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An ebook published byProject Gutenberg Australia
Guns of the Gods:
Talbot Mundy:
eBook No.: fr100305.html
Language: English
Date first posted: Dec 2012
Most recent update: May 2023
This eBook was produced by Roy Glashan and Colin Choat
by
Talbot Mundy
Cover based on an image generated by Microsoft Bing
Adventure, 3 Mar 1921, with first part of "The Winds of the World"
"Guns of the Gods," Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, 1921
"Guns of the Gods," Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, 1921
"Guns of the Gods," Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, 1921
Headpiece from "Adventure"
At the top of the stairs Yasmini stood waiting.
Old Troy reaped rue in the womb of years
For stolen Helen's sake;
Till tenfold retribution rears
Its wreck on embers slaked with tears
That mended no heart-ache.
The wail of the women sold as slaves
Lest Troy breed sons again
Dreed o'er a desert of nameless graves,
The heaps and the hills that are Trojan graves
Deep-runneled by the rain.
But Troy lives on.
Though Helen's rape
And ten-year hold were vain;
Though jealous gods with men conspire
And Furies blast the Grecian fire;
Yet Troy must rise again.
Troy's daughters were a spoil and sport,
Were limbs for a labor gang,
Who crooned by foreign loom and mill
Of Trojan loves they cherished still,
Till Homer heard, and sang,
They told, by the fire when feasters roared
And minstrels waited turns,
Of the might of the men that Troy adored,
Of the valor in vain of the Trojan sword,
With the love that slakeless burns,
That caught and blazed in the minstrel mind
Or ever the age of pen.
So maids and a minstrel rebuilt Troy,
Out of the ashes they rebuilt Troy
To live in the hearts of men.
—Out of the Ashes
THE why and wherefore of my privilege to write atrue account of the Princess Yasmini's early youth is a story initself too long to tell here; but it came about through nopeculiar wisdom. I fell in a sort of way in love with her, andthat led to opportunity.
She never made any secret of the scorn with which she regardsthose who singe wings at her flame. Rather she boasts of it withlimit-overreaching epithets. Her respect is reserved for thoserare men and women who can meet her in unfair fight and, if notdefeat her, then come close to it. She asks no concessions onaccount of sex. Men's passions are but weapons forged for hernecessity; and as for genuine love-affairs, like Cleopatra, shehad but two, and the second ended in disaster to herself. Thistale is of the first one that succeeded, although fraught withdiscontent for certain others.
The second affair came close to whelming thrones, and I wroteof that in another book with an understanding due, as I havesaid, to opportunity, and with a measure of respect that pleasedher.
She is habitually prompt and generous with her rewards, iffar-seeing in bestowal of them. So, during the days of her shortpolitical eclipse that followed in a palace that had housed ahundred kings, I saw her almost daily in a room—her holy ofholies—where the gods of ancient India were depicted inthree primal colors working miracles all over the walls andwhere, if governments had only known it, she was already againdevising plans to set the world on fire.
There, amid an atmosphere of Indian scents and cigarettesmoke, she talked and I made endless notes, while now and then,when she was meditative, her maids sang to an accompaniment ofrather melancholy wooden flutes. But whenever I showed a tendencyto muse she grew indignant.
"Of what mud are you building castles now? Set down mythoughts not yours," she insisted, "if your tale is to be worththe pesa."
By that she referred to the custom of all Easternstory-tellers to stop at the exciting moment and take up acollection of the country's smallest copper coins beforefinishing the tale. But the reference was double-edged. A pennyfor my thoughts, a penny for the West's interpretation of theEast was what she had in mind.
Nevertheless, as it is to the West that the story must appealit has seemed wiser to remove it from her lips and so transposethat, though it loses in lore unfortunately, it does gainsomething of directness and simplicity. Her satire, and most ofher metaphor if always set down as she phrased it, wouldscandalize as well as puzzle Western ears.
This tale is of her youth, but Yasmini's years have not yetdone more than ripen her. In a land where most women shrivel intoearly age she continues, somewhere perhaps a little after thirty,in the bloom of health and loveliness, younger in looks andenergy than many a Western girl of twenty-five. For she is of theEast and West, very terribly endowed with all the charms ofeither and the brains of both.
Her quick wit can detect or invent mercurial Asian subterfugeas swiftly as appraise the rather glacial drift of Westernthought; and the wisdom of both East and West combines in her toteach a very nearly total incredulity in human virtue. Westernmorals she regards as humbug, neither more nor less.
In virtue itself she believes, as astronomers for examplebelieve in the precession of the equinox; but that the rank andfile of human beings, and especially learned human beings, haveattained to the very vaguest understanding of it she scornfullydisbelieves. And with a frankness simply Gallic in its freedomfrom those thought-conventions with which so many people like todeceive themselves she deals with human nature on what sheconsiders are its merits. The result is sometimes verydisconcerting to the pompous and all the rest of the host ofself-deceived, but usually amusing to herself and oftenprofitable to her friends.
Her ancestry is worth considering, since to that she doubtlessowes a good proportion of her beauty and ability. On her father'sside she is Rajput, tracing her lineage so far back that itbecomes lost at last in fabulous legends of the Moon (who ismasculine, by the way, in Indian mythology). All of the greatfamilies of Rajputana are her kin, and all the chivalry andderring-do of that royal land of heroines and heroes is part ofher conscious heritage.
Her mother was Russian. On that side, too, she can claim bloodroyal, not devoid of at least a trace of Scandinavian, betrayedby glittering golden hair and eyes that are sometimes the colorof sky seen over Himalayan peaks, sometimes of the deep lakewater in the valleys. But very often her eyes seem so full offire and their color is so baffling that a legend has gainedcurrency to the effect that she can change their hue at will.
How a Russian princess came to marry a Rajput king is easierto understand if one recalls the sinister designs of Russianstatecraft in the days when India and "warm sea-water" was thegreat objective. The oldest, and surely the easiest, means of aperplexed diplomacy has been to send a woman to undermine thepolicy of courts or steal the very consciences of kings. Delilahis a case in point. And in India, where the veil and the rustlingcurtain and religion hide woman's hand without in the leastsuppressing her, that was a plan too easy of contrivance to beoverlooked.
In those days there was a prince in Moscow whose publicconduct so embittered his young wife, and so notoriously, thatwhen he was found one morning murdered in his bed suspicionrested upon her. She was tried in secret, as the custom was,found guilty and condemned to death. Then, on the strength ofinfluence too strong for the czar, the sentence was commuted tothe far more cruel one of life imprisonment in the Siberianmines. While she awaited the dreaded march across Asia in chainsa certain proposal was made to the Princess Sonia Omanoff, and noone who knew anything about it wondered that she accepted withoutmuch hesitation.
Less than a month after her arrest she was already in Paris,squandering paper rubles in the fashionable shops. And at theRussian Embassy in Paris she made the acquaintance of the veryfirst of the smaller Indian potentates who made the "grand tour."Traveling abroad has since become rather fashionable, and is evenencouraged by the British-Indian Government because there is nolonger any plausible means of preventing it; but Maharajah BubruSingh was a pioneer, who dared greatly, and had his way evenagainst the objections of a high commissioner. In addition he hadhad to defy the Brahmin priests who, all unwilling, are thestrong supports of alien overrule; for they are armed with theiron-fanged laws of caste that forbid crossing the sea, amonginnumerable other things.
Perhaps there was a hint of moral bravery behind the warrioreyes that was enough in itself and she really fell in love atfirst sight, as men said. But the secret police of Russia were ather elbow, too, hinting that only one course could save her fromextradition and Siberian mines. At any rate she listened to theRajah's wooing; and the knowledge that he had a wife at homealready, a little past her prime perhaps and thereforehandicapped in case of rivalry, but never-the-less a prior wife,seems to have given her no pause. The fact that the first wifewas childless doubtless influenced Bubru Singh.
They even say she was so far beside herself with love for himthat she would have been satisfied with the Gandharva marriageceremony sung by so many Rajput poets, that amounts to littlemore than going off alone together. But the Russian diplomaticscheme included provision for the Maharajah of a wife soirrevocably wedded that the British would not be able to refuseher recognition. So they were married in the presence of sevenwitnesses in the Russian Embassy, as the records testify.
After that, whatever its suspicions, the British Governmenthad to admit her into Rajputana. And what politics she might haveplayed, whether the Russian gray-coat armies might haveencroached into those historic hills on the strength of herintriguing, or whether she would have seized the firstopportunity to avenge herself by playing Russia false,—arematters known only to the gods of unaccomplished things. ForBubru Singh, her Maharajah, died of an accident very shortlyafter the birth of their child Yasmini.
Now law is law, and Sonia Omanoff, then legally the PrincessSonia Singh, had appealed from the first to Indian law andcustom, so that the British might have felt justified in leavingher and her infant daughter to its most untender mercies. Thenshe would have been utterly under the heel of the succeedingprince, a nephew of her husband, unenamored of foreigners andavowedly determined to enforce on his uncle's widow the Indiancustom of seclusion.
But the British took the charitable view, that covering amultitude of sins. It was not bad policy to convert the erstwhileSonia Omanoff from secret enemy to grateful friend, and the featwas easy.
The new Maharajah, Gungadhura Singh, was prevailed on toassign an ancient palace for the Russian widow's use; and there,almost within sight of the royal seraglio from which she had beenousted, Yasmini had her bringing up, regaled by her mother withtales of Western outrage and ambition, and well schooled in allthat pertained to her Eastern heritage by the thousand-and-oneintriguers whose delight and livelihood it is to fish thetroubled waters of the courts of minor kings.
All these things Yasmini told me in that scented chamber ofanother palace, in which a wrathful government secluded her inlater years for its own peace as it thought, but for her ownrecuperation as it happened. She told me many other thingsbesides that have some little bearing on this story but that, ifall related, would crowd the book too full. The real gist of themis that she grew to love India with all her heart and Indiarepaid her for it after its own fashion, which is manyfold andmarvelous.
There is no fairer land on earth than that far northern sliceof Rajputana, nor a people more endowed with legend and theconsciousness of ancestry. They have a saying that every Rajputis a king's son, and every Rajputni worthy to be married to anemperor. It was in that atmosphere that Yasmini learned she musteither use her wits or be outwitted, and women begin young toassert their genius in the East. But she outstripped precocityand, being Western too, rode rough-shod on convention when itsuited her, reserving her concessions to it solely for occasionswhen those matched the hand she held. All her life she has had toplay in a ruthless game, but the trump that she has learned tolead oftenest is unexpectedness. And now to the story.
There is a land where no resounding street
With babel of electric-garish night
And whir of endless wheels has put to flight
The liberty of leisure. Sandaled feet
And naked soles that feel the friendly dust
Go easily along the never measured miles.
A land at which the patron tourist smiles
Because of gods in whom those people trust
(He boasting One and trusting not at all);
A land where lightning is the lover's boon,
And honey oozing from an amber moon
Illumines footing on forbidden wall;
Where, 'stead of pursy jeweler's display,
Parading peacocks brave the passer-by,
And swans like angels in an azure sky
Wing swift and silent on unchallenged way.
No land of fable! Of the Hills I sing,
Whose royal women tread with conscious grace
The peace-filled gardens of a warrior race,
Each maiden fit for wedlock with a king,
And every Rajput son so royal born
And conscious of his age-long heritage
He looks askance at Burke's becrested page
And wonders at the new-ennobled scorn.
I sing (for this is earth) of hate and guile,
Of tyranny and trick and broken pledge,
Of sudden weapons, and the thrice-keen edge
Of woman's wit, the sting in woman's smile,
But also of the heaven-fathomed glow,
The sweetness and the charm and dear delight
Of loyal woman, humorous and right,
Pure-purposed as the bosom of the snow.
No tale, then, this of motors, but of men
With camels fleeter than the desert wind,
Who come and go. So leave the West behind,
And, at the magic summons of the pen
Forgetting new contentions if you will,
Take wings, take silent wings of time untied,
And see, with Fellow-friendship for your guide,
A little how the East goes wooing still.
—Royal Rajasthan
DAWN at the commencement of hot weather in thehills if not the loveliest of India's wealth of wonders (forthere is the moon by night) is fair preparation for whatevercares to follow. There is a musical silence cut of which thefirst voices of the day have birth; and a half-light holding inits opalescence all the colors that the day shall use; afreshness and serenity to hint what might be if the sons of menwere wise enough; and beauty unbelievable. The fortunate sleep onroofs or on verandas, to be ready for the sweet cool wind thatmoves in advance of the rising sun, caused, as some say, by thewing-beats of departing spirits of the night.
So that in that respect the mangy jackals, the monkeys, andthe chandala (who are the lowest human caste of all and quiteuntouchable by the other people the creator made) are most to beenvied; for there is no stuffy screen, and small convention,between them and enjoyment of the blessed air.
Next in order of defilement to the sweepers,—or, as someparticularly righteous folk with inside reservations on the roadto Heaven firmly insist, even beneath the sweepers, and possiblybeneath the jackals —come the English, looking boldly onwhatever their eyes desire and tasting out of curiosity the fruitof more than one forbidden tree, but obsessed by an amazing ifperverted sense of duty. They rule the land, largely by what theyidolize as "luck," which consists of tolerance for things they donot understand. Understanding one another rather well, they aremore merciless to their own offenders than is Brahmin tochandala, for they will hardly let them live. But they are apeople of destiny, and India has prospered under them.
In among the English something after the fashion of gracenotes in the bars of music—enlivening, if sharp attimes—come occasional Americans, turning up in unexpectedplaces for unusual reasons, and remaining —because it is noman's business to interfere with them. Unlike the English, whoapproach all quarters through official doors and never trespasswithout authority, the Americans have an embarrassing way ofchoosing their own time and step, taking officialdom, so tospeak, in flank. It is to the credit of the English that theyoverlook intrusion that they would punish fiercely if committedby unauthorized folk from home.
So when the Blaines, husband and wife, came to Sialpore inRajputana without as much as one written introduction, nobodysnubbed them. And when, by dint of nothing less than nerve normore than ability to recognize their opportunity, they acquiredthe lease of the only vacant covetable house nobody was veryjealous, especially when the Blaines proved hospitable.
It was a sweet little nest of a house with a cool stone roof,set in a rather large garden of its own on the shoulder of thesteep hill that overlooks the city. A political dependent ofYasmini's father had built it as a haven for his favoriteparamour when jealousy in his seraglio had made peace at homeimpossible. Being connected with the Treasury in some way, andsuitably dishonest, he had been able to make a luxuriouspleasaunce of it; and he had taste.
But when Yasmini's father died and his nephew Gungadhurasucceeded him as maharajah he made a clean sweep of the oldpension and employment list in order to enrich new friends, sothe little nest on the hill became deserted. Its owner went intoexile in a neighboring state and died there out of reach of theincoming politician who naturally wanted to begin business byexposing the scandalous remissness of his predecessor. The housewas acquired on a falling market by a money-lender, whoeventually leased it to the Blaines on an eighty per cent.basis—a price that satisfied them entirely until theylearned later about local proportion.
The front veranda faced due east, raised above the garden byan eight-foot wall, an ideal place for sleep because of theunfailing morning breeze. The beds were set there side by sideeach evening, and Mrs. Blaine—a full ten years younger thanher husband—formed a habit of rising in the dark andstanding in her night-dress, with bare feet on the utmost edge ofthe top stone step, to watch for the miracle of morning. She wasfabulously pretty like that, with her hair blowing and her youngfigure outlined through the linen; and she was sometimesunobserved.
The garden wall, a hundred feet beyond, was of rock,two-and-a-half men high, as they measure the unleapable in thatdistrustful land; but the Blaines, hailing from a country where aneighbor's dog and chickens have the run of twenty lawns, seldomtook the trouble to lock the little, arched, iron-studded doorthrough which the former owner had come and gone unobserved. Theuse of an open door is hardly trespass under the law of any land;and dawn is an excellent time for the impecunious who takethought of the lily how it grows in order to outdo Solomon.
When a house changes hands in Rajputana there pass with it, aswell as the rats and cobras and the mongoose, those beggars whowere wont to plague the former owner. That is a custom so basedon ancient logic that the English, who appreciate conservatism,have not even tried to alter it.
So when a cracked voice broke the early stillness out ofshadow where the garden wall shut off the nearer view, TheresaBlaine paid small attention to it.
"Memsahib! Protectress of the poor!"
She continued watching the mystery of coming light. Theancient city's domed and pointed roofs already glistened withpale gold, and a pearly mist wreathed the crowded quarter of themerchants. Beyond that the river, not more than fifty yards wide,flowed like molten sapphire between unseen banks. As the palestars died, thin rays of liquid silver touched the surface of alake to westward, seen through a rift between purple hills. Thegreen of irrigation beyond the river to eastward shone likesquare-cut emeralds, and southward the desert took to itself allimaginable hues at once.
"Colorado!" she said then. "And Arizona! And SouthernCalifornia! And something added that I can't just place!"
"Sin's added by the scow-load!" growled her husband from thefarther bed. "Come back, Tess, and put some clothes on!"
She turned her head to smile, but did not move away. Hearingthe man's voice, the owners of other voices piped up at once fromthe shadow, all together, croaking out of tune:
"Bhig mangi shahebi! Bhig mangi shahebi!"*
[* Alms! Alms!]
"I can see wild swans," said Theresa. "Come andlook—five— six—seven of them, flying northward,oh, ever so high up!"
"Put some clothes on, Tess!"
"I'm plenty warm."
"Maybe. But there's some skate looking at you from the garden.What's the matter with your kimono?"
However the dawn wind was delicious, and the night-gown moredecent than some of the affairs they label frocks. Besides, theEast is used to more or less nakedness and thinks no evil of it,as women learn quicker than men.
"All right—in a minute."
"I'll bet there's a speculator charging 'em admission at thegate," grumbled Dick Blaine, coming to stand beside her inpajamas. "Sure you're right, Tess; those are swans, and that's adawn worth seeing."
He had the deep voice that the East attributes to manliness,and the muscular mold that never came of armchair criticism. Shelooked like a child beside him, though he was agile, athletic,wiry, not enormous.
"Sahib!" resumed the voices. "Sahib! Protector of the poor!"They whined out of darkness still, but the shadow wasshortening.
"Better feed 'em, Tess. A man's starved down mighty near theknuckle if he'll wake up this early to beg."
"Nonsense. Those are three regular bums who look on us astheir preserve. They enjoy the morning as much as we do.Begging's their way of telling people howdy."
"Somebody pays them to come," he grumbled, helping her into apale blue kimono.
Tess laughed. "Sure! But it pays us too. They keep other bumsaway. I talk to them sometimes."
"In English?"
"I don't think they know any. I'm learning theirlanguage."
It was his turn to laugh. "I knew a man once who learned theGypsy bolo on a bet. Before he'd half got it you couldn't shootramps off his door-step with a gun. After a time he grew to likeit—flattered him, I suppose, but decent folk forgot to askhim to their corn-roasts. Careful, Tess, or Sialpore'll drop usfrom its dinner lists."
"Don't you believe it! They're crazy to learn American fromme, and to hear your cowpuncher talk. We're social lions. I thinkthey like us as much as we like them. Don't make that face, Dick,one maverick isn't a whole herd, and you can't afford to quarrelwith the commissioner."
He chose to change the subject.
"What are your bums' names?" he asked.
"Funny names. Bimbu, Umra and Pinga. Now you can see them,look, the shadow's gone. Bimbu is the one with no front teeth,Umra has only one eye, and Pinga winks automatically. Wait tillyou see Pinga smile. It's diagonal instead of horizontal. Musthave hurt his mouth in an accident."
"Probably he and Bimbu fought and found the biting tough.Speaking of dogs, strikes me we ought to keep a good big fierceone," be added suggestively.
"No, no, Dick; there's no danger. Besides, there's Chamu."
"The bums could make short work of that parasite."
"I'm safe enough. Tom Tripe usually looks in at least once aday when you're gone."
"Tom's a good fellow, but once a day—. A hundred thingsmight happen. I'd better speak to Tom Tripe about those threebums—he'll shift them!"
"Don't, Dick! I tell you they keep others away. Look, herecomes Chamu with the chota hazri."*
[*chota-hazri (Hindi, "littlebreakfast")]
Clad in an enormous turban and clean white linen from head tofoot, a stout Hindu appeared, superintending a tall meekunderling who carried the customary "little breakfast" of thecountry—fruit, biscuits and the inevitable tea that hauntsall British byways. As soon as the underling had spread a clothand arranged the cups and plates Chamu nudged him into thebackground and stood to receive praise undivided. The salaamsdone with and his own dismissal achieved with proper dignity,Chamu drove the hamal* away in front of him, and cuffed him theminute they were out of sight. There was a noise of repeatedblows from around the corner.
[*hamal (Arabic)—a porter orbearer in certain Moslem countries.]
"A big dog might serve better after all," mused Tess. "Chamubeats the servants, and takes commissions, even from thebeggars."
"How do you know?"
"They told me."
"Um, Bing and Ping would better keep away. There's noobligation to camp here."
"Only, if we fired Chamu I suppose the maharajah would beoffended. He made such a great point of sending us a faithfulservant."
"True. Gungadhura Singh is a suspicious rajah. He suspects meanyway. I screwed better terms out of him than the miller gotfrom Bob White, and now whenever he sees me off the job hesuspects me of chicanery. If we fired Chamu he'd think I'd foundthe gold and was trying to hide it. Say, if I don't find gold inhis blamed hills eventually—!"
"You'll find it, Dick. You never failed at anything you reallyset your heart on. With your experience—"
"Experience doesn't count for much," he answered, blowing athis tea to cool it. "It's not like coal or manganese. Gold iswhere you find it. There are no rules."
"Finding it's your trade. Go ahead."
"I'm not afraid of that. What eats me," he said, standing upand looking down at her, "is what I've heard about their passionfor revenge. Every one has the same story. If you disappointthem, gee whiz, look out! Poisoning your wife's a sample of whatthey'll do. It's crossed my mind a score of times, little girl,that you ought to go back to the States and wait there till I'mthrough—"
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
"Isn't that just like a man!"
"All the same—"
"Go in, Dick, and get dressed, or the sun will be too highbefore you get the gang started."
She took his arm and they went into the house together. Twentyminutes later he rode away on his pony, looking if possible evenmore of an athlete than in his pajamas, for there was an addedsuggestion of accomplishment in the rolled-up sleeves and scarredboots laced to the knee. Their leave-taking was a purely Americanepisode, mixed of comradeship, affection and just plainfoolishness, witnessed by more wondering, patient Indian eyesthan they suspected. Every move that either of them made wasalways watched.
As a matter of fact Chamu's attention was almost entirelytaken up just then by the crows, iniquitous black humorists thattook advantage of turned backs (for Tess walked beside the ponyto the gate) to rifle the remains of chota hazri, one of themflying off with a spoon since the rest had all the edibles. Chamuthrew a cushion at the spoon-thief and called him "Balibuk,"which means eater of the temple offerings, and is an insultbeyond price.
"That's the habit of crows," he explained indignantly to Tessas she returned, laughing, to the veranda, picking up the cushionon her way. "They are without shame. Garuda, who is king of allthe birds, should turn them into fish; then they could swim inwater and be caught with hooks. But first Blaine sahib shouldshoot them with a shotgun."
Having offered that wise solution of the problem Chamu stoodwith fat hands folded on his stomach.
"The crows steal less than some people," Tess answeredpointedly.
He preferred to ignore the remark.
"Or there might be poison added to some food, and the foodleft for them to see," he suggested, whereat she astonished him,American women being even more incomprehensible than theirEnglish cousins.
"If you talk to me about poison I'll send you back toGungadhura in disgrace. Take away the breakfast things atonce."
"That is the hamal's business," he retorted pompously. "Themaharajah sahib is knowing me for most excellent butler. Hehimself has given me already very high recommendation. Will hepermit opinions of other people to contradict him?"
The words "opinions of women" had trembled on his lips butintuition saved that day. It flashed across even his obscenementality that he might suggest once too often contempt forWestern folk who worked for Eastern potentates. It was true heregarded the difference between a contract and direct employmentas merely a question of degree, and a quibble in any case, and hefelt pretty sure that the Blaines would not risk the maharajah'sunchancy friendship by dismissing himself; but he suspected therewere limits. He could not imagine why, but he had noticed thatinsolence to Blaine himself was fairly safe, Blaine beingsuper-humanly indifferent as long as Mrs. Blaine was shownrespect, even exceeding the English in the absurd length to whichhe carried it. It was a mad world in Chamu's opinion. He went andfetched the hamal, who slunk through his task with the air of acondemned felon. Tess smiled at the man for encouragement, butChamu's instant jealousy was so obvious that she regretted themistake.
"Now call up the beggars and feed them," she ordered.
"Feed them? They will not eat. It is contrary to caste."
"Nonsense. They have no caste. Bring bread and feed them."
"There is no bread of the sort they will eat."
"I know exactly what you mean. If I give them bread there's noprofit for you—they'll eat it all; but if I give them moneyyou'll exact a commission from them of one pesa in five. Isn'tthat so? Go and bring the bread."
He decided to turn the set-back into at any rate a minorvictory and went in person to the kitchen for chapatis such asthe servants ate. Then, returning to the top of the steps heintimated that the earth-defilers might draw near and receivelargesse, contriving the impression that it was by his sole favorthe concession was obtained. Two of them came promptly and waitedat the foot of the steps, smirking and changing attitudes to drawattention to their rags. Chamu tossed the bread to them withexpressions of disgust. If they had cared to pretend they wereholy men he would have been respectful, in degree at least, butthese were professionals so hardened that they dared ignore thereligious apology, which implies throughout the length andbreadth of India the right to beg from place to place. These werenot even true vagabonds, but rogues contented with one victim inone place as long as benevolence should last.
"Where is the third one?" Tess demanded. "Where is Pinga?"
They professed not to know, but she had seen all threesquatting together close to the little gate five minutes before.She ordered Chamu to go and find the missing man and he waddledoff, grumbling. At the end of five minutes he returned withouthim.
"One comes on horseback," he announced, "who gave the thirdbeggar money, so that he now waits outside."
"What for?"
"Who knows? Perhaps to keep watch."
"To watch for what?"
"Who knows?"
"Who is it on horseback? A caller? Some one coming forbreakfast? You'd better hurry."
The call at breakfast-time is one of the pleasantestinformalities of life in India. It might even be thecommissioner. Tess ran to make one of those swift changes ofcostume with which some women have the gift of gracing everyopportunity. Chamu waddled down the steps to await with dueformality, the individual, in no way resembling a Britishcommissioner, who was leisurely dismounting at the wide gatefifty yards to the southward of that little one the beggarsused.
He was a Rajput of Rajputs, thin-wristed, thin-ankled, lean,astonishingly handsome in a high-bred Northern way, and possessedof that air of utter self-assuredness devoid of arrogance whichpeople seem able to learn only by being born to it. His finefeatures were set off by a turban of rose-pink silk, and theonly fault discoverable as he strode up the path between theshrubs was that his riding-boots seemed too tight across theinstep. There was not a vestige of hair on his face. He wascertainly less than twenty, perhaps seventeen years old, or evenyounger. Ages are hard to guess in that land.
Tess was back on the veranda in time to receive him, withdifferent shoes and stockings, and another ribbon in her hair;few men would have noticed the change at all, although agreeablyconscious of the daintiness. The Rajput seemed unable to lookaway from her but ignoring Chamu, as he came up the steps,appraised her inch by inch from the white shoes upward until ashe reached the top their eyes met. Chamu followed himfussily.
Tess could not remember ever having seen such eyes. They werebaffling by their quality of brilliance, unlike the usualslumberous Eastern orbs that puzzle chiefly by refusal to expressemotion. The Rajput bowed and said nothing, so Tess offered him achair, which Chamu drew up more fussily than ever.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asked, taking the consciousrisk. Strangers of alien race are not invariably good guests,however good-looking, especially when one's husband is somewhereout of call. She looked and felt nearly as young as this man, andhad already experienced overtures from more than one young princewho supposed he was doing her an honor. Used to closely guardedwomen's quarters, the East wastes little time on wooing when thebarriers are passed or down. But she felt irresistibly curious,and after all there was Chamu.
"Thanks, I took breakfast before dawn."
The Rajput accepted the proffered chair without acknowledgingthe butler's existence. Tess passed him the big silver cigarettebox.
"Then let me offer you a drink."
He declined both drink and cigarette and there was a minute'ssilence during which she began to grow uncomfortable.
"I was riding after breakfast—up there on the hill whereyou see that overhanging rock, when I caught sight of you here onthe veranda. You, too, were watching the dawn—beautiful! Ilove the dawn. So I thought I would come and get to know you.People who love the same thing, you know, are not exactlystrangers."
Almost, if not quite for the first time Tess grew verygrateful for Chamu, who was still hovering at hand.
"If my husband had known, he would have stayed to receiveyou."
"Oh, no! I took good care for that! I continued my ride untilafter I knew he had gone for the day."
Things dawn on your understanding in the East one by one, asthe stars come out at night, until in the end there is such abewildering number of points of light that people talk about the"incomprehensible East." Tess saw light suddenly.
"Do you mean that those three beggars are your spies?"
The Rajput nodded. Then his bright eyes detected the instantresolution that Tess formed.
"But you must not be afraid of them. They will be veryuseful— often."
"How?"
The visitor made a gesture that drew attention to Chamu.
"Your butler knows English. Do you know Russian?"
"Not a word."
"French?"
"Very little."
"If we were alone—"
Tess decided to face the situation boldly. She came from afree land, and part of her heritage was to dare meet any man faceto face; but intuition combined with curiosity to give herconfidence.
"Chamu, you may go."
The butler waddled out of sight, but the Rajput waited untilthe sound of his retreating footsteps died away somewhere nearthe kitchen. Then:
"You feel afraid of me?" he asked.
"Not at all. Why should I? Why do you wish to see mealone?"
"I have decided you are to be my friend. Are you notpleased?"
"But I don't know anything about you. Suppose you tell me whoyou are and tell me why you use beggars to spy on myhusband."
"Those who have great plans make powerful enemies, and fightagainst odds. I make friends where I can, and instruments even ofmy enemies. You are to be my friend."
"You look very young to—"
Suddenly Tess saw light again, and the discovery caused herpupils to contract a little and then dilate. The Rajput noticedit, and laughed. Then, leaning forward:
"How did you know I am a woman? Tell me. I must know. I shallstudy to act better."
Tess leaned back entirely at her ease at last and looked up atthe sky, rather reveling in relief and in the fun of turning thetables.
"Please tell me! I must know!"
"Oh, one thing and another. It isn't easy to explain. For onething, your insteps."
"I will get other boots. What else? I make no lap. I hold myhands as a man does. Is my voice too high—tooexcitable?"
"No. There are men with voices like yours. There's a longgolden hair on your shoulder that might, of course, belong tosome one else, but your ears are pierced—"
"So are many men's."
"And you have blue eyes, and long fair lashes. I've seenoccasional Rajput men with blue eyes, too, but yourteeth—much too perfect for a man."
"For a young man?"
"Perhaps not. But add one thing to another—"
"There is something else. Tell me!"
"You remember when you called attention to the butler before Idismissed him? No man could do that. You're a woman and you candance."
"So it is my shoulders? I will study again before the mirror.Yes, I can dance. Soon you shall see me. You shall see all themost wonderful things in Rajputana."
"But tell me about yourself," Tess insisted, offering thecigarettes again. And this time her guest accepted one.
"My mother was the Russian wife of Bubru Singh, who had noson. I am the rightful maharani of Sialpore, only those fools ofEnglish put my father's nephew on the throne, saying a woman cannot reign. They are no wiser than apes! They have given Sialporeto Gungadhura who is a pig and loathes them instead of to a womanwho would only laugh at them, and the brute is raising a litterof little pigs, so that even if he and his progeny were poisonedone by one, there would always be a brat left—he has somany!"
"And you?"
"First you must promise silence."
"Very well."
"Woman to woman!"
"Yes."
"Womb to womb—heart to heart—?"
"On my word of honor. But I promise nothing else,remember!"
"So speaks one whose promises are given truly! We are alreadyfriends. I will tell you all that is in my heart now."
"Tell me your name first."
She was about to answer when interruption came from thedirection of the gate. There was a restless horse there, and arider using resonant strong language.
"Tom Tripe!" said Tess. "He's earlier than usual."
The Rajputni smiled. Chamu appeared through the door behindthem with suspicious suddenness and waddled to the gate, watchedby a pair of blue eyes that should have burned holes in his backand would certainly have robbed him of all comfort had he beenaware of them.
Bright spurs that add their roweled row
To clanking saber's pride;
Fierce eyes beneath a beetling brow;
More license than the rules allow;
A military stride;
Years' use of arbitrary will
And right to make or break;
Obedience of men who drill
And willy nilly foot the bill
For authorized mistake;
The comfort of the self-esteem
Deputed power brings—
Are fickler than the shadows seem
Less fruitful than the lotus-dream,
And all of them have wings
When blue eyes, laughing in your own,
Make mockery of rules!
And when those fustian shams have flown
The wise their new allegiance own,
Leaving dead form to fools!
—Thaw on Olympus
THE man at the gate dallied to look at hishorse's fetlocks. Tess's strange guest seemed in no hurry either,but her movements were as swift as knitting-needles. She produceda fountain pen, and of all unexpected things, a Bank of Indianote for one thousand rupees—a new one, crisp and clean.Tess did not see the signature she scrawled across its back inPersian characters, and the pen was returned to an inner pocketand the note, folded four times, was palmed in the subtle handlong before Tom Tripe came striding up the path with jinglingspurs.
"Morning, ma'am,—morning! Don't let me intrude. I'd alittle accident, and took a liberty. My horse cut hisfetlock—nothing serious—and I set your two saises* towork on it with a sponge and water. Twenty minutes—will seeit right as a trivet. Then I'm off again—I've a job ofwork."
[*sais, saice, syce (Hindi)—acoachman, a groom.]
He stood with back to the sun and hands on his hips, lookingup at Tess —a man of fifty—a soldier of anothergeneration, in a white uniform something like a Britishsergeant-major's of the days before the Mutiny. His mutton-chopwhiskers, dyed dark-brown, were military mid-Victorian, as werethe huge brass spurs that jingled on black riding-boots. Agreat-chested, heavy-weight athletic man, a few years past hisprime.
"Come up, Tom. You're always welcome."
"Ah!" His spurs rang on the stone steps, and, since Tess wasstanding close to the veranda rail, he turned to face her at thetop. Saluting with martinet precision before removing his helmet,he did not get a clear view of the Rajputni. "As I've said manytimes, ma'am, the one house in the world where Tom Tripe may sitdown with princes and commissioners."
"Have you had breakfast?"
He made a wry face.
"The old story, Tom?"
"The old story, ma'am. A hair of the dog that bit me is allthe breakfast I could swallow."
"I suppose if I don't give you one now you'll have twolater?"
He nodded. "I must. One now would put me just to rights andI'd eat at noon. Times when I'm savage with myself, and wait, Ihave to have two or three before I can stomach lunch."
She offered him a basket chair and beckoned Chamu.
"Brandy and soda for the sahib."
"Thank you, ma'am!" said the soldier piously.
"Where's your dog, Tom?"
"Behaving himself, I hope, ma'am, out there in the sun by thegate."
"Call him. He shall have a bone on the veranda. I want him tofeel as friendly here as you do."
Tom whistled shrilly and an ash-hued creature, part Great Daneand certainly part Rampore,* came up the path like a catapultedphantom, making hardly any sound. He stopped at the foot of thesteps and gazed inquiringly at his master's face.
[*Rampore, Rampore hound—abreed of large, strong-limbed, big-boned dogs.]
"You may come up."
He was an extraordinary animal, enormous, big-jowled, scarred,ungainly and apparently aware of it. He paused again on the topstep.
"Show your manners."
The beast walked toward Tess, sniffed at her, wagged his sternexactly once and retired to the other end of the veranda, whereChamu, hurrying with brandy gave him the widest possible berth.Tess looked the other way while Tom Tripe helped himself to a lotof brandy and a little soda.
"Now get a big bone for the dog," she ordered.
"There is none," the butler answered.
"Bring the leg-of-mutton bone of yesterday."
"That is for soup today."
"Bring it!"
Chamu was standing between Tom Tripe and the Rajputni, withhis back to the latter; so nobody saw the hand that slippedsomething into the ample folds of his sash. He departed mutteringby way of the steps and the garden, and the dog growledacknowledgment of the compliment.
Tess's Rajput guest continued to say nothing; but made no moveto go. Introduction was inevitable, for it was the first rule ofthat house that all ranks met there on equal terms, whatevertheir relations elsewhere. Tom Tripe had finished wiping hismustache, and Tess was still wondering just how to manage withoutbetraying the sex of the other or the fact that she herself didnot yet know her visitor's name, when Chamu returned with thebone. He threw it to the dog from a safe distance, and wassniffed at scornfully for his pains.
"Won't he take it?" asked Tess.
"Not from a black man. Bring it here, you!"
The great brute, with a sidewise growl and glare at the butlerthat made him sweat with fright, picked up the bone and, at asign from his master, laid it at the feet of Tess.
"Show your manners!"
Once more he waved his stern exactly once.
"Give it to him, ma'am."
Tess touched the bone with her foot, and the dog took it away,scaring Chamu along the veranda in front of him.
"Why don't you ever call him by name, Tom?"
"Bad for him, ma'am. When I say, 'Here, you!' or whistle, heobeys quick as lightning. But if I say, 'Trotters!' which hisname is, he knows he's got to do his own thinking, and keeps hisdistance till he's sure what's wanted. A dog's like an enlistedman, ma'am; ought to be taught to jump at the word of command andnever think for himself until you call him out of the ranks byname. Trotters understands me perfectly."
