the will of Allah: no man can escape his fate." The khansaman, as Desmond spoke, looked more and more distressed; and at the last words his face was livid.
As he gazed disconsolately before him, he caught sight of a party of horsemen rapidly approaching. Bidding the khansaman stifle his groans, he watched them eagerly through the chiks of the window. Soon a dozen native horsemen cantered up to the front gate and drew rein.
Every now and then the old mate, who was in very low spirits, would raise a lugubrious wail at the top of his voice of "Ai Khansaman Jee! Ai Khansaman Jee?"
The khansaman, beaming in acknowledgment of the implied compliment to his own importance, replied: "To Sinfray Sahib, worthy khalasi." "The great Sinfray Sahib of Chandernagore? Surely that is a strange thing!" "Strange! What is strange? That Sinfray Sahib should own so fine a house? You should see his other house in Chandernagore: then indeed you might lift your eyes in wonder."
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