any message that might pass over the line to or from the cafe. At
about the same hour as before--according to the report--someone called
up the establishment, asking for "Miguel." This was the quadroon, and
I heard his thick voice replying. The other voice--which had first
spoken--was curiously sibilant but very distinct. Yet it did not sound
like the voice of a Frenchman or of any European. This was the
conversation:

"Miguel."

"Miguel speaks."

"_Scorpion._ A message for Chunda Lal."

"Very good."

Almost holding my breath, so intense was my excitement, I waited
whilst Miguel went to bring the Hindu. Suddenly a new voice
spoke--that of the Hindu.

"Chunda Lal speaks," it said.

I clenched by teeth; I knew that I must not miss a syllable.

"Scorpion" replied ... in voluble _Hindustani_--a language of which I
know less than a dozen words!