"Speaking of names," said Tess, "I'd like to introduce you tomy guest, Tom, but I'm afraid—"
"You may call me Gunga Singh," said a quiet voice full ofamusement, and Tom Tripe started. He turned about in his chairand for the first time looked the third member of the party inthe face.
"Hoity-toity! Well, I'm jiggered! Dash my drink and dinner,it's the princess!"
He rose and saluted cavalierly, jocularly, yet with adeference one could not doubt, showing tobacco-darkened teeth ina smile of almost paternal indulgence.
"So the Princess Yasmini is Gunga Singh this morning, eh? Andhere's Tom Tripe riding up-hill and down-dale, laming his horseand sweating through a clean tunic—with a threat in his earand a reward promised that he'll never see a smell of—whilethe princess is smoking cigarettes— "
"In very good company!"
"In good company, aye; but not out of mischief, I'll be bound!Naughty, naughty!" he said, wagging a finger at her. "Yourladyship'll get caught one of these days, and where will TomTripe be then? I've got my job to keep, you know. Friendship'sfriendship and respect's respect, but duty's what I'm paid to do.Here's me, drill-master of the maharajah's troops and a pensioncoming to me consequent on good behavior, with orders to set aguard over you, miss, and prevent your going and coming withouthis highness' leave. And here's you giving the guard the slip!Somebody tipped his highness off, and I wish you'd heard what'sgoing to happen to me unless I find you!"
"You can't find me, Tom Tripe! I'm not Yasmini today; I'mGunga Singh!"
"Tut-tut, Your Ladyship; that won't do! I swore on my Bibleoath to the maharajah that I left you day before yesterdayclosely guarded in the palace across the river. He felt easy forthe first time for a week. Now, because they're afraid for theirskins, the guard all swear by Krishna you were never in there,and that I've been bribed! How did you get out of the grounds,miss?"
"Climbed the wall."
"I might have remembered you're as active as a cat! Next timeI'll mount a double guard on the wall, so they'll tumble off andbreak their necks if they fall asleep. But there are no boats,for I saw to it, and the bridge is watched. How did you cross theriver?"
"Swam."
"At night?"
The blue eyes smiled assent.
"Missy—Your Ladyship, you mustn't do that. Little ladiesthat act that way might lose the number of their mess. There'scrockadowndillies in that river—aggilators—what d'yecall the damp things?— mugger.* They snap their jaws on aleg and pull you under! The sweeter and prettier you are the morethey like you! Besides, missy, princesses aren't supposed toswim; it's vulgar."
[*mugger (Hindimagar,"crocodile") —a large crocodile.]
He contrived to look the very incarnation of offended prudery,and she laughed at him with a voice like a golden bell.
He faced Tess again with a gesture of apology.
"You'll pardon me, ma'am, but duty's duty."
Tess was enjoying the play immensely, shrewdly suspecting TomTripe of more complaisance than he chose to admit to hisprisoner.
"You must treat my house as a sanctuary, Tom. Outside thegarden wall orders I suppose are orders. Inside it I insist allguests are free and equal."
The Princess Yasmini slapped her boot with a littleriding-switch and laughed delightedly.
"There, Tom Tripe! Now what will you do?"
"I'll have to use persuasion, miss! Tell me how you got intoyour own palace unseen and out again with a horse without a soulknowing?"
"'Come into my net and get caught,' said the hunter; but theleopard is still at large. 'Teach me your tracks,' begged thehunter; but the leopard answered, 'Learn them!'"
"Hell's bells!"
Tom Tripe scratched his head and wiped sweat from his collar.The princess was gazing away into the distance, not apparentlyinclined to take the soldier seriously. Tess, wondering what herguest found interesting on the horizon all of a sudden, herselfpicked out the third beggar's shabby outline on the same highrock from which Yasmini had confessed to watching beforedawn.
"Will your ladyship ride home with me?" asked Tom Tripe.
"No."
"But why not?"
"Because the commissioner is coming and there is only one roadand he would see me and ask questions. He is stupid enough not torecognize me, but you are too stupid to tell wise lies, and thismemsahib is so afraid of an imaginary place called hell that Imust stay and do my own—"
"I left off believing in hell when I was ten years old," Tessanswered.
"I hope to God you're right, ma'am!" put in Tom Tripe piously,and both women laughed.
"Then I shall trust you and we shall always understand eachother," decided Yasmini. "But why will you not tell lies, ifthere is no hell?"
"I'm afraid I'm guilty now and then."
"But you are ashamed afterward? Why? Lies are necessary, sincepeople are such fools!"
Tom Tripe interrupted, wiping the inside of his tunic collaragain with a big bandanna handkerchief.
"How do you know the commissioner is coming, Your Ladyship?Phew! You'd better hide! I'll have to answer too many questionsas it is. He'd turn you outside in!"
"There is no hurry," said Yasmini. "He will not be here forfive minutes and he is a fool in any case. He is walking hishorse up-hill."
Tess too had seen the beggar on the rock remove his raggedturban, rewind it, and then leisurely remove himself from sight.The system of signals was pretty obviously simple. The wholeintriguing East is simple, if one only has simplicity enough tounderstand it.
"Can your horse be seen from the road?" Yasmini asked.
"No, miss. The saises are attending to him under theneem-trees at the rear."
"Then ask the memsahib's permission to pass through the houseand leave by the back way."
Tess, more amused than ever, nodded consent and clapped herhands for Chamu to come and do the honors.
"I'll wait here," she said, "and welcome thecommissioner."
"But you, Your Ladyship?" Tom Tripe scratched his head inevident confusion. "I've got to account for you, you know."
"You haven't seen me. You have only seen a man named GungaSingh."
"That's all very fine, missy, but the butler—that manChamu —he knows you well enough. He'll get the story to themaharajah's ears."
"Leave that to me."
"You dassen't trust him, miss!"
Again came the golden laugh, expressive of the worldly wisdomof a thousand women, and sheer delight in it.
"I shall stay here, if the memsahib permits."
Tess nodded again. "The commissioner shall sit with me on theveranda," Tess said. "Chamu will show you into the parlor."
(The Blaines had never made the least attempt to leave behindtheir home-grown names for things. Whoever wanted to in Sialporemight have a drawing-room, but whoever came to that house mustsit in a parlor or do the other thing.)
"Is it possible the burra-sahib will suppose my horse isyours?" Yasmini asked, and again Tess smiled and nodded. Shewould know what to say to any one who asked impertinentquestions.
Yasmini and Tom Tripe followed Chamu into the house just asthe commissioner's horse's nose appeared past the gate-post; andonce behind the curtains in the long hall that divided room fromroom, Tom Tripe called a halt to make a final effort atpersuasion.
"Now, missy, Your Ladyship, please!"
But she had no patience to spare for him.
"Quick! Send your dog to guard that door!"
Tom Tripe snapped his fingers and made a motion with his righthand. The dog took up position full in the middle of the passageblocking the way to the kitchen and alert for anything at all,but violence preferred. Chamu, all sly smiles and effusivenessuntil that instant, as one who would like to be thought aconfidential co-conspirator, now suddenly realized that hisretreat was cut off. No explanation had been offered, but thefact was obvious and conscience made the usual coward of him. Hewould rather have bearded Tom Tripe than the dog.
Yasmini opened on him in his own language, because there wasjust a chance that otherwise Tess might overhear through the openwindow and put two and two together.
"Scullion! Dish-breaker! Conveyor of uncleanness! You have ason?"
"Truly, heaven-born. One son, who grows into a man—thetreasure of my old heart."
"A gambler!"
"A young man, heaven-born, who feels his manhood—now andthen gay —now and then foolish "
"A budmash!" (Bad rascal.)
"Nay, an honest one!"
"Who borrowed from Mukhum Dass the money-lender, making untruepromises?"
"Nay, the money was to pay a debt."
"A gambling debt, and he lied about it."
"Nay, truly, heaven-born, he but promised Mukhum Dass he wouldrepay the sum with interest."
"Swearing he would buy with the money, two horses which MukhumDass might seize as forfeit after the appointed time!"
"Otherwise, heaven-born, Mukhum Dass would not have lent themoney!"
"And now Mukhum Dass threatens prison?"
"Truly, heaven-born. The money-lender is withoutshame—without mercy—without conscience."
"And that is why you—dog of a spying butler set tobetray the sahib's salt you eat—man of smiles and welcomewords!—stole money from me? Was it to pay the debt of thygambling brat-born-in-a-stable?"
"I, heaven-born? I steal from thee? I would rather bebeaten!"
"Thou shalt be beaten, and worse, thou and thy son! Feel inhis cummerbund, Tom Tripe! I saw where the money went!"
Promptly into the butler's sash behind went fingers used todelving into more unmilitary improprieties than any ten civilianscould think of. Tripe produced the thousand-rupee note in lessthan half a minute and, whether or not he believed it stolen, sawthrough the plan and laughed.
"Is my name on the back of it?" Yasmini asked.
Tom Tripe displayed the signature, and Chamu's clammy faceturned ashen-gray.
"And," said Yasmini, fixing Chamu with angry blue eyes, "thecommissioner sahib is on the veranda! For the reputation of theEnglish he would cause an example to be made of servants whosteal from guests in the house of foreigners."
Chamu capitulated utterly, and wept.
"What shall I do? What shall I do?" he demanded.
"In the jail," Yasmini said slowly, "you could not spy on mydoings, nor report my sayings."
"Heaven-born, I am dumb! Only take back the money and I amdumb forever, never seeing or having seen or heard either you orthis sahib here! Take back the money!"
But Yasmini was not so easily balked of her intention.
"Put his thumb-print on it, Tom Tripe, and see that he writeshis name."
The trembling Chamu was led into a room where an ink-pot stoodopen on a desk, and watched narrowly while he made a thumb-markand scratched a signature. Then:
"Take the money and pay thy puppy's debt with it. Afterwardbeat the boy. And see to it," Yasmini advised, "that Mukhum Dassgives a receipt, lest he claim the debt a second time!"
Speechless between relief, doubt and resentment Chamu hid thebanknote in his sash and tried to feign gratitude—a qualityomitted from his list of elements when a patient, caste-lessmother brought him yelling into the world.
"Go!"
Tom Tripe made a sign to Trotters, who went and lay down,obviously bored, and Chamu departed backward, bowing repeatedlywith both hands raised to his forehead.
"And now, Your Ladyship?"
"Take that eater-of-all-that-is-unnamable," (she meant thedog), "and return to the palace."
"Your Ladyship, it's all my life's worth!"
"Tell the maharajah that you have spoken with a certain GungaSingh, who said that the Princess Yasmini is at the house of thecommissioner sahib."
"But it's not true; they'll—"
"Let the commissioner sahib deny it then! Go!"
"But, missy—"
"Do as I say, Tom Tripe, and when I am maharani of Sialporeyou shall have double pay—and a troupe of dancinggirls—and a dozen horses —and the title ofbahadur—and all the brandy you can drink. The sepoys shallfurthermore have modern uniforms, and you shall drill them untilthey fall down dead. I have promised. Go!"
With a wag of his head that admitted impotence in the face ofwoman's wiles Tom strode out by the back way, followed at aproperly respectful distance by his"eater-of-all-that-is-unnamable."
Then the princess walked through the parlor to the deeplycushioned window-seat, outside which the commissioner sat quitealone with Mrs. Blaine, trying to pull strings whose existence isnot hinted at in blue books. Yasmini from earliest infancypossessed an uncanny gift of silence, sometimes even when shelaughed.
There's comfort in the purple creed
Of rosary and hood;
There's promise in the temple gong,
And hope (deferred) when evensong
Foretells a morrow's good;
There's rapture in the royal right
To lay the daily dole
In cash or kind at temple-door,
Since sacrifice must go before
The saving of a soul.
The priests who plot for power now,
Though future glory preach,
Themselves alike the victims fall
Of law that mesmerizes all—
Each subject unto each—
Though all is well if all obey
And all have humble heart,
Nor dare to hold in cursed doubt
Those gems of truth the church lets out;
But where's the apple-cart,
And where's the sacred fiction gone,
And who's to have the blame
When any upstart takes a hand
And, scorning what the priests have planned,
Plays Harry with the game?
—No Trespass!
HE was a beau ideal commissioner. The nativenewspaper said so when he first came, having painfully selectedthe phrase from a "Dictionary Of Polite English for PublicPurposes" edited by a College graduate at present in theAndamans. True, later it had called him an "overbearing andinsane procrastinator"—"an apostle of absolutism"—and, plum of all literary gleanings, since it left so muchto the imagination of the native reader,—"laudator temporisacti." But that the was because he had withdrawn his privatesubscription prior to suspending the paper sine die underparagraph so-and-so of the Act for Dealing with Sedition; itcould not be held to cancel the correct first judgment, any morethan the unmeasured early praise had offset later indiscretion.Beau ideal must stand.
It was not his first call at the Blaines' house, althoughsomehow or other he never contrived to find Dick Blaine at home.As a bachelor he had no domestic difficulties to pin him downwhen office work was over for the morning, and, being a man ofhardly more than forty, of fine physique, with an astonishingcapacity for swift work, he could usual finish in an hour beforebreakfast what would have kept the routine rank and file oforthodox officials perspiring through the day. That was onereason why he had been sent to Sialpore—men in the higherranks, with a pension due them after certain years of service,dislike being hurried.
He was a handsome man—too handsome, some said—witha profile like a medallion of Mark Anthony that lost a little ofits strength and poise when he looked straight at you. Acommissionership was an apparent rise in the world; but Sialporehas the name of being a departmental cul-de-sac, and they hadlaughed in the clubs about "Irish promotion" without exactlynaming judge O'Mally. (Mrs. O'Mally came from a cathedral city,where distaste for the conventions is forced at high pressurefrom early infancy.)
But there are no such things as political blind alleys to aman who is a judge of indiscretion, provided he has certain otherunusual gifts as well. Sir Roland Samson, K. C. S. I., was not atall a disappointed man, nor even a discouraged one.
Most people were at a disadvantage coming up the path throughthe Blaines' front garden. There was a feeling all the way ofbeing looked down on from the veranda that took ten minutes torecover from in the subsequent warmth of Western hospitality. ButSamson had learned long ago that appearance was all in his favor,and he reinforced it with beautiful buff riding-boots that drewattention to firm feet and manly bearing. It did him good to belooked at, and he felt, as a painstaking gentleman should, thatthe sight did spectators no harm.
"All alone?" he asked, feeling sure that Mrs. Blaine waspleased to see him, and shifting the chair beside her as he satdown in order to see her face better. "Husband in the hills asusual? I must choose a Sunday next time and find him in."
Tess smiled. She was used to the remark. He always made it,but always kept away on Sundays.
"There was a party at my house last night, and every oneagreed what an acquisition you and your husband are to Sialpore.You're so refreshing —quite different to what we're allused to."
"We're enjoying the novelty too—at least, Dick doesn'thave much time for enjoyment, but—"
"I suppose he has had vast experience of mining?"
"Oh, he knows his profession, and works hard. He'll find goldwhere there is any," said Tess.
"You never told me how he came to choose Sialpore asprospecting ground."
Tess recognized the prevarication instantly. Almost the firstthing Dick had done after they arrived was to make a fullstatement of all the circumstances in the commissioner's office.However, she was not her husband. There was no harm inrepetition.
"The maharajah's secretary wrote to a mining college in theStates for the name of some one qualified to explore the oldworkings in these hills. They gave my husband's name amongothers, and he got in correspondence. Finally, being free at thetime, we came out here for the trip, and the maharajah offeredterms on the spot that we accepted. That is all."
Samson laughed.
"I'm afraid not all. A contract with the British Governmentwould be kept. I won't say a written agreement with Gungadhura isworthless, but— "
"Oh, he has to pay week by week in advance to coverexpenses."
"Very wise. But how about if you find gold?"
"We get a percentage."
Every word of that, as Tess knew, the commissioner could haveascertained in a minute from his office files. So she was quiteas much on guard as he —quite as alert to discover hiddendrifts.
"I'm afraid there'll be complications," he went on with an airof friendly frankness. "Perhaps I'd better wait until I can seeyour husband?"
"If you like, of course. But he and I speak the same language.What you tell me will reach him—anything you say, just asyou say it."
"I'd better be careful then!" he answered, smiling. "Wisewives don't always tell their husbands everything."
"I've no secrets from mine."
"Unusual!" he smiled. "I might say obsolete! But you Americanswith your reputation for divorce and originality are veryold-fashioned in some things, aren't you?"
"What did you want me to tell my husband?" countered Tess.
"I wonder if he understands how complicated conditions arehere. For instance, does your contract stipulate where the goldis to be found?"
"On the maharajah's territory."
"Anywhere within those limits?"
"So I understand."
"Is the kind of gold mentioned?"
"How many kinds are there?"
He gained thirty seconds for reflection by lighting a cigar,and decided to change his ground.
"I know nothing of geology, I'm afraid. I wonder if yourhusband knows about the so-called islands? There are patches ofBritish territory, administered directly by us, within themaharajah's boundaries; and little islands of native territoryadministered by the maharajah's government within the Britishsphere."
"Something like our Indian reservations, I suppose?"
"Not exactly, but the analogy will do. If your husband were tofind gold —of any kind—on one of our 'islands' withinthe maharajah's territory, his contract with the maharajah wouldbe useless."
"Are the boundaries of the islands clearly marked?"
"Not very. They're known, of course, and recorded. There's anold fort on one of them, garrisoned by a handful of Britishtroops—a constant source of heart-burn, I believe, toGungadhura. He can see the top of the flag-staff from his palaceroof; a predecessor of mine had the pole lengthened, I'm told. Onthe other hand, there's a very pretty little palace over on ourside of the river with about a half square mile surrounding itthat pertains to the native State. Your husband could dig there,of course. There's no knowing that it might not pay—if he'slooking for more kinds of gold than one."
Tess contrived not to seem aware that she was beingpumped.
"D'you mean that there might be alluvial gold down by theriver?" she asked.
"Now, now, Mrs. Blaine!" he laughed. "You Americans are not soingenuous as you like to seem! Do you really expect us to believethat your husband's purpose isn't in fact to discover theSialpore Treasure?"
"I never heard of it."
"I suspect he hasn't told you."
"I'll bet with you, if you like," she answered. "Our contractagainst your job that I know every single detail of his termswith Gungadhura!"
"Well, well,—of course I believe you, Mrs. Blaine. We'renot overheard are we?"
Not forgetful of the Princess Yasmini hidden somewhere in thehouse behind her, but unsuspicious yet of that young woman's giftfor garnering facts, Tess stood up to look through the parlorwindow. She could see all of the room except the rear part of thewindow-seat, a little more than a foot of which was shut out ofher view by the depth of the wall. A cat, for instance, couldhave lain there tucked among the cushions perfectlyinvisible.
"None of the servants is in there," she said, and sat downagain, nodding in the direction of a gardener. "There's thenearest possible eavesdropper."
Samson had made up his mind. This was not an occasion to beactually indiscreet, but a good chance to pretend to be. He was ajudge of those matters.
"There have been eighteen rajahs of Sialpore in directsuccession father to son," he said, swinging a beautifulbuff-leather boot into view by crossing his knee, and looking ather narrowly with the air of a man who unfolds confidences. "Thefirst man began accumulating treasure. Every single rajah sincehas added to it. Each man has confided the secret to hissuccessor and to none else—father to son, you understand.When Bubru Singh, the last man, died he had no son. The secretdied with him."
"How does anybody know that there's a secret then?" demandedTess.
"Everybody knows it! The money was raised by taxes. Ministerafter minister in turn has had to hand over minted gold to thereigning rajah—"
"And look the other way, I suppose, while the rajah hid thestuff!" suggested Tess.
Samson screwed up his face like a man who has takenmedicine.
"There are dozens of ways in a native state of getting rid ofmen who know too much."
"Even under British overrule?"
He nodded. "Poison—snakes—assassination—jailon trumped-up charges, and disease in jail—apparentaccidents of all sorts. It doesn't pay to know too much."
"Then we're suspected of hunting for this treasure? Is thatthe idea?"
"Not at all, since you've denied it. I believe you implicitly.But I hope your husband doesn't stumble on it."
"Why?"
"Or if he does, that he'll see his way clear to notify mefirst."
"Would that be honest?"
He changed his mind. That was a point on which Samson pridedhimself. He was not hidebound to one plan as some men are, butcould keep two or three possibilities in mind and follow upwhichever suited him. This was a case for indiscretion afterall.
"Seeing we're alone, and that you're a most exceptional woman,I think I'll let you into a diplomatic secret, Mrs. Blaine. Onlyyou mustn't repeat it. The present maharajah, Gungadhura, isn'tthe saving kind; he's a spender. He'd give his eyes to get holdof that treasure. And if he had it, we'd need an army to suppresshim. We made a mistake when Bubru Singh died; there were twonephews with about equal claims, and we picked the wrongone—a born intriguer. I'd call him a rascal if he weren't areigning prince. It's too late now to unseat him—unless, ofcourse, we should happen to catch him in flagrante delicto."
"What does that mean? With the goods? With the treasure?"
"No, no. In the act of doing something grossly ultravires— illegal, that's to say. But you've put your fingeron the point. If the treasure should be found—as it mightbe—somewhere hidden on that little plot of ground with apalace on it on our side of the river, our problem would befairly easy. There'd be some way of—ah— making surethe fund would be properly administered. But if Gungadhura foundit in the hills, and kept quiet about it as he doubtless would,he'd have every sedition-monger in India in his pay within ayear, and the consequences might be very serious."
"Who is the other man—the one the British didn'tchoose?" asked Tess.
"A very decent chap named Utirupa—quite a sportsman. Hewas thought too young at the time the selection was made; but heknew enough to get out of the reach of the new maharajahimmediately. They have a phrase here, you know, 'to hate likecousins.' They're rather remote cousins, but they hate all themore for that."
"So you'd rather that the treasure stayed buried?"
"Not exactly. But he tossed ash from the end of his cigar toillustrate offhandedness. "I think I could promise ten per cent.of it to whoever brought us exact information of its whereaboutsbefore the maharajah could lay his hands on it."
"I'll tell that to my husband."
"Do."
"Of course, being in a way in partnership with Gungadhura, hemight —"
"Let me give you one word of caution, if I may withoutoffense. We— our government—wouldn't recognize theright of—of any one to take that treasure out of thecountry. Ten per cent. would be the maximum, and that only incase of accurate information brought in time to us."
"Aren't findings keepings? Isn't possession nine points of thelaw?" laughed Tess.
"In certain cases, yes. But not where government knows of theexistence somewhere of a hoard of public funds—an enormoushoard—it must run into millions."
"Then, if the maharajah should find it would you take it fromhim?"
"No. We would put the screws on, and force him to administerthe fund properly if we knew about it. But he'd never tell."
"Then how d'you know he hasn't found the stuff already?"
"Because many of his personal bills aren't paid, and thepolitical stormy petrels are not yet heading his way. He'shandicapped by not being able to hunt for it openly. Someill-chosen confidant might betray the find to us. I doubt if hetrusts more than one or two people at a time."
"It must be hell to be a maharajah!" Tess burst out after aminute's silence.
"It's sometimes hell to be commissioner, Mrs. Blaine."
"If I were Gungadhura I'd find that money or bust! And whenI'd found it—"
"You'd endow an orphan asylum, eh?"
"I'd make such trouble for you English that you'd be glad toleave me in peace for a generation!"
Samson laughed good-naturedly and twisted up the end of hismustache.
"Pon my soul, you're a surprising woman! So your sympathiesare all with Gungadhura?"
"Not at all. I think he's a criminal! He buys women, andtortures animals in an arena, and keeps a troupe of what he ispleased to call dancing-girls. I've seen his eyes in the morning,and I suspect him of most of the vices in the calendar. He'sdespicable. But if I were in his shoes I'd find that money andmake it hot for you English!"
"Are you of Irish extraction, Mrs. Blaine?"
"No, indeed I'm not. I'm Connecticut Yankee, and my husband'sfrom the West. I don't have to be Irish to think for myself, doI?"
Samson did not know whether or not to take her seriously, butrecognized that his chance had gone that morning for theflirtation he had had in view —very mild, of course, for abeginning; it was his experience that most things ought to startquite mildly, if you hoped to keep the other man from stampedingthe game. Nevertheless, as a judge of situations, be preferrednot to take his leave at that moment. Give a woman the last wordalways, but be sure it is a question, which you leaveunanswered.
"You've a beautiful garden," he said; and for a minute or twothey talked of flowers, of which he knew more than a little; thenof music, of which he understood a very great deal.
"Have you a proper lease on this house?" he asked at last.
"I believe so. Why?"
"I've been told there's some question about the title. Someone's bringing suit against your landlord for possession on someground or another."
"What of it? Suppose the other should win—could he putus out?"
"I don't know. That might depend on your present landlord'spower to make the lease at the time when he made it."
"But we signed the agreement in good faith. Surely, as long aswe pay the rent—?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. Well—if there's any trouble,come to me about it and we'll see what can be done."
"But who is this who is bringing suit against thelandlord?"
"I haven't heard his name—don't even know the details. Ihope you'll come out of it all right. Certainly I'll help in anyway I can. Sometimes a little influence, you know, exerted in theright way—well —Please give my regards to yourhusband—Good morning, Mrs. Blaine."
It was a pet theory of his that few men pay enough attentionto their backs,—not that he preached it; preaching istantamount to spilling beans, supposing that the other fellowlistens; and if he doesn't listen it is waste of breath. But hebore in mind that people behind him had eyes as well as those infront. Accordingly he made a very dignified exit down the longpath, tipped Mrs. Blaine's sais all the man had any right toexpect, and rode away feeling that he had made the rightimpression. He looked particularly well on horseback.
Theresa Blaine smiled after him, wondering what impression sheherself had made; but she did not have much time to think aboutit. From the open window behind her she was seized suddenly,drawn backward and embraced.
"You are perfect!" Yasmini purred in her ear between kisses."You are surely one of the fairies sent to live among mortals fora sin! I shall love you forever! Now that burra-wallah Samsonsahib will ride into the town, and perhaps also to the law-court,and to other places, to ask about your landlord, of whom he knowsnothing, having only heard a servant's tale. But Tom Tripe willhave told already that I am at the burra commissioner's house,and Gungadhura will send there to ask questions. And whoever goeswill have to wait long. And when the commissioner returns at lasthe will deny that I have been there, and the messenger willreturn to Gungadhura, who will not believe a word of it,especially as he will know that the commissioner has been ridingabout the town on an unknown errand. So, after he has learnedthat I am back in my own palace, Gungadhura will try to poison meagain. All of which is as it should be. Come closer and letme—"
"Child!" Tess protested. "Do you realize that you're dressedup like an extremely handsome man, and are kissing me through awindow in the sight of all Sialpore? How much reputation do yousuppose I shall have left within the hour?
"There is only one kind of reputation worth the having,"laughed Yasmini; "that of knowing how to win!"
"But what's this about poison?" Tess asked her.
"He always tries to poison me. Now he will try morecarefully."
"You must take care! How will you prevent him?"
By quite unconscious stages Tess found herself growingconcerned about this young truant princess. One minute she wasinterested and amused. The next she was conscious of affection.Now she was positively anxious about her, to use no strongerword. Nor had she time to wonder why, for Yasmini's methods werebreathless.
"I shall eat very often at your house. And then you shall takea journey with me. And after that the great pig Gungadhura shallbe very sorry he was born, and still more sorry that be tried topoison me!"
"Tell me, child, haven't you a mother?"
"She died a year ago. If there is such a place as hell she hasgone there, of course, because nobody is good enough for Heaven.But I am not Christian and not Hindu, so hell is not mybusiness."
"What are you, then?"
"I am Yasmini. There is nobody like me. I am all alone,believing only what I know and laughing at the priests. I knowall the laws of caste, because that is necessary if you are tounderstand men. And I have let the priests teach me theirreligion because it is by religion that they govern people. Andthe priests," she laughed, "are much more foolish than the foolsthey entice and frighten. But the priests have power. Gungadhurais fearfully afraid of them. The high priest of the temple ofJinendra pretends to him that he can discover where the treasureis hidden, so Gungadhura makes daily offerings and the priestgrows very fat."
"Who taught you such good English?" Tess asked her; for therewas hardly even a trace of foreign accent, nor the leasthesitation for a word.
"Father Bernard, a Jesuit. My mother sent for him, and he cameevery day, year after year. He had a little chapel in Sialporewhere a few of the very low-caste people used to go to pray andmake confessions to him. That should have given him great power;but the people of this land never confess completely, as he toldme the Europeans do, preferring to tell lies about one anotherrather than the truth about themselves. I refused to be baptizedbecause I was tired of him, and after my mother died and she wasburned with the Hindu ritual, he received orders to go elsewhere.Now there is another Jesuit, but he only has a little followingamong the English, and can not get to see me because I hidebehind the purdah. The purdah is good—if you know how tomake use of it and not be ruled by it."
They were still in the window, Yasmini kneeling on thecushions with her face in shadow and Tess with her back to thelight.
"Ah! Hasamurti comes!" said Yasmini suddenly. "She is mycheti"*
[*cheti (Hindi)—a femaleservant or slave; a hand-maiden.]
Tess turned swiftly, but all she saw was one of the threebeggars down by the little gate twisting himself a garland out ofstolen flowers.
"Now there will be a carriage waiting, and I must leave myhorse in your stable."
The beggar held the twisted flowers up to the sun-light toadmire his work.
"I must go at once. I shall go to the temple of Jinendra,where the priest, who is no man's friend, imagines I am a friendof his. He will promise me anything if I will tell him what tosay to Gungadhura; and I shall tell him, without believing thepromises. One of these days perhaps he will plot with Gungadhurato have me poisoned, being in agreement with the commissionersahib who said to you just now that it is not good to know toomuch! But neither is it good to be too late! Lend me a covering,my sister —see, this is the very thing. I shall leave bythe little gate. Send the gardener on an errand. Are the otherservants at the back of the house? Of course yes, they will bespying to see me leave by the way I came."
Tess sent the gardener running for a basket to put flowers in,and when she turned her head again Yasmini had stepped outthrough the window shrouded from head to heels in a camel-hairrobe such as the Bikanir Desert men wear at night. The lower partof her face was hooded in it.
Provided you wear a turban you can wear anything else you likein India without looking incongruous. It is the turban that turnsthe trick. Even the spurs on the heels of riding-boots did notlook out of place.
"You'll sweat," laughed Tess. "That camel-hair is hotstuff."
"Does the panther sweat under his pelt? I am stronger than apanther. Now swiftly! I must go, but I will come soon. You are myfriend."
She was gone like a shadow without another word, with longswift strides, not noticing the beggars and not noticed by themas far as any one could tell. Tess sat down to smoke a cigaretteand think the experience over.
She had not done thinking when Dick Blaine returnedunexpectedly for early lunch and showed her a bag-full ofcoarsely powdered quartz.
"There's color there," he said jubilantly. "Rather more thanmerely color! It's not time to talk yet, but I think I've found avein that may lead somewhere. Then won't Gungadhura gloat?"
She told him at great length about Yasmini's visit, dwellingon every detail of it, he listening like a man at a play, forTess had the gift of clear description.
"Go a journey with her, if you feel like it, Tess," headvised. "You have a rotten time here alone all day, and I can'tdo much to 'liven it. Take sensible precautions but have a goodtime anyway you can."
Because Yasmini had monopolized imagination she told him lastof all, at lunch, about the commissioner's call, rehearsing that,too, detail by detail, word for word.
"Wants me to find the treasure, does he, and call the game onGungadhura? What does he take me for? One of his stool-pigeons?If it's a question of percentage, I'd prefer one from themaharajah than from him. If I ever stumble on it, Gungadhurashall know first go off the bat, and I'll see the BritishGovernment in hell before I'll answer questions!"
"They'd never believe Gungadhura hadn't rewarded you," saidTess.
"What of it?" he demanded. "What do we care what they believe?And supposing it were true, what then? Just at present I'm inpartnership with Gungadhura."
Deep broods the calm where the cooing doves aremating
And shadows quiver noiseless 'neath the courtyard trees,
Cool keeps the gloom where the suppliants are waiting
Begging little favors of Jinendra on their knees.
Peace over all, and the consciousness of nearness,
Charity removing the remoteness of the gods;
Spirit of compassion breathing with new clearness
"There's a limit set to kama; there's a surcease from therods."
"Blessed were the few, who trim the lights of kindness,
Toiling in the temple for the love of one and all,
If it were not for hypocrisy and gluttony and blindness,"
Smiles the image of Jinendra on the courtyard wall.
—Jinendra's Smile
YASMINI, hooded like a bandit in the camel-haircloak, resumed an air of leisurely dignity in keeping with theunhurried habit of Sialpore the moment she was through the gate.It was just as well she did, for Mukhum Dass, the money-lender,followed by a sweating lean parasite on foot, was riding a smartmule on his customary morning round to collect interest fromvictims and oversee securities.
He was a fat, squat, slimy-looking person in a black alpacacoat, with a black umbrella for protection from the sun, and anair of sour dissatisfaction for general businesspurposes—an air that was given the lie direct by a small,acquisitive nose and bright brown eyes that surely never made badbargains. Yasmini's hooded figure brought him to a halt just atthe corner, where the little road below the Blaines' wall joinedthe wider road that led down-hill. Business is business, and timea serious matter only for those who sign promissory notes; hedrew rein without compunction.
"This house is yours?" she asked, and he nodded, his sharpeyes shining like an animal's, determined to recognize hisquestioner.
"There is a miscalculating son of lies who brings a lawsuit toget the title?"
He nodded again—a man of few words except when wordsexacted interest.
"Dhulap Singh, is it not? He is a secret agent ofGungadhura."
"How do you know? Why should the maharajah want myproperty?"
"He hunts high and low for the Sialpore treasure. JengalSingh, who built this house, was in the confidence ofGungadhura's uncle, and a priest says there will be a clue foundto the treasure beneath the floor of this house."
"A likely tale indeed!"
"Very well, then—lose thine house!"
Yasmini turned on a disdainful heel and started down-hill.Mukhum Dass called after her, but she took no notice. He sent thesweating parasite to bring her back, but she shook him off withexecrations. Mukhum Dass turned his mule and rode down-hill afterher.
"True information has its price," he said. "Tell me yourname."
"That also has its price."
He cackled dryly. "Natives cost money only to theirowners—on a hundi.*"
[*hundi—(Hindu) a promissorynote, a bill-of-exchange.]
"Nevertheless there is a price."
"In advance? I will give a half-rupee!"
Once more Yasmini resumed her way down-hill. Again Mukhum Dassrode after her.
"At any rate name the price."
"It is silence firstly; second, a security for silence."
"The first part is easy."
"Nay, difficult. A woman can keep silence, but men chatterlike the apes, in every coffee shop."
His bargain-driver's eyes watched hers intently, unable todetect the slightest clue that should start him guessing. He wastrying to identify a man, not a woman.
"How shall I give security for silence?" he asked.
"I already hold it."
"How? What? Where?"
The money-lender betrayed a glimpse of sheer pugnacity thatseemed to amuse his tormentor.
"Send thy jackal out of ear-shot, tiger."
He snapped at his parasite angrily, and the man went away tosit down. Then:
"Where are the title-deeds of the house you say you own?" sheasked him suddenly.
Mukhum Dass kept silence, and tried to smother the raginganger in his eyes.
"Was it Mukhum Dass or another, who went to the priest in thetemple of Jinendra on a certain afternoon and requestedintercession to the god in order that a title-deed might berecovered, that fell down the nullah when the snakes frightened aman's mule and he himself fell into the road? Or was it anotheraccident that split that car of thine in two pieces?"
"Priests cackle like old women," growled the money-lender.
"Nay, but this one cackled to the god. Perhaps Jinendra feltcompassionate toward a poor shroff* who can not defend his suitsuccessfully without that title-deed. Jengal Singh died and hisson, who ought to know, claims that the house was really sold toDhulap Singh, who dallies with his suit because he suspects, butdoes not know, that Mukhum Dass has lost the paper—eh?"
[*shroff (Hindi from Arabic)—abanker or money changer in the Far East.]
"How do you know these things?"
"Maybe the god Jinendra told! Which would be better, MukhumDass— to keep great silence, and be certain to receive thepaper in time to defend the lawsuit,—or to talk freely, andso set others talking?"
Who knows that it might not reach the ears of Jengal Singhthat the title-deed is truly lost?"
"He who tells secrets to a priest," swore the money-lender,"would better have screamed them from the housetop.
"Nay—the god heard. The priest told the god, and the godtold a certain one to whom the finder brought the paper, asking areward. That person holds the paper now as security forsilence!"
"It is against the law to keep my paper!"
"The law catches whom it can, Mukhum Dass, letting all othersgo, like a python after monkeys in the tree-tops!"
"From whom am I to get my paper for the lawsuit at the propertime?"
"From Jinendra's priest perhaps."
"He has it now? The dog's stray offspring! I will—"
"Nay, he has it not! Be kind and courteous to Jinendra'spriest, or perhaps the god will send the paper after all toDhulap Singh!"
"As to what shall I keep silence?"
"Two matters. Firstly Chamu the butler will presently pay hisson's debt. Give Chamu a receipt with the number of the bank-notewritten on it, saying nothing."
"Second?"
"Preserve the bank-note carefully for thirty days and keepsilence."
"I will do that. Now tell me thy name?"
Yasmini laughed. "Do thy victims repay in advance the rupeesnot yet lent? Nay, the price is silence! First, pay the price;then learn my name. Go —get thy money from Chamu thebutler. Breathe as much as a hint to any one, and thy title-deedshall go to Dhulap Singh!"
