Having thus made sure that he would not be overheard Dermot said: 

“Gentlemen, a few of you already know something of what I am going to tell you.  I want you to understand that I am now speaking officially and in strict confidence.”

He turned to his host.

“I must ask you, Mr. Daleham (Fred looked up in surprise at the formality of the mode of address) to promise to divulge nothing of what I say to your friend, Mr. Chunerbutty.”

“Not tell Chunerbutty, sir?” repeated the young planter in astonishment.

“No; the matter is one which must not be mentioned to any but Europeans.”

“Oh, but I assure you, Major, Chunerbutty’s thoroughly loyal and reliable,” said Daleham warmly.

“I repeat that you are not to give him the least inkling of what I am going to say,” replied Dermot in a quiet but stern voice.  “As I have already told you, I am speaking officially.”

The boy was impressed and a little awed by his manner.

“Oh, certainly, sir.  I give you my word that I shan’t mention it to him.”

“Very well.  The fact is, gentlemen, that we are on the track of a vast conspiracy against British rule in India, and have reason to believe that the activity of the disloyalists in Bengal has spread to this district.  We suspect that the Brahmins who, very much to the surprise of any one acquainted with the ways of their caste, are working as coolies on your gardens, are really emissaries of the seditionists.”

“By George, is that really so, Major?” asked a young planter in a doubting tone.  “We have a couple of these Bengalis on our place, and they seem such quiet, harmless chaps.”

“The Major is quite right.  I know it,” said one of the oldest men present.  “I confess that it didn’t occur to me as strange that Brahmins should take such low-caste work until he told me.  But I have found since, as others of us have, that these men are the secret cause of all the trouble and unrest that we have had lately among our coolies, to whom they preach sedition and revolution.”

Several other estate managers corroborated his statement.

“But surely, sir, you don’t suspect Chunerbutty of being mixed up in this?” asked Daleham.  “He’s been a friend of mine for a long time.  I lived with him in London, and I’m certain he is quite loyal and pro-British.”

“I know nothing of him, Daleham,” replied the soldier.  “But he is a Bengali Brahmin, one of the race and caste that are responsible for most of the sedition in India, and we must take precautions.”

“I’d stake my life on him,” exclaimed the boy hotly.  “He’s been a good friend to me, and I’ll answer for him.”

Dermot did not trouble to argue the matter further with him, but said to the company generally: 

“This outrageous attempt to carry off Miss Daleham—­”

“Oh, but you said yourself, sir, that the ruffians were Bhuttias,” broke in the boy, still nourishing a grievance at the mistrust of his friend.