From Payne’s the Major went on to visit some other gardens.  Everywhere he heard the same story.  All the planters were convinced that the heart and the brain of the disaffection was to be found in Malpura.  So Dermot determined to return there and expose the whole matter to Fred Daleham at last, charging him on his loyalty not to give the faintest inkling to Chunerbutty.

A delay in the advent of the rain, which falls earlier in the district of the Himalayan foothills than elsewhere in India, had rendered the jungle very dry.  Consequently when Dermot on Badshah’s neck emerged from it on to the garden of Malpura, he was not surprised to see at the far end of the estate a column of smoke which told of a forest fire.  The wide, open stretch of the plantation was deserted, probably, so Dermot concluded, because all the coolies had been collected to beat out the flames.  But, as he neared the Daleham’s bungalow, he saw a crowd of them in front of it.  Before the verandah steps a group surrounded something on the ground, while the servants were standing together talking to a man in European clothes, whom Dermot, when he drew nearer, recognised as Chunerbutty.

The group near the steps scattered as he approached, and Dermot saw that the object on the ground was a native lying on his back, covered with blood and apparently dead.

Chunerbutty rushed forward.  He was evidently greatly agitated.

“Oh, Major Dermot!  Major Dermot!  Help!  Help!” he cried excitedly.  “A terrible thing has happened.  Miss Daleham has been carried off by a party of Bhuttia raiders.”

“Carried off?  By Bhuttias?” exclaimed the soldier.  “When?”

He made the elephant kneel and slipped off to the ground.

“Barely two hours ago,” replied the engineer.  “A fire broke out in the jungle at the south edge of the garden—­probably started purposely to draw everyone away from the bungalows and factory.  The manager, Daleham, and I went there to superintend the men fighting the flames.  In our absence a party of ten or twenty Bhuttia swordsmen rushed the house.  Miss Daleham had just returned from her ride.  Poor girl!”

He broke down and began to cry.

“Pull yourself together man!” exclaimed Dermot in disgust.  “Go on.  What happened?”

“They seized and bound her,” continued the Bengali, mastering his emotion.  “These cowards”—­with a wave of his hand he indicated the servants—­“did nothing to protect her.  Only the syce attempted to resist, and they killed him.”

He pointed to the prostrate man.

“They tried to bear her off on her pony, but it took fright and bolted.  Then they tied poles to a chair brought from the bungalow and carried her away in it.”

“Didn’t the servants give the alarm?” asked Dermot.

“No; they remained hiding in their quarters until we came.  A coolie woman, who saw the raiders from a distance, ran to us and told us.  Fred went mad, of course.  He wanted to follow the Bhuttias, but I pointed out that it was hopeless.”