Eying her like a hawk, but with more mixed emotions than thatbird can likely compass, the money-lender sat his mule andwatched her stride round the corner out of sight. Then, glancingover her shoulder to make sure the man's parasite was notwatching her at his master's orders, she ran along the shoulderof the hill to where, in the shelter of a clump of trees, acarriage waited.
It was one of those lumbering, four-wheeled affairs with fourhorses, and a platform for two standing attendants behind andwooden lattice-work over the windows, in which the women-folk ofprinces take the air. But there were no attendants—only acoachman, and a woman who came running out to meet her; forYasmini, like her cousin the maharajah, did not trust too manypeople all at once.
"Quick, Hasamurti!"
Fussing and giggling over her (the very name means Laughter),the maid bustled her into the carriage, and without a word ofinstruction the coachman tooled his team down-hill at a leisurelygait, as if told in advance to take his time about it; the teamwas capable of speed.
Inside the carriage, with a lot more chuckling and giggling achange was taking place almost as complete as that from chrysalisto butterfly. The toilet of a lady of Yasmini's nicediscrimination takes time in the easiest circumstances; in alumbering coach, not built for leg-room, and with alooking-glass the size of a saucer, it was a mixture ofhorse-play and miracle. Between them they upset the perfumebottle, as was natural, and a shrill scream at one stage of thejourney (that started a rumor all over Sialpore to the effectthat Gungadhura was up to the same old game again) announced, asa matter of plain fact that Yasmini had sat on the spurs. Therewas long, spun-gold hair to be combed out—penciling to doto eye-brows—lac to be applied to pretty feet to make themexquisitely pretty—and layer on layer of gossamer silk tobe smothered and hung exactly right. Then over it all had to goone of those bright-hued silken veils that look so casually wornbut whose proper adjustment is an art.
But when they reached the bottom of the long hill and begantwisting in and out among the narrow streets, it was finished. Bythe time they reached the temple of Jinendra, set back in an oldstone courtyard with images of the placid god carved all about inthe shade of the wide projecting cornice, all was quiet andorderly inside the carriage and there stepped out of it, followedby the same dark-hooded maid, a swift vision of female lovelinessthat flitted like a flash of light into the temple gloom.
It was not so squalid as the usual Hindu temple, although soancient that the carving of the pillars in some places was almostworn away, and the broad stone flags on the floor were holloweddeep by ages of devotion. The gloom was pierced here and there bydim light from brass lamps, that showed carvings blackened bycenturies of smoke, but there was an unlooked-for suggestion ofcare, and a little cleanliness that the fresh blossoms scatteredhere and there accentuated.
There were very few worshipers at that hour—only awoman, who desired a child and was praying to Jinendra as a lastrecourse after trying all the other gods in vain, and ahalf-dozen men—all eyes—who gossiped in low tones ina corner. Yasmini gave them small chance to recognize her.Quicker than their gaze could follow, a low door at the rear,close beside the enormous, jeweled image of the god, closedbehind her and the maid, and all that was left of the vision wasthe ringing echo of an iron lock dying away in dark corners andsuggesting nothing except secrecy.
The good square room she had entered so abruptly unannouncedwas swept and washed. Sunlight poured into it at one end througha window that opened on an inner courtyard, and there wereflowers everywhere—arranged in an enormous brass bowl on alittle table—scattered at random on the floor—hung inplaited garlands from the hooks intended to support lamps. Offurniture there was little, only a long cushioned bench down thelength of the wall beneath the window, and a thing like a throneon which Jinendra's high priest sat in solitary grandeur.
He did not rise at first to greet her, for Jinendra's priestwas fat; there was no gainsaying it. After about a minute a sortof earthquake taking place in him began to reach the surface; herocked on his center in increasing waves that finally brought himwith a spasm of convulsion to the floor. There he stood in fullsunlight with his bare toes turned inward, holding his stomachwith both hands, while Yasmini settled herself in gracefulyouthful curves on the cushioned bench, with her face in shadow,and the smirking maid at her feet. Then before climbingponderously back to his perch on the throne the priest touchedhis forehead once with both hands and came close to a semblanceof bowing, the arrogance of sanctity combining with his paunch tocut that ceremony short.
"Send the girl away," he suggested as soon as he was settledinto place again. But Yasmini laughed at him with that goldennote of hers that suggests illimitable understanding andunfathomable mirth.
"I know the ways of priests," she answered. "The girlstays!"
The priest's fat chops darkened a shade.
"There are things she should not know."
"She knows already more in her small head than there is in allthy big belly, priest of an idol!"
"Beware, woman, lest the gods hear sacrilege!"
"If they are real gods they love me," she answered, "If theyhave any sense they will be pleased whenever I laugh at youridolatry. Hasamurti stays."
"But at the first imaginary insult she will run withinformation to wherever it will do most harm. If she can be madeproperly afraid, perhaps—"
Yasmini's golden laugh cut him off short.
"If she is made afraid now she will hate me later. As long asshe loves me she will keep my secrets, and she will love mebecause of the secrets—being a woman and not abelly-with-a-big-tongue, who would sell me to the highest bidder,if he dared. I know a Brahmin. Thou and I are co-conspiratorsbecause my woman's wit is sharper than thy greed. We areconfidants because I know too much of thy misdeeds. We are goingto succeed because I laugh at thy fat fears, and am neverdeceived for a moment by pretense of sanctity or promises howevervehement."
She said all that in a low sweet voice, and with a smile thatwould have made a much less passionate man lose something of hisself-command. Jinendra's priest began to move uneasily.
"Peace, woman!"
"There is no peace where priests are," she retorted in thesame sweet-humored voice. "I am engaged in war, nothoney-gathering. I have lied sufficient times today to MukhumDass to need ten priests, if I believed in them or were afraid tolie! The shroff will come to ask about his title-deed. Tell himyou are told certain person has it, but that if he daresbreathe a word the paper will go straight to Dhulap Singh, whowill destroy it and so safely bring his lawsuit. Then let DhulapSingh be told also that the title-deed is in certain hands, so hewill put off the lawsuit week after week, and one who is myfriend will suffer no annoyance."
"Who is this friend?"
"Another one who builds no bridges on thy sanctity."
"Not one of the English? Beware of them, I say; beware ofthem!"
"No, not one of the English. Next, let Gungadhura be told thatTom Tripe has ever an open-handed welcome at Blainesahib's—"
"Ah!" he objected, shaking his fat face until the cheekswobbled. "Women are all fools sooner or later. Why let a drunkenEnglish soldier be included in the long list of people to bereckoned with?"
"Because Gungadhura will then show much favor to Tom Tripe,who is my friend, and it amuses me to see my friends prosper.Also I have a plan."
"Plans—plans—plans! And whither does the tanglelead us?"
"To the treasure, fool!"
"But if you know so surely where the treasure is, woman, whynot tell me and—"
Again the single note of mocking golden laughter cut him offshort.
"I would trust thee with the secret, Brahmin, just as far asthe herdsman trusts a tiger with his sheep."
"But I could insure that Gungadhura should divide it intothree parts, and—"
"When the time comes," she answered, "the priest of Jinendrashall come to me for his proportion, not I to the priest. Norwill there be three portions, but one—with a littlepercentage taken from it for the sake of thy fat belly.Gungadhura shall get nothing!"
"I wash my hands of it all!" the priest retorted indignantly."The half for me, or I wash my hands of it and tell Gungadhurathat you know the secret! I will trust him to find a way to drawthy cobra from its hole!"
"Maybe he might," she nodded, smiling, "after the English hadfinished hanging thee for that matter of the strangling of RumDass. Thy fat belly would look laughable indeed banging by astretched neck from a noose. They would need a thick rope. Theymight even make the knot slippery with cow-grease for thy specialbenefit."
The priest winced.
"None can prove that matter," he said, recovering hiscomposure with an effort.
"Except I," she retorted, "who have the very letter that waswritten to Rum Dass that brought him into thy clutches—andfive other proofs beside! Two long years I waited to have a holdon thee, priest, before I came to blossom in the odor of thysanctity; now I am willing to take the small chance of thy tempergetting the better of discretion!"
"You are a devil," he said simply, profoundly convinced of thetruth of his remark; and she laughed like a mischievous child,clapping her hands together.
"So now," she said, "there is little else to discuss. IfGungadhura should be superstitious fool enough to come to theeagain for auguries and godly counsel—"
"He comes always. He shows proper devotion to Jinendra."
"Repeat the former story that a clue to the treasure must befound in Blaine sahib's house—"
"In what form? He will ask me again in what form the clue willbe, that he may recognize it?"
"Tell him there is a map. And be sure to tell him that TomTripe is welcome at the house. Have you understood? Then oneother matter: when it is known that I am back in my palaceGungadhura will set extra spies on me, and will double the guardat all the doors to keep me from getting out again. He will nottrust Tom Tripe this time, but will give the charge to one of theRajput officers. But he will have been told that I was at thecommissioner sahib's house this morning, and therefore he willnot dare to have me strangled, because the commissioner sahibmight make inquiries. I have also made otherprecautions—and a friend. But tell Gungadhura, lest he makealtogether too much trouble for me, that I applied to thecommissioner sahib for assistance to go to Europe, saying I amweary of India. And add that the commissioner sahib counseled menot to go, but promised to send English memsahibs to see me."(She very nearly used the word American, but thought better of iton the instant.)
"He will ask me how I know this," said the Brahmin, turning itall over slowly in his mind and trying to make head or tail ofit.
"Tell him I came here like himself for priestly counsel andmade a clean breast of everything to thee! He will suspect theeof lying to him; but what is one lie more or less?"
With that final shaft she gathered up her skirts, covered herface, nudged the giggling maid and left him, turning the key inthe lock herself and flitting out through gloom into the sunlightas fast as she had come. The carriage was still waiting at theedge of the outer court, and once again the driver started offwithout instructions, but tooling his team this time at a fasterpace, with a great deal of whip-cracking and shouts topedestrians to clear the way. And this time the carriage had anescort of indubitable maharajah's men, who closed in on it fromall sides, their numbers increasing, mounted and unmounted, untilby the time Yasmini's own palace gate was reached there was asgood as a state procession, made up for the most part of men whotried to look as if they had made a capture by sheer derring-doand skill.
And down the street, helter-skelter on a sweatingthoroughbred, came Maharajah Gungadhura Singh just in time to seethe back of the carriage as it rumbled in through the gateway andthe iron doors clanged behind it. Scowling —altogether tooround-shouldered for the martial stock he sprang from—puffy-eyed, and not so regal as overbearing in appearance,he sat for a few minutes stroking his scented beard upward andmuttering to himself.
Then some one ventured to tell him where the carriage had beenseen waiting, and with what abundant skill it had been watchedand tracked from Jinendra's temple to that gate. At that he gavean order about the posting of the guard, and, beckoning only onemounted attendant to follow him, clattered away down-street,taking a turn or two to throw the curious off the scent, and thenheaded straight for the temple on his own account.
Thus spoke the gods from their place above thefirmament
Turning from the feasting and the music and the mirth:
"There is time and tide to burn;
Let us stack the plates a turn
And study at our leisure what the trouble is with earth."
Down, down they looked through the azure of the Infinite
Scanning each the meadows where he went with men of yore,
Each his elbows on a cloud,
Making reckoning aloud—
Till the murmur of God wonder was a titan thunder-roar.
"War rocks the world! Look, the arquebus and culverin
Vanish in new sciences that presage T.N.T!
Lo, a dark, discolored swath
Where they drive new tools of wrath!
Do they justify invention? Will they scrap the Laws that Be?
"Look! Mark ye well: where we left a people flourishing,
Singing in the sunshine for the fun of being free,
Now they burden man and maid
With a law the priests have laid,
And the bourgeois blow their noses by a communal decree!
"Where, where away are the liberties we left to them—
Gift of being merry and the privilege of fun?
Is delight no longer praise?
Will they famish all their days
For a future built of fury in a present scarce begun?"
—An Audit By The Gods, Part 1
THE one thing in India that never happens is theexpected. If the actual thing itself does occur, then the mannerof it sets up so many unforeseen contingencies that only thesubtlest mind, and the sanest and the least hidebound by opinion,can hope to read the signs fast enough to understand them as theyhappen. Naturally, there are always plenty of people who can readbackward after the event; and the few of those who keep thelesson to themselves, digesting rather than discussing it, are tobe found eventually filling the senior secretaryships, albeitbitterly criticized by the other men, who unraveled everythingafterward very cleverly and are always unanimous on just onepoint—that the fellow who said nothing certainly knewnothing, and is therefore of no account and should wield noinfluence, Q.E.D.
And as we belong to the majority, in that we are uncoveringthe course of these events very cleverly long after they tookplace, we must at this point, to be logical, denounce TheresaBlaine. She was just as much puzzled as anybody. But she saidmuch less than anybody, wasted no time at all on guesswork,pondered in her heart persistently whatever she had actually seenand heard, and in the end was almost the only non-Indian actor onthe stage of Sialpore to reap advantage. If that does not proveunfitness for one of the leading parts, what does? A star shouldscintillate—should focus all eyes on herself and interruptthe progress of the play to let us know how wise and beautifuland wonderful she is. But Tess apparently agreed with Hamlet that"the play's the thing," and was much too interested in the plotto interfere with it. She attended the usual round of dinners,teas and tennis parties, that are part of the system by which theEnglish keep alive their courage, and growing after a while alittle tired of triviality, she tried to scandalize Sialpore byinviting Tom Tripe to her own garden party, successfullyoverruling Tripe's objections.
"Between you and I and the gate-post, lady, they don't hankerfor my society. If somebody—especially colonels, or a judgemaybe,— wanted to borrow a horse from the maharajah'sstable,—or perhaps they'd like a file o' men to escort apicnic in the hills,—then it's 'Oh, hello, good morning,Mr. Tripe. How's the dog this morning? And oh, by the way—'Then I know what's coming an' what I can do for 'em I do, for Iconfess, lady, that I hanker for a little bit o' flattery and afew words o' praise I'm not entitled to. I don't covet any man'smoney—or at least not enough to damn me into hell on thataccount. Finding's keeping, and a bet's a bet, but I don't covetmoney more than that dog o' mine covets fleas. He likes toscratch 'em when he has 'em. Me the same; I can use money withthe next man, his or mine. But I wouldn't go to hell for moneyany more than Trotters would for fleas, although, mind you, I'mnot saying Trotters hasn't got fleas. He has 'em, same as hell'smost folks' destiny. But when it comes to praise that ain't dueme, lady, I'm like Trotters with another dog's bone—I'vesimply got to have it, reason or no reason. A common ordinarybone with meat on it is just a meal. Praise I've earned isnothing wonderful. But praise I don't deserve is stolen fruit,and that's the sweetest. Now, if I was to come to your party I'dget no praise, ma'am. I'd be doing right by you, but they'd say Ididn't know my place, and by and by they'd prove it to me sharpand sneery. I'll be a coward to stop away, but —'Sensibleman,' they'll say. 'Knows when he isn't wanted.' You see, ma'am,yours is the only house in Sialpore where I can walk in and knowI'm welcome whether you're at home or not."
"All the more reason for coming to the party, Tom."
"Ah-h-h! If only you understood!"
He wagged his head and one finger at her in his half-amusedpaternal manner that would often win for him when all elsefailed. But this time it did not work.
"I don't care for half-friends, Tom. If you expect to bewelcome at my house you must come to my parties when I askyou."
"Lady, lady!"
"I mean it."
"Oh, very well. I'll come. I've protested. That absolves me.And my hide's thick. It takes more than just a snub ortwo—or three to knock my number down! Am I to bringTrotters?"
"Certainly. Trotters is my friend too. I count on him to dohis tricks and help entertain."
"They'll say of you, ma'am, afterward that you don't knowbetter than ask Tripe and his vulgar dog to meet nicepeople."
"They'll be right, Tom. I don't know better. I hope they'llsay it to me, that's all."
But Tess discovered when the day came that no American canscandalize the English. They simply don't expect an American toknow bow to behave, and Tom Tripe and his marvelous performingdog were accepted and approved of as sincerely as the realAmerican ice-cream soda—and forgotten as swiftly themorning following.
The commissioner was actually glad to meet Tripe in thecircumstances. If the man should suppose that because Sir RolandSamson and a judge of appeal engaged in a three-corneredconversation with him at a garden party, therefore either of themwould speak to the maharajah's drill-master when next they shouldmeet in public, he might guess again, that was all.
One of the things the commissioner asked Tripe was whether hewas responsible for the mounting of palace guards—of coursenot improperly inquisitive about the maharajah's personal affairsbut anxious to seem interested in the fellow's daily round, sincejust then one couldn't avoid him.
"In a manner, and after a fashion, yes, sir. I'm responsiblethat routine goes on regularly and that the men on duty knowtheir business."
"Ah. Nothing like responsibility. Good for a man. Some try toavoid it, but it's good. So you look after the guard on all thepalaces? The Princess Yasmini's too, eh? Well, well; I canimagine that might be nervous work. They say that young ladyis—! Eh, Tripe?"
"I couldn't say, sir. My duties don't take me inside thepalace."
"Now, now, Tripe! No use trying to look innocent! They tell meshe's a handful and you encourage her!"
"Some folks don't care what they say, sir."
"If she should be in trouble I dare say, now, you'd be the manshe'd apply to for help."
"I'd like to think that, sir."
"Might ask you to take a letter for instance, to me or hishonor the judge here?"
The judge walked away. He did not care to be mixed up inintrigue, even hypothetically, and especially with a member ofthe lower orders.
"I'd do for her what I'd do for a daughter of my own, sir,neither more nor less."
"Quite so, Tripe. If she gave you a letter to bring to me,you'd bring it, eh?"
"Excepting barratry, the ten commandments, earthquake and theact of God, sir, yes."
"Without the maharajah knowing?"
"Without his highness knowing."
"You'd do that with a clear conscience, eh?"
Tom Tripe screwed his face up, puffed his cheeks, and struck avery military attitude.
"A soldier's got no business with a conscience, sir.Conscience makes a man squeamish o' doing right for fear hiswife's second cousin might tell the neighbors."
"Ha-ha! Very profoundly philosophic! I dare wager you'vecarried her letters at least a dozen times—now come."
Again Tom Tripe puffed out his cheeks and struck anattitude.
"Men don't get hanged for murder, sir."
"For what, then?"
"Talking before and afterward!"
"Excellent! If only every one remembered that! Did it everoccur to you how the problem might be reversed ?"
"Sir?"
"There might one day be a letter for the Princess Yasminithat, as her friend, you ought to make sure should reachher."
"I'd take a letter from you to her, sir, if that's yourmeaning."
Sir Roland Samson, K.C.S.I., looked properly shocked.
There are few things so appalling as the abruptness with whichmembers of the lower orders divest diplomacy's kernel of itsdecorative outer shell. "What I meant is—ah—" He sethis monocle, and stared as if Tripe were an insect on apin-point. "Since you admit you're in the business of intriguingfor the princess, no doubt you carry letters to, as well as fromher, and hold your tongue about that too?"
"If I should deliver letters they'd be secret or they'd havegone through the mail. I'd risk my job each time I did it. WouldI risk it worse by talking? Once the maharajah heard awhisper—"
"Well—I'll be careful not to drop a hint to hishighness. As you say, it might imperil your job. And, ah—"(again the monocle,) " —the initials r.s.—in smallletters, not capitals, in the bottom left-hand corner of a smallwhite envelope would—ah— you understand?—you'dsee that she received it, eh?"
Tom Tripe bridled visibly. Neither the implied threat nor theproposal to make use of him without acknowledging the serviceafterward, escaped him. Samson, who believed among other thingsin keeping all inferiors thoroughly in their place decided on theinstant to rub home the lesson while it smarted.
"You'd find it profitable. You'd be paid whatever thesituation called for. You needn't doubt that."
Tess, talking with a group of guests some little distance off,observed a look of battle in Tom Tripe's eye, and smiled twoseconds later as the commissioner let fall his monocle. Twothings she was certain of at once: Tom Tripe would tell her atthe first opportunity exactly what had happened, and Samson wouldlie about it glibly if provoked. She promised herself she wouldprovoke him. As a matter of fact Tom gave her two or threeversions afterward of what his words had been, their grandeurincreasing as imagination flourished in the comfortable warmth ofconfidence. But the first account came from a fresh memory:
"No money you'll ever touch would buy my dog's silence, letalone mine, sir! If you've a letter for the princess, send italong and I'll see she gets it. If she cares to answer it, I'llsee the answer reaches you. As for dropping hints to themaharajah about my doing little services for theprincess,—a gentleman's a gentleman, and don't needinstruction —nor advice from me. If I was out of a jobtomorrow I'd still be a man on two feet, to be met as such."
A man of indiscretion, and a diplomat, must have fireprooffeelings. As Tess had observed, Samson blenched distinctly, buthe recovered in a second and put in practise some of thatopportunism that was his secret pride, reflecting how a lessfinished diplomatist would have betrayed resentment at the snubfrom an inferior instead of affecting not to notice it at all. Asa student of human nature he decided that Tom Tripe's pride wasthe point to take advantage of.
"You're the very man I can trust," he said. "I'm glad we havehad this talk. If ever you receive a small white envelope markedr. s. in the left-hand bottom corner, see that the princess getsit, and say nothing."
"Trust me, eh?" Tripe muttered as Samson walked away. "Younever trusted your own mother without you had a secret hold overher. I wouldn't trust you that far!" He spat among the flowers,for Tom could not pretend to real garden-party manners. "And ifshe trusts you, letters or no letters, I'll eat my spurs andsaber cold for breakfast."
Then, as if to console himself with proof that some one in theworld did trust him thoroughly, Tom swaggered with ariding-master stride to where Tess stood talking with a Rajputprince, who had come late and threatened to leave early. Theprince had puzzled her by referring two or three times to hishurry, once even going so far as to say good-by, and then notgoing. It was as if he expected her to know something that shedid not know, and to give him a cue that he waited for in vain.She felt he must think her stupid, and the thought made her everyminute less at ease; but Tom's approach, eyed narrowly by Samsonfor some reason, seemed to raise the Rajput's spirits.
"If only my husband were here," she said aloud, "but at thelast minute —there was blasting, you know, and—"
The prince—he was quite a young one—twenty-oneperhaps —murmured something polite and with eyes thatsmoldered watched Tom take a letter from his tunic pocket. Hehanded it to Tess with quite a flourish.
"Some one must have dropped this, ma'am."
The envelope was scented, and addressed in Persian characters.She saw the prince's eyes devour the thing—saw him exchangeglances with Tom Tripe—and realized that Tom had ratherdeftly introduced her to another actor in the unseen drama thatwas going on. Clearly the next move was hers.
"Is it yours, perhaps?" she asked.
Prince Utirupa Singh bowed and took the letter. Samson with alook of baffled fury behind the monocle, but a smile forappearance's sake, joined them at that minute and Utirupa seemedto take delight in so manipulating the sealed envelope that thecommissioner could only see the back of it.
The prince was an extremely handsome young man, as striking inone way as Samson in another. Polo and pig-sticking had kept himlean, and association with British officers had given him an airof being frankly at his ease even when really very far fromfeeling it. He had the natural Oriental gift of smotheringexcitement, added to a trick learned from the West of aggressiveself-restraint that is not satisfied with seeming the opposite ofwhat one is, but insists on extracting humor from the situationand on calling attention to the humor.
"I shall always be grateful to you," he said, smiling intoTess's eyes with his own wonderful brown ones but talking at thecommissioner. "If I had lost this letter I should have been at aloss indeed. If some one else had found it, that might have beendisastrous."
"But I did not find it for you," Tess objected.
Utirupa turned his back to the commissioner and answered in alow voice.
"Nevertheless, when I lose letters I shall come herefirst!"
He bowed to take his leave and showed the back of the envelopeagain to Samson, with a quiet malice worthy of Torquemada. Thecommissioner looked almost capable of snatching it.
"Mrs. Blaine," he said with a laugh after the prince had gone,"skill and experience, I am afraid, are not much good withoutluck. Luck seems to be a thing I lack. Now, if I had picked upthat letter I've a notion that the information in it would havesaved me a year's work."
Tess was quite sure that Tom had not picked the letter up, butthere was no need to betray her knowledge.
"Do you mean you'd have opened a letter you picked up in mygarden?" she demanded.
His eyes accepted her challenge.
"Why not?"
"But why? Surely—"
"Necessity, dear lady, knows no law. That's one of the firstaxioms of diplomacy. Consider your husband as a case in point.Custom, which is the basis of nearly all law, says he ought to behere entertaining your guests. Necessity, ignoring custom,obliges him to stay in the hills and supervise the blasting,disappointing every one but me. I'm going to take advantage ofhis necessity."
If he had seen the swift glance she gave him he might havechanged the course of one small part of history. Tess knewnothing of the intrigue he was engaged in, and did not propose tobe keeper of his secrets; if he had glimpsed that swift betrayalof her feelings he would certainly not have volunteered furtherconfidences. But the poison of ambition blinds all those whodrink it, so that the "safest" men unburden themselves to thewrong unwilling ears.
"Walk with me up and down the path where every one can see us,won't you?"
"Why?" she laughed. "Do you flatter yourself I'd be afraid tobe caught alone with you?"
"I hope you'd like to be alone with me! I would like nothingbetter. But if we walk up and down together on the path in fullview, we arouse no suspicion and we can't be overheard. I proposeto tell some secrets."
Not many women would resist the temptation of inside politicalinformation. Recognizing that by some means beyond hercomprehension she was being drawn into a maze of secrets allinterrelated and any of them likely to involve herself at anyminute, Tess had no compunction whatever.
"I'll be frank with you," she said. "I'm curious."
Once they walked up the path and down again, talking of dogs,because it happened that Tom Tripe's enormous beast was sprawlingin the shadow of a rose-bush at the farther end. Thecommissioner did not like dogs. "Something loathsome aboutthem—degrading—especially the big ones." Shedisagreed. She liked them, cold wet noses and all, even in thedark. Tom Tripe, stepping behind a bush with the obvious purposeof smoking in secret the clay pipe that be hardly troubled toconceal, whistled the dog, who leapt into life as if stung andjoined his master.
The second time up and down they talked of professionalbeggars and what a problem they are to India, because they bothhappened as they turned to catch sight of Umra with the one eye,entering through the little gate in the wall and shufflingwithout modesty or a moment's hesitation to his favorite seatamong the shrubs, whence to view proceedings undisturbed.
"Those three beggars that haunt this house seem to claim allour privileges," she said. "They wouldn't think of letting usgive a garden party without them."
"Say the word," he said, "and I'll have them put inprison."
But she did not say the word.
The third time up the path he chose to waste on very obviousflattery.
"You're such an unusual woman, you know, Mrs. Blaine. Youunderstand whatever's said to you, and don't ask idioticquestions. And then, of course, you're American, and I feel I cansay things to you that my own countrywoman wouldn't understand.As an American, in other words, you're privileged."
As they turned at the top of the path she felt a cold wetsomething thrust into her hand from behind. She had never in herlife refused a caress to a dog that asked for one, and herfingers closed almost unconsciously on Trotters' muzzle, touchingas they did so the square unmistakable hard edges of an envelope.There was no mistaking the intent; the dog forced it on her and,the instant her fingers closed on it, slunk out of sight.
"Wasn't that Tripe's infernal dog again?"
"Was it? I didn't see." She was wiping slobber on to her skirtfrom an envelope whose strong perfume had excited the dog'ssalivary glands. But it was true that she did not see.
"May I call you Theresa?"
"Why?"
"It would encourage confidences. There isn't another woman inSialpore whom I could tell what I'm going to say to you. Theothers would repeat it to their husbands, or—"
"I tell mine everything. Every word!"
"Or they'd try to work me on the strength of it for littlefavors— "
"Wait until you know me! Little favors don't appeal to me. Ilike them big —very big!"
"Honestly, Theresa—"
"Better call me Mrs. Blaine."
"Honestly, there's nothing under heaven that—"
"That you really know about me. I know there isn't. You weregoing to tell secrets. I'm listening."
"You're a hard-hearted woman!"
She had contrived by that time to extract a letter from theenvelope behind her back, but how to read it without informingSamson was another matter. As she turned up the path for thesixth time, the sight of Tom Tripe making semi-surreptitioussignals to attract her attention convinced her that the messagewas urgent and that she should not wait to read it until afterher last guests were gone. It was only one sheet of paper,written probably on only one side—she hoped in English. Buthow -
Suddenly she screamed, and Samson was all instant concern.
"Was that a snake? Tell me, was that a snake I saw. Oh, dolook, please! I loathe them."
"Probably a lizard."
"No, no, I know a lizard. Do please look!"
Unbelieving, he took a stick and poked about among the,flowers to oblige her; so she read the message at her leisurebehind the broad of his back, and had folded it out of sightbefore he looked up.
"No snakes. Nothing but a lizard."
"Oh, I'm so glad! Please forgive me, but I dread snakes. Nowtell me the secrets while I listen properly."
He noticed a change in her voice—symptoms of newinterest, and passed it to the credit of himself.
"There's an intrigue going on, and you can help me.Sp—people whose business it is to keep me informed havereported that Tom Tripe is constantly carrying letters from thePrincess Yasmini of Sialpore to that young Prince Utirupa who washere this afternoon. Now, it's no secret that if Gungadhura Singhwere to get found out committing treason (and I'm pretty surehe's guilty of it five days out of six!) we'd deposehim—"
"You mean the British would depose him?"
"Depose him root and branch. Then Utirupa would be next inline. He's a decent fellow. He'd be sure of the nomination, andhe'd make a good ruler."
"Well?"
"I want to know what the Princess Yasmini has to do withit."
"It seems to me you're not telling secrets, but asking favorsfor nothing."
"Not for nothing—not for nothing! There's positivelynothing that I won't do!"
"In return for—?"
"Sure information as to what is going on."
"Which you think I can get for you?"
"I'm positive! You're such an extraordinary, woman. I'm prettysure it all hinges on the treasure I told you about the otherday. Whoever gets first hold of that holds all the trumps. I'dlike to get it myself. That would be the making of me,politically speaking. If Gungadhura should get it he'd ruinhimself with intrigue in less than a year, but he might cause myruin in the process. If the local priests should get it—andthat's likeliest, all things considered—there'd be red ruinfor miles around; money and the church don't mix withoutblood-letting, and you can't unscramble that omelet foreverafterward. I confess I don't know how to checkmate the priests.Gungadhura I think I can manage, especially with your aid. But Imust have information."
"Is there any one else who'd be dangerous if he possessed thesecret?"
"Anybody would be, except myself. Anybody else would beginplaying for political control with it, and there'd be no morepeace on this side of India for years. And now, this is what Iwant to say: The most dangerous individual who could possibly getthat treasure would be the Princess Yasmini. The difficulty ofdealing with her is that she's not above hiding behind purdah(the veil), where no male man can reach her. There are severalwomen here whom I might interest in keeping an eye onher—Tatum's wife, and Miss Bent, and Miss O'Hara, and theGoole sisters—lots of 'em. But they'd all talk. And they'dall try to get influence for their male connections on thestrength of being in the know. But somehow, Theresa, you'redifferent."
"Mrs. Blaine, please."
"I know Tom Tripe thinks the world of you. I want you to findout for me from him everything he knows about this treasureintrigue and whatever's behind it."
"You think he'd tell me?"
"Yes. And I want you to make the acquaintance of the PrincessYasmini, and find out from her if you can what the letters arethat she writes to Utirupa. You'll find the acquaintanceinteresting."
Tess crumpled a folded letter in her left hand.
"If you could give me an introduction to theprincess—they say she's difficult to see—some sort ofletter that would get me past the maharajah's guards," sheanswered.
"I can. I will. The girl's a minor. I've the right to appointsome one to visit her and make all proper inquiries. I appointyou."
"Give me a letter now and I'll go tonight."
He stopped as they turned at the end of the path, and wrote ona leaf of his pocket-book. Behind his back Tess waved her secretletter to attract Tom Tripe's notice, and nodded.
"There." said Samson. "That's preliminary. I'll confirm itlater by letter on official paper. But nobody will dare questionthat. If any one does, let me know immediately."
"Thank you."
"And now, Theresa—"
"You forget."
"I forget nothing. I never forget! You'll be wondering whatyou are to get out of all this—"
"I wonder if you're capable of believing that nothing wasfurther from my thoughts!"
"Don't think I want all for nothing! Don't imagine myhappiness—my success could be complete without—"
"Without a whisky and soda. Come and have one. I see myhusband coming at last."
"Damn!" muttered Samson under his breath.
She had expected her husband by the big gate, but he camethrough the little one, and she caught sight of him at oncebecause through the corner of her eye she was watching some oneelse—Umra the beggar. Umra departed through the little gatethirty seconds before her husband entered it.
Blaine was so jubilant over a sample of crushed quartz he hadbrought home with him that there was no concealing his highspirits. He was even cordial to Samson, whom he detested, and sofull of the milk of human kindness toward everybody else thatthey all wanted to stay and be amused by him. But Tess got rid ofthem at last by begging Samson to go first ostentatiously and setthem an example, which he did after extracting a promise from herto see him tête-à-tête again at the earliest opportunity.
Then Tess showed her husband the letter that Tom's dog hadthrust into her hand.
"You dine alone tonight, Dick, unless you prefer the club. I'mgoing at once. Read this."
It was written in a fine Italic hand on expensive paper, withcorrections here and there as if the writer had obeyedinspiration first and consulted a dictionary afterward—aneat letter, even neat in its mistakes.
"Most precious friend," it ran, "please visitme. It is necessary that you find some way ofavoielu tricking the guards,because there are orders not to admit any one and not to let meout. Please bring with you food from your house, because I amhungry. A cat and two birds and a monkey have died from the foodcooked for me. I am also thirsty. My mother taught me to drinkwine, but the wine is finished, and I like water the best. TomTripe will try to help you past the guards, but he has no brains,so you must give him orders. He is very faithful. Please comesoon, and bring a very large quantity of water.
"Yours with love, YASMINI."
He read the letter and passed it back.
"D'you think it's on the level, Tess?"
"I know it is! Imagine that poor child, Dick, cooped up in apalace, starving and parching herself for fear of poison!"
"But how are you going to get to her? You can't bowl overGungadhura's guards with a sunshade."
"Samson wrote this for me."
Dick Blaine scowled.
"I imagine Samson's favors are paid for sooner or later."
"So are mine, Dick! The beast has called me Theresa threetimes this afternoon, and has had the impudence to suggest thathis preferment and my future happiness may bear some relation toeach other."
"See here, Tess, maybe I'd better beat him and have done withit."
"No. He can't corrupt me, but he might easily do you aninjury. Let him alone, Dick, and be as civil as you can. You didsplendidly this evening—"
"Before I knew what he'd said to you!"
"Now you've all the more reason to be civil. I must keep intouch with that young girl in the palace, and Samson is the onlyinfluence I can count on. Do as I say, Dick, and be civil to him.Pretend you're not even suspicious."
"But say, that guy's suggestions aggregate an ounce or two!First, I'm to draw Gungadhura's money while I hunt for buriedtreasure; but I'm to tip off Samson first. Second, I'm to look onwhile he makes his political fortune with my wife's help. Andthird—what's the third thing, Tess?"
She kissed him. "The third is that you're going to seem to befooled by him, for the present at all events. Let's know what'sat the bottom of all this, and help the princess and Tom Tripe ifit's possible. Are you tired?"
"Yes. Why?"
"If you weren't tired I was going to ask you to put a turbanon as soon as it's dark, and dress up like a sais and drive me toYasmini's palace, with a revolver in each pocket in case ofaccidents, and eyes and ears skinned until I come out again."
"Oh, I'm not too tired for that."
"Come along then. I'll put up a hamper with my own hands. Youget wine from the cellar, and make sure the corks have not beenpulled and replaced. Then get the dog-cart to the door. I'll keepit waiting there while you run up-stairs and change. Hurry,Dick, hurry—it's growing dark! I'll put some sandwichesunder the seat for you to eat while you're waiting in the darkfor me."
Loud laughed the gods (and their irony waspestilence;
Pain was in their mockery, affliction in their scorn.
The ryotwari* cried
On a stricken countryside,
For the scab fell on the sheepfold and the mildew on thecorn).
[*ryotwari(Hindi from Arabic)—a peasant farmer.]
"Write, Chitragupta! Enter up your reckoning!
Yum awaits in anger the assessment of the dead!
We left a law of kindness,
But they bowed themselves in blindness
To a cruelty consummate and a mystery instead!
"Write, Chitragupta! Once we sang and danced withthem.
Now in gloomy temples they lay foreheads in the dust!
To us they looked for pleasure
And we never spared the measure
Till they set their priests between us and we left them indisgust.
"Fun and mirth we made for them (write it, Chitragupta!
Set it down in symbols for the awful eye of Yum!)
But they traded fun for fashion
And their innocence for passion,
Till they murmur in their wallow now the consequences come!
"Look! Look and wonder how the simple folk are out of it!
Empirics are the teachers and the liars leading men!
We were generous and free—
Aye, a social lot were we,
But they took to priests instead of us, and trouble startedthen!"
—An Audit By The Gods, Part 2
TOM TRIPP had done exactly what Yasmini orderedhim. Like his dog Trotters, whom he had schooled to perfection,and as he would have liked to have the maharajah's guards behave,he always fell back on sheer obedience whenever facts bewilderedhim or circumstances seemed too strong.
Yasmini had ordered him to report to the maharajah a chanceencounter with an individual named Gunga Singh. Accordingly hedid. Asked who Gunga Singh was, he replied he did not know. Shehad told him to say that Gunga Singh said the Princess Yasminiwas at the commissioner's house; so he told the maharajah thatand nothing further. Gungadhura sent two men immediately to makeinquiries. One drew the commissioner's house blank, bribing aservant to let him search the place in Samson's absence; theother met the commissioner himself, and demanded of himpoint-blank what he had been doing with the princess. Thequestion was so bluntly put and the man's attitude so impudentthat Samson lost his temper and couched his denial in bluntbellicose bad language. The vehemence convinced the questionerthat he was lying, as the maharajah was shortly informed. So thefact became established beyond the possibility of refutation thatYasmini had been closeted with Samson for several hours thatmorning.
