The informer
had been confined in the public prison, guarded by two sepoys. Thither,
on discovering my loss, I straightway repaired.
"The soldiers were still on guard in the corridor; nothing had happened
during the night to disturb their watch.
"But within his cell the informer was found dead--strangled, eyes and
tongue protruding from blackened face, the twisted knot under his ear
tied in the very manner I had seen him himself tie it over his upraised
knee on the afternoon of his confession.
"That is the end of my story."
* * * * *
The narrator of the grim tale folded his hands across his breast, bowed
his head, and thus remained in an attitude of meditation. There was an
interval of silence.
"Who murdered the informer?" at last asked the astrologer.
"We never learned," replied the magistrate.
"Was he strangled with his own silken scarf?"
"No. A plain cotton loin-cloth had been used for the deed. It had never
been worn or washed. It must thus have come straight from some shop in
the bazaars. But scores of the same kind are bought and sold every day.
We could discover nothing from this, the only clue the murderer had left
behind him."
"The assassin must have been the mysterious individual you saw in the
rear of the shop of Kubar Bux," commented the Afghan general.
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