strangler was, however, very communicative,
told many anecdotes of crime to Lutfullah,
and tried to dazzle him by exhibiting one
hundred and twelve gold mohurs, which he
poured out from a bag. He spared Lutfullah,
as being penniless and useful. It is
not a little to Lutfullah's credit that this
recruiting sergeant of murder failed to enlist
him, for so plausible are the ringleaders of
Thuggee, that the magistrates who are
employed in the suppression of the system have
repeatedly avowed their conviction that a
single adept is capable of inoculating an
entire district with the views of Bhowaneeism.
Jumaa exacted a solemn oath on the Koran
that his young acquaintance would never
betray him; but Lutfullah, although well
aware that perjury was wrong, ran breathless
into the nearest town, and gasped out
"Jumaa, the Thug," to the soldiers on guard,
at the same time pointing towards the ruined
temple where the unlucky worshipper of
Bhowanee was yet asleep. In a very brief
time the wretched Jumaa, bound, bruised
with clubs, and gashed with sword-cuts, was
dragged before the Rajah, and straightway
blown from a great cannon. Although
Orientals are but too much used to lying
and deception from the cradle, Lutfullah felt
some remorse for his broken oath. Pity for
the criminal he never thought of.

Enriched by ten golden mohurs, part of the
booty of the executed Jumaa, presented to his
young betrayer by the Rajah, Lutfullah
pursued his way to Agra. There he was
hospitably cherished by the relations of his
father's first wife, for five years, during which
he pursued his studies. The hakim, or native
physician, of one of Scindiah's brothers-in-
law, at length took Lutfullah into his service
as superintendent of his household. Under
this learned person's protection the boy, now
grown a handsome youth, visited Delhi, and
was much impressed by the grandeur of the
buildings, the politeness of the inhabitants,
and the rich cultivation of the district through
which the caravan traversed. Lutfullah was
for a Moslem, anything but fanatical, yet he
cannot, even now, suppress a sigh of bitter
regret for the vanished glories of the Mogul
empire and the decay of that capital which was
the trophy and bulwark of Islamism. In fact,
to a Mahommedan, Delhi is what Rome is to
an Italian, the humbled queen and mistress
of cities, a perpetual reproach, and a
dangerous memento of ages of conquest and
splendour.

Lutfullah was reconciled to his stepfather;
but never quite forgave his former
ill-usage. His wish to see his mother once
more, made him quit his employment, and he
travelled to Ujjain, where he found his only
surviving parent living in unwonted comfort.
Soon the secret of this prosperity came out.
The subahdar and his brother-in-law were
robbers, and the house of Lutfullah's mother
was the receptacle of their booty. Lutfullah,
reluctant to live on ill-gotten gains, set off
once more in quest of adventures. He fell
in with a party of twenty-five Pathans, or
Affghan soldiers, a race eminent for valour
and strength. The chief, who professed to be
in military service at Poona, offered to take
the clever young Lutfullah as secretary and
accountant of his troop. The salary was
tempting, the chief, Musa Khan, a civil
spoken personage, and, in an evil hour,
Lutfullah complied. The band journeyed through
a wild country, until, among rugged
mountains and tangled ravines, a Bheel village lay
before them. Then Lutfullah discovered how
pitiably he had been entrapped. This village
among the mountains of Candeish was the
camp of Nadir, a Bheel robber chieftain, who
commanded five hundred marauders of his
own tribe, and under whose orders, also,
were the band of Affghans. Poor Lutfullah,
in fact, like Gil Blas, had fallen among
thieves.

To do the savages justice, they did not spill
blood unless when heated by resistance. But
they deprived their captives of all their
possessions, even to their clothes; and, presenting
them with a cotton cummerbund as a
substitute, allowed them to depart. When one
of the robbers was disabled by wounds, his
comrades put him to death at once, and,
carrying back his head to the mountains,
burned or buried it. In this manner they
avoided any chance of awkward recognitions.
In none of these forays did Lutfullah share,
though, on one occasion, the freebooters, in
high glee, rewarded their young secretary
with ornaments and cash to the value of four
hundred rupees, which were at once buried
under a rock. Retribution soon fell on some
of the guilty. The Affghans, glutted with
spoil, wished to leave the wilderness and
enjoy their hard-won gains. The Bheel chief
agreed willingly enough, but declared he
would not suffer them to depart until after a
mighty feast to be held on the fourth day.
For three days fat sheep, opium, sweetmeats,
and the like, were plentifully supplied to the
Affghans.

On the fourth morning Lutfullah, who
had gone abroad before daybreak, was
returning, when he suddenly heard yells and
cries, and crashing blows of swords and
axes, and the well-known war-shout of the
Bheels. It was the old, drama of savage
treachery. The Affghans were being
murdered in their huts. A wounded man—one
Ibrahim Khan—came running swiftly
towards where Lutfullah stood, cold and horror-
struck. The Affghan cried out that all the rest
were dead. Lutfullah would have fled with
the Affghan, but the latter declined having a
companion. They separated, and Lutfullah
plunged among the savage ravines, scaling
heights, pushing through bushes and creepers,
ignorant of the road, and knowing nothing of
the geography of the country. But the yells
of the triumphant Bheels rang behind him,