There would be enough
of us, without asking any one else to join. The collector to whom Isaacs
had telegraphed was an old acquaintance of his, and would probably go
out for a few days with us. It all seemed easy enough and plain sailing.
In the course of time we returned to our hotel, dressed, and made our
way through the winding roads to Mr. Currie Ghyrkins' bungalow.
We were met on the verandah by the old commissioner, who welcomed us
warmly and praised our punctuality, for the clock was striking seven in
the drawing-room, as we divested ourselves of our light top-coats. In
the vestibule, Miss Westonhaugh and her brother came forward to greet
us.
"John," said the young lady, "you know I told you there was some one
here whom you got out of trouble ever so many years ago in Bombay. Here
he is. This is a new introduction. Mr. John Westonhaugh, Mr. Abdul
Hafiz-ben-Isak, commonly known to his friends as Mr. Isaacs." Her face
beamed with pleasure, and I thought with pride, as she led her brother
to Isaacs, and her eyes rested long on the Persian with a look that, to
me, argued something more than a mere interest. The two men clasped
hands and stood for some seconds looking at each other in silence, but
with very different expressions. Westonhaugh wore a look of utter
amazement, though he certainly seemed pleased.
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