Remained, of course, to consider why she had gone to him andwhat might result from her visit; and up to a certain point, andin certain cases accurate guessing is easier than might beexpected for either side to a political conundrum, in India,ample provision having been made for it by all concerned.
The English are fond of assuring strangers and one anotherthat spying is "un-English;" that it "isn't done, you know, oldtop;" and the surest way of heaping public scorn and indignationon the enemies of England is to convict them, correctly orotherwise, of spying on England secretly. So it would bemanifestly libelous, ungentlemanly and proof conclusive of crassignorance to assert that Samson in his capacity of commissioneremployed spies to watch Gungadhura Singh. He had no public fundfrom which to pay spies. If you don't believe that, then ponderover a copy of the Indian Estimates. Every rupee is accountedfor.
The members of the maharajah's household who came to seeSamson at more or less frequent intervals were individuals of thenative community whom he encouraged to intimacy for ethnologicaland social reasons. When they gave him information aboutGungadhura's doings, that was merely because they were incurablyaddicted to gossip; as a gentleman, and in some sense arepresentative of His Majesty the King, he would not dream, ofcourse, of paying attention to any such stuff; but one could not,of course, be so rude and high-handed as to stop their talkingeven if it did tend toward an accurate foreknowledge of themaharajah's doings that was hardly "cricket."
As for money, certainly none changed hands. The indisputablefact that certain friends and relatives of certain members of themaharajah's household enjoyed rather profitable contracts onBritish administered territory was coincidence. Everybody knowshow long is the arm of coincidence. Well, then, so are its ears,and its tongue.
As for the maharajah, the rascal went the length of payingspies in British government offices. There was never any knowingwho was a spy of his and who wasn't. People were everlastinglycrossing the river from the native state to seek employment insome government department or other, and one could notinvestigate them really thoroughly. It was so easy to forgetestimonials and references and what not. One of Samson's groomshad once been caught red-handed eavesdropping in the dark.Samson, of course, took the law into his own hands on thatoccasion and thrashed the blackguard within an inch of histreacherous life; and in proof that the thrashing was richlydeserved, some one reported to Samson the very next day how thegroom had gone straight to the maharajah and had been solacedwith silver money.
It was even said, although never proved, that the fat,short-sighted young babu Sita Ram who typed the commissioner'sofficial correspondence was one of Gungadhura's spies. There wasa mystery about where he spent his evenings. But his mother'suncle was a first-class magistrate, so one could not very welldismiss him without clear proof. Besides, he was uncommonlypainstaking and efficient.
One way and another it is easy to see that Gungadhura had adeal of dovetailed information from which to draw conclusions asto the probable reason of Yasmini's alleged visit to thecommissioner. One false conclusion invariably leads to another,and so Samson got the blame for the secret bargain with theRangar stable-owner, with whose connivance Yasmini had contrivedto keep a carriage available outside her palace gates. Her palacegates having closed on the carriage now, the guards would payattention that it stayed inside, but there was no knowing howmany riding horses she might have at her beck and call in variouskhans and palaces. Doubtless Samson had arranged for that.Gungadhura sent men immediately to search Sialpore for horsesthat might be held in waiting for her, with orders to hire or buythe animals over her head, or in the alternative to lamethem.
As for her motive in visiting the commissioner, that was notfar to seek. There was only one motive in Sialpore foranything—the treasure. No doubt Samson lusted for it assinfully and lustily and craftily as any one. If, thoughtGungadhura, Yasmini had a clue to its whereabouts, as she mighthave, then whoever believed she was not trafficking with thecommissioner must be a simpleton. The commissioner was known tohave written more than one very secret report to Simla on thesubject of the treasure, and on the political consequences thatmight follow on its discovery by natives of the country. Thereports had been so secret and important that Gungadhura hadthought it worth while to have the blotting paper from Samson'sdesk photographed in Paris by a special process. Adding two andtwo together now by the ancient elastic process, Gungadhura soonreached the stage of absolute conviction that Yasmini was inleague with Samson to forestall him in getting control of thetreasure of his ancestors; and Gungadhura was a dark,hot-blooded, volcanic-tempered man, who stayed not on the orderof his anger but blew up at once habitually.
We have seen how he came careering down-street just in time tobehold Yasmini's carriage rumble into her stone-paved palacecourtyard. After ordering the guards not to let her escape againon pain of unnamed, but no less likely because illegalpunishment, he rode full pelt to the temple of Jinendra, whencethey assured him Yasmini had just come, and his spurs rangpresently on the temple floor like the footfalls of avengingdeity.
Jinendra's priest welcomed him with that mixture of deferenceand patronage that priests have always known so well how toextend to royalty, showing him respect because priestlyrecognition of his royalty entitled him in logic to the outwardform of it—patronage because, as the "wisest fool inChristendom" remarked, "No bishop no king!" The combination ofsarcastic respect and contemptuous politeness produced aninsolence that none except kings would tolerate for a moment; butJinendra's fat high priest could guess how far he dared go, asshrewdly as a marksman's guesses windage.
"She has betrayed us! That foreign she-bastard has betrayedus!" shouted Gungadhura, slamming the priest's private doorbehind him and ramming home the bolt as if it fitted into thebreach of a rifle.
"Peace! Peace, Maharajah sahib! Out of anger came no wisecounsel yet!"
"She has been to the commissioner's house!"
"I know it."
"You know it? Then she told you?"
The priest was about to lie, but Gungadhura saved him.
"I know she was here," he burst out. "My men followed herhome."
"Yes, she was here. She told."
"How did you make her tell? The she-devil is more cunning thana cobra!"
Jinendra's high priest smiled complacently.
"A servant of the gods, such as I am, is not altogetherwithout power. I found a way. She told."
"I, too, will find a way!" muttered Gungadhura to himself.Then to the priest: "What did she say? Why did she go to thecommissioner?"
"To ask a favor."
"Of course! What favor?"
"That she may go to Europe."
"Then there is no longer any doubt whatever! By Saraswati Iknow that she has discovered where the treasure is!"
"My son," said the priest, "it is not manners to call on othergods by name in this place."
"By Jinendra, then! Thou fat sedentary appetite, what a greatgod thine must be, that he can choose no cleverer servant thanthee to muddle his affairs! While you were lulling me to sleepwith dreams about a clue to be found in a cellar, she has alreadysucked the secret out from some cobra's hole and has sold it tothe commissioner! As soon as he has paid her a proportion of itshe will escape to Europe to avoid me—will she?"
"But the commissioner refused the desired permission," saidthe priest, puffing his lips and stroking his stomach, as much asto add, "It's no use getting impatient in Jinendra's temple. Wehave all the inside information here."
"What do you make of that?" demanded Gungadhura.
The priest smiled. One does not explain everything to a meremaharajah. But the mere maharajah was in no mood to be put offwith smiles just then. As Yasmini got the story afterward fromthe bald old mendicant, whose piety had recently won himpermission to bask on the comfortable carved stones just outsidethe window, Gungadhura burst forth into such explosive profanitythat the high priest ran out of the room. The mendicant vowedthat he heard the door slam—and so he did; but it wasreally Gungadhura, done with argument, on his way to put threatinto action.
The mildest epithet he called Yasmini was "Widyadhara,"* whichmeant in his interpretation of the word that she was an evilspirit condemned to roam the earth because her sins were so awfulthat the other evil spirits simply could not tolerate her.
[*Widyadhara, Vidyadhara(Sanskrit)— 'Bearer of Knowledge'; mythical air-space beingin human form having magical knowledge.]
"It is plain that the commissioner fears to let her go toEurope!" swore Gungadhura. "Therefore it is plain that she and hehave a plan between them to loot the treasure and say nothing.Neither trusts the other, as is the way of such people! He willnot let her out of sight until he can leave India himself!"
"He has promised to send European memsahibs to call on her,"said the priest, and the maharajah gnashed his teeth and sworelike a man stung by a hornet.
"That is to prevent me from using violence on her! He willhave frequent reports as to her health! After a time, when he hashis fingers in the treasure, he will not be so anxious about herwelfare!"
"There was another matter that she told me," said thepriest.
"Repeat it then, Belly-of-Jinendra! Thy paunch retains a taletoo long!"
"Tripe, the drill-master, is a welcome guest at the housebuilt by Jengal Singh."
"What of it?"
"He may enter even when the sahibs are away from home. Theservants have orders to admit him."
"Well?"
The priest smiled again.
"If it should chance to be true that the princess knows thesecret of the treasure, and that she is selling it to thecommissioner, Tripe could enter that house and discover the clue.Who could rob you of the treasure once you knew the secret of itshiding-place?"
It was at that point that the maharajah grew so exasperated atthe thought of another's knowledge of a secret that he consideredrightly his own by heritage, that his language exceeded not onlythe bounds of decorum but the limits of commonplace blasphemy aswell. Turning his back on the priest he rushed from the room,slamming the door behind him. And, being a ruminant fat mortal,the priest sat so still considering on which side of the equationhis own bread might be buttered as to cause the impression thatthe room was empty; whereas only the maharajah had left it. And alittle later the babu Sita Ram came in.
Gungadhura was in no mood to be trifled with. He knew prettywell where to find Tom Tripe during any of the hours of duty, sohe cornered him without delay and, glaring at him with eyes likean animal's at bay, ordered him to search the Blaine's house atthe first opportunity.
"Search for what?" demanded Tripe.
"For anything! For everything! Search the cellar; search thegarden; search the roof! Are You a fool? Are you fit for myemployment? Then search the house, and report to me anythingunusual that you find in it! Go!"
After several stiff brandies and soda Gungadhura thenconceived a plan that might have been dangerous supposing Yasminito have been less alert, and supposing that she really knew thesecret. He spent an evening coaching Patali, his favorite dancinggirl, and then sent her to Yasmini with almost full powers todrive a bargain. She might offer as much as half of the treasureto Yasmini provided Gungadhura should receive the other half andthe British should know nothing. That was the one point on whichPatali's orders permitted no discretion. The whole transactionmust be secret from the British.
Reporting the encounter afterward to her employer Patalihardly seemed proud of her share in it. All the information shebrought back was to the effect that Yasmini denied all knowledgeof the treasure, and all desire to possess it.
"I think she knows nothing. She said very little to me. Shelaughed at the idea of bargaining with Englishmen. She said youare welcome to the treasure, maharajah sahib, and that if sheshould ever find its hiding-place she will certainly tell you.She plays the part of a woman whose spirit is already broken andwho is weary of India."
Having a very extensive knowledge of dancing girls and theirways, Gungadhura did not believe much more than two per cent. ofPatali's account of what had taken place, and he was right,except that he grossly overestimated her truthfulness. And evenwith his experienced cynicism it never entered his head tosuppose that Patali was the individual who warned Yasmini inadvance of the preparations being made to poison her byGungadhura's orders. Yet, as it was Patali's own sister who madethe sweetmeats, and tampered with the charcoal for the filter,and put the powdered diamonds in the chutney, it was likelyenough that Patali would know the facts; and as for motives,dancing girls don't have them. They fear, they love, they desire,they seek to please. If Yasmini could pluck heart-strings morecleverly than Gungadhura could break and bruise them, so much theworse for Gungadhura's plans, that was all, as far as Patali wasconcerned.
For several days after that, as Yasmini more than hinted inher letter to Tess, repeated efforts were made to administerpoison in the careful undiscoverable ways that India has made herown since time immemorial. But you can not easily poison any onewho does not eat, and who drinks wine that was bottled in Europe;or at any rate, to do it you must call in experts who areexpensive in the first place as well as adepts at blackmail inthe second. Yasmini enjoyed a charmed life and an increasingappetite, Gungadhura's guards attending to it however, that shetook no more forbidden walks and rides and swims by moonlight tomake the hunger really unendurable. Supplies were allowed to passthrough the palace gate, after they had been tampered with.
Finally Gungadhura, biting his nails and drinking whisky inthe intervals between consultation with a dozen different sets ofpriests, made up his mind to drastic action. It dawned on hisexasperated mind that every single priest, including Jinendra'sobese incumbent, was trying to take advantage of his predicamentin order to feather a priestly nest or forward plansdiametrically opposed to his own. (Not that recognition ofpriestly deception made him less superstitious, or any lessdependent on the priest; if that were the way discovery worked,all priests would have vanished long ago. It simply made himfurious, like a tiger in a net, and spurred him to wreak damagein which the priests might have no hand.)
Whisky, drugs, reflection and the hints of twenty dancinggirls convinced him that Jinendra's priest especially was playinga double game; for what was there in the fat man's mentalingredients that should anchor his loyalty to an ill-temperedprince, in case a princess of wit and youth and brilliant beautyshould stake her cunning in the game? Why was not Yasmini alreadyten times dead of poison? Nothing but the cunning inspired bypartnership with priests, and alertness born of secret knowledge,could have given her the intelligence to order her maids to boila present of twenty pairs of French silk stockings—nor themalice to hang them afterward with her own hands on a line acrossher palace roof in full view of Gungadhura's window!
Hatred of Yasmini was an obsession of his in any case. He hadloathed her mother, who dared try to wear down the rule thatwomen must be veiled. Even his own dancing girls were heavilyveiled in public, and all his relations with women of any sorttook place behind impenetrable screens. He was a stickler forthat sort of thing and, like others of his kidney, rather proudof the rumors that no curtains could confine. So he loathed anddespised Yasmini even more than he had detested her mother,because she coupled to her mother's Western notions about freedoma wholly Eastern ability to take advantage of restraint. In otherwords she was too clever for him.
On top of all that she had dared outrage his royal feelings byrefusing to be given in marriage to the husband be selected forher—a fine, black —bristling, stout cavalier of sixtywith a wife or two already and impoverished estates that wouldhave swallowed Yasmini's fortune nicely at a gulp. Incidentally,the husband would have eagerly canceled a gambling debt inexchange for a young wife with an income.
There was no point at which Yasmini and himself could meet onless than rapier terms. Her exploits in disguise werenotorious—so notorious that men sang songs about them inthe drinking places and the khans. And as if that were not badenough there was a rumor lately that she had turned Abhisharika.The word is Sanskrit and poetic. To the ordinary folk, who liketo listen to love-stories by moonlight on the roofs or undertrees, that meant that she had chosen her own lover and would goto him, when the time should come, of her own free will. ToGungadhura, naturally, such a word bore other meanings. As wehave said, he was a stickler for propriety.
Last, and most uncomfortable crime of all, it seemed that shehad now arranged with Samson to have English ladies call on herat intervals. Not a prophet on earth could guess where that mightlead to, and to what extremes of Western fashion; for though onedoes not see the high-caste women of Rajputana, they themselvessee everything and know all that is going on. But it needed noprophet to explain that a woman visited at intervals by the wivesof English officers could not be murdered easily or safely.
All arguments pointed one way. He must have it out withYasmini in one battle royal. If she should be willing tosurrender, well and good. He would make her pay for the past, butno doubt there were certain concessions that he could yieldwithout loss of dignity. If she knew the secret of thehiding-place of the treasure he would worm it out of her. Thereare ways, he reflected, of worming secrets from awoman—ways and means. If she knew the secret and refused totell, then he knew how to provide that she should never tell anyone else. If she had told some one else already, —Samson,for instance, or Jinendra's priest—then he would see to itthat priest or commissioner, as the case might be, must carry onwithout the cleverest member of the firm.
But he must hurry. Poison apparently would not work and he didnot dare murder her outright, much as he would have liked to. Itwas maddening to think how one not very violent blow with a clubor a knife would put an end to her willfulness forever, and yetthat the risk to himself in that case would be almost as deadlyas the certainty for her. But accidents might happen. In a landof elephants, tigers, snakes, wild boars and desperate men thereis a wide range for circumstance, and the sooner the accident theless the risk of interference by some inquisitive English womanwith a ticket-of-admission signed by Samson.
An "accident" in Yasmini's palace, he decided would be nearlyas risky as murder. But he had a country-place fifty miles awayin the mountains, to which she could be forcibly removed, thusthrowing inquisitive Englishwomen off the scent for a while atany rate. That secluded little hunting box stood by a purple lakethat had already drowned its dozens, not always without settingup suspicion; and between the city of Sialpore and the"Nesting-place of Seven Swans" lay leagues of wild road on whichanything at all might happen and be afterward explained away.
As for the forcible abduction, that could best be got aroundby obliging her to write a letter to himself requestingpermission to visit the mountains for a change of air andscenery. There were ways and means of obliging women to writeletters.
Best of all, of course, would be Yasmini's unconditionalsurrender, because then he would be able to make use of her witsand her information, instead of having to explain away her"accident" and cope alone with any one whom she might alreadyhave entrusted with her secret. There should be a strenuouseffort first to bring her to her senses. Physical pain, he hadnoticed, had more effect on people's senses than any amount ofargument. There had been a very amusing instance recently. One ofhis dancing girls named Malati had refused recently to sing anddance her best before a man to whom Gungadhura had designed tomake a present of her; but the mere preliminaries of removing atoe-nail behind the scenes had changed her mind within threeminutes.
Then there were other little humorous contrivances. There is away of tying an intended convert to your views in such ingeniousfashion that the lightest touch of a finger on taut catgutstretched from limb to limb, causes exquisite agony. And acigarette end, of course, applied in such circumstances to thetenderer parts has great power to persuade.
As to accomplices, those must be few and carefully chosen.Alone against Yasmini he knew he would have no chance whatever,for she was physically stronger than a panther, and as swift andgraceful. But there are creatures, not nearly yet extinct fromEastern courts, known as eunuchs, whose strongest quality isseldom said to be mercy, and whose chief business in life is tobe amenable to orders and to guard with their lives theirmaster's secrets. Three were really too many to be let into sucha secret; but it had needed two to hold Malati properly while thethird experimented on the toe-nail, and Yasmini was much strongerthan Malati; so he must chance it and take three.
The only remaining problem did not trouble him much. Thepalace guards were his own men, and were therefore not likely toquestion his right to ignore the first law of purdah that forbidsthe crossing of a woman's threshold, especially after dark,unless she is your property. Besides, they all knew already whatsort of prowl-by-night their master was, and laws, especiallysuch laws, were, made for other people, not for maharajahs.
A bloody enlisted man—that's me,
A peg in the officer's plan—maybe.
Drunk on occasion,
Disgrace to a nation
And proper societee.
Yet I've a notion the sky—pure blue
Ain't more essential than I—clear through.
I'm a man. I can think.
In the chain of eternal
Affairs I'm a link,
And the chain ain't no stronger than me—or you.
IT took longer to get the hamper ready than Tessexpected, partly because it did not seem expedient to have thebutler Chamu in the secret. By the time she and her husband wereup side by side in the dog-cart there was already a nearly fullmoon silvering the sky, and the jackals were yelping miserably onthe hillside. Before they reached the stifling town a slow breezehad moved the river-mist, until a curtain shut off the whole ofthe bazaar and merchants' quarters from the better residentialsection where the palaces stood. It was an ideal night foradventure; an almost perfect night for crime; one could step fromstreet to street and leave no clue, because of the driftingvapor.
Here and there a solitary policeman coughed after they hadpassed, or slunk into a shadow lest they recognize and report himfor sleeping at his post. All sahibs have unreasonable habits,and not even a constable can guess which one will not maketrouble for him. An occasional stray dog yapped at the wheels,and more than once heads peered over roof-tops to try and glimpsethem, because gossip—especially about sahibs who are outafter dark —is a coinage of its own that buys welcome andrefreshment almost anywhere. But nothing in particular happeneduntil the horse struck sparks from the granite flagstones outsideYasmini's gate, and a sleepy Rajput sentry brought his rifle tothe challenge.
Then it was not exactly obvious what to do next. Tess feltperfectly confident on the high seat, with the pistol in herhusband's pocket pressing against her and his reassuring bulkbetween her and the sentry; but everywhere else was insecurityand doubt. One does not as a rule descend from dog-carts afterdark and present half-sheets of paper by way of passports foradmission to Rajput palaces. The sentry looked mildly interested,no more. He had been so thoroughly warned and threatened in caseof efforts to escape from within, that it did not enter his headthat any one might want to enter. However, since the dog-cartcontinued to stand still in front of the gate, he turned theguard out as a matter of routine; one never knew when sahibs willnot complain about discourtesy.
The guard lined up at attention—eight men and arisaldar— double the regular number by Gungadhura's orders.The risaldar stepped up close to the dog-cart and spoke to theman he imagined was the sais, using, as was natural, the Rajputtongue. But Dick Blaine only knew enough of the language forfetch and carry purposes—not enough to deceive a native asto his nationality after the first two words.
"Now I feel foolish!" said Tess, and the risaldar of the guardthrust his bearded face closer, supposing she spoke to him. Dickanswered her.
"Shall I drive you home again, little woman? Say, the word andwe're off."
"Not yet. I haven't tried my ammunition."
She pulled out Samson's scribbled permit and was about tooffer it to the guard. But there was a risk that whatever she didwould only arouse and increase his suspicions, and she offered itnervously.
"What if he won't give it back to you?" asked her husband.
"Oh, Dick, you're a regular prophet of evil tonight!"
However, she withdrew the paper before the guard's fingers,closed on it. The next moment a figure like a phantom, making nonoise, almost made her scream. Dick produced a repeating pistolwith that sudden swiftness that proves old acquaintance with thethings, and the corporal of the guard sprang back with a shout ofwarning to his men, imagining the pistol was intended forhimself. Tess recovered presence of mind first.
"It's all right, Dick. Put the gun out of sight."
She stretched out her hand and a cold nose touched herfinger-ends, sniffing them. A dog's forefeet were on the shaft,and his eyes gleamed balefully in the carriage lamp light.
"Good Trotters! Good boy, Trotters!"
She remembered Tom Tripe's lecture about calling dogs by name,wondering whether the rule applied to owners only, or whethershe, too, could make the creature "do this own thinking." Beforeshe could decide what she would like the dog to think about hewas gone again as silently as he had come. The guard wasthoroughly on the qui vive by that time, if not suspicious, thenofficious. How should one protect the privacy of a palace gate ifunknown memsahibs in dog-carts, with saises who knew English butdid not answer when spoken to in the native tongue, were to beallowed to draw up in front of the gate at unseemly hours andremain there indefinitely. The risaldar ordered Tess away withoutfurther ceremony, making his meaning plain by taking the horse'shead and starting him.
Dick Blaine drew the horse back on his haunches and cursed theman for that piece of impudence, in language and with mannerismsthat banished forever any delusions as to his nationality; and itoccurred to the officer that his extra complement of men,standing in a row like dummies at attention, were not there afterall for nothing. He despatched two of them at a run toGungadhura's palace, the one to tell the story of what hadhappened and the other to add to it whatever the first mightomit. Between them they were likely to produce results of somesort.
"Now we're done for!" sighed Tess. "No chance tonight, I'mafraid. If only I'd done what she told me to and consulted withTom Tripe first. Better drive home now, Dick, before we make thecase worse."
The unreasonableness of the attempt convinced and discouragedher. It was like a nightmare. But as Dick reined the horse aboutthere came out of the mist the sound of another horse at a walk,and two men marching in step. Then a man's voice broke thestillness. Dick reined in, and a second later Trotters' huge pawsrested on the shaft again. Tess could see his long,unenthusiastic tail wagging to and fro.
"Tom!" she called. "Tom Tripe!"
"Coming, lady!"
Three figures emerged out of the gloom, one of them mountedand loquacious.
"I'd like to know what these rascally guards are doing offtheir post! Give these sons of camp-followers an inch and they'lltake three leagues, every mother's son of them! Halt, there, you!Now then, where's your officer? Give an account ofyourselves!"
There followed an interlude in Rajasthani. Tom Tripe becomingmore blasphemously vehement as it grew clearer that the risaldarhad done entirely right.
"Lady," he said presently, riding round to Tess's side of thedog-cart. "I'm going to have hard work to convince this man. I'dorders from Gungadhura to search your house, Krishna knows whatfor, and I rode up to ask your leave to do it, hoping you'd bealone after the party. Chamu told me you and your husband hadgone out, and one of the three beggars gave me a message intendedfor you that tallied pretty close with one I knew you'd receivedalready, so I guessed where to head for, and sent the dog inadvance. He came back with his hair on end reporting trouble, andthen as luck would have it I rode into these two men on their wayto Gungadhura. If they'd reached him, we'd all have had to makenew plans tomorrow morning! You want to see the princess, ofcourse? But what have you got that can get by the guard?"
Tess produced Samson's scribbled note, and he studied it inthe carriage lamplight. Then she recalled Yasmini's warning thatTom Tripe had no brains and must be told what to do. Her own witsbegan to work desperately.
"I'm the lady doctor, Tom. That is my written order from theburra sahib."
Tom scratched his head and swore in a low voice fervently.
"The difficulty's this, lady: since the escape from the palaceacross the river, the maharajah has taken the posting of palaceguards out of my hands entirely. I've still the duty to inspectand make sure they're on the job —Oh, I see! I haveit!"
He turned on the corporal with all the savagery that the whiteman generates in contact with Eastern subordinates.
"What do you mean," he demanded in the man's own language, "bystanding in the way of the maharajah sahib's orders? Here's hishighness sending a lady doctor to the princess for an excuse toconfine her elsewhere and have all this trouble off our hands,and you, like a blockhead, stand in the way to prevent it!See—there's the letter!"
The Rajput looked perplexed. All the world knows whatprivileges the rare American women doctors enjoy in that land ofsealed seraglios.
"But it is written in English," he objected. "The maharajahsahib does not write English."
"Idiot! Of what use would a letter in Persian be to anAmerican lady doctor?"
"But to me? It is I who command the guard and must read theletter. How can I read the letter?"
"I'll read it to you. What's more, I'll explain it. Theprincess has been appealing to the commissioner sahib—"
The Rajput nodded. It was all over town that Yasmini had beencloseted with the commissioner on the morning of her recentescape. She herself had deliberately sown the seeds of thatuntruth.
"So the commissioner sahib and the maharajah sahib had aconference —"
The Rajput nodded again. It was common knowledge, too that thecommissioner and Gungadhura had had a rather stormy interview theday before; and it was none of the corporal's privilege to knowthat all they had argued about was the ill-treatment of prisonersin the Sialpore jail.
"—It was agreed at the conference that if the princesscan be proved mad, then the maharajah sahib may do as he's mindedabout sending her away into the hills. If she's not mad, thenhe's to give her her liberty. Do you understand, youdunderhead?"
"Hah! I understand. But why at night? Why not the maharajahsahib's signature in his own writing?"
"Son of incomprehension! Does the maharajah sahib wish stillmore scandal than already has been by permitting such a visit inthe daytime? Strike me everlasting dumb if he hasn't had morethan enough already! Does he want the responsibility? Does hewish the British to say afterward that it was all the maharajah'sdoing? No, you ass! At the conference be agreed solely oncondition that the commissioner sahib should sign the letter andrelieve his highness of all blame in case of a verdict ofmadness. And it was decided to send an American, lest there betoo much talk among the British themselves. Now, do youunderstand?"
"Hah! I understand. If all this is true the matter is easy. Iwill send one of the guard with that letter to the maharajahsahib. He will write his name on it and send it back, and all iswell."
"Suit yourself!" sneered Tom Tripe. "The maharajah sahib iswith his dancing girls this minute. What happened to the last manwho interrupted his amusements?"
The Rajput hesitated. The answer to that question could beseen any day near the place they call the Old Gate, where beggarssit in rags.
"Shall I offer him money?" whispered Tess.
"For God's sake, no, lady! The man's a decent soldier. He'drefuse it and we'd all be in the apple-cart! Leave him tome."
He turned again on the Rajput.
"You know who I am, don't you? You know it's my duty to seethat the palace guards attend to business, eh? That's why I'mhere tonight. His highness particularly warned me to see that ifanything unusual wanted doing it should get done. If you want toquestion my authority you'll have it out with me before hishighness in the morning first thing."
The Rajput obviously wavered. Everybody knew that the firstthing in the morning was no good time to appear on charges beforea man who spent his nights as Gungadhura did.
"Who is to enter? A man and a woman?"
"No, you idiot! A lady doctor only. And nobody's to know.You'd better warn your men that if there's any talk about thisnight's business the palace guard will catch the first blast ofthe typhoon. Gungadhura's anger isn't mild in these days!"
"Show me the letter again," said the Rajput. "Let me keep itin case I am brought to book."
Tom translated that to Tess and her husband.
"It's this way, ma'am. If you let him keep the letter Isuspect he'll let you go in. But he may show it to the maharajahin the morning, and then there'll be hot fat in the fire. If youdon't let him keep it, perhaps he'll admit you and perhaps hewon't; but if you keep the letter, and trouble comes of it, heand I'll both be in the soup! Never mind about me. Maybe I'm toovaluable to be sent packing. I'll take the chance. But this man'sa decent soldier, and he'd be helpless."
"Let him keep it," said Tess.
Tom turned on the Rajput again.
"Here's the letter. Take it. But mark this! What his highnesswants tonight is discretion. There might be promotion for a manwho'd say nothing about this night's work. If, on top of that, hewas soldier enough to keep his men from talking he'd be reportedfavorably to his highness by Tom Tripe. Who got you maderisaldar, eh? Who stood up for you, when you were charged withstriking Gullam Singh? Was Tom Tripe's friendship worth havingthen? Now suit yourself! I've said all I'm going to say."
The Rajput muttered something in his beard, stared again atthe letter as if that of itself would justify him, looked sharplyat Tess, whose hamper might or might not be corroborativeevidence, folded the letter away in his tunic pocket, and made agesture of assent.
"Now, lady, hurry!" said Tom. "And here's hoping you're rightabout there being no hell! I've told lies enough tonight to damnmy soul forever! Once you're safely through the gate I'll have aword or two more with the guard, and then your husband and I willgo to a place close by that I know of and wait for you."
But Tess objected to that. "Please don't leave me waiting foryou in the dark outside the gate when I return! Why not keep thecarriage here; my husband won't mind."
"Might make talk, ma'am. I'll leave Trotters here to watch foryou. He'll bring word in less than a minute."
Tom Tripe dismounted to help her out of the dog-cart. TheRajput struck the iron gate as if he expected to have to wake thedead and take an hour about it. But it opened suspiciouslyquickly and a bearded Afridi, of all unlikely people, thrust anexpectant face outward, rather like a tortoise emerging from itsshell, blinking as he tried to recognize the shadowy forms thatmoved in the confusing lamplight. He seemed to know whom toexpect and admit, for he beckoned Tess with a long crookedforefinger the moment she approached the gate, and in another tenseconds the iron clanged behind her, shutting her off fromhusband and all present hope of succor. The chance of any rescuerentering the palace that night, whether by force or subtlety, wasinfinitesimal.
The strange gate-man—he had a little kennel of a placeto sleep in just inside the entrance—snatched the hamperfrom Tess and led her almost at a run across an ancient courtyardwhose outlines were nearly invisible except where the yellowlight of one ancient oil lantern on an iron bracket showed a partof the palace wall and a steep flight of stone steps, worn downthe middle by centuries of sandals. Everything else was in gloomand shadow, and only one chink of light betrayed the whereaboutsof a curtained window. The Afridi led her up the stone steps, andpaused at the top to hammer on a carved door with his clenchedfist; but the door moved while his fist was in mid-air, and themerry-eyed maid who opened it mocked him for a lunatic. Dumb,apparently, in the presence of woman, he slunk down the stepsagain, leaving Tess wondering whether it were not good manners toremove her shoes before entering. Natives of the country alwaysremoved their shoes before entering her house, and she supposedit would be only decent to reciprocate.
However, the maid took her by the hand and pulled her insidewithout further ceremony, not letting go of the hand even toclose the door, but patting it and making much of her, smilingthe welcome that they had no words in common to express. Thelittle outer hall in which they stood was shut off by curtainssix yards high, all smothered in a needlework of peacocks thatgenerations of patient fingers must have toiled at. Pulling theseapart the maid led her into an inner hall fifty or sixty feetlong, the first sight of which banished all diffidence about hershoes; for never had she seen such medley of East and West, suchtoning down of Oriental mysticism with the sheer utility ofEuropean importations; and that without incongruity.
The lamps, of which there were dozens, were mostly Russian.Some of the furniture was Buhl, some French. There were hangingsthat looked like loot from the Peking Summer Palace, and tapestryfrom Gobelin. In a place of honor on a side wall was an icon,framed in gold, and facing that an image of the Buddha done ingreenish bronze, flanked by a Dutch picture of the TwelveApostles with laughably Dutch faces receiving instruction on amountain from a Christ whose other name was surely Hans.
Down the center of the hall, leading to a gallery, was amagnificent stairway of marble and lapis lazuli, carpeted withlong Bukhara strips so well joined end to end that the wholelooked like one piece. And at the top of those stairs Yasministood waiting, her golden hair illuminated by glass lamps oneither marble column at the stairhead. She was as different fromthe Gunga Singh of riding boots and turban as the morning is fromnight— the loveliest, bewitchingest girl in silken gossamerthat Tess had ever set eyes on.
"I knew you would come!" she shouted gleefully. "I knew youwould get in! I knew you are my friend! Oh, I'm glad! I'mglad!"
She pirouetted a dozen times on bare toes at the top of thestairs, spinning until her silken skirts expanded in a nimbus,then danced down-stairs into Tess's arms, where she clung,panting and laughing.
"I'm so hungry! Oh, I'm hungry! Did you bring the food?"
"I'm ashamed!" Tess answered. "The man set it down outside thedoor and I left it there."
But Yasmini gave a little shrill of delight, and Tess turnedto see that another maid had brought it.
"How many of you are there?"
"Five."
"Thank heaven! I've brought enough for a square meal for adozen."
"We have eaten a little, little bit each day of the servants'rice, washing it first for hours, until today, when two of theservants were taken sick and we thought perhaps their food waspoisoned too. Oh, we're hungry!"
Hasamurti, Yasmini's maid, opened the basket on the floor andcrowed aloud. Tess apologized.
"I knew nothing about the caste restrictions, but I've put inmeat jelly —and bread—and fruit—andrice—and nuts— and milk—and tea—andwine—and sugar—"
Yasmini laughed.
"I am as Western as I choose to be, and only pretend to castewhen I see fit. My maids do as I do, or they seek anothermistress. Come!"
Hasamurti would have spread a banquet there on the floor, butYasmini led them up-stairs, holding Tess by the hand, turning tothe right at the stairhead into a room all cream and golden,lighted by hanging lamps that shone through disks of coloredglass. There she pulled Tess down beside her on to a great softdivan and they all ate together, the maids munching their sharewhile they served their mistress. They devoured the milk, andleft the wine, eating, all things considered, astonishinglymoderately.
"Now we ought all to go to sleep," announced Yasmini, yawning,and then bubbling with delighted laughter at the expression ofTess's face. "The people outside might wait!"
"Great heavens, child. Do you suppose I can stay hereindefinitely?" Tess demanded. "I must be gone in an hour or myhusband will murder the guard and force an entrance!"
"I will have just such a husband soon," announced Yasmini."When I send him one little word, he will cut the throats ofthirty men and come to me through flames! Let us try yourhusband," she added as an afterthought —then laughed againat Tess's expression of dissent, and nodded.
"I, too, will be careful how I risk my husband! Men are butmoths in a woman's hands—fragile—but the good onesare precious. Besides, we have no time tonight for sport. I mustescape."
Evidently Tess was causing her exquisite amusement. Thethought of being an accomplice in any such adventure stirred allher Yankee common sense to its depths, and she had none of theEastern trick of not displaying her emotions.
"Nonsense, child! Let me go to the commissioner and warn himthat you are being starved to death in this place. I willthreaten him with public scandal if he doesn't put an end to itat once."
"Pouf!" laughed Yasmini. "Samson sahib would make a niceclumsy accomplice! He would send me to Calcutta, where I shouldbe poisoned sooner or later for a certainty, because Gungadhurawould send agents to attend to that. They would wait months andmonths for their opportunity, and I can not always stay awake.Meanwhile Samson sahib would claim praise from his government,and they would put some more initials at the end of his name, andpromote him to a bigger district with more pay. No! Samson sahibshall have another district surely, but even he in his conceitwill not consider it promotion! There will not be room for Samsonsahib in Sialpore when I am maharani!"
"You maharani? It was you yourself who told me that Gungadhurahas lots of children, who all stand between you and the throne.Do you mean—?"
Again the bell-like laugh announced utter enjoyment of Tess'sbewilderment.
"No, I will kill nobody. I will not even send snakes in abasket to Gungadhura. That scorpion shall sting himself to deathif he sees fit, with a ring of the fire of ridicule all about himand no friends to console him, and no hope—nothing butdisappointment and fear and rage! I will kill nobody. Yet I willbe maharani within the month!"
Suddenly she grew deadly serious, her young face darkening asthe sky does when a quick cloud hides the sun.
"What is your husband's contract with Gungadhura? May he digfor gold anywhere? He is digging now, isn't he, close to theBritish fort on the 'island' in our territory—that fortwith the flagstaff on it that can be seen from Gungadhura's roof?He is wasting time!"
"He has found a little vein of gold," said Tess, "that willlikely lead to a bigger vein."
"He is wasting time! Sita Ram, who has a compass, and whoknows all that goes on in Samson sahib's office, sent me wordthat the little vein of gold runs nearly due north. In anotherweek at the rate the men are digging your husband will be underthe fort. That is English territory. The English have nothing todo with Gungadhura's contract. They will take the gold yourhusband finds and give him nothing. Then Samson sahib would beconsidered a most excellent commissioner and would surely getpromotion! Pouf!"
