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 Mr. Forsyth?” asked the man, taking a step forward, to be instantly reminded of his position by the lean brown hand of Azimoolah falling like a vise on his shoulder. The Pathan evidently cherished a lingering hope that there might yet arise a pretext for treating “the black tribe” in the old way.

“Because, sir, a woman can’t help herself in matters of the heart, and even the worst of ’em is capable of an unselfish attachment,” the General replied, with slow emphasis. But he hastened to add, as if eager to disavow responsibility for the introduction of sentiment: “At least, so I was advised. The little scheme for obtaining the sham securities was based on the supposition that this woman had a liking for Mr. Forsyth, and would do him no hurt if she recognized him. That forecast has turned out to be well founded.”

“Uncle Jem!” Forsyth protested, flushing hotly.

“Yes, laddie, I know you would not have taken the job on if I had informed you who Ziegler was,” said the General. “There would have been less to fear, but there would have been a dash of the underhand about it that wouldn’t have suited you. But I should never