The Hindu remained for an hour in the cafe, smoking and drinking
some kind of syrup, and one of my fellows watched him. Presently the
proprietor called him into a little room behind the counter and closed
the door. The Hindu and the quadroon remained there for a few minutes,
then the Hindu came out and left the cafe, returning to his abode.
There was a telephone in this inner room, and my agent was of opinion
that the Indian had entered either to make or to receive a call. I
caused the line to be tapped.
On the following night the Hindu came back to the cafe, followed by
one of my men. I posted myself at a selected point and listened for
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!
CHAPTER II
CONCERNING THE GRAND DUKE
Although I had met with an unforeseen check, I had nevertheless learned
three things.
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