"Perhaps my husband can make a separate bargain with theEnglish."
"Pouf! Samson sahib is an idiot, but he is not fool enough togive away what would be in his hands already! I myself, hiddenbeneath your window, heard him give you clear warning on thatpoint! No, there must be another plan. Your husband must digelsewhere."
"But, my dear, Gungadhura knows already that my husband hasfound a 'leader.' He is all worked up about it, and goes everyday to watch the progress."
"Surely—knowing as well as I do that the vein is leadingtoward the fort. He goes afterward to the priests, and prays thatthe vein of gold may turn another way and save him frombankruptcy! Listen? I speak truth! I speak to you woman towoman—womb to womb! I will count myself accursed, and willlet a cobra bite me if I tell you now one word that is not true!Do you believe I am going to tell you the truth?"
Tess nodded. Yasmini, by her own admission, would liedeliberately when that suited her; but the truth tells itself, asit were, and there is no mistaking it, except by such as lieinvariably, of whom there is a multifarious host.
"If your husband continues digging near the fort he will getnothing, because the English will take it all. If he digs in acertain other place he will get a very great fortune!"
"But, my dear, supposing that is quite true, how shall heconvince Gungadhura, after all the outlay and expense of thepresent operations, that it's best to abandon them and begin allover again in another place?"
Yasmini lay back on the cushions, drew something out fromunder one of them, and laughed softly, as if enjoying a deepunderflow of secret information.
"Gungadhura himself shall insist on it!"
"What? On starting again in a new place?"
Yasmini nodded.
"Only do as I say, and Gungadhura himself shall insist."
"What do you wish me to do?"
Tess was beginning to feel alarmed again. She knew to a rupeehow much Gungadhura had been obliged to pay out for the digging.To make herself responsible even in degree for the abandonment ofall that outlay would be risky, even if no other constructioncould be placed on it.
"Has Tom Tripe been told to search your house?"
"Yes, so he says."
"Do you know the cellar of your house?"
"Yes."
"It is dark. Are you afraid to go there?"
"No. Why?"
"Is there a flat stone in a corner of the cellar floor thatonce had a ring in it but the ring is broken out?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then Sita Ram did not lie to me. Take this." She gaveher a little silver tube, capped at either end and sealed heavilywith wax. "There is a writing inside it—done in Persian.Hide that under the stone, and let Tom Tripe search the cellarand find it there; but forbid him to remove it."
"If I only knew what you are driving at!" said Tess with a wrysmile.
A clumsier conspirator might have lost the game at that pointby over-emphasis, for Tess was wavering between point-blankrefusal and delay that would give her time to consult herhusband. But Yasmini, even at that age, was adept at feeling herway nicely. Again she lay back on the cushion, and this time lita cigarette, smoking lazily.
"The stake that I am playing for—the stake that I shallsurely win," she said after a minute, "is too big to be risked.If you are afraid, let us forget all that I have said. Let us befriends and nothing more."
Tess did not answer. She recognized the appeal to her ownpride, and ignored it. What she was thinking of was Gungadhura'sbeastliness—his attempts to poison Yasmini—histreatment of women generally— his cruelty to animals in thearena—his viciousness; and then, of how much more queenlyif nothing else, this girl would likely be than ever Gungadhuracould be kingly. It was tempting enough to have a hand insubstituting Yasmini for Gungadhura on the throne of Sialpore ifthe chance of doing it were real.
Yasmini seemed able to read her thoughts, or at all events toguess them.
"When I am maharani," she said, "there will be an end ofGungadhura's swinishness. Moreover, promises will all be kept,unwritten ones as well as written. Gungadhura's contracts will becarried out. Do you believe me?"
"Yes, I think I believe that."
"Let Tom Tripe find that silver tube in your cellar then. Butlisten! When Gungadhura comes to your husband and insists ondigging elsewhere, let your husband bargain like a huckster! Lethim at first refuse. It may be that Gungadhura will let himcontinue where he digs, and will himself send men to startdigging in the other place. In that case, well and good."
"I would prefer that, said Tess. "My husband is a miningengineer. I think he would hate to abandon a true lead for a whimof some one's else."
Yasmini's bright eyes gleamed intelligence. She was onlylearning in those days to bend people to her own imperious willand to use others' virtues for own ends as readily as theirvices. She recognized the necessity of yielding to Tess'scompunctions, more than suspecting that Dick Blaine would colorhis own views pretty much to suit his wife's in any case. Andwith a lightning ability peculiar to her she saw how to improveher own plan by yielding.
"That is settled, then," she said lazily. "Your husband shallcontinue to dig near the fort, if he so wishes. But let him showSamson sahib some specimens of the gold—how little itis—how feeble—how uncertain. Be sure he does that,please. That will be the end of Gungadhura. And now it is time toescape from here, and for you to help me."
Tess resigned herself to the inevitable. Whatever theconsequences, she was not willing to leave Yasmini to starve orbe poisoned.
"I'm ready!" she said. "What's the plan?"
"I shall leave all the maids behind. They have food enough forthe morning. In the morning, after it is known that I haveescaped, word shall be sent to Samson sahib that the women inthis palace have nothing but poisoned food to eat. He must beardGungadhura about that or lose his own standing with theEnglish."
"But how will you escape?"
"Nay, that is not the difficulty. Your husband and Tom Tripeare waiting with the carriage. My part is easy. This is theproblem: how will you follow me?"
"I don't understand."
"I must wear your clothes. In the dark I shall get past theguard, making believe that I am you."
"Then how shall I manage?"
"You must do as I say. I can contrive it. Come, the maids andI will make a true Rajputni of you. Only I must study how to walkas you do; please walk along in front of me—thatway—follow Hasamurti through that door into my room. I willstudy how you move your feet and shoulders."
Looking back as she followed Hasamurti, Tess witnessed acaricature of herself that made her laugh until the tearscame.
"It is well!" said Yasmini. "This night began in hunger, likethe young moon. Now is laughter without malice. In a few hourswill be bright dawn —and after that, success!"
Watch your step where the elephants sway
Each at a chain at the end of a day,
Hurrumdi-didddlidi-um-di-ay!
Nothing to do but rock and swing,
Clanking an iron picket ring,
Plucking the dust to flirt and fling;
Keep et ceteras out of range,
Anything out of the way or strange
Suits us elephant folk for change—
Various odds and ends appeal
To liven the round of work and meal.
Curious trunks can reach and steal!
Fool with Two-tails if you dare;
Help yourself. But fool, beware!
Whatever results is your affair!
We are the easiest beasts that be,
Gentle and good and affectionate we,
You are the monarchs; we bow the knee,
Big and obese and obedient—um!
Just as long as it suits us—um!
Hurrumti-tiddli-di-um-ti-um!
(Unfortunately at this point Akbar's attention was diverted toanother matter, so the rest of his picket-song goesunrecorded.)
—An Elephant Interlude
THERE was brandy in the place that Tom Tripeknew of— brandy and tobacco and a smell of elephants. DickBlaine, who scarcely ever touched strong liquor, having hadintimate acquaintance with abuse of it in Western mining camps,had to sit and endure the spectacle of Tom's chief weakness,glass after glass of the fiery stuff descending into a stomachlong since rendered insatiable by soldiering on peppery food in aclimate that is no man's friend. He protested a dozen times.
"We may need our wits tonight, Tom. Suppose we both keepsober."
"Man alive, I've been doing this for years. Brandy and brainsare the same in my case. Keep me without it, and by bedtime I'man invalid. Give me all I want of it, and I'm a craftysoldier-man."
Dick Blaine refilled his pipe and watched for an opportunity.He had heard that kind of argument before, and had conqueredflood and fire with the aid of the very men who used it, thatbeing the gift (or whatever you like to call it) that had madehim independent while the others drew monthly pay inenvelopes.
It was a low oblong shed they sat in, with a wide door openingon a side street within four hundred yards of Yasmini's palacegate. It was furnished with a table, two chairs and a cot for TomTripe's special use whenever the maharajah's business shouldhappen to keep him on night duty, his own proper quarters beingnearly a mile away. Alongside the shed was a very rough stablethat would accommodate a horse or two, and the back wall was amere partition of mud brick, behind which, under a thatched roof,were tethered some of the maharajah's elephants. There were twowindows in the wall, through which one could see dimly the greatbrutes' rumps as they swayed at their pickets restlessly. Thesmell came through a broken pane, and every once in a while theBlaines' horse, standing ready in the shafts outside with ablanket over him, squealed at it indignantly.
Tom's horse dozed in the rough shed, being used toelephants.
Dick got up once or twice to peer through the window at thebrutes.
"Are they tethered fore and aft?" he wondered.
"No," Tom answered. "One hind foot only."
"What's to stop them from turning round and breaking down thisrotten wall?"
"Nothing—except that they're elephants. They could breaktheir picket chains if they were minded to, same as I could breakGungadhura's head and lose my job. But I won't do it, and norwill they. They're elephants, and I'm a soldier. The trouble withyou is nerves, my boy. Have some brandy. You're worried aboutyour wife, but I tell you she's right as a trivet. I'd trust mylast chance with that little princess. I've done it often.Brandy's the stuff to keep your hair on. Have some."
The bottle had only been three parts full. Tom poured out thelast of it and set a stone jorum of rum in readiness on the tableover against the wall.
"Wish we had hot water handy," he grumbled.
"Which of the elephants are tethered here?" asked Dick. "Thatbig one that killed a tiger in the arena the other day?"
"Yes. Did you see that? Akbar was scarcely scratched. Quickestthing ever I saw—squealed with rage the minute they turned'stripes' loose —chased him to the wall—downed himwith a forefoot and crushed him into tiger jelly before you couldsay British Constitution!"
"I guess that tiger had been kept in a cage too long," saidDick.
"Don't you believe it. He was fighting fit. But they'd givenold Akbar a skinful of rum, and that turns him into a holyterror. He's quite quiet other times."
Dick looked at his watch. Tess had been in the palace aboutthree hours, and he was confident she would come away as soon aspossible, if for no other reason than to put an end to hisanxiety. She was likely to appear at the gate at any minute. Atany minute Tom Tripe was likely to attack the jorum, and ifpresent symptoms went for anything, it would not take much of itto make him worse than useless. At present he was growingreminiscent.
"Once old Akbar had a belly-ache and they gave him arak. Theydidn't catch him for two days! He pulled up his picket-stake andlit out for the horizon, chasing dogs and hens and monkeys andanything else be could find that annoyed him. Screamed like alocomotive. Horrid sight!"
"Where does this road outside lead to?" asked Dick.
"Don't lead anywhere. Blind alley. Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
Dick was examining the wall between the shed they sat in andthe stable-place next door. It was much stronger than the mudaffair between them and the elephants. Tom Tripe had nearlyfinished his tumbler-full, and there was madness in the air thatnight that made a man take awfully long chances.
"Do you suppose a man could lose his way in the dark betweenhere and the palace gate?"
"Not even if he was as drunk as Noah. All he'd have to do 'udbe hold on to the wall and walk forward. The road turns a corner,but the walls are all blind and there's no other way but past thepalace. You sit here, though, my boy. No need to try that. Yourwife's all right."
"Well, maybe I'd better stay here."
"Sure."
"Do you suppose I could back the dog-cart into the shed whereyour horse is? I hardly like to leave my horse standing anylonger in the open, yet he's better in the shafts in case we wanthim in a hurry."
"Yes, the door's wide enough."
"Then I'll do it."
"Suit yourself. But take some of that rum before you gooutside. The night air's bad for your lungs. Help yourself andpass the bottle, as the Queen said to the Archbishop ofCanterbury."
"All right, I will."
Dick poured a little on his handkerchief, thrust thehandkerchief through the broken pane and waved it violently tospread the smell. It was cheap, immodest stuff, blatant with itsown advertisement. Then he set the jorum down on the end of thetable farthest from the wall, to the best of his judgment out ofreach from the window.
"Come along, Tom," he said then. "Help me with the horse."
"What's your hurry? Take a drink first."
"No, let's take one together afterward."
He took Tom by the shoulder and pushed him to his feet.
"The horse might break away. Come on, man, hurry!"
Over his shoulder Dick could see a long trunk nosing its waygingerly through the broken pane and searching out the source ofthe alluring smell. He pushed Tripe along in front of him, andtogether they backed the dog-cart into the stable-place, making avery clumsy business of it for three reasons: Tom Tripe was nonetoo sober: the horse was nearly crazy with fear of the uncannybrutes just beyond the wall; and Dick was in too much hurry forreasons of his own. However, they got horse and cart in backward,and the door shut before the crash came.
The crash was of a falling mud-brick wall, pushed outward bythe shoulders of a pachyderm that wanted alcohol. The beast hadhad it out of all sorts of containers and knew the trick ofemptying the last drop. The jorum was about his usual dose.
About two minutes later, while Dick and Tom Tripe between themheld a horse in intolerable durance between the shafts, and Tom'shorse out of sympathy kicked out at random into every shadow hecould reach, the door and part of the wall of Tom's shed felloutward into the pitch dark street as Akbar, eleven feet fourinches at the shoulder, strode forward conjecturing what worldswere yet to conquer. The other elephants stood motionless attheir pickets. A terrified mahout emerged through the debris likea devil from bell's bunkers, calling to his elephant all theendearing epithets he knew, and cursing him alternately. Thehorses grew calmer and submitted to caresses, like children andall creatures that have intimate contact with strong men; andpresently the night grew still.
"D'you suppose that brute swiped my liquor?" wondered TomTripe. "You mind the horses while I look."
But suddenly there was a savage noise of trumpeting up-street,followed by a bark and a yelp of canine terror.
"God!" swore Tom. "That's Trotters coming to fetch us! Akbar'schasing him back this way! Hang on to the horse like ten men!I'll go see!"
He was outside before Dick could remonstrate. Between themthey had lashed the dog-cart wheels during the first panic, buteven so Dick had his hands full, as the trumpeting drew nearerand the horse went into agonies of senseless fear. It was afight, nothing less, between thinking man and mere instinctivebeast, and eventually Dick threw him with a trick of the reinsabout his legs, and knelt on his head to keep him down. By thegrace of the powers of unexpectedness neither shafts nor harnessbroke.
Outside in the darkness Tom Tripe peered through brandied eyesat a great shadow that hunted to and fro a hundred yards away,chasing something that was quite invisible, and making enoughnoise about it to awake the dead.
"Trotters!" he yelled. "Trotters!"
A moment later a smaller shadow came into view at top speed,panting, chased hotly by the bigger one.
"Trotters! Get back where you came from! Back, d'ye hear me!Back!"
Within ten yards of his master the dog stopped to do histhinking, and the elephant screamed with a sort of hunter'secstasy as he closed on him with a rush. But thought is swift,and obedience good judgment. The dog doubled of a sudden betweenAkbar's legs and the elephant slid on his rump in the futileeffort to turn after him—then crashed into the wallopposite Tripe's dismantled shed—cannoned off it with agrunt of sheer disgust— and set off up-street, once more inhot pursuit.
"That brute got my good rum, damn him!" said Tom, opening thestable door. "Hello! Horse down? Any harm done? Right-oh! We'llsoon have him up again. Better hurry now—Trotters came forus."
So many look at the color,
So many study design,
Some of 'em squint through a microscope
To judge if the texture is fine.
A few give a thought to the price of the stuff,
Some feel of the heft in the hand,
But once in a while there is one who can smile
And—appraising the lot—understand.
Look out,
When the seemingly sold understand!
All's planned,
For the cook of the stew to be canned
Out o' hand,
When the due to be choused understand!
WITHIN the palace Tess was reveling invaudeville In the first place, Yasmini had no Western views onmodesty. Whatever her mother may have taught her in that respecthad gone the way of all the other handicaps she saw fit to throwinto the discard, or to retain for use solely when she saw therewas advantage. The East uses dress for ornament, and understandsits use. The veil is for places where men might look with toobold eyes and covet. Out of sight of privileged men prudery hasno place, and almost no advocates all the way from Peshawar toCape Comorin.
And Yasmini had loved dancing since the days when she totteredher first steps for her mother's and Bubru Singh's delight. Longbefore an American converted the Russian Royal Ballet, and theRussian Royal Ballet in return took all the theater-going West bystorm—scandalizing, then amazing, then educating bit bybit—Yasmini had developed her own ideas and brought them byarduous practise to something near perfection. To that herstrength, agility and sinuous grace were largely due; and shepracticed no deceptions on herself, but valued all threequalities for their effect on other people, keeping no lightunder a bushel.
The consciousness of that night's climactic quality raised herspirits to the point where they were irrepressible, and shedanced her garments off one by one, using each in turn as a foilfor her art until there was nothing left with which to multiplyrhythm and she danced before the long French mirrors yet moregracefully with nothing on at all.
Getting Tess disrobed was a different matter. She did not ownto much prudery, but the maids' eyes were over-curious. And,lacking, as she knew she did, Yasmini's ability to justifynakedness by poetry of motion, she hid behind a curtain and wasroyally laughed at for her pains. But she was satisfied to retainthat intangible element that is best named dignity, and let thelaughter pass unchallenged. Yasmini, with her Eastern heritage,could be dignified as well as beautiful as nature made her. Notso Tess, or at any rate she thought not, and what one thinks isafter all the only gage acceptable.
Then came the gorgeous fun of putting on Tess's clothes, eachto be danced in as its turn came, and made fun of, so that Tessherself began to believe all Western clothes were awkward,idiotic things—until Yasmini stood clothed complete atlast, with her golden hair all coiled under a Paris hat, andlooked as lovely that way as any. The two women were almostexactly the same size. Even the shoes fitted, and when Yasminiwalked the length of the room with Tess's very stride andattitude Tess got her first genuine glimpse of herself asanother's capably critical eyes saw her—a pricelessexperience, and not so humiliating after all.
They dressed up Tess in man's clothes—a youngRajput's—a suit Yasmini had worn on one of her wildexcursions, and what with the coiled turban of yellow silk and alittle black mustache adjusted by cunning fingers she felt ashappy as a child in fancy dress. But she found it more difficultto imitate the Rajput walk than Yasmini did to copy her tricks ofcarriage. For a few minutes they played at walking together upand down the room before the mirror, applauded by the gigglingmaids. But then suddenly came anti-climax. There was a greathammering at the outer door, and one of the maids ran down toinvestigate, while they waited in breathless silence.
The news the maid brought back was the worst imaginable. Thelook-out at the northern corner of the wall (Yasmini kept watchon her captors as rigorously as they spied on her) had run withthe word to the gate-man that Gungadhura himself was coming withthree eunuchs, all four on foot.
Almost as soon as the breathless girl could break that eviltidings there came another hammering, and this time Hasamurtiwent down to answer. Her news was worse. Gungadhura was at theouter gate demanding admission, and threatening to order theguard to break the gate in if refused.
"What harm can he do?" demanded Tess. "He won't dare try anyviolence in front of me. Let us change clothes again."
Yasmini laughed at her.
"A prince on a horse may ride from harm," she answered. "Whenprinces walk, let other folk 'ware trouble! He comes to have hiswill on me. Those eunuchs are the leash that always hunt with himby night. They will manhandle you, too, if they once get in, andGungadhura will take his chance of trouble afterward. The guarddare not refuse him."
"What shall we do?" Tess wondered. "Can we hide?" Then,pulling herself together for the sake of her race and her Westernwomanhood: "If we make noise enough at the gate my husband willcome. We're all right."
"If there are any gods at all," said Yasmini piously, "theywill consider our plight. I think this is a vengeance on mebecause I said I will leave my maids behind. I will not leavethem! Hasamurti—you and the others make ready for thestreet!"
That was a simple matter. In three minutes all five women wereback in the room, veiled from head to foot. But the hammering atthe front door was repeated, louder than before. Tess wonderedwhether to hope that the risaldar of the guard had alreadyreported to Gungadhura the lady doctor's visit, or to hope thathe had not.
"We will all go down together now," Yasmini decided, andpromptly she started to lead the way alone. But Hasamurti sprangto her side, and insisted with tears on disguising herself as hermistress and staying behind to provide one slim chance for therest to escape.
"In the dark you will pass for the memsahib," she urged. "Thememsahib will pass for a man. Wait by the gate until themaharajah enters, while I stand at the door under the lamp as adecoy. I will run into the house, and he will follow with theeunuchs, while the rest of you slip out through the gate, and runbefore the guard can close it. Perhaps one, at least, of theother maids had better stay with me."
A second maid volunteered, but Yasmini would have none of thatplan. First and last the great outstanding difference between herand the ordinary run of conspirators, Western or Eastern, wasunwillingness to sacrifice faithful friends even in apinch—although she could be ruthlessness itself towardhalf-hearted ones. Both those habits grew on her as she grewolder.
By the time they reached the little curtained outer hall themaids were on the verge of hysteria. Tess had herself well incontrol, and was praying busily that her husband might only benear enough to hear the racket at the gate. She was willing to besatisfied with that, and to ask no further favors of Providence,unless that Dick should have Tom Tripe with him. Outwardly calmenough, she could not for the life of her remember to stride likea man. Yasmini turned more than once to rally her about it.
Yasmini herself looked unaccountably meek in the Westerndress, but her blue eyes blazed with fury and she walked withconfidence, issuing her orders in a level voice. The gate-man hadcome to the door again to announce that Gungadhura had issued afinal warning. Two more minutes and the outer gate should beburst in by his orders.
"Tell the maharajah sahib that I come in person to welcomehim!" she retorted, and the gate-man hurried back into the darktoward his post.
There were no lights at the outer gate. One could only guesshow the stage was set—the maharajah hooded lest some enemyrecognize him— the eunuchs behind him with cords concealedunder their loose outer garments —and the guard at arespectful distance standing at attention. There was not amaharajah's sepoy in Sialpore who would have dared remonstratewith Gungadhura in dark or daylight.
Only as they passed under the yellow light shed by thesolitary lantern on the iron bracket did Tess get an inkling ofYasmini's plan. Light glinted on the wrought hilt of a longItalian dagger, and her smile was cold—uncompromising—shuddersome.
Tess objected instantly. "Didn't you promise you'd killnobody? If we'd a pistol we could fire it in the air and myhusband would come in a minute."
"How do we know that Gungadhura hasn't killed your husband, orshut him up somewhere?" Yasmini answered, and Tess had an attackof cold chills that rendered her speechless for a moment. Shethrew it off with a prodigious effort.
"But I've no weapon of any kind, and you can't killGungadhura, three eunuchs and the guard as well!" she arguedpresently.
"Wait and see what I will do!" was the only answer."Gungadhura caused my pistols to be stolen. But the darkness isour friend, and I think the gods —if there are anygods—are going to assist us."
They walked to the gate in a little close-packed group, andfound the gate-man stuttering through the small square holeprovided for interviews with strangers, telling the maharajah forthe third or fourth time that the princess herself was coming.Gungadhura's voice was plainly audible, growling threats from theouter darkness.
"Stand aside!" Yasmini ordered. "I will attend to the talkingnow."
She went close to the square hole, but was careful to keep herface in shadow at the left-hand side of it.
"What can His Highness, Gungadhura Singh, want with hisrelative at this strange hour?" she asked.
"Open the gate!" came the answer. He was very close toit—ready to push with his shoulder the instant the bolt wasdrawn, for black passion had him in hand. But in the darkness hewas as invisible as she was.
"Nay, how shall I know it is Gungadhura Singh?"
"Ask the guard! Ho, there! Tell her who it is demandsadmission!"
"Nay, they might lie to me! The voice sounds strange. I wouldopen for Gungadhura Singh; but I must be sure it is he and noother."
"Look then!" he answered, and thrust his dark face close tothe opening.
Even the utterly base have intuition. Nothing else warned him.In the very nick of time he stepped back, and Yasmini's longdagger that shot forward like a stab of lightning only cut thecheek beneath the eye, and slit it to the corner of hismouth.
The blood poured down into his beard and added fury todetermination.
"Guards, break in the gate!" he shouted, and Yasmini stoodback in the darkest shadow, about as dangerous as a cobraguarding young ones. With her left hand she signed to all sixwomen to hide themselves; but Tess came and stood beside her,minded in that minute to give Gungadhura Western aftermath toreckon with as well as the combined present courage of two women.Wondering desperately what she could do to help against armed menshe suddenly snatched one of the long hat-pins that she herselfhad adjusted in her own hat on Yasmini's head.
Yasmini hugged her close and kissed her.
"Better than sister! Better than friend!" she whispered.
Gungadhura had not been idle while he waited for his messageto reach Yasmini, but had sent some of the guard to find a baulkof timber for a battering-ram. The butts of rifles would havebeen useless against that stout iron.
The gate shook now under the weight of the first assault, butthe guards were handling the timber clumsily, not using theirstrength together. Gungadhura cursed them, and spent two valuableminutes trying to show them how the trick should be worked, theblood that poured into his beard, and made of his mouth asputtering crimson mess, not helping to make his raging ordersany more intelligible.
Presently the second crash came, stronger and more elasticthan the first. The iron bent inward, and it was plainly only amatter of minutes before the bolt would go. The gate-man camecreeping to Yasmini's side, and, with yellow fangs showing in agrin meant to be affectionate, displayed an Afghan tulwar.
"Ismail!" she said. "I thought you were afraid and ran tohide!"
"Nay!" he answered. "My life is thine, Princess! Gungadhuratook away all weapons, but this I hid. I went to find it. See,"he grinned, feeling the edge with his thumb, "it is clean! It iskeen! It will cut throats!"
"I will not forget!" Yasmini answered, but the words were lostin the din of the third blow of wood on iron.
The odds began not to look so bad—two desperate womenand a faithful Northern fighting man armed with a weapon that heloved and understood, against a wounded blackguard and threeeunuchs. Perhaps the guard might look on and not interfere. Therewas a chance to make a battle royal of it, whose tumult wouldbring Dick Blaine and Tom Tripe to the rescue. What was the dogdoing? Tess wondered whether any animal could be so intelligentafter all as Tom pretended his was. Perhaps the maharajah hadseen the dog and killed him.
"Listen!" she urged. "Tell your maids to stampede for thestreet the instant the door breaks in. That will give the guardtheir work to do to hold them. Meanwhile—"
"Thump!" came the timber on the gate again, and even thehinges shook in their stone setting.
"Listen!" said Yasmini.
There was another noise up-street—a rushing to and fro,and a trumpeting that no one could mistake.
"I said that—"
"Thump!" came the baulk of timber—not so powerfully asbefore. There was distraction affecting the team-work. The screamof an elephant fighting mad, and the yelp of a dog, that piercesevery other noise, rent the darkness close at hand.
"I said that the gods—"
There came the thud of a very heavy body colliding with awall, and another blood-curdling scream of rage—then thethunder of what might have been an avalanche as part of a near-bywall collapsed, and a brute as big as Leviathan approached at topspeed.
There was another thud, but this time caused by the hulk oftimber falling on the ground, as guard, eunuchs and Gungadhuraall took to their heels.
"Allah! Il hamdul illah!"* swore the gate-man.
[* Thanks be to Allah! ]
"I said that the gods would help tonight!" Yasmini criedexultantly.
"O Lord, what has happened to Dick?" groaned Tess between setteeth.
The thunder of pursuit drew nearer. Possessed by some instinctshe never offered to explain, Yasmini stepped to the gate, drewback the bolt, and opened it a matter of inches. In shot TomTripe's dog, with his tongue hanging out and the fear of devilsblazing in his eyes. Yasmini slammed the gate again in the veryface of a raging elephant, and shot the bolt in the nick of timeto take the shock of his impact.
It was only a charge in half-earnest or he would have broughtthe gate down. An elephant is a very short-sighted beast, and itwas pitch-dark. He could not believe that a dog could disappearthrough a solid iron gate, and after testing the obstruction fora moment or two, grumbling to himself angrily, he stood to smellthe air and listen. There was a noise farther along the street ofa stampede of some kind. That was likely enough his quarry,probably frightening other undesirables along in front of him.With a scream of mingled frenzy and delight he went off at oncefull pelt.
"Oh, Trotters! Good dog, Trotters!" sobbed Tess, kneeling downto make much of him, and giving way to the reaction thatovercomes men as well as women. "Where's your master? Oh, if youcould tell me where my husband is!"
She did not have long to wait for the answer to that. It tookthe two men a matter of seconds to get the horse on his feet, andno fire-engine ever left the station house one fraction fasterthan Dick tooled that dog-cart. The horse was all nerves and inno mood to wait on ceremony, which accounted for a broken spokeand a fragment of the gate-post hanging in the near wheel. Theyforgot to unlash the wheels before they started, so the dog-cartcame up-street on skids, as it were, screaming holy murder on thegranite flags —which in turn saved the near wheel fromdestruction. It also made it possible to rein in the terrifiedhorse exactly in front of the palace gate; another proof that asYasmini said, the gods of India were in a mood to help thatnight. (Not that she ever believed the gods are one bit moreconsequential than men.)
Yasmini drew the bolt, and the gate creaked open reluctantly;the shock of the elephant's shoulder had about ended its presentstage of usefulness. Tom Tripe, dismounting from his horse in ahurry and throwing the reins over the dog-cart lamp, was first tostep through.
"Where's my dog?" he demanded. "Where's that Trotters o' mine?Did Akbar get him?"
A cold nose thrust in his hand was the answer.
"Oh, so there you are, you rascal! There—lie down!"
That was all the ceremonial that passed between them, but thedog seemed satisfied.
Tess was out through the gate almost sooner than Tom Tripecould enter it. They brushed each other's shoulders as theypassed. Up in the dog-cart she and her husband laughed in eachother's arms, each at the other's disguise, neither of them withthe slightest notion what would happen next, except that Dickknew the dog-cart wheels would have to be unlashed.
"How many people will the carriage hold?" Yasmini called tothem, appearing suddenly in the lamp-light. And Dick Blaine beganlaughing all over again, for except for the golden hair shelooked so like the wife who sat on his left hand, and his wife solike a Rajput that the humor of the situation was its onlyobvious feature.
"I must not take my carriage, for they would trace it, andbesides, there is too little time. Can we all ride in yourcarriage? There are six of us."
"Probably. But where to?" Dick answered.
"I will direct. Ismail must come too, but he can run."
It was an awful crowd, for the dog-cart was built for fourpeople at the most, and in the end Tess insisted on riding behindTom Tripe because she was dressed like a man and could do iteasily. Ismail was sent back to close the gate from the insideand clamber out over the top of it. There was just room for alean and agile man to squeeze between the iron and the stonearch.
"Let the watchmen who feared and hid themselves stay to givetheir own account to Gungadhura!" Yasmini sneered scornfully."They are no longer men of mine!"
"Now, where away?" demanded Dick, giving the horse his head."To my house? You'll be safe there for the present."
"No. They might trace us there."
Yasmini was up beside him, wedged tightly between him andHasamurti, so like his own wife, except for a vague Eastern scentshe used, that he could not for the life of him speak to her as astranger.
"Listen!" she said excitedly. "I had horses here, there,everywhere in case of need. But Gungadhura sent men and took themall. Now I have only one horse—in your stable—I mustget that tonight. First, then, drive my women to a place that Iwill show you."
Away in the distance they could hear the trumpeting of Akbar,and the shouts of men who had been turned out to attempt thehopeless task of capturing the brute. At each scream the horsetrembled in the shafts and had to be managed skillfully, but theload was too heavy now for him to run away with it.
"If that elephant will continue to be our friend and will onlyrun the other way for a distraction, so that we are not seen, oneof these days I will give him a golden howdah!" vowedYasmini.
And Akbar did that very thing. Whoever was awake that night inSialpore, and was daring enough to venture in the dark streets,followed the line of destruction and excitement, gloating overthe broken property of enemies or awakening friends to make themmiserable with condolences. The dog-cart threaded through thestreets unseen, for even the scarce night-watchmen left theirposts to take part in the hunt.
Yasmini guided them to the outskirts of the town in a line asnearly straight as the congenital deviousness of Sialpore'sancient architects allowed. There was not a street but turned adozen times to the mile. At one point she bade Dick stop, andbegged Tess to let Tom Tripe take her home, promising to see heragain within the hour. But Tess had recovered her nerve and wasdetermined to see the adventure through, in spite of thediscomforts of a seat behind Tom's military saddle.
They brought up at last in front of a low dark house at thevery edge of the city. It stood by itself in a compound, withfields behind it, and looked prosperous enough to belong to oneof the maharajah's suite.
"The house of Mukhum Dass!" Yasmini announced.
"The money-lender?"
"Yes."
Dick made a wry face, for the man's extortions were notorious.But Yasmini never paused to cast up virtue when she neededassistants in a hurry; rather she was adept at appraisingcharacter and bending it to suit her ends. Ismail, hot and out ofbreath from running at the cart-tail, was sent to pound themoney-lender's door, until that frightened individual came downhimself to inquire (with the door well held by a short chain)what the matter was.
"I lend no money in the night!" was his form of greeting. Healways used it when gamblers came to him in the heat of theloser's passion at unearthly hours—and sometimes ended bymaking a loan at very high interest on sound security. Otherwisehe would have stayed in bed, whatever the thunderousimportunity.
Yasmini was down at the door by that time, and it was she whoanswered.
"Nay, but men win lawsuits by gathering evidence! Aretitle-deeds not legal in the dark?"
"Who are you?" he demanded, reaching backward for a littlelamp that hung on the wall behind him and trying to see herface.
"I am the same who met you that morning on the hilltop andpurchased silence from you at a price."
He peered through the narrow opening, holding the lamp abovehis head.
"That was a man. You are a woman."
For answer to that she stood on tiptoe and blew the lamp out.He would have slammed the door, but her foot was in the way.
"By dark or daylight, Mukhum Dass, your eyes read nothing butthe names on hundis! Now, what does the car say? Does the voicetell nothing?"
"Aye, it is the same."
"You shall have that title-deed tomorrow at dawn—oncertain terms."
"How do I know?"
"Because I say it—I, who said that Chamu would repay hisson's loan,—I, who knew from the first all about thetitle-deed,—I, who know where it is this minute,—I,who know the secrets of Jinendra's priest,—I, whose namestands written on the hundred-rupee note with which the butlerpaid his son's debt!"
"The princess! The Princess Yasmini! It was her name on thenote!"
"Her name is mine!"
The money-lender stood irresolutely, shifting his balance fromfoot to foot. It was his experience that when people withhigh-born names came to him by night mysteriously there wasalways profit in it for himself. And then, there was thattitle-deed. He had bought the house cheap, but its present valuewas five times what he gave for it. Its loss would mean more tohim than the loss of a wife to some men—as Yasmini knew,and counted on.
"Open the door and let me in, Mukhum Dass! The terms arethese— "
"Nay, we can talk with the door between us."
"Very well, then, lose thy title-deed! Dhulap Singh, thineenemy, shall have it within the hour!"
She took her foot out from the door and turned away briskly.Promptly he opened the door wide, and called after her.
"Nay, come, we will discuss it."
"I discuss nothing!" she answered with a laugh. "I dictateterms!"
"Name them, then."
"I have here five women. They must stay in safety in yourhouse until an hour before dawn."
"God forbid!"
"Until an hour before dawn, you hear me? If any come toinquire for them or me, you must deny any knowledge."
"That I would be sure enough to do! Shall I have it said thatMukhum Dass keeps a dozen women in his dotage?"
"An hour before dawn I will come for them."
"None too soon!"
"Then I will write a letter to a certain man, who, onpresentation of the letter, will hand you the title-deed at oncewithout payment."
"A likely tale!"
"Was it a likely tale that Chamu would repay his son'sdebt?"
"Well—I will take the hazard. Bring them in. But I willnot feed them. And if you fail to come for them before dawn Iwill turn them out and it shall be all over Sialpore that thePrincess Yasmini—"
"One moment, Mukhum Dass! If one word of this escapes yourlips for a month to come, you shall go to jail for receivingstolen money in payment of a debt! My name was on the money thatChamu paid you with. You knew he stole it."
"I did not know!"
"Prove that in court, then!"
"Bring the women in!" he grumbled. "I am no cackler from theroofs!"
Yasmini did not wait for him to change his mind but shepherdedher scared dependents through the door, and called forIsmail.
"Did you see these women enter?" she demanded.
"Aye. I saw. Have I not eyes?"
"Stay thou here outside and watch. Afterward, remember, if Isay nothing, be thou dumb as Tom Tripe's dog. But if I give theword, tell all Sialpore that Mukhum Dass is a satyr who holdsrevels in his house by night. Bring ten other men to swear to itwith thee, until the very children of the streets shout it afterhim when he rides his rounds! Hast thou understood? Silence forsilence! But talk for talk! Hast thou heard, too, Mukhum Dass?Good! Shut thy door tight, but thy mouth yet tighter! And tryrather to take liberties with hornets than with those fivewomen!"
Before he could answer she was gone, leaving Ismail lurking inthe shadows. Tess had dismounted from behind Tom Tripe andclimbed up beside her husband so that there were three on thefront seat again.
"Now, Tom Tripe!" Yasmini ordered, speaking with the voice ofcommand that Tom himself would have used to a subordinate. "Doyou as the elephant did, and cause distraction. Draw Gungadhuraoff the scent!"
"Hell's bells, deary me, Your Ladyship!" he answered. "All thedrawing I'll do after this night's work will be my last month'spay, and lucky if I see that! Lordy knows what the guard'll tellthe maharajah, nor what his rage'll add to it!"
