After a time there came the noise of the dacoits. They soon entered
the police station and shouted: "Give up that Deputy Saheb. We know
he is here."

"Deputy, what Deputy? I cannot understand. Where is he?" answered
the policeman.

"Don't be shamming," returned the dacoits contemptuously, "thou
knowest well whom we mean. Produce him if you value your own life."

In vain the policeman pleaded ignorance. His trembling limbs and
shaking voice belied his words. The dacoits bound him, searched
the police office, and then proceeded to hunt the house. "He is not
here. Let us not waste further time," said one. "Let's look well,"
said another, "and search every place." Some climbed the machan and
discovered their victim. It did not take them long to drag him down,
and beat him mercilessly with their long sticks, till he became
unconscious. The policeman too was severely chastised. Him they
left lying there; but rolled the offending Magistrate in an old mat,
bound him tightly with a rope and carried him away to the river.

As he was borne on their shoulders through the night air, he gradually
came to his senses but kept silent and listened to his captors. By
this time it was dawn, and they were at the river. The majority were
for re-crossing and burning him, dead or alive. One dissentient voice
struck him with surprise. It was his father-in-law's! Clearly he
was one of the gang! But scruples had overtaken him and he pleaded
that he might not be a witness of the projected murder of his
son-in-law. "Spare me! spare me!" he cried.