"Nonsense! Gungadhura and the guard ran from the elephant likedust before the wind. The guards are the better men, and will beback at their post before this; but Gungadhura must find adiscreet physician to bind a slit face for him! Visit the guardnow, and get their ear first. Tell them Gungadhura wants no talkabout tonight's work. Then come to Blaine sahib's house andsearch the cellar by lamplight, letting Chamu the butler see youdo it, but taking care not to let him see what you see. What youdo see, leave where it lies! Then see Gungadhura early in themorning—"
"Lordy me, Your Ladyship, he'll—"
"No, he won't. He'll want to know how much you know about hisbehavior at the gate. Tell him you know everything, and thatyou've compelled the guard to keep silence. That ought toreconcile the coward! But if he threatens you, then threaten him!Threaten to go to Samson sahib with the whole story. (But if youdo dare really go to Samson sahib, never look me in the faceagain!) Then tell Gungadhura that you searched the cellar, andwhat you saw there under a stone, adding that Blaine sahib wassuspicious, and watched you, and afterward sealed the cellardoor. Have you understood me?"
"I understand there's precious little sleep for me tonight,and hell in the morning!"
"Pouf! Are you a soldier?"
"I'm your ladyship's most thorough-paced admirer and obedientslave!" Tom answered gallantly, his mutton-chop whiskers fairlybristling with a grin.
"Prove it, then, this night!"
"As if I hadn't! Well—all's well, Your Ladyship, I'm onthe job! Crib, crupper and breakfast-time, yours truly!"
"When you have finished interviewing Gungadhura, find forBlaine sahib a new cook and a new butler, who can be trusted notto poison him!"
"If I can!"
"Of course you can find them! Tell Sita Ram, Samson sahib'sbabu, what is wanted. He will find men in one hour who have toomuch honor, and too little brains, and too great fear to poisonany one! Say that I require it of him. Have your understood? Thengo! Go swiftly to the guard and stop their tongues!"
Tom whistled his dog and rode off at a canter. Dick gave thehorse his head and drove home as fast as the steepness of thehill permitted, Yasmini talking to him nearly all the way.
"You must dismiss Chamu," she insisted. "He is Gungadhura'sman, and the cook is under the heel of Chamu. Either man wouldpoison his own mother for a day's pay! Send them both about theirbusiness the first thing in the morning if you value your life!Before they go, let them see you put a great lock on the cellardoor, and nail it as well, and put weights on it! If men come atany time to pry about the house, ask Samson sahib for a specialpoliceman to guard the place!"
"But what is all this leading to?" demanded Dick. "What doesit mean?"
"It means," she said slowly, "that the toils are closing in onGungadhura!"
"The way I figure it," he answered, "some one else had apretty narrow shave tonight!"
Yasmini knew better than to threaten Dick, or even to arguewith him vehemently, much less give him orders. But each man hasa line of least resistance.
"Your wife has told you what Gungadhura attempted?" she askedhim.
"Yes, while you were at the money-lender's—something ofit."
"If the guard should tell Gungadhura that your wife was in thepalace with me and could give evidence against him, what do yousuppose Gungadhura would do?"
"Damn him!" Dick murmured.
"There are so manyways—snakes—poison—daggers in thedark—"
"What do you suggest?" he asked her. "Leave Sialpore?"
"Yes, but with me! I know a safe place. She should come withme."
"When?"
"Tonight! Before dawn."
"How?"
"By camel. I had horses and Gungadhura took them all, but hisbrain was too sotted to think of camels, and I have camelswaiting not many miles from here! I shall take my horse from yourstable and ride for the camels, bringing them to the house ofMukhum Dass. Let your wife meet me there one hour beforedawn."
"Dick!" said Tess, with her arm around him. "I want to go! Iknow it sounds crazy, and absurd, and desperate; but I'm sure itisn't! I want you to let me go with her."
They reached the house before he answered, he, turning it overand over in his mind, taking into reckoning a thousandthings.
"Well," he said at last, "once in a while there's the strengthof a man about you, Tess. Maybe I'm a lunatic, but have it yourown way, girl, have it your own way!"
In odor of sweet sanctity I bloom,
With surplus of beatitude I bless,
I'm the confidant of Destiny and Doom,
I'm the apogee of knowledge more or less.
If I lie, it is to temporize with lying
Lest obliquity should suffer in the light.
If I prey upon the widow and the dying,
They withheld; and I compel them to do right.
I am justified in all that I endeavor,
If I fail it is because the rest are fools.
I'm serene and unimpeachable forever,
The upheld, ordained interpreter of rules.
SOME of what follows presently was told toYasmini afterward by Sita Ram, some of it by Tom Tripe, and alittle by Dick Blaine, who had it from Samson himself. The restshe pieced together from admissions by Jinendra's fat priest andthe gossip of some dancing girls.
Sir Roland Samson, K.C.S.I., as told already, was a very demonfor swift office work, routine pouring off him into the hands ofthe right subordinates like water into the runnels of a roof,leaving him free to bask in the sunshine of self-complacency. Butthere is work that can not be tackled, or even touched bysubordinates; and, the fixed belief of envious inferiors to thecontrary notwithstanding, there are hours unpaid for, unincludedin the office schedule, and wholly unadvertised that hold suchpeople as commissioners in durance vile.
On the night of Yasmini's escape Samson sat sweating in hisprivate room, with moths of a hundred species irritating him bynoisy self-immolation against the oil lamp-whose smoke madematters worse by being sucked up at odd moments by the punkah,pulled jerkily by a new man. Most aggravating circumstance ofall, perhaps, was that the movement of the punkah flickered hispapers away whenever he removed a weight. Yet he could not studythem unless he spread them all in front of him; and without thepunkah he felt he would die of apoplexy. He had to reach adecision before midnight.
Babu Sita Ram was supposed to be sitting under a punkah in thenext room, with a locked door between him and his master. He wasstaying late, by special request and as a special favor, to copycertain very important but not too secret documents in time forthe courier next day. There were just as many insects to annoyhim, and the punkah flapped his papers too; but fat though hewas, and sweat though he did, his smile was the smile of ahunter. From time to time he paused from copying, stole silentlyto the door between the offices, gingerly removed a loose knotfrom a panel, and clapped to the hole first one, and then theother avidious brown eye.
Samson wished to goodness there was some one he dared consultwith. There were other Englishmen, of course, but they were allambitious like himself. He felt that his prospects were at stake.News had reached the State Department (by channels Sita Ram couldhave uncovered for him) that Gungadhura was intriguing withtribes beyond the northwest frontier.
The tribes were too far away to come in actual touch withSialpore, although they were probably too wild and childish toappreciate that fact. The point was that Gungadhura was said tobe promising them armed assistance from the Britishrear—assistance that he never would possibly be able torender them; and his almost certain intention was, when therising should materialize, to offer his small forces to theBritish as an inexpensive means of quelling the disturbance, thusrestoring his own lost credit and double-crossing all concerned.A subtle motive, subtly suspected.
It was no new thing in the annals of Indian state affairs, noranything to get afraid about; but what the State Departmentdesired to know was, why Sir Roland Samson, K. C. S. I., was notkeeping a closer eye on Gungadhura, what did he propose as theleast troublesome and quietest solution, and would he kindlyanswer by return.
All that was bad enough, because a "beau ideal commissioner"rather naturally feels distressed when information of that sortgoes over his head or under his feet to official superiors. Buthe could have got around it. It should not have been verydifficult to write a report that would clear himself and give himtime to turn around.
But that very evening no less an individual than the highpriest of Jinendra had sent word by Sita Ram that he craved thefavor of an interview.
"And," had added Sita Ram with malicious delight, "it is aboutthe treasure of Sialpore and certain claims to it that I think hewants to see you."
"Why should he come by night?" demanded Samson.
"Because his errand is a secret one," announced the babu, witha hand on his stomach as if he had swallowed somethingexquisite.
So Samson was in a quandary, going over secret records gettingready for an issue with the priest. His report had to be ready bymorning, yet he hardly dared begin it without knowing what thepriest might have in mind; and on his own intricate knowledge ofthe situation might depend whether or not he could extract, froma man more subtle than himself, information on which to basesound proposals to his government. His reputation was decidedlyat stake; and dangerous intrigue was in the air, or else thepriest would never be coming to visit him.
Sita Ram kept peeping at him through the knot-hole, as a cookpeers at a tit-bit in the oven, to judge whether it is properlycooked yet.
Jinendra's priest had had time for reflection. True to hiskidney, he trusted nobody, unlike Yasmini who knew whom to trust,and when, and just how far. It was all over the city thatGungadhura's practices were hastening his ruin, so it wasobviously wise not to espouse the maharajah's cause, in additionto which he had become convinced in his own mind that Yasminiactually knew the whereabouts of the Sialpore treasure. But hedid not trust Yasmini either, nor did he relish her scornfulpromise of a mere percentage of the hoard when it should at lastbe found. He wanted at least the half of it, bargains to thecontrary notwithstanding; and he had that comfortable consciencethat has soothed so many priests, that argues how the church mustbe above all bargains, all bonds, all promises. Was there anycircumstance, or man, or woman who could bind and circumscribeJinendra's high priest? He laughed at the suggestion of it.Samson was the man to see—Samson the man to be inveigled inthe nets. So he sent his verbal message by the mouth of SitaRam—a very pious devotee of Jinendra by Yasmini's specialorders; and, disguising his enormous bulk in a thin cloak, setforth long after dark in a covered cart drawn by two tinybulls.
There were two doors to Sita Ram's small office; two toSamson's large one —three doors in all, because they sharedthe connecting one (that was locked just now) in common. At thefirst sound of the long-awaited heavy footsteps on the outerporch Sita Ram hurried to do the honors, and presently usheredinto Samson's presence the enormous bulk of the high priest,spreading a clean cloth for him on an easy chair because thepriest's caste put it out of the question for him to sit onleather defiled by European trousers.
Then, while the customary salaams were taking place, and thecustomary questions about health and other matters that neithercared a fig about, Sita Ram ostentatiously drew a curtainpart-way over the connecting door, and retired by way of theother door and the passage to remove the knot from its hole.
It was part of Samson's pride, and one of his stoutest rungsin the ladder of preferment, that be knew more Indian languagesthan any other man of his rank in the service, and knew themwell. There were asterisks and stars and wiggly marks against hisname in the blue book that would have passed muster as a secretcode, and every one of them betokened passed examinations in someEastern tongue. So he was fully able to meet the high priest onhis own ground, as well as conscious of the advantage he held tobegin with, in that the priest had come to him instead of hisgoing to the priest.
"Well?" he demanded, cutting the pleasantries short abruptlyas soon as Sita Ram had closed the door.
"I came to speak of politics."
"I listen."
Samson leaned back and scrutinized his visitor with deliberaterudeness. Having the upper hand he proposed to hold it.
But Jinendra's high priest was no beginner either in the gameof Beggar-my-neighbor. He understood the value of a big trump tobegin with, provided there is other ammunition in reserve.
"The whereabouts of the treasure of Sialpore is known!"
"The deuce it is!" said Samson, in good plain English. "Whoknows it?" he demanded.
The high priest smiled.
Samson, as was natural, felt that tingling up and down thespine and quickening of the heart-beats that announces crisis inone's personal affairs, but concealed it admirably. It was thehigh priest's turn to speak. He waited.
"Half of that treasure belongs to the priesthood of Jinendra,"said the priest at last.
"Since when?"
"Since the beginning."
"Why?"
"We were keepers of the treasure once years ago, before theEnglish came. There came a time when the reigning rajah deceivedus by a trick, including murder; and ever since the English tookcontrol the priests have had less and less authority. There hasbeen no chance to—to bring any—to putpressure—to reestablish our rights. Nevertheless, ourrights in the matter were never surrendered."
"What do you mean by that exactly?"
"The English are now the real rulers of Sialpore."
Samson nodded. That was a significant admission, coming from aBrahmin priest.
"They should claim the treasure. But they can not claim itwithout knowing where it is. The priests of Jinendra are entitledto their half."
"You mean you are willing that my government should take halfthe treasure, provided the priests of Jinendra get the other halfof it?"
The priest moved his head and his lips in a way that might betaken to mean anything.
"If you know where the treasure is, dig it up," said Samson,"and you shall have your answer!"
Yasmini in the heat of excitement had called Samson an idiot,but he was far from being that, as she knew as well as any one.He judged in that moment that if Jinendra's priest knew reallywhere the treasure was, he would never have come to drive abargain for the half of it, but would have taken all and saidnothing. On the other hand, it well might be that Gungadhura'ssearchers had stumbled on it. In that case, there was that secretletter from headquarters hurriedly placed in his top drawer whenthe priest came in, that would give good excuse for puttingscrews on Gungadhura. A coup d'état was not beyond the pale ofpossibility. As a champion of indiscretion and a judge ofcircumstances, he would dare. The gleam in his eyes betrayed thathe would dare, and the priest grew uneasy.
"It is not I who know where the treasure is. I know whoknows."
"You mean Gungadhura knows!"
The priest smiled again. The commissioner was not such adangerous antagonist after all. Samson's eyes betrayeddisappointment, and the priest took heart of grace.
"For one-half of the treasure I will tell you who it is thatknows. You can take possession of the of the person.Then—"
"Illegal. By what right could I arrest a person simply becausesome one else asserts without proof that that person knows wherethe treasure is?"
"Not arrest, perhaps. But you might protect."
"From whom? From what?"
"Gungadhura suspects. He might usepoison—torture—might carry the person off intohiding—"
He paused, for Samson's eyes were again a signal ofexcitement. He had it! He knew as much as the priest himself didin that instant! There was one particular individual in Sialporewho fitted that bill.
"Nonsense!" he answered. "Gungadhura would be answerable to mefor any outrages."
The priest showed a slight trace of dejection, but wentforward bravely to defeat.
"There is danger," he said. "If Gungadhura should lay hands onall that money, there would be no peace in Rajputana. I shouldnot bargain away what belongs to the priesthood, but discretionis permitted me; if you will agree with me tonight, I will accepta little less than half of it."
Samson wanted time to think, and he was through with thepriest— finished with the interview,—not even anxiousto appear polite.
"If you bring me definite information," he said slowly, "andon the strength of that my government should come in possessionof the Sialpore treasure, I will promise you in writing five percent. of it for the funds of the priesthood of Jinendra, themoney to be held in trust and administered subject toaccounting."
Jinendra's high priest hove his bulk out of the leather chairand went through the form of taking leave, contenting himself,too, with the veriest shell of courtesy—scorn for such anoffer scowling from his fat face. Samson showed him to the doorand closed it after him, leaving Babu Sita Ram to do the honorsoutside in the passage.
"I kiss feet!" said the babu. "You must bless me, father. Ikiss feet!"
The priest blessed him perfunctorily.
"Is there anything I can do, holy one? Anything a babu such asI can do to earn merit?"
Rolling on his ponderous way toward the waiting bull-cart, thepriest paused a moment—eyed Sita Ram as a python eyes ameal—and answered him.
"Tell that woman from me that if she has a plan at all shemust unfold it swiftly. Tell her that this Samson sahib is afterthe treasure for himself; that he invited me to help him and toshare it with him. Let her have word with me swiftly."
"What treasure?" asked Sita Ram ingenuously. Having had hisear to the knot-hole throughout the interview, it suited him toestablish innocence. The priest could have struck himself for themistake, and Sita Ram, too, for the impudence.
"Never mind!" he answered. "Tell her what I say. Those whoobey and ask no unwise questions oftentimes receive rewards."
Inside the office Samson sat elated, wiping his forehead andsetting blotter over writing-paper lest sweat from his wristsmake the ink run. It was a bender of a night, but he saw his wayto a brilliant stroke of statecraft that would land him on theheights of official approval forever. Heat did not matter. Theman at the punkah had fallen asleep, but he did not bother towaken him. Back at the knot-hole, babu Sita Ram watched himscribble half a dozen letters, tearing each up in turn until thelast one pleased him. Finally he sealed a letter, and directed itby simply writing two small letters—r. s.—in thebottom left-hand corner.
"Sita Ram!" he shouted then.
The babu let him call three times, for evidence of how hard itwas to hear through that thick door. When he came it was round bythe other way in a hurry.
"You called, sir?"
"You need not copy any more of those documents tonight, SitaRam. I shall send a telegram in the morning and keep my report inhand for a day or two. But there's one more little favor I wouldlike to ask of you."
"Anything, sahib! Anything! Am only desirous to please yourexcellency."
"Do you know a man named Tripe—Tom Tripe—drill-instructor to the Maharajah's Guard?"
"Yes, sahib."
"Could you find him, do you think?"
"Tonight, sahib?"
"Yes, tonight."
"Sahib, he is usually drunk at night, and very rough!Nevertheless, I could find him."
"Please do. And give him this letter. Say it is from me. Hewill know what to do with it. Oh, and Sita Ram—"
"Yes, sahib."
"You will receive two days' extra pay from me, over and aboveyour salary, for tonight's extra work."
"Thank you, sahib. You are most kind—always mostgenerous."
"And—ah—Sita Ram—"
"Sahib?"
"Say nothing, will you? By nothing I mean nothing! Hold yourtongue, eh?"
"Certainly, sahib. Aware of the honor of my confidentialposition, I am always most discreet!"
"What are you doing with that waste-basket?"
"Taking it outside, sahib."
"The sweeper will do that in the morning."
"Am always discreet, sahib. Discretion is better part ofsecrecy! Better to burn all torn-up paper before daylightalways!"
"Very good. You're quite right. Thank you, Sita Ram. Yes, burnthe torn paper, please."
So Sita Ram, piecing together little bits of paper got a verygood idea of what was in the letter that he carried. The bonfirein the road looked beautiful and gladdened his esthetic soul, butthe secret information thrilled him, which was better. He crossedthe river, and very late that night he found Tom Tripe, as soberas a judge, what with riding back and forth to the Blaines' houseand searching in a cellar and what-not. He gave him the letter,and received a rupee because Tom's dog frightened him nearly outof his wits. Tom swore at the letter fervently, but that wasTom's affair, who could not guess the contents.
Almost exactly at dawn Sita Ram, as sleepy as a homing owl,reached his own small quarters in the densest part of town. Hehad his hand on the door when another hand restrained him frombehind.
"You know me?" said a voice he did not know. A moment laterhis terrified eyes informed him.
"Mukhum Dass? I owe you nothing!"
"Liar! You have my title-deed! Hand it over before I bring theconstabeel!"
"I? Your title-deed? I know nothing of it. Whattitle-deed?"
Mukhum Dass cut expostulation short, and denied himself thepleasure of further threatening.
"See. Here is a letter. Read it, and then hand me over mytitle-deed!"
"Ah! That is different?" said Sita Ram, pocketing Yasmini'sletter, for precaution's sake. "Wait here while I bring it!"
Two minutes later he returned with a parchment in a tintube.
"Do I receive no recompense?" he asked. "Did I not find thetitle-deed and keep it safe? Where is the reward?"
"Recompense?" growled Mukhum Dass. "To be out of jail isrecompense! The next time you find property of mine, bring it tome, or the constabeel shall have work to do!"
"Dog!" snarled the babu after him. "Dog of a usurer! Wait andsee!"
To cover a trail is less than half the work,for any dog with a nose can smell it out. You should make a falsetrail afterward to deceive the clever folk.
—Eastern Proverb
THE other side to the intrigue developedfuriously up at the Baines' house on the hillside. Yasmini gavedirections from Tess's bedroom, where Tess hid her from pryingservants, she electing to change clothes once more—thistime into her hostess' riding breeches, boots and helmet. But sheinsisted on Tess retaining the Rajput costume, only allowing ahand-bag to be packed with woman's things, skirt, blouse and soon.
"If I am seen there must be no mistake about me. They mustswear that I am you! It doesn't matter who they believe that youare. Above all, Chamu the butler must not see me. When he isdismissed in the morning he will tell tales for very spite, andtake his chance of my accusing him of theft; so be sure that hesees Tom Tripe search the cellar. Then he will confirm to themaharajah afterward that Tripe did search—and did seesomething —and that Blaine sahib did lock the cellar doorafterward in anger, and put weights on it. That is the importantthing. Blaine sahib must drive the carriage again to the house ofMukhum Dass; and be sure that I am not kept waitingthere—we must start before the dawn breaks! Now give mepaper and a pen to write the chit (letter) for Mukhum Dass."
There was no ink in the bedroom; Dick took her into the placehe called his study, and locked the door, glad of the excuse. Hewas minded to know more of the intrigue before letting his wifego off again that night on any wild adventure, second thoughtshaving stirred his caution. He began by offering to lend hermoney, suspecting that a fugitive princess would need that morethan anything. But she replied by drawing out from her bosom apacket containing thousands of rupees in Bank of India notes, andgave him money instead—not much, but she forced it onhim.
"For the three beggars. Ten rupees each. Pay it them in silverin the morning. They have been very useful often, and may be soagain."
He watched her write the letter and seal the envelope.Then:
"Say," he said, "don't you think you'd be doing right bytelling me more of this? I'll say nothing to a soul, but thatlittle girl you're wanting to run off with is my wife, and I'lladmit I'm kind o' concerned on her account."
Yasmini met his iron-gray eyes, judged him and found himgood.
"I never trusted man yet, not even the husband I shall marry,with all I shall tell you," she answered. "Will you give mesilence in return for it?"
"Mum as the grave," he answered. And Dick Blaine kept hisword, not even hinting to Tess on the long drive afterward thatthere had been as much as a question asked or confidenceexchanged. And Tess respected the silence, not deceived for aminute by it. He and Yasmini had been longer in that roomtogether than any one-page letter needed, and she was sure therewas only one subject they discussed.
Dick brought Yasmini's horse to the gate, not to the door, andshe mounted outside in the road for additional precaution.Instantly, then, without a word of farewell she was off like thewind down-hill.
"It'll be all over town tomorrow that I'm dead or dying, ifanybody sees her!" Dick told his wife. "They'll swear that wasyou, Tess, riding full pelt for the doctor!"
Soon after that Tom Tripe came, and made Chamu hold a lightfor him while he searched the cellar.
"Hold the candle and your tongue too, confound you!" he toldthe grumbling butler, indignant at being brought from bed.
Dick had already put the silver tube in place. Tom Triperaised the stone and saw it—uttered a tremendousoath—and dropped the heavy stone back over the hole.
"What are you doing?" Dick demanded from the ladder-head,appearing with a lantern from behind the raised trap.
"Looking for rum!" Tom answered. Then he turned on Chamu. "Didyou see what I saw? Speak a word of it, you devil, and I'll tearyour throat out! Silence, d'you understand?"
"Come out of there!" Dick ordered angrily. "I'll have to lockthis cellar door! I can't have people prospecting down there!I've got reasons of my own for keeping that cellar undisturbed!I'm surprised at you, Tom Tripe, taking advantage of me when myback's turned!"
The minute they were up he put a padlock on the trap, andnailed it down to the beams as well. Then, summoning Tom's aid,he levered and shoved into place on top of it the heavy iron safein which he kept his specimens and money.
"That'll do for you, Chamu!" he said finally. "I don't care tokeep a butler who takes guests into the cellar at this hour ofnight! You may go. I'll give you your time in the morning."
Chamu showed his teeth, by no means for the first time. It wasa favorite method of his for covering up bad service to fall backon his reference.
"Maharajah sahib who is recommending me will not be pleased atmy dismissal!"
"You and your maharajah go to hell together!" Dick retorted."Tell him from me that I won't have inquisitive people in mycellar! Now go; there's nothing more to talk about. Fire thecook, too, as soon as he wakes! Tell him I don't like groundglass in my omelet! Not been any in it? Well, what do I care? Idon't want any in it—that's enough! I'm taking no chances.Tell him he's fired, and you two pull your freight together inthe morning first thing!"
Ten minutes alone with Yasmini had worked wonders with DickBlaine. Given to making up his mind and seeing resolution throughto stern conclusions, he was her stout ally from the moment whenhe unlocked the study door again until the end—a goodsilent ally too busy, apparently, about his own affairs to besuspected. Certainly Samson never suspected his real share in theintrigue—Samson, the judge of circumstances, indiscretions,men and opportunity.
He sent Tom Tripe packing, with a flea in his ear for Chamu'sbenefit, and a whispered word of friendship. Later he drove Tessdown-hill in the dog-cart, first changing his own disguise forAmerican clothes because the saises might be up and about when hereturned at dawn, and for them to see him in the costume of asais would only have added to the risk of putting Gungadhura'smen on the scent of Yasmini. Saises are almost the most prolificsource of rumor, but he had a means of stilling theirtongues.
There was little to say during the dark drive. They wereaffectionate, those two, without too many words when it came toleave-taking, each knowing the other's undivided love. Tess hadmoney—a revolver— cartridges—somefood—sufficient change of clothing for a week—sun-spectacles; he reassured himself twice on all thosepoints.
"If you're camel-sick, fetch it up and carry, on," he advised,"it'll soon pass. Then a hot bath, if you can get it, before youstiffen. Failing that, oil."
The camels, with Yasmini and her women already mounted, werekneeling in the darkness outside the house of Mukhum Dass.
"Come!" called Yasmini. "Hurry!"
Dick kissed his wife—waved his hand toYasmini—helped Tess on to the last camel in the kneelingline—and they were off, the camel-men not needing to shoutto make those Bikaniri racers rise and start. They were gone likeghosts into the darkness, making absolutely no noise, before Dickcould steady his nervous horse.
Then Ismail wanted to tie Yasmini's abandoned horse to thetail of the dog-cart, but Dick sent him off to stable itsomewhere at the other side of town to help throw trackers offthe scent. He himself drove home by a very wide circuit indeed,threading his cautious way among the hills toward thegold-diggings, where he drove back and forward several timesaround the edges of the dump, in order that the saises might seethe red dirt on the wheels afterward and believe, and tell wherehe had been.
There was some risk that a panther, or even a tiger might tryfor the horse in the dark, but that was not the kind of dangerthat disturbed Dick Blaine much. A pistol at point-blank range isas good as a rifle most nights of the week. He arrived home afterdaylight with a very weary horse, and ordered the saises to washthe wheels at once, in order that the color of the dirt might beimpressed on them thoroughly. They were quite sure he had been atthe mine all night. Then he paid off Chamu and the cook and sentthem packing.
He was looking for the beggars, to pay them, when Tom Tripe'sdog arrived and began hunting high and low for Tess. Trotters hadsomething in his mouth, wrapped in cloth and then again inleather. He refused to give it to Dick, defying threats andpersuasion both. Dick offered him food, but the dog hadapparently eaten—water, but he would not drink.
Then the three beggars came, and watched Dick's efforts withthe interest of spectators at a play.
"Messenger!" said Bimbu finally, nodding at the dog. That muchwas pretty obvious.
"Princess!" he added, seeing Dick was still puzzled. Itflashed across Dick's mind that on the dresser in the bedroom wasTess's hat that Yasmini had worn. Doubtless to a dog's keen noseit smelt of both of them. He ran to fetch it, the dog followedhim, eager to get into the house. He offered the hat to the dog,who sniffed it and yelped eagerly.
"Bang goes fifty dollars, then!" he laughed.
He took the hat to Bimbu.
"Can you ride a camel?" he demanded.
The man nodded. "Another would drive it."
"Do you know where to get one?"
Bimbu nodded again.
"Take this hat, so that the dog will follow you, and ride bycamel to the home of Utirupa Singh. Here is money for the camel.If you overtake the princess there will be a fabulous reward. Ifyou get there soon after she does there will be a good reward. Ifyou take too long on the way there will be nothing for you but abeating! Go—hurry—get a move on! And don't you losethe dog!"
There are they who yet remember, when the depot'sforty jaws
Through iron teeth that chatter to the tramping of a throng
Spew out the crushed commuter in obedience to laws
That all accord observance and that all agree are wrong;
When rush and din and hubbub stir the too responsive vein
Till head and heart are conquered by the hustle roaring by
And the sign looks good that glitters on the temple gate ofGain,—
"There are spaces just as luring where the leagues untroddenlie!"
There are they who yet remember 'mid the fever of exchange,
When the hot excitement throttles and the millions make orbreak,
How a camel's silent footfall on the ashen desert range
Swings cushioned into distances where thoughts unfetteredwake,
And the memory unbidden plucks an unconverted heart
Till the glamour goes from houses and emotion from thestreet,
And the truth glares good and gainly in the face of 'change andmart:
"There are deserts more intensive. There are silences assweet!"
THERE are camels and camels—more kindsthan there are of horses. The Bishareen of the Sudan is not a badbeast, but compared to the Bikaniri there are no other desertmounts worth a moment's consideration. Fleet as the wind, silentas its own shadow, enduring as the long hot-season of its home,the trained Bikaniri swings into sandy distances with a gait thatis a gallop really—the only saddle-beast of all that liftshis four feet from the ground at once, seeming to spurn the verylaws of gravity.
They are favored folk who come by first-class Bikaniri camels,for the better sort are rare, hard held to, and only to be boughtup patiently by twos and ones. Fourteen of them in one string,each fit that instant for a distance-race with death itself, wasperhaps the best proof possible of Yasmini's influence on thecountry-side. They were gathered for her and held in readiness bymen who loved her and detested Gungadhura.
Normally the drivers would have taken a passenger apiece, andseven of the animals would have been ample; but this was a nightand a dawn when speed was nine-tenths of the problem, and Yasminihad spared nothing—no man, no shred of pains orinfluence,—and proposed to spare no beast.
They rode in single file, each man with a led camel ridden bya woman, except that Yasmini directed her own mount and for themost part showed the way, her desert-reared guide being hard putto keep his own animal abreast of her. There is a gift—atrick of riding camels, very seldom learned by the city-born; andhe, or she, who knows the way of it enjoys the ungrudged esteemof desert men all the way from China to Damascus, from Peshawarto Morocco. The camels detect a skilled hand even more swiftlythan a horse does and, like the horse, do their best work for therider who understands. So the only sound, except for a gurgle nowand then, and velvet-silent footfalls on the level sand, was thegrunts of admiration of the men behind. They had muffled all thecamel-bells.
When they started the night was deepest purple, set denselywith a mass of colored jewels; even the whitest of the starsstole color from the rest. But gradually, as they raced towardthe sky-line and the stars paled, the sky changed into mauve.Then without warning a belt of pale gold shone in the west behindthem, and with the false dawn came the cool wind like a legacyfrom the kindly night-gods to encourage humans to endure the day.A little later than the wind the true dawn came, fiery with hotpromise, and Tess on the last camel soon learned the meaning ofthe cloak Yasmini had made her wear. Worn properly it covers allthe face except the eyes, leaving no surface for the hot wind totorture, and saving the lips and lungs from being scorched.
In after years, when Yasmini was intriguing for an empire thatin her imagination should control the world, she had thetelegraph and telephone at times to aid her, as well as theorganized, intricate system of British Government to manipulatefrom behind the scenes; but now she was racing against the wires,and in no mood to appeal for help to a government that she didnot quite understand as yet, but intended to foot royally in anycase.
The easiest thing Gungadhura could do, and surest thing hewould attempt once word should reach him that she had vanishedfrom Sialpore would be to draw around her a network of his ownmen. Watchers from the hills and lurkers in the sand-dunes couldpass word along of the direction she had taken; and the sequel,if Gungadhura was only quick enough, would depend simply on theloneliness or otherwise of the spot where she could be brought tobay. If there were no witnesses his problem would be simple. Butif murder seemed too dangerous, there was the Nesting-place ofSeven Swans up in the mountains, as well as other places evenlonelier, to which she and Tess could be abducted. Tess might beleft, perhaps, to make her own way back and give her ownexplanation of flight with a maharajah's daughter; but forYasmini abduction to the hills could only mean one of two things:unthinkable surrender, or sure death by any of a hundred secretmeans.
So the way they took was wild and lonely, frequented only bythe little jackals that eat they alone know what, and watched byunenthusiastic kites that always seemed to be wheeling in airjust one last time before flying to more profitable feedingground. Yet within a thousand paces of the line they took lay atrodden track, well marked by the sun-dried bones of camels (forthe camel dies whenever he feels like it, without explanation orregret, and lies down for the purpose in the first uncomfortableplace to hand).
Yasmini and the guide between them, first one, then the otherassuming the direction, led the way around low hills and behindthe long, blown folds of sand netted scantly down by tufted, drygrass, always avoiding open spaces where they might be seen, orhollows too nearly shut in on both sides, where there might beambush.
Twice they were seen before the sun was two hours high, thefirst time by a caravan of merchants headed toward Sialpore, whobreasted a high dune half a mile away and took no notice; butthat would not prevent the whole caravansary in the city's midstfrom knowing what they had seen, and just how long ago, andheaded which way, within ten minutes after they arrived—as, in fact, exactly happened.
The second party to catch sight of them consisted of four menon camels, whose rifles, worn military fashion with a sling,betrayed them as Gungadhura's men. "Desert police" he calledthem. "Takers of tenths" was the popular, and much more accuratedescription. The four gave chase, for a caravan in a hurry isalways likely to pay well for exemption from delay; and comingnearly at right angles they had all the advantage. It was crimeto refuse to halt for them, for they were semi-military,uniformed police. Yet their invariable habit of prying intoeverything and questioning each member of a caravan would becertain to lead to discovery. They had a signal station on thehill two miles behind them, to keep them in touch with otherparties, north, south, east and west. It looked like Yasmini'sundoing, for they were gaining two for one along the shortercourse. Tess fingered the pistol her husband had made her bring,wondering whether Yasmini would dare show fight (not guessing yetthe limitless abundance of her daring), and wondering whether sheherself would dare reply to the fire of authorized policemen. Shedid not relish the thought of being an outlaw with a genuineexcuse for her arrest.
But the four police were oversure, and Yasmini tooquick-witted for them. They took a short cut down into a sandyhollow, letting their quarry get out of sight, plainly intendingto wait on rising ground about a thousand yards ahead, where theycould foil attempts to circumvent them and, for the present, takematters easy.
Instantly Yasmini changed direction, swinging her camel to theright, down a deep nullah, and leading full pelt at right anglesto her real course. It was ten minutes before the men caughtsight of them again, and by that time they had nearly drawnabreast, well beyond reasonable rifle range, and were headingback toward their old direction, so that the police had lostadvantage, and a stern chase on slower camels was their only hopebut one. They fired half a dozen shots by way of callingattention to themselves —then wheeled and raced away towardthe signal station on the hill.
Yasmini held her course for an hour after that, until a spurof the hillside and another long fold of the desert shut them offfrom the signaler's view. There she called a halt, unexpectedly,for the camels did not need it. She was worried aboutTess—the one untested link in her chain of fugitives.
"Can you keep on through all the hot day?" she asked. "Theseother women are as lithe as leopards, for I make them dance. Theyare better able to endure than cheetahs. But you? Shall I put twowomen on one camel, and send you back to Sialpore with twomen?"
Tess's back ached and she was dizzy, but her own powers hadbeen tested many a time; this was not more than double the strainshe had withstood before, and she was aware of strength inreserve, to say nothing of conviction that what Yasmini's maidscould do she herself would rather perish than fall short of.There is an element of sheer, pugnacious, unchristian human pridethat is said to damn, while it saves the best of us at times.
"Certainly not! I can carry on all day!" she answered.
Yasmini emitted her golden bell-like laugh that expressed suchimmeasurable understanding and delight in all she understands.(It has overtones that tell of vision beyond the ken of folk whobuild on mud.)
"The maids shall knead your muscles for you at the other end,"she answered. "Courage is good! You are my sister! You shall seethings that the West knows nothing of! If thosethrice-misbegotten Takers of Tenths had not seen us, we wouldhave reached our goal a little after midday. As it is, they havecertainly signaled to another party of Gungadhura's spawnsomewhere ahead of us, who will be coming this way with eyes openand a lesson in mind for those who disregard their comrades'challenge to halt and be looted! When I am maharani there shallbe a new system of protecting desert roads! But I dare not tryconclusions now. We must take a wide circuit and not reach ourdestination until night falls. Are you willing?"
"Ready for anything!" said Tess. "If I weaken, tie me on thecamel!"
"Good! So speaks a woman! One woman of spirit is the master ofa dozen men —always.
They all drank sparingly of tepid water, ate a little of thefood each had, and were off again without letting the camelskneel—heading now away from the hills toward a dazzlingwaste of silver sand, across which the eyes lost all sense ofperspective, and all power to separate three objects in a row; aland of mirage and monotony, glittering in places with the achingwhite of salt deposits.
The heat increased, but the speed never slackened for aninstant. Flies emerged from everywhere to fasten on tounprotected skin, and the only relief from them was under the hotcloaks that burned them with the heat absorbed from sun and wind.But even in that ghastly wilderness there were other livingthings. Now and then a lean leopard stole away from in front ofthem; and once they saw a man, naked and thinner than a rake,striding along a ridge on heaven knew what errand. There werescorpions everywhere.
Hour after hour, guided by desert-instinct that needs nocompass, and ever alert for sky-line watchers, Yasmini and theheadman took turns in giving direction, he yielding to herwhenever their judgment differed. And whether she was right ornot in every instance, she brought them at last to a littledesert oasis, where there was brackish water deep down in asand-hole, and a great rock offered shadow to rest in.
There they lay until the sun declined far enough to lose alittle of his power to scorch, and the camels bubbled to oneanother, thirstless, unwearied, dissatisfied, as the universalway of camels is, kneeling in a circle, rumps outward, each oneresentful of the other's neighborhood and, above all, disgruntledat man's tyranny.
"By now," laughed Yasmini, smoking one of Tess's cigarettes inthe shadow of the rock, "Gungadhura knows surely that my palaceis empty and the bird has flown. Ten dozen different people willhave carried to him as many accounts of it, and each will haveoffered different explanation and advice! I wonder whatJinendra's fat priest has to say about it! Gungadhura will havesent for him. He would hardly ride to the priest through thestreets, even in a carriage, with that love-token still raw andsmarting with which I marked his face! Two reliable reports willhave reached him already as to which direction I have taken. Yetthe telegraph will have told him that I have not been seen tocross the border, and he will be wondering—wondering. Mayhe wonder until his brains whirl round and sicken him!"
"What can he do?" suggested Tess.
"Do? He can be spiteful. He will enter my palace and removethe furniture, taking my mother's legacies to his ownlair—where I shall recover them all within threeweeks—and his own beside! I will be maharani within themonth!"
"Aren't you a wee bit previous?" suggested Tess.
"Not I! I never boast. My mother taught me that. Or when I doboast it is to put men off the scent. I boasted once to Samsonsahib when be offered to have me sent to college, telling him Iwas in the same school as himself and would learn the quicker. Hehas wondered ever since then what I meant. "Krishna!" she laughedimpiously. "I wonder what Samson sahib would not give to have mein his clutches at this minute! Have I told you that Gungadhuraplots with the Northwest tribes, and that the English know it?No? Didn't I tell you? Samson sahib would give me almost anythingI asked, if he knew that it was I who told his government ofGungadhura's plots; he would know then that with my knowledge toguide him he would be more than a match for Gungadhura, insteadof a ball kicked this and that way between Gungadhura and theEnglish! Sometimes I almost think he would consent to try to makeme maharani!"
"Why not give him the chance then?"
"For two reasons. The English too often desert theircommissioners. My sure way is better than his blunderingattempts! The other reason is an even better one, and you shallknow it soon. I think—I do not know— I think, and Ihope that the fat high priest of Jinendra is playing me false,and has gone to Samson sahib to make a bargain with him. Samsonsahib will consent to no bargains with that fat fool, if I am anyjudge of hucksters; but he will have his ears on end and his eyessore with over-watchfulness from now forward! Oh, I hopeJinendra's priest has gone to him! I tried to stir treachery inhis mind by brow-beating him about the bargain that be tried toforce from me!"
"But what are you and the priest and Samson all bargainingabout?" demanded Tess.
"The treasure of Sialpore! But I make no bargains! I, who knowwhere the treasure is! Why should I offer to share what is mine?I will have a marriage contract drawn, and you shall be awitness. That treasure is my dowry. Listen! Bubru Singh my fatherdied without a son—the first of all that long line who leftno son to follow him. The custom was that he should tell his son,and none else, the secret of the treasure. He hated Gungadhura;and, not knowing which the English would choose for hissuccessor, Gungadhura or another man, he told no one, making onlyhints to my mother on his death-bed and saying that if I, hisdaughter, ever developed brains enough to learn the secret of thetreasure, then I might also have wit enough to win the throne andall would be well."
"And you discovered it? How did you discover it?"
"Not I."
"Who then?"
"Your husband did!"
"My husband? Dick Blaine? But that can't be true; he nevertold me; he tells me everything."
"Perhaps he would have told if he had understood. He hardlyunderstands yet. Only in part—a little."
"Then how in the world—?"
Yasmini's golden laugh cut short the question as she rose toher feet with a glance at the westering sun.
"Let us go. Two hours from now we shall cross the border intoanother state. Two hours after night-fall our journey is ended.Then the last game begins—the last chukker—and Iwin!"
Tess wished then that they had never halted! The rest hadgiven her muscles time to stiffen, and her nerves the opportunityto learn how tired they were. As the camels rose jerkily andfollowed their leader in line at the same fast pace as before shegrew sick with the agony of aching bones and the utter wearinessof motion repeated again and again without varying or ceasing.Every ligament in her body craved only stillness, but the camel'sunaccustomed thrust and sway continued, repeated to infinity,until her nerves grew numb and she was hardly conscious of time,distance, or direction.
Once again there was pursuit, but Tess was hardly conscious ofit— hardly realized that shots were fired—clinging tothe saddle in the misery of a sickness more weakening and deathlythan the sort small boats provide at sea. The sun went down andleft her cooler, but not recovered. She knew nothing ofboundaries, or of the changing nature of the country-side. Itmeant nothing to her that they were passing great trees now, andthat once they crossed a stream by a wide stone bridge. The onlythought that kept drumming in her mind was that Dick, the everdependable, had misinformed her. She had "fetched it up"—adozen times. True to his instruction, she had "carried on." Butit did not pass! She felt more sick, more agonized, more wearyevery minute.
But at last, because there is an end even to the motion of acamel, in this world of example instances, about two hours afternightfall the caravan halted in the shadow of great trees besidea stone house with a wall about it. Her camel knelt with a motionlike a landslide, and Tess fell off forward on the ground andfainted, only snatched away by strong hands in the nick of timeto save her from the camel's teeth. Uncertain, unforgiving brutesare camels—ungrateful for the toil men put them to. For anhour after that she was only dimly conscious of being laid onsomething soft, and of supple, tireless women's hands thatkneaded her, and kneaded her, taking the weary muscles one by oneand coaxing them back to painlessness.
So she did not see the dog arrive—Trotters, theRampore-Great Dane, cousin to half the mongrel stock ofHindustan, slobbering on a package that his set jaws hardly couldrelease; Yasmini, scornful of the laws of caste and everresponsive to a true friend, pried it loose with strong fingers.It was she, too, who saw to the dog's needs—fed him andgave him drink—removed a thorn from his forefoot and mademuch of him. She even gave Bimbu food, with her own hands, andsaw that his driver and camel had a place to rest in, before sheundid the string that bound the leather jacket of thepackage.
Bimbu on the camel had led the dog by the short route and,having nothing to be robbed of, had had small trouble withpolicemen on the way.
The first thing Tess was really conscious of when she regainedher senses was a great dog that slumbered restlessly beside herown finger-marked, disheveled, dusty, fifty-dollar hat on thefloor near by, awaking at intervals to sniff her hand andreassure himself—then returning to the hat to sleep, andgallop in his sleep; a rangy, gray, enormous beast with cavernousjaws that she presently recognized as Trotters.
Then came the maids again, afraid for their very lives of thedog, but still more mindful of Yasmini's orders. They resumedtheir kneading of stiff muscles, rubbing in oil that smelt ofjasmine, singing incantations while they worked. They lifted thebed away from the wall, and one of the women danced around andaround it rhythmically, surrounding Tess with what the Westtranslates as "influence"—the spell that all the East knowskeeps away evil interference.
Last of all by candlelight, Yasmini came, scented and freshand smiling as the flower from which she has her name, dressednow in the soft-hued silken garments of a lady of the land.
"Where did you get them?" Tess asked her.
"These clothes? Oh, I have friends here. Have no fearnow—there are friends on every side of us."
She showed Tess a letter, pierced in four places by a dog'seye-teeth.
"This is from Samson sahib. Do you remember how I prayed thatJinendra's priest might think to play me false? I think he has.Some one has been to Samson sahib. Hear this:
"The Princess Yasmini Omanoff Singh,
"Your Highness,
"Word has reached me frequently of late of pressure brought tobear on you from certain quarters, and hints have been dropped inmy hearing that the object of the pressure is to induce you todisclose a secret you possess. Let me assure you that my officialprotection from all illegal restraint and improper treatment isat your service. Further, that in case your secret is such asconcerns vitally the political relations, present or future, ofSialpore the proper person to whom to confide it is myself.Should you see your way to take that only safe course, you mayrest assured that your own interests will be cared for in everyway possible.
"I have the honor to be,
"Your Highness' obedient servant,
"Roland Samson, K. C. S. I."
"That looks fair enough," said Tess. "I dislike Samson forreasons of my own, but—"
"Hah!" laughed Yasmini. "He makes love to you! Is it not so?He would make love to me if I gave him opportunity! What a jestfor the gods if I should play that game with him and make himmarry me! I could! I could make of Samson a power in India! Butthe man would weary me with his conceit and his 'orders fromhigher up' within a week. I can have power without his help! Whata royal jest, though, to marry Samson and intrigue with all thejealous English wives who think they pull the strings ofgovernment!"
"You'd get the worst of it," laughed Tess.
"Maybe. I shall never try it. I am more of the East than theWest. But I will answer Samson. Bimbu shall remain here lest hetalk too much, but the dog shall take a letter to Tom Tripe atdawn. Samson knew hours ago that I have flown the nest. He willwonder how Tom Tripe holds communication with me, and so swiftly,and will have greater respect for him—which may serve uslater."
"Let me add a letter to my husband then, to tell him I'msafe."
"Surely. But now eat. Eat and be strong. Can you stand? Canyou walk? Have the maids put new life in you?"
Tess was astonished at her swift recovery. She was a littlestiff— a little weak—a little tired; but she couldwalk up and down the room with her natural gait and Yasminiclapped her hands.
"I will order food brought. Listen! Tonight I am Abhisharika.Do you know what that is—Abhisharika?"
Tess shook her head.
"I go to my lover of my own accord!"
"That sounds more like West than East!"
"You think so? You shall come with me and see! You shall playthe part of cheti (the indispensable hand-maiden)—you andHasamurti. You must dress like her. Simply be still and watch,and you shall see!"
Of what use were the gift of gods,
The buoyant sweetness of a virgin state,
The blossomy delight of youth
Ablow with promise of fruit consummate;
What use the affluence of song
And marvel of delicious motion meet
To grace the very revelings of Fawn,
Could she not lay them at another's feet?
THAT was a night when the full-moon rose in asea of silver, and changed into amber as it mounted in the sky.The light shone like liquid honey, and the shadowed earth wasluminous and still. The very deepest of the shadows glowed withundertones of half-suggested color. Hardly a zephyr moved.
"You see?" said Yasmini. "The gods are our servants! They haveset the stage!"
Hand in hand—Yasmini in the midst in spotless silkenwhite; Tess and Hasamurti draped in black from head tofoot—they left the house by a high teak door in the gardenwall and started down a road half hidden by lacy shadows. Allthree wore sandals on bare feet, and Tess was afraid at first ofinsects.
"Have no fear of anything tonight," Yasmini whispered. "Thegods are all about us! Vasuki, who is king of all the snakes, ison our side!"
One could not speak aloud, for the spell of mystery overlayeverything. They walked into the very heart of silent beauty.Overhead, enormous trees, in which the sacred monkeys slept,dropped tendrils like long arms yearning with the love of motherearth. Here and there the embers of a dying fire glowed crimson,and the only occasional sound was of sleepy cattle that chewedthe cud contentedly—or when a monkey moved above them tochange his roost. Once, a man's voice singing by a firesideconjured back for a moment the world's hard illusion; but thestillness and the mystery overcame him too, and all was trueagain, and wonderful.
Hand in hand they followed the road to its end and turned intoa lane between thorn hedges. Now the moon shone straight towardthem and there was no shadow, so that the earth was bright goldenunderfoot—a lane of mellow light on which they trod betweenfantastic woven walls. At the end of the lane they came into aclearing at a forested-edge, where an ancient ruined templenestled in the shadow of great trees, its stone front and theseated image of a long-neglected god restored to more thanearthly sanctity and peace by the cool, caressing moonlight.
"Jinendra again!" Yasmini whispered. "Always Jinendra! Hispriests are rascals, but the god himself is kind! When I ammaharani, that temple shall stand whole again!"
In front of the temple, between them and the trees, was a pondedged with carved stone. Lotus leaves floated on the water, andone blue flower was open wide to welcome whoever lovedserenity.
Still hand in hand, they crossed the clearing mid-way to thepond, and there Yasmini bade them stand.
"Draw no nearer. Only stand and watch."
She had a great blue flower in her bosom that heaved and fellfor proof of her own emotion. Hasamurti's hand was trembling asshe nestled closer, and Tess felt her own pulsing to quickheart-beats as she clasped the girl's.
Yasmini left them, and walked alone to the very edge of thepond, where she stood still for several minutes, apparentlygazing at her own reflection in the moonlit water—orperhaps listening. There was no sign of any one else, nor soundof footfall. Then, as if the reflection satisfied, or she hadheard some whisper meant for her and none else, she began todance, moving very slowly in the first few rhythmic steps,resembling a water-goddess, the clinging silk displaying heryoung outline as she bent and swayed.
She might have been watching her reflection still, so closeshe danced to the water's edge with her back turned to the moon.But presently the dance grew quicker, and extended arms thatglistened in the light like ivory increased the sinuousperfection of each pose. Still there was nothing wild init—nothing but the very spirit of the moonlight, beautifuland kind and full of peace. She moved now around the water, in ameasured cadence that by some unfathomable witchery of herdevising conveyed a thought of maidenhood and modesty. It dawnedon Tess, who watched her spell-bound, that there was not oneimmodest thought in all Yasmini's throng of moods, but only ascorn of all immodesty and its pretensions. And whether that wasart, or sheer expression of the truth within her rather than arecognition of the truth without, Tess never quite determined;for it is easier to judge spoken word and unexpected deed than tosee the thought behind it. That night Yasmini's mood was simplerand less unseemly than the very virgin dress she wore.
Presently she danced more swiftly, making no sound, sophantom-light and graceful that the rhythm of her movementcarried her with scarce a touch to earth. That was strength aswell as art, but the art made strength seem spiritual power tofloat on air. Gaiety grew now into her cadences— the utterjoy of being young. She seemed to revel in a sense of buoyancythat could lift her above all the grim deceptions of the world ofwrath and iron, and make her, like the moonlight, all-kind,all-conquering. Three times round the pond she leapt and gamboledin an ecstasy of youth undisillusioned.
Then the dance changed, though there was yet in it the heartof gaiety. There moved now in the steps a sense ofmystery—a consciousness of close infinity unfolding, farmore subtly signified than by the clumsy shift of words. And shewelcomed all the mystery—greeted it with outstretchedarms—was glad of it, and eager-impetuous to know the newworlds and the ways undreamed of. Minute after minute, rhapsodyon rhapsody, she wooed the near, untouchable delights that, likethe moonbeams, seem but empty nothing when the drudges seize themfor their palaces of mud.
Nor did she woo in vain. There were stanzas in her dance ofsimple gratitude, as if the spirit of the mystery had found hermood acceptable and dowered her with new ability to see, andknow, and understand. Even the two watchers, hand in hand ahundred paces off, felt something of the power of vision she hadgained, and thrilled at its wonder.
Borne on new wings of fancy now her dance became a very imageof those infinite ideas she had seen and felt. She herself,Yasmini, was a part of all she saw—mistress of all sheknew—own sister of the beauty in the moonlight and thepeace that filled the glade. The night itself— moon, skyand lotus-dappled water—trees -growth and grace andstillness, were part of her and she of them. Verily that minuteshe, Yasmini, danced with the gods and knew them for what intruth they are—ideas a little lower, a little lessessential than the sons of men.
Then, as if that knowledge were the climax of attainment, andits ownership a spell that could command the very lips of night,there came a man's voice calling from the temple in the ancientRajasthani tongue.
"Oh, moon of my desire! Oh, dear delight! Oh, spirit of allgladness! Come!"
Instantly the dance ceased. Instantly the air of triumph lefther. As a flower's petals shut at evening, fragrant with promiseof a dawn to come, she stood and let a new mood clothe her withhumility; for all that grace of high attainment given her werenothing, unless she, too, made of it a gift. That night herpurpose was to give the whole of what she knew herself to be.
So, with arms to her sides and head erect, she walked straighttoward the temple; and a man came out to meet her, tall andstrong, who strode like a scion of a stock of warriors. They metmid-way and neither spoke, but each looked in the other's eyes,then took each other's hands, and stood still minute afterminute. Hasamurti, gripping Tess's fingers, caught her breath insomething like a sob, while Tess could think of nothing else thanBrynhild's oath:
"O Sigurd, Sigurd,
Now hearken while I swear!
The day shall die forever
And the sun to darkness wear
Ere I forget thee, Sigurd ..."
Her lips repeated it over and over, like a prayer, until theman put his arm about Yasmini and they turned and walked togetherto the temple. Then Hasamurti tugged at Tess, and they followed,keeping their distance, until Yasmini and her lover sat on onestone in the moonlight on the temple porch, their faces clearlylighted by the mellow beams. Then Tess and Hasamurti took theirstand again, hand in each other's hand, and watched oncemore.
It was love-making such as Tess had never dreamedof,—and Tess was no familiar of hoydenish amours;gentle—poetic—dignified on his part—manly asthe plighting of the troth of warriors' sons should be. Yasmini'swas the attitude of simple self-surrender, stripped of allpretense, devoid of any other spirit than the will to giveherself and all she had, and knowledge that her gift was morethan gold and rubles.
For an hour they sat together murmuring questions and reply,heart answering to heart, eyes reading eyes, and hand enfoldinghand; until at last Yasmini rose to leave him and he stood like alord of squadroned lances to watch her go.
"Moon of my existence!" was his farewell speech to her.
"Dear lord!" she answered. Then she turned and went, notlooking back at him, walking erect, as one whose lover is the sonof twenty kings. Without a word she took Tess and Hasamurti bythe hand, and, looking straight before her with blue eyes glowingat the welling joy of thoughts too marvelous for speech, led themto the lane—the village street—and the door in thewall again. The man was still gazing after her, erect andmotionless, when Tess turned her head at the beginning of thelane; but Yasmini never looked back once.
"Why did you never tell me his name?" Tess asked; but ifYasmini heard the question she saw fit not to answer it. Not aword passed her lips until they reached the house, crossed thewide garden between pomegranate shrubs, and entered the dark dooracross the body of a sleeping watchman—or a watchman whocould make believe he slept. Then:
"Good night!" she said simply. "Sleep well! Sweet dreams!Come, Hasamurti —your hands are cleverer than the otherwomen's."
Daughter of a king, and promised wife of a son of twentykings, she took the best of the maids to undress her, without anyformal mockery of excuse. Two of the other women were awake tosee Tess into bed—no mean allowance for a royal lady'sguest.
Very late indeed that night Tess was awakened by Yasmini'shand stroking the hair back from her forehead. Again there was noexplanation, no excuse. A woman who was privileged to see andhear what Tess had seen and heard, needed no apology for a visitin the very early hours.
"What do you think of him?" she asked. "How do you like him?Tell me!"
"Splendid!" Tess answered, sitting up to give the one wordemphasis. "But why did you never tell me his name?"
"Did you recognize him?"
"Surely! At once—first thing!"
"No true-born Rajputni ever names her lover or herhusband."
"But you knew that I know Prince Utirupa Singh. He came to mygarden party!"
"Nevertheless, no Rajputni names her lover to another man orwoman— calling him by his own name only in retirement, tohis face."
"Why—he—isn't he the one who Sir Roland Samsontold me ought to have been maharajah instead of Gungadhura?"
Yasmini nodded and pressed her hand.
"Tomorrow night you shall see another spectacle. Once, whenRajputana was a veritable land of kings, and not a provincetricked and conquered by the English, there was a custom thateach great king held a durbar, to which princes came fromeverywhere, in order that the king's daughter might choose herown husband from among them. The custom died, along with otherfashions that were good. The priests killed it, knowing thatwhatever fettered women would increase their sway. But I willrevive it—as much as may be, with the English listening toevery murmur of their spies and the great main not yet thrown. Ihave no father, but I need none. I am a king's daughter! Tomorrownight I will single out my husband, and name him by the titleunder which I shall marry him—in the presence of such menof royal blood as can be trusted with a secret for a day or two!There are many who will gladly see the end of Gungadhura! But Imust try to sleep—I have hardly slept an hour. If a maidwere awake to sing to me—but they sleep like the dead afterthe camel-ride, and Hasamurti, who sings best, is weariest ofall."
"Suppose I sing to you?" said Tess.
"No, no; you are tired too."
"Nonsense! It's nearly morning. I have slept for hours. Let mecome and sing to you."
"Can you? Will you? I am full of gladness, and my brain whirlswith a thousand thoughts, but I ought to sleep."
So Tess went to Yasmini's room, and sat beneath the punkahcrooning Moody and Sankey hymns and darky lullabies, untilYasmini dropped into the land of dreams. Then, listening to thepunkah's regular soft swing, she herself fell forward on herarms, half-resting on the bed, half on the chair, until Hasamurticrept in silently and, laughing, lifted her up beside Yasmini andleft her there until the two awoke near noon, wondering, in eachother's arms.
He who is most easily persuaded is perhaps afool, for the world is full of fools, and it is dangerous to dealwith them. But perhaps he is a man who sees his own advantagehidden in the folds of your proposal; and that is dangeroustoo.
—Eastern Proverb
IT tickled Gungadhura's vanity to have anEnglishman in his employ; but Tom Tripe never knew from one dayto another what his next reception would be. On occasion it wouldsuit the despot's sense of humor to snub and slight the veteransoldier of a said-to-be superior race; and he would choose to dothat when there was least excuse for it. On the other hand, herecognized Tom as almost indispensable; he could put a lick andpolish on the maharajah's troops that no amount of cursing andcoaxing by their own officers accomplished. Tom understood to anicety that drift of the Rajput's martial mind that caused eachsepoy to believe himself the equal of any other Rajput man, butpermitted him to tolerate fierce disciplining by an alien.
And Tom had his own peculiarities. Born in a Shorncliffebarrack hut, he had a feudal attitude toward people of higherbirth. As for a prince— there was almost no limit to whathe would not endure from one, without concerning himself whetherthe prince was right or wrong. Not that he did not know hisrights; his limitations were not Prussian; he would stand up forhis rights, and on their account would answer the maharajah backmore bluntly and even offensively than Samson, for instance,would have dreamed of doing. But a prince was a prince, and thatwas all about it.
So, on the morning following the flight of Yasmini and Tess,Tom, sore-eyed from lack of sleep but with an eye-opener of rawbrandy inside him, and a sense of irritation due to the absenceof his dog, roundly cursed nine unhappy mahouts for having daredlet an elephant steal his rum— drilled two companies ofheavy infantry in marching order on parade until the sweat randown into their boots and each miserable man saw two suns in thesky where one should be—dismissed them with a threat ofextra parades for a month to come unless they picked their feetup cleaner—and reported, with his heart in his throat, atGungadhura's palace.
As luck would have it, the Sikh doctor was just leaving. Italways suited that doctor to be very friendly with Tom Tripe,because there were pickings, in the way of sick certificates thatTom could pass along to him, and shortcomings that Tom couldoverlook. He told Tom that the maharajah was in no mood to bespoken to, and in no condition to be seen.
"Then you go back and tell his highness," Tom retorted, "thatI've got to speak with him! Business is business!"
The doctor used both hands to illustrate.
"But his cheek is cut with a great gash from here to here! Hewas testing a sword-blade in the armory, last night, and it brokeand pierced him."
"Hasn't a soldier like me seen wounds before? I don't swoonaway at the sight of blood! He can do his talking through acurtain if he's minded!"
"I would not dare, Mr. Tripe! He has given orders. You mustask one of the eunuchs—really."
"I thought you and I were friends?" said Tom, with whiskersbristling.
"Always! I hope always! But in this instance—"
Tom folded both arms behind his back, drill-master-on-paradefashion.
"Suit yourself," he answered. "Friendship's friendship.Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. I want to see hishighness. I want to see him bad. You're the man that's asked toturn the trick for me."
"Well, Mr. Tripe, I will try. I will try. But what shall Itell him?"
Tom hesitated. That doctor was a more or less discreetindividual, or he would not have been sent for. Besides, he hadlied quite plausibly about the dagger-wound. But there arelimits.
"Tell him," he said presently, "that I've found the man wholeft that sword in his armory o' purpose for to injure him! Say Ineed private and personal instructions quick!"
The doctor returned up the palace steps. Ten minutes later hecame down again smiling, with the word that Tom was to beadmitted. In a hurry, then, Tom's brass spurs rang onGungadhura's marble staircase while a breathless major-domo triedto keep ahead of him. One takes no chances with a man who canchange his mind as swiftly as Gungadhura habitually did. Withouta glance at silver shields, boars' heads, tiger-skins, curtainsand graven gold ornaments beyond price, or any of the othertrappings of royal luxury, Tom followed the major-domo into aroom furnished with one sole divan and a little Buhl-work table.The maharajah, sprawling on the divan in a flowered silkdeshabille and with his head swathed in bandages, ignored TomTripe's salute, and snarled at the major-domo to take himself outof sight and hearing.
Soldier-fashion, as soon as the door had closed behind him Tomstood on no ceremony, but spoke first.
"There was a fracas last night, Your Highness, outside acertain palace gate." He pronounced the word to rhyme withjackass, but Gungadhura was not in a mood to smile. "An escapedelephant bumped into the gate and bent it. The guard took totheir heels; so I've locked 'em all up, solitary, to think theirconduct over."
The maharajah nodded.
"Good!" he said curtly.
"I cautioned the relieving guard that if they had a word tosay to any one they'd follow the first lot into cells. It don'tdo to have it known that elephants break loose that easy."
"Good!"
"Subsequently, acting on instructions from Your Highness, Isearched the cellar of Mr. Blaine's house on the hill, Chamu thebutler holding a candle for me." "What did he see? What did thattreacherous swine see?" snapped Gungadhura, pushing back thebandage irritably from the corner of his mouth.
"Nothing, Your Highness, except that he saw me lift a stoneand look under it."
"What did you see under the stone?"
"A silver tube, all wrought over with Persian patterns, andsealed at both ends with a silver cap and lots o' wax."
"Why didn't you take it, you idiot?"
"Two reasons. Your Highness told me to report to you what Isaw, not to take nothing. And Mr. Blaine came to the top of thecellar ladder and was damned angry. He'd have seen me if I'dpinched a cockroach. He was that angry that he locked the cellardoor afterward, and nailed it down, and rolled a safe on top ofit!"
"Did he suspect anything?"
"I don't know, Your Highness."
"What did you tell him?"
"Said I was looking for rum."
"Doubtless he believed that; you have a reputation! You are anidiot! If you had brought away what you saw under that stone, youmight have drawn your pension today and left India for good!"
Tom made no answer. The next move was Gungadhura's. There wassilence while a gold clock on the wall ticked off eightyseconds.
"You are an idiot!" Gungadhura broke out at last. "You havemissed a golden opportunity! But if you will hold yourtongue—absolutely —you shall draw your pension in amonth or two from now, with ten thousand rupees in gold into thebargain!"
"Yes, Your Highness." (A native of the country would havebegun to try to bargain there and then. But there are moredifferences than one between the ranks of East and West; moredegrees than one of dissimulation. Tom gravely doubtedGungadhura's prospect of being in position to grant him apension, or any other favor, a month or two from then. A nativeof the country would have bargained nevertheless.
"Keep that guard confined for the present. You have my leaveto go."
Tom saluted and withdrew. He was minded to spit on the palacesteps, but refrained because the guard would surely have reportedwhat he did to Gungadhura, who would have understood the act inits exact significance.
As he left the palace yard he passed a curtained two-wheeledcart drawn by small humped bulls, and turned his head in time tosee the high priest of Jinendra heave his bulk out from behindthe curtains and wheezily ascend the palace steps.
"A little ghostly consolation for the maharajah's sins!" hemuttered, as he headed toward his own quarters for another stiffglass of brandy and some sleep. He felt he needed both—orall three!
"If it's true there's no hell, then I'm on velvet!" hemuttered. "But I'm a liar! A liar by imputation—bysuggestion—by allegation —by collusion—and infact! Now, if I was one o' them Hindus I could hire a priest tosing a hymn and start me clean again from the beginning. Troubleis, I'm a complacent liar! I'll do it again, and I know it!Brandy's the right oracle for me!"
But there was no consolation, ghostly or otherwise, beingbrought to Gungadhura. Jinendra's fat high priest, short-windedfrom his effort on the stairs, with aching hams and knees thattrembled from exertion, was ushered into a chamber some wayremoved from that in which Tom Tripe had had his interview. Themaharajah lay now with his head on the lap of Patali, hisfavorite dancing girl, in a room all scent and cushions andcontrivances. (That was how Yasmini learned about itafterward.)
It was against all the canons of caste and decency to accordan interview to any one in that flagrant state ofimpropriety—to a high priest especially. But it amusedGungadhura to outrage the priest's alleged asceticism, and toshow him discourtesy (without in the least affecting his ownsuperstitious scruples in the matter of religion.) Besides, hishead ached, and he liked to have Patali's resourcefulness and witto reinforce his own tired intuition.
The priest sat for several minutes recovering breath andequipoise. Then, when the pain had left his thighs and he feltcomfortable, he began with a bomb.
"Mukhum Dass the money-lender has been to me to give thanks,and to make a meager offering for the recovery of his losttitle-deed! He has it back!"
Gungadhura swore so savagely that Patali screamed.
"How did he find it? Where?"
Mukhum Dass had told the exact truth, as it happened, but thepriest had drawn his own conclusions from the fact that it wasSamson's babu who returned the document. He was less than eversure of Gungadhura's prospects, suspecting, especially since hisown night-interview with the commissioner, that some new darkplot was being hatched on the English side of the river. Havingno least objection to see Gungadhura in the toils, he did notpropose to tell him more than would frighten and worry him.
"He said that a hand gave him the paper in the dark. It wasthe work of Jinendra doubtless."
"Pah! Thy god functions without thee, then! That is a wondrousbellyful of brains of thine! Do you know that the princess hasfled the palace?"
Jinendra's priest feigned surprise.
"Is it not as clear as the stupidity on thy fat face that theten-times casteless hussy is behind this? Bag of wind and widows'tenths! Now I must buy the house on the hill from Mukhum Dass andpay the brute his price for it!"
"Borrowing the money from him first?" the priest suggestedwith a fat smirk. None guessed better than he how low debauch hadbrought the maharajah's private treasury.
"Go and pray!" growled Gungadhura. "Are thy temple offices ofno more use than to bring thee here twitting me with poverty? Goand lay that belly on the flags, and beat thy stupid brains outon the altar step! Jinendra will be glad to see thy dark soul onits way to Yum (the judge of the dead) and maybe will reward meafterward! Go! Get out here! Leave me alone to think!"
The priest went through the form of blessing him, taking morethan the usual time about the ceremony for sake of the annoyancethat it gave. Gungadhura was too superstitious to dare interrupthim.
"Better tell that Mukhum Dass to sell me the house cheap,"said the maharajah as a sort of afterthought. Patali had beenwhispering to him. "Tell him the gods would take it as an act ofmerit."
"Cheap?" said the priest over his shoulder as he reached thedoor. "I proposed it to him." (That was not exactly true. He hadproposed that Mukhum Dass should give the title to the temple asan act of grace.) "He answered that what the gods have returnedto him must be doubly precious and certainly entrusted to hiskeeping; therefore he would count it a deadly sin to part withthe title now on any terms!"
"Go!" growled Gungadhura. "Get out of here!"
After the priest had gone he talked matters over with Patali,while she stroked his aching head. Whoever knows the mind of theIndian dancing girl could reason out the calculus of treason.They are capable of treachery and loyalty to several sides atonce; of sale of their affections to the highest bidder, and ofdeath beside the buyer in his last extremity, having sold hislife to a rival whom they loathe. They are the very priestessesof subterfuge —idolaters ofintrigue—past—mistresses of sedition and seduction.Yet even Patali did not know the real reason why Gungadhuralusted for possession of that small house on the hill. Shebelieved it was for a house of pleasure for herself.
"Persuade the American gold-digger to transfer the lease ofit," she suggested. "He is thy servant. He dare not refuse."
But Gungadhura had already enough experience of Richard Blaineto suspect the American of limitless powers of refusal. He wassuperstitious enough to believe in the alleged vision ofJinendra's priest, that the clue to the treasure of Sialporewould be found in the cellar of that house, where Jengal Singhhad placed it; impious enough to double-cross the priest, and touse any means whatever, foul preferred, to get possession of theclue. But he was sensible enough to know that Dick Blaine couldnot be put out of his house by less than legal process. Patali,watching the expression of his eyes, mercurially changed hertactics.
"Today the court is closed," she said. "Tomorrow Mukhum Dasswill go to file his paper and defeat the suit of Dhulap Singh. Hewill ride by way of the hat between the temple of Siva and theplace where the dead Afghan kept his camels. He must ride thatway, for his home is on the edge of town."
But Gungadhura shook his head. He hardly dared seize MukhumDass or have him robbed, because the money-lender was registeredas a British subject, which gave him full right to beextortionate in any state he pleased, with protection in case ofinterference. He could rob Dick Blaine with better prospect ofimpunity. Suddenly he decided to throw caution to the winds.Patali ceased from stroking his head, for she recognized in hiseyes the blaze of determination, and it put all her instincts onthe defensive.
"Pen, ink and paper!" he ordered.
Patali brought them, and he addressed the envelope first,practicing the spelling and the none too easily accomplishedEnglish.
"Why to him?" she asked, watching beside his shoulder. "If yousend him a letter he will think himself important. Word ofmouth—"
"Silence, fool! He would not come without a letter."
"Better to meet him, then, as if by accident and—"
"There is no time! That cursed daughter of my uncle is up tomischief. She has fled. Would that Yum had her! She went toSamson days ago. The English harass me. She has made a bargainwith the English to get the treasure first and ruin me. I needwhat I need swiftly!"
"Then the house is not for me?"
"No!"
He wrote the letter, scratching it laboriously in a narrowItalian hand; then sealed and sent it by a messenger. But Patali,sure in her own mind that her second thoughts had been best anddetermined to have the house for her own, went out to set spiesto keep a very careful eye on Mukhum Dass and to report themoney-lender's movements to her hour by hour.
In less than an hour Dick Blaine arrived by dog-cart in answerto the note, and Patali did her best to listen through a keyholeto the interview. But she was caught in the act by Gungadhura'smuch neglected queen, and sent to another part of the palace witha string of unedifying titles ringing in her ears.
There was not a great deal to hear. Dick Blaine was perfectlysatisfied to let the maharajah search his cellar. He was almostsuspiciously complaisant, making no objection whatever tosurrendering the key and explaining at considerable length justhow it would be easiest to draw the nails. He would be away fromhome all day, but Chamu the butler would undoubtedly admit themaharajah and his men. For the rest, he hoped they would findwhat they were looking for, whatever that might be; and hesincerely hoped that the maharajah had not hurt his headseriously.
Asked why he had nailed the cellar door down, he replied thathe objected to unauthorized people nosing about in there.
"Who has been in the cellar?" asked Gungadhura.
"Only Tom Tripe."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite. Until that very evening I always kept the cellarpadlocked. It's a Yale lock. There's nobody in this man's towncould pick it."
"Well—thank you for the permission."
"Don't mention it. I hope your head don't hurt you much. Goodmorning."
Dick little suspected, as he drove the dog-cart across thebridge toward the club, chuckling over the quick success ofYasmini's ruse, that he himself had set the stage fortragedy.
He who sets a tiger-trap
(Hush! and watch! and wait!)
Can't afford a little nap
Hidden where the twigs enwrap
Lest—it has occurred—mayhap
A jackal take the bait.
So stay awake, my sportsman bold,
And peel your anxious eye,
There's more than tigers, so I'm told,
To test your cunning by!
IT is not always an entirely simple matter inIndia to dismiss domestic servants. To begin with it was Sunday;the ordinary means of cashing checks were therefore unavailable,and Dick Blaine had overlooked the fact that he had no money ofsmall denominations in the house. It was hardly reasonable toexpect Chamu and the cook to leave without their wages.
Then again, Sita Ram had not yet sent new servants to replacethe potential poisoners; and Chamu had put up a piteous bleating,using every argument, from his being an orphan and the father ofa son, down to the less appealing one that Gungadhura would beangry. In vain Dick reassured him that he and cook and maharajahmight all go to hell together with his, Dick Blaine's, expresspermission. In vain he advised him to put the son to work, and besupported for a while in idleness. Chamu lamented noisily.Finally Dick compromised by letting both servants remain for onemore day, reflecting that they could not very well tamper withboiled eggs; lunch and dinner he would get at the English clubacross the river; for breakfast on Monday he would contenthimself again with boiled eggs, and biscuits out of an importedtin, after which he would cash a check and send both the rascalspacking.
So the toast that Chamu brought him he broke up and threw intothe garden, where the crows devoured it without apparentill-effect; he went without tea, and spent an hour or so afterbreakfast with a good cigar and a copy of a month-old Nevadanewspaper. That religious rite performed, he shaved twice over,it being Sunday, and strolled out to look at the horses andpotter about the garden that was beginning to shrivel up alreadyat the commencement of the hot weather.
"If I knew who would be maharajah of this state from one weekto the next," he told himself, "I'd get a contract from him topipe water all over the place from the hills behind."
He was sitting in the shade, chewing an unlit cigar,day-dreaming about water-pressure and dams and gallons-per-hour,when Gungadhura's note came and he ordered the dog-cart at once,rather glad of something to keep him occupied. As he drove awayhe did not see Mukhum Dass lurking near the small gate, as it wasnot intended that he should. Mukhum Dass, for his part, did notsee Pinga, the one-eyed beggar with his vertical smile, whowatched him from behind a rock, for that was not intended either.Pinga himself was noticed closely by another man.
The minute Dick was out of sight Mukhum Dass entered the smallgate in the wall, and called out for Chamu brazenly. Chamureceived him at the bottom of the house-steps, but Mukhum Dasswalked up them uninvited.
"The cellar," he said. "I have come to see the cellar. Thereis a complaint regarding the foundations. I must see."
"But, sahib, the door is locked."
"Unlock it."
"I have no key."
"Then break the lock!"
"The cellar door is nailed down!"
"Draw the nails!"
"I dare not! I don't know how! By what right should I do thisthing?"
"It is my house. I order it!"
"But, sahib, only yesterday Blaine sahib dismissed me in greatanger because I permitted another one as much as to look into thecellar!"
If the tale Yasmini told him on the morning of her first visitto Tess had not been enough to determine Mukhum Dass, now, withthe lost title-deed recovered, the conviction that Gungadhurawanted the place for secret reasons, and Chamu's objections toconfirm the whole wild story, he became as set on his course anddetermined to wring the last anna out of the mystery as only amoney-lender can be.
"With what money did you repay to me the loan that your sonobtained by false pretenses?" he demanded.
"I? What? I repaid the loan. I have the receipt. That isenough."
"On the receipt stands written the number of the bank-note. Ihave kept the bank-note. It was stolen from the Princess Yasmini.Do you wish to go to jail? Then open that cellar door!"
"Sahib, I never stole the note!" wept Chamu. "It was thrustinto my cummerbund from behind!"
But Mukhum Dass set his face like a flint, and the wretchedChamu knew nothing about the law against compounding felonies.Wishing he had had curiosity enough himself to search the cellarthoroughly before the door was nailed down, he finally yielded tothe money-lender's threats and between them, with much sweatingand grunting, they pushed and pulled the safe from off the trap.Then came the much more difficult task of drawing nails withoutan instrument designed for it. Dick Blaine kept all his toolslocked up.
"There is an outside door to the cellar, behind the house,"said Chamu.
"But that is of iron, idiot! and bolts on the inside with agreat bar resting in the stonework. Are there no tools in thegarden?"
Chamu did not know, and the money-lender went himself to see.There Pinga with the vertical smile saw him choose a smallcrow-bar and return into the house with it. Pinga passed the wordalong to another man, who told it to a third, who ran with ithot-foot to Gungadhura's palace.
Once inside the house again Mukhum Dass lost no time, arguingto himself most likely that with the secret of the treasure ofSialpore in his possession it would not much matter what damagehe had done. He would be able to settle for it. He broke the haspof the door, and levered up the trap, splintering it badly andbreaking both hinges in the process, while Chamu watched him,growing green with fear.
Then he ordered a lamp and went alone into the cellar, whileChamu, deciding that a desperate situation called for desperateremedies, went up-stairs on business of his own. It took MukhumDass about two minutes to discover the loose stone—lessthan two more to raise it—and about ten seconds to see andpounce on the silver tube. He was too bent on business to noticethe man with the vertical smile peering down at him through thetrap. Pinga escaped from the house after seeing the money-lenderhide the tube inside his clothes, and less than a minute later alean man ran like the wind to Gungadhura's palace to confirm thefirst's report.
With a wry face at the splintered trap-door, and a shrug ofhis shoulders of the kind he used when clients begged in tearsfor extra time in which to pay, Mukhum Dass looked about forChamu with a sort of half-notion of giving him a small bribe. ButChamu was not to be seen. So he left the house by the way he hadcome, mounted his mule where he had left it in a hollow down theroad, and rode off smiling.
Ten minutes later Chamu and the cook both left by the sameexit. Chamu had with him, besides his own bundle of belongings, arevolver belonging to Dick Blaine, two bracelets belonging toTess, a fountain-pen that he had long had his heart on, plenty ofnote-paper on which to have a writer forge new references, ahalf-dozen of Dick's silk handkerchiefs and a turquoise tie-pin.The revolver alone, in that country in those days, would sell forenough to take him to Bombay, where new jobs with newly arrivedsahibs are plentiful. The cook, not having enjoyed the run of thehouse, had only a few knives and a pound of cocoa. They quarreledall the way down-hill as to why Chamu should and should notdefray the cook's traveling expenses.
A little later, in the hat between Siva's temple and thebuilding, where the dead Afghan used to keep his camels, MukhumDass, smiling as he rode, was struck down by a knife-blow frombehind and pitched off his mule head-foremost. The mule ran away.The money-lender's body was left lying in a pool of blood, withthe clothing torn from it; and it was considered by those whofound the body several hours afterward and drove away the pariahdogs and kites, that the fact of his money having been takendeprived the murder of any unusual interest.
Late that evening Dick Blaine, returning from a desultorydinner at the club across the river, very nearly fell into thetrap-door, for the hamal had run away too, thinking he wouldsurely be accused of all the mischief, and no lamps were lit.
"Well!" he remarked, striking a match to look about him,"dad-blame me if that isn't a regular small town yegg's trick!You'd think after I gave Gungadhura the key and all, he'd havethe courtesy to use it and draw the nails! His head can't acheenough to suit me! Me for the princess! If I'd any scruples,believe me, bo, they're vanished—gone—Vamoosed! Thatyoung woman's going to win against the whole darned outfit,English, Indian and all! Me for her! Chamu! Where's Chamu? Whyaren't the lamps lit?"
He wandered through the house in the dark in search ofservants, and finally lit a lamp himself, locked all the doorsand went to bed.
The buildings rear immense, horizons fade
And thought forgets old gages in the ecstasy of view.
The standards go by which the steps were made.
On which we trod from former levels to the new.
No time for backward glance, no pause for breath,
Since impulse like a bowstring loosed us in full flight
And in delirium of speed none aim considereth
Nor in the blaze of burning codes can think of night.
The whirring of sped wheels and horn remind
That speed, more speed is best and peace is waste!
They rank unfortunate who tag behind
And only they seem wise who urge, and haste and haste.
New comforts multiply (for there is need!)
Each ballot adds assent to law that crowds the days.
None pause. None clamor but for speed—more speed!
And yet—there was a sweetness in the olden ways.
TROTTERS, fed on chopped raw meat by advice ofTess, and brushed by Bimbu for an hour to get the stiffness outof him, was sent off in the noon heat with a double message forhis master, one addressed to Samson, one to Dick Blaine, and bothwrapped in the same chewed leather cover, that the dog mightunderstand. The mongrel in him made him more immune to heat thana thoroughbred would have been. In any case, he showed nothingbut eagerness to get back to Tom Tripe, and, settling the packagecomfortably in his jaws, was off without ceremony at a steadycanter.
"If all my friends were like that one," said Yasmini, "I wouldbe empress of the earth, not queen of a little part of Rajputana!However, one thing at a time!"
It was hardly more than a village that Tess could see throughthe jalousies of her bedroom windows. The room was at a corner,so that she had a wide view in two directions from either deepwindow-seat. There were all the signs of Indian village lifeabout her—low, thatched houses in compounds fenced withthorn and prickly pear,—temples in betweenthem,—trades and handicrafts plied in the shade of ancienttrees, —squalor and beauty, leisure, wealth, poverty andlordliness all hand in hand. She could see the backs of elephantsstanding in a compound under trees, and there were peacocksswaggering everywhere, eating the same offal, though, as theunpretentious chickens in the streets. Over in the distance,beyond the elephants, was the tiled roof of a great houseglinting in strong sunlight between the green of enormous pipaltrees; and there were other houses, strong to look at but not sogreat, jumbled together in one quarter where a stream passedthrough the village.
Yasmini came and sat beside her in the window-seat, as simplydressed in white as on the night before, with her gold hairbraided up loosely and an air of reveling in the luxury of peaceand rest.
"That great house," she said, peering through the jalousies,"is where the ceremony is to be tonight. My father's father builtit. This is not our state, but he owned the land."
"Doesn't it belong to Gungadhura now?" Tess asked.
"No. It was part of my legacy. This house, too, that we arein. Look, some of them have come on elephants to do me honor.Many of the nobles of the land are poor in these days; one, theytell me, came on foot, walking by night lest the ill-bred laughat him. He has a horse now. He shall have ten when I ammaharani!"
"Won't the English get to hear of this?" Tess asked.
Yasmini laughed.
"Their spies are everywhere. But there has been great talk ofa polo tournament to be held on the English side of the river atSialpore. The English encourage games, thinking they keep usRajputs out of mischief —as indeed is true. This, then, isa conference to decide which of our young bloods shall take partin the tournament, and who shall contribute ponies. The Englishlend one another ponies; why not we? The spies will report greatinterest in the polo tournament, and the English will smilecomplacently."
"But suppose a spy gets in to see the ceremony?" Tesssuggested.
Yasmini's blue eyes looked into hers and there was a Vikingglare behind them, suggestive of the wintry fjords whence one ofher royal ancestresses came.
"Let him!" she said. "It would be the last of him!"
Tess considered a while in silence.
"When is the tournament to be?" she asked presently. "Won'tthe English think it strange that the conference about men andponies should be put off until so late?"
"They might have," Yasmini answered. "They are suspicious ofall gatherings. But a month ago we worked up a dispute entirelyfor their benefit. This is supposed to be a last-hour effort tobring cohesion out of jealousy. The English like to see Rajputsquarrel among themselves, because of their ancient saw that says'Divide and govern!' I do not understand the Englishaltogether—yet; but in some ways they are like an openbook. They will let us quarrel over polo to our heart'scontent."
There is something very close to luxury in following thethread of an intrigue, sitting on soft cushions with the sunlightsending layers of golden shafts through jalousies into a coolroom; so little of the strain and danger of it; so much of itsengagement. Tess was enjoying herself to the top of her bent.
"But when the ceremony is over," she said, "and you yourselfhave proclaimed Prince Utirupa king of Sialpore, there will stillremain the problem of how to make the English recognize him.There is Gungadhura, for instance, to get out of the way; andGungadhura's sons—how many has he?"
"Five, all whole and well. But the dogs must suffer for theirbreeding. Who takes a reverter's colt to school into a charger?The English will turn their eyes away from Gungadhura'sstock."
"But Gungadhura himself?"
"Is in the toils already! Say this for the English: they areslow to reach conclusions—slower still to change theirpolicy; but when their mind is made up they are swift! Gungadhurahas been sending messages to the Northwest tribes. How do I know?You saw Ismail, my gate-man? His very brother took the lettersback and forth!"
"But why should Gungadhura risk his throne by anything sofoolish?"
"He thinks to save it. He thinks to prove that the tribesbegan the dickering, and then to offer his army to theEnglish—Tom Tripe and all! Patali put him up to it. Perhapsshe wants a necklace made of Hill-men's teeth—who knows?Gungadhura went deeply into debt with Mukhum Dass, to send moneyto the Mahsudis, who think more of gold than promises. The foolimagines that the English will let him levy, extra taxesafterward to recoup himself. Besides, there would be the dailyexpenses of his army, from which he could extract a lakh or two.Patali yearns for diamonds in the fillings of her teeth!"
"Did you work out all this deep plot for yourself?" Tessasked.
"I and the gods! The gods of India love intrigue. My fatherleft me as a sort of ward of Jinendra, although my mother triedto make a Christian of me, and I always mistrusted Jinendra'spriest. But Jinendra has been good. He shall have two new templeswhen I am maharani."
"And you have been looking for the treasure ever since yourfather died?"
"Ever since. My father prophesied on his death-bed that Ishould have it in the end, but all he told to help me find it wasa sort of conundrum. 'Whoever looks for flowers,' be said, 'findshappiness. Who looks for gold finds all the harness and the teethof war! A hundred guard the treasure day and night, changing withthe full moon!' So I have always looked for flowers, and I amoften happy. I have sent flowers every day to the temple ofJinendra."
"Who or what can the hundred be, who guard the treasure dayand night?" Tess wondered.
"That is what puzzled me. At first, because I was very young,I thought they must be snakes. So I made friends with the snakes,learning how to handle even cobras without fear of them. Then,when I had learned that snakes could tell me nothing, but areonly Widyadharas—beautiful lost fairies dreadfully afraidof men, and very, very wishful to be comforted, I began to thinkthe hundred must be priests. So I made friends with the priests,and let them teach me all their knowledge. But they know nothing!They are parasites! They teach only what will keep men in theirpower, and women in subjection, themselves not understanding whatthey teach! I soon learned that if the priests weretreasure-guards their charge would have been dissipated long ago!Then I looked for a hundred trees, and found them! A hundredpipal trees all in a place together! But that was only like thefirst goal in the very first chukker of the game—as youshall learn soon!"
"Then surely I know!" said Tess excitedly. "In the grounds ofthe palace across the river, that you escaped from the nightbefore you came to see me, there is quite a little forest ofpipals."
"Nine and sixty and the roots of four," Yasmini answered, hereyes glowing as if there were fire behind them. "The difficultyis, though, that they don't change with the full moon! Pipaltrees grow on forever, never changing, except to grow bigger andbigger. They outlive centuries of men. Nevertheless, they gave methe clue, not only to the treasure but to the winning of it!"
The afternoon wore on in drowsy quiet, both of the girlssleeping at intervals—waited on at intervals by Hasamurtiwith fruit and cooling drinks—Yasmini silent oftener thannot as the sun went lower, as if the details of what she had todo that night were rehearsing themselves in her mind. No amountof questioning by Tess could make her speak of them again, ortell any more about the secret of the treasure. At that agealready she knew too well the virtue and fun ofunexpectedness.
They ate together very early, reclining at a low table heapedwith more varieties of food than Tess had dreamed that Indiacould produce; but ate sparingly because the weight of what wascoming impressed them both. Hasamurti sang during the meal,ballad after ballad of the warring history of Rajasthan and itsroyal heroines, accompanying herself on a stringed instrument,and the ballads seemed to strike the right chord in Yasmini'sheart, for when the meal finished she was queenly and alert, herblue eyes blazing.
Then came the business of dressing, and two maids took Tessinto her room to bathe and comb and scent and polish her, untilshe wondered how the rest of the world got on withouthand-maidens, and laughed to think that one short week ago shehad never had a personal attendant since her nurse. Swiftly theluxurious habit grows; she rather hoped her husband might becomerich enough to provide her a maid always!
And after all that thought and trouble and attention she stoodarrayed at last as no more than a maid herself—true, a maidof royalty; but very simply dressed, without a jewel, with plainlight sandals on her stockinged feet, and with a plain veilhanging to below her knees—all creamy white. She admittedto herself that she looked beautiful in the long glass, andwished that Dick could see her so, not guessing how soon Dickwould see her far more gorgeously arrayed.
Yasmini, when she came into the room, was a picture to takethe breath away,—a rhapsody in cream and amber, glitteringwith gems. There were diamonds sparkling on her girdle, bosom,ears, arms; a ruby like a prince's ransom nestled at her throat;there were emeralds and sapphires stitched to the soft texture ofher dress to glow and glitter as she moved; and her hair wasafire with points of diamond light. Coil on coil of huge pearlshung from her shoulders to her waist, and pearls were on hersandals.
"Child, where in heaven's name did you get them all?" Tessburst out.
"These? These jewels? Some are the gifts of Rajput noblemen.Some are heirlooms lent for the occasion. This—and this"she touched the ruby at her throat and a diamond that glitteredat her breast like frozen dew —"he gave me. He sent them byhis brother, with an escort of eight gentlemen. But you shouldwear jewels, too."
"I have none—none with me—"
"I thought of that. I borrowed these for you."
With her own hands she put opals around Tess's neck thatglowed as if they were alive, and then bracelets on her right armof heavy, graven gold; then kissed her.
"You look lovely! I shall need you tonight! No other humanguesses how I need you! You and Hasamurti are to stand close tome until the end. The other maids will take their place behindus. Now we are ready. Come."
Outside in the dark there were torches flaring, and low gruffvoices announced the presence of about fifty men. Once or twice astallion neighed; and there was another footfall, padded andheavy, in among the stamping of held horses.
The night was hot, and full of that musty mesmeric qualitythat changes everything into a waking dream. The maids threw darkveils over them to save their clothing from the dust kicked up bya crowd, and perhaps, too, as a concession to thenone-so-ancient, but compelling custom that bids women be coveredin the streets.
Yasmini took Tess by the hand and walked out with her,followed closely by Hasamurti and the other women, between thepomegranates to the gate in the garden wall. From that moment,though, she stood alone and never touched hand, or sought as muchas the supporting glances of her women until they came back atmidnight.
A watchman opened the gate and, Yasmini leading, they passedthrough a double line of Rajput noblemen, who drew their sabersat some one's hoarse command and made a steel arch overhead thatflashed and shimmered in the torchlight. Beyond that one order todraw sabers none spoke a word. Tess looked straight in front ofher, afraid to meet the warrior eyes on either hand, lest someone should object to a foreigner in their midst on such a nightof nights.
In the road were three great elephants standing in line withladders leaning against them. The one in front was a tusker withgolden caps and chains on his glistening ivory, and a howdah onhis back like a miniature pagoda—a great gray monster, oldin the service of three Rajput generations, and more conscious ofhis dignity than years. Yasmini mounted him, followed by Tess andHasamurti, who took their place behind her in the howdah, one oneither side, Hasamurti pushing Tess into her proper place, afterwhich her duty was to keep a royal fan of ostrich plumes gentlymoving in the air above Yasmini's head.
The other women climbed on to the elephant behind, and thethird one was mounted by one man, who looked like a prince, tojudge by the jewels glittering in his turban.
"His brother!" Hasamurti whispered.
Then again a hoarse command broke on the stillness. Horseswheeled out from the shadow of the wall, led by saises, and theRajput gentry mounted. Ten of them in line abreast led theprocession, while some formed a single line on either hand, andten brought up the rear. Men with torches walked outside thelines. But no one shouted. No one spoke.
Straight down the quiet road under the majestic trees, withthe monkeys, frightened by the torchlight, chattering nervouslyamong the branches, —to the right near the lane Yasminiused the night before, and on toward the shadowy bulk of thegreat house in the distance the elephant trod loftily, the swingand sway of his back suggesting ages of past history, andever-lasting ages more to come. The horses kicked and squealed,for the Rajput loves a mettled mount; but nothing disturbed theelephant's slow, measured stride, or moved the equanimity of hismahout.
Villagers came to the walls, and stood under the roadsidetrees to smile and stare. Every man and child salaamed low as theprocession passed, and some followed in the dust to feast theircuriosity until the end of it; but not a voice was raised muchabove a whisper, except where once or twice a child criedshrilly.
"Why the silence?" Tess asked in a whisper, and withoutturning her head Yasmini answered:
"Would you have the English know that I was hailed as maharanithrough the streets? Give them but leave and they would beat thetom-toms, and dance under the trees. These are all friendshere."
The great house was surrounded by a high wall, but a gate wasflung wide open to receive them and the procession never pauseduntil the leading elephant came to a halt under a portico lit bydozens of oil lamps. Standing on the porch were four women,veiled, but showing the glint of jewels and the sheen of splendiddresses underneath; they were the first that night to give tonguein acclamation, raising a hub-bub of greeting with a waving ofslim hands and arms. They clustered round Yasmini as she climbeddown from the elephant, and led her into the hall with arms inhers and a thousand phrases of congratulation and gladwelcome.
"Four queens!" Hasamurti whispered.
Tess and Hasamurti followed, side by side, not down the mainhall, but to the left, into a suite of rooms reserved for women,where they all removed their veils and the talking and laughterbegan anew. There were dozens of other women in there—abouthalf as many ladies as attendants, and they made more noise thana swarm of Vassar freshmen at the close of term.
The largest of the suite of rooms was higher than the rest byhalf a dozen steps. At its farther end was a gilded door, oneither side of which, as far as the walls at each end, was apanel of very deeply carved wood, through the interstices ofwhich every whisper in the durbar hall was audible when the womenall were still, and every man and movement could be seen. Yasminitook her stand close to the gilded door, and Tess and Hasamurtiwatched the opportunity to come beside her—no very easymatter in a room where fifty women jockeyed for recognition and aprivate word.
But there came a great noise of men's voices in the durbarhall, and of a roll-call answered one by one, each name beingwritten in a vellum book, that none might say afterward he waspresent, who was not, and none might escape responsibility. Thewomen grew silent as a forest that rustles and shivers in thenight wind, and somebody turned down the lights, so that it waseasier to see through the carved panel, and not so easy to beseen. Immediately beyond the panel was a dais, or wide platform,bare of everything except a carpet that covered it from end toend. A short flight of steps from the center of it led to thedurbar floor below.
The durbar floor was of polished teak, and all the columnsthat supported the high roof were of the same wood, carved withfantastic patterns. From the center hung a huge glass chandelier,its quivering pendants multiplying the light of a thousandcandles; and in every corner of the hall were other chandeliers,and mirrors to reflect the light in all directions.
Grouped in the center of the hall were about two hundred men,all armed with sabers,—men of every age, and height andswarthiness, from stout, blue-bearded veterans to youths yet intheir teens,—dressed in every hue imaginable from thescarlet frock-coat, white breeches and high black boots of arisaldar-major to the jeweled silken gala costume of the dandiesof Rajput's youth. There was not a man present who did not rankhimself the equal of all reigning kings, whatever outwarddeference the exigency of alien overrule compelled. This was arace that, like the Poles, knew itself to have been conqueredbecause of subdivision and dissension in its ranks; no lack ofcourage or of martial skill had brought on their subjection. Notnearly all their best were there that night—not even any ofthe highest-placed, because of jealousy and the dread ofbetrayal; but there was not a priest among them, so that thechance was high that their trust would be well kept.
These were the pick of Rajputana's patriots—the men wholoved the old ways, yet admitted there was virtue in anadaptation of the new. And Yasmini, with a gift for reading men'shearts that has been her secret and her source of power first andlast, was reviving an ancient royal custom for them, to the endthat she might lead them in altogether new ways of her owndevising.
The roll-call ended, a veteran with a jeweled aigrette in histurban stood apart from the rest with his back toward the daissteps and made a speech that was received in silence, though thewomen peering through the panel, fluttered with excitement, andthe deep breathing in the durbar hall sounded like the veryfar-off murmur of a tide. For he rang the changes on the ancientchivalry of Rajasthan, and on the sanctity of ancient custom, andthe right they had to follow what their hearts accountedgood.
"And as in ancient days," he said, "our royal women chosetheir husbands at a durbar summoned by the king; and because inancient times, when Rajasthan was a land of kings indeed and itsroyal women, as the endless pages of our history tell, stoodproved and acclaimed as fit to govern, and defend, and dieuntarnished in the absence of their lords; therefore we now seefit to attend this durbar, and to witness and give sanction. Onceagain, my Lords, a royal daughter of a throne of Rajasthan shallchoose her husband in the sight of all of us let come of it whatmay!"
He ceased, and the crowd burst into cheers. Yasmini translatedhis speech afterward to Tess. He said not a word of Gungadhura,or of the throne of Sialpore, leaving that act of utter daring tothe woman who was, after all, the leader of them all thatnight.
Now all eyes were on the dais and the door behind it. In theinner room the women stirred and whispered, while a dozen ofthem, putting on their veils again, gathered around Yasmini,waiting in silence for her to give the cue. She waited longenough to whet the edge of expectation, and then nodded.Hasamurti opened the door wide and Yasmini stepped forth,aglitter with her jewels.
"Ah-h-h!" was her greeting—the unbidden, irrepressible,astonished gasp of mixed emotion of a crowd that sees more wonderthan it bargained for.
The twelve princesses took their place beside her on the dais,six on either side. Immediately behind her Tess and Hasamurtistood. Yasmini's other maids arranged themselves with their backsto the gilded door. She, Tess and Hasamurti were the only womenthere unveiled.
She stood two minutes long in silence, smiling down at themwhile Tess's heart-beats drummed until she lost count, Tesssuspecting nervousness because of her own nerves, and not sowildly wrong.
"You're not alone," she whispered. "You've a friend behindyou—two friends!"
Then Yasmini spoke.
"My Lords." The word "Bahadur" rolled from her golden throatlike chords of Beethoven's overture to Leonori. "You do our oldencustoms honor. True chivalry had nearly died since superstitionand the ebb and flow of mutual mistrust began to smother it inmodern practices. But neither priest nor alien could make itshame for maidenhood to choose which way its utmost honor lies.Ye know your hearts' delight. Goodness, love and soundless fealtyare the attributes your manhood hungers for. Of those threeelements is womanhood. And so, as Shri—goddess of all goodfortune—comes ever to her loved one of her own accord anddowers him with richer blessing than he dreamed, true womanhoodshould choose her mate and, having chosen, honor him. My Lords, Ichoose, in confidence of your nobility and chivalry!"
Pausing for a minute then, to let the murmur of assent diedown, and waiting while they stamped and shuffled into three longlines, she descended the steps alone, moving with a step sodignified, yet modest, that no memory of past events couldpersuade Tess it was artistry. She felt—Tess was sure ofit, and swore to it afterward—in her heart of hearts thefull spiritual and profound significance of what she did.
Beginning at the left end of the first line, she passed slowlyand alone before them, looking each man in the eyes, smiling ateach one as she passed him. Not a man but had his full meed ofattention and the honor due to him who brings the spirit ofobservance and the will to help another man succeed.
Back along the second line she went, with the same supremedignity and modesty, omitting not even the oldest veteran, norletting creep into her smile the veriest suggestion of anothersentiment than admiration for the manliness by whose leave shewas doing what she did. Each man received his smile ofrecognition and the deference due his pride.
Then down the third line, yet more slowly, until Tess had coldchills, thinking Utirupa was not there! One by one she viewedthem all, until the last man's turn came, and she took him by thehand and led him forth.
At that the whole assembly milled into a mob and reformed indouble line up and down the room. The same voice that hadthundered in the darkness roared again and two hundred swordsleapt from their scabbards. Under an arch of blazing steel, insilence, Yasmini and her chosen husband came to the dais andstood facing the assembly hand in hand, while the swords wentback to their owners' sides and once more the crowd clustered inthe center of the hall.
There was a movement in among them then. Some servants broughtin baskets, and distributed them at about equal intervals amidthe forest of booted legs. When the servants had left the hall,Yasmini spoke.
"My Lords, in the presence of you all I vow love, honor,fealty and a wife's devotion to the prince of mychoosing—to my husband who shall be—who now is byGandharva ceremony; for I went to him of my own free will bynight! My Lords, I present to you—"
There was a pause, while every man present caught his breath,and the women rustled like a dove-cot behind the panel.
"—Gunga Khatiawara Dhuleep Rhakapushi UtirupaSingh— Maharajah of Sialpore!"
Two hundred swords sprang clear again. The chandeliers rattledand the beams shook to the thunder of two hundred throats.
"Rung Ho!" they roared.
"Rung Ho!"
"Rung Ho!" bringing down their right feet with a stamp alltogether that shook the building.
Then the baskets were cut open by the swords' points and theyflung flowers at the dais, swamping it in jasmine andsweet-smelling buds, until the carpet was not visible. The sameblack-bearded veteran who had spoken first mounted the dais andhung garlands on Yasmini and her prince, and again the hall shookto the roar of acclamation and the sharp ringing of keensteel.
But Yasmini had not finished all she had to say. When theshouting died and the blades returned to scabbards, her voiceagain stirred their emotions, strangely quiet and yet reachingall ears with equal resonance, like the note of a hiddenbell.
"And since, my Lords, in olden days it happened often that aRajput woman held and buttressed up her husband's throne,honoring him and Rajputana with her courage and her wit, anddaring even in the arts of war, so now: this prince shall havehis throne by woman's wit. Before another full moon rises heshall sit throned in the palace of his ancestors; and ye who loveroyal Rajasthan shall answer whether I chose wisely, in the daysto come!"
They answered then and there to the utmost of their lungs. Andwhile the hall resounded to the crash and clangor of applause shelet go Utirupa's hand, bowed low to him, and vanished through thegilded door in the midst of her attendant women.
For two hours after that she was the center of a vortex ofcongratulation —questions—whisperings—laughterand advice, while the women flocked about her and she introducedTess to them one by one. Tess, hardly understanding a word ofwhat was said to her, was never made so much of in her life,sharing honors with Yasmini, almost as much a novelty as she—a Western woman, spirited behind the purdah by the samenew alchemy that made a girl of partly foreign birth, and sowithout caste in the Hindu sense of it, revive a royal customwith its antecedents rooted in the very rocks of time. It was anight of breathless novelty.
There were the inevitable sweetmeats—the inevitablesugared drinks. Then the elephants again, and torches under themysterious trees, with a sabered escort plunging to the right andleft. The same torch-lit faces peering from the village doors andwalls; and at last the gate again in the garden wall, and a boltshot home, and silence. Then:
"Did I do well?" Yasmini asked, leaning at last on Tess. "Oh,my sister! Without you there to lend me courage I hadfailed!"
How about the door! Did somebody lock it?
"I," said the Chairman, "had the key in my pocket."
Who shut the windows? "I," said the vice.
"I shut the window, it seemed to me wise."
"I," said the clerk, "looked under the table
And out on the balcony under the gable."
Then who let the secret out? Who overheard?
Maybe a mouse, or the flies, or a bird!
Tom Tripe felt like a new man, and his whiskerscrackled with self-satisfaction. For one thing, his dog Trotterswas back again —sore-footed, it was true, and unable atpresent to follow him on his rounds; and rather badly scratchedwhere a leopard must have missed his spring on the moonlitdesert; but asleep in the stable litter, on the highroad torecovery.
Tom had ridden that morning, first to Dick Blaine up at thegold mine, because he was a friend and needed good news of hiswife; then across the bridge to Samson, straightening out thecrumpled letter from Yasmini as he rode, and chuckling to himselfat the thought of mystifying the commissioner. And it all workedout the way he hoped, even to the offer of a drink— goodbrandy—Hennesey's Three Star.
"How did you manage it?" asked Samson. "The princess hasdisappeared. There's a rumor she's over the border in the nextstate. Gungadhura has seized her palace and rifled it. How didyou get my letter to her, and her answer so swiftly?"
"Ah, sir," said Tom Tripe mischievously, "we in the nativeservice have our little compensations—our little ways andmeans!"
That was better than frankincense and myrrh, to mystify agenuine commissioner! Tom rode back to his quarters turning overthe taste of brandy in his mouth—he had made a martial raidon Samson's tantalus— and all aglow with good humor.
Not so Samson. The commissioner was irritable, and more so nowthat he opened the scented letter Tom had brought. It was deucedcurt, it seemed to him, and veiled a sort of suggested laughter,if there was anything insinuative in polite phrases.
"The Princess Yasmini Omanoff Singh," it ran, "hastens toreturn thanks for Sir Roland Samson's kind letter. She is not,however, afraid of imprisonment or of undue pressure; and as forher secret, that is safe as long as the river runs through thestate of Sialpore."
Not a word more. He frowned at the letter, and read and rereadit, sniffing at the scent and holding up the paper to the light,so that Sita Ram very nearly had a chance to read it through theknot-hole in the door. The last phrase was the puzzler. It readat first like a boast—like one of those picturesqueexpressions with which the Eastern mind enjoys to overstate itscase. But he reflected on it. As an Orientalist of admitteddistinction he had long ago concluded that hyperbole in the Eastis always based on some fact hidden in the user's mind, oftenwithout the user's knowledge. He had written a paper on that verysubject, which the Spectator printed with favorable editorialcomment; and Mendelsohn K. C. had written him a very agreeableletter stating that his own experience in criminal cases amplybore out the theory. He rang the desk bell for Sita Ram.
"Get me the map of the province."
Sita Ram held it by two corners under the draughty punkahwhile Samson traced the boundaries with his finger. It wasexactly as he thought: without that little palace and itsgrounds, the state of Sialpore would be bounded exactly by theriver. Take away the so-called River Palace with the broad acressurrounding it, and the river would no longer run through thestate of Sialpore. That would be the end, then, of the safety ofthe secret. There was food for reflection there.
What if the famous treasure of Sialpore were buried somewherein the grounds of the River Palace! Somewhere, for instance,among those gigantic pipal trees.
He folded the map and returned it to Sita Ram.
"I'm expecting half a dozen officers presently. Show them inthe minute they come. And—ah—you'd better lock thatmiddle door."
Sita Ram dutifully locked the door on Samson's side, and drewthe curtain over it. There was a small hole in the curtain, ofpeculiar shape— moths had been the verdict when Samsonfirst noticed it, and Sita Ram had advised him to indent for somepreventive of the pests; which Samson did, and the hole did notgrow any greater afterward.
Samson had had to call a conference, much though he dislikeddoing it. The rules for procedure in the case of native statesincluded the provision of an official known as resident, whoseduty was to live near the native ruler —and keep a sharpeye on him. But Samson, prince of indiscretion, had seen fitthree months before to let that official go home to England onlong leave, and to volunteer the double duty in his absence. Theproposal having economic value, and there being no known troublein Sialpore just then, the State Department had consented.
The worst of that was that there was no one now in actualclose touch with Gungadhura. The best of it was that there wasnone to share the knowledge of Samson's underlyingscheme—which was after all nothing but to win high laurelsfor himself, by somewhat devious ways, perhaps, but justified inhis opinion in the circumstances. And the very worst of it wasthat good form and official precedent obliged him to call aconference before recommending certain drastic action to hisgovernment. Having no official resident to consult, he had to gothrough the form of consulting somebody; and the more he calledin, the less likelihood there was of any one man arrogating unduecredit to himself.
They were ushered in presently by Sita Ram. Ross, theprincipal medical officer came first; it was a pity he ranked sohigh that he could not be overlooked, but there you were. Thencame Sir Hookum Bannerjee, judge of the circuitcourt—likely to have a lot to say without much meaning init, and certainly anxious to please. Next after him Sita Ramshowed in Norwood, superintendent of police; one disliked callingin policemen, they were so interfering and tactless, but Norwoodhad his rights. Then came Topham, acting assistant to Samson,loaned from another state to replace young Wilkinson, home onsick leave, and full-back on the polo team—a quiet man as arule, anxious to get back to his own district, and probablyreasonably safe. Last came Lieutenant-Colonel Willoughby deWing— small, brusk and florid—acting in command ofthe 88th Sikh Lancers, and preferring that to any other task thisside of heaven or hell;— "Nothing to do with politics, myboy,—not built that way— don't like 'em—neverunderstood 'em anyhow. Soldiering's my business."
It was well understood it was to be a secret conference. Theinvitations had been marked "Secret."
"Suppose I lock the door," suggested Samson by way ofadditional reminder; and he did that, resuming his chair with anexpression that permitted just the least suggestion of a serioussituation to escape him. But he was smiling amiably, and hiscurled mustache did not disguise the corners of a willfulmouth.
"There is proof conclusive," he began, "—I've telegramshere that you may see in confidence, that Gungadhura has beentrafficking with Northwest tribes. He has sent them money, andmade them promises. There isn't a shade of doubt of it. Theevidence is black. The question is, what's to be done?"
They passed the telegrams from hand to hand, Norwood lookingrather supercilious. (The police could handle espionage of thatsort so much better.) But it was the youngest man's place tospeak first.
"Depose him, I suppose, and put his young son in his place,"suggested Topham. "There's plenty of precedent."
The doctor shook his head.
"I know Gungadhura. He's a bad strain. It's physiological.I've made a study of these things, and I'm as certain as that Isit here that any son of Gungadhura's would eventually show thesame traits as his sire. If you can get rid of Gungadhura, getrid of his whole connection by all means."
"What should be done with the sons, then?" asked Sir HookumBannerjee, father of half a dozen budding lawyers.
"Oh, send 'em to school in England, I suppose," said Samson."There's precedent for that too. But there's another point.Mukhum Dass the money-lender has been foully murdered, struckdown by a knife from behind by some one who relieved him of hismoney. Either a case of simply robbery, or else—"
"Or else what?" Colonel Willoughby de Wing screwed home hismonocle.
"That's as obvious as twice two. That rascal Mukhum Dass wasbound to die violently sooner or later. He was notoriously theworst usurer and title-jumper on this side of India. He chargedme once a total of eighty-five per cent. for a smallloan—and legally, too; kept within the law! I knowhim!"
"On the other hand," said Samson, "I've been informed that thecellar of the house at present occupied by those Americans on thehill—the gold-miner, you know—Blaine—wasburgled last Sunday morning. Blaine himself complained to me. Itseems that he had given Gungadhura leave to search the cellar, atGungadhura's request, for what purpose Blaine professes not toknow. Blaine himself, you may remember, lunched and dined at theclub last Sunday and gave three of us a rather costly lesson inhis national game of poker. It took place while he was with us atthe club. He has been able to discover, by cross-examining somewitnesses—beggars, I believe, who haunt thehouse,—that Mukhum Dass got to the place ahead ofGungadhura, burgled the cellar, removed something of great valueto Gungadhura, and went off with it. On the way home he wasmurdered."
"The murder of Mukhum Dass was known very soon afterward, ofcourse, to the police," said Norwood. "But we can't do anythingacross the river without orders. Why didn't Mr. Blaine bring hiscomplaint and evidence to me?"
"Because I asked him not to!" answered Samson. "We're mixed uphere in a political case."
"Damn all politics!" growled Willoughby de Wing.
"If it can be proved that Gungadhura murdered Mukhum Dass, orcaused him to be murdered, I should say arrest him, try the bruteand hang him!" said Topham. "Confound these native princes thattake law into their own hands!"
"I should say, let's prove the case if we can," said Samson,"and use that for an extra argument to force Gungadhura'sabdication. No need to hang him. If he'd killed a princess, or anEnglishman, we'd be obliged to take extreme measures; but, as DeWing says, Mukhum Dass was an awful undesirable. If we hangedGungadhura, we'd almost have to put one of his five sons on thethrone to succeed him. If be abdicates, we can please ourselves.I think I can persuade him to abdicate—if Norwood, forinstance, knows of any way to gather secret evidence about thatmurder—secret, you understand me, Norwood. We need that fora sword of Damocles."
"Who's to succeed him in that case?" asked Ross, the P. M.O.
"I shall recommend Utirupa Singh," said Samson, with his eyesalert.
Ross nodded.
"Utirupa is one of those men who make me think the Rajput raceis not moribund."
"A good clean sportsman!" said Topham. "Plays a red-hot gameof polo, too!"
"Pays up his bets, moreover, like a gentleman!" said ColonelWilloughby de Wing.
"I feel sure," said Sir Hookum Bannerjee, seeing be wasexpected to say something, "that Prince Utirupa Singh would beacceptable to the Rajputs themselves, who are long weary ofGungadhura's way. But he is not married. It is a pity always thata reigning prince should be unmarried; there are so manyopportunities in that case for intrigue, and for mistakes."
"Gad!" exclaimed Willoughby de Wing, dropping his monocle."What a chance to marry him to that young PrincessWhatshername—you know the one I mean—the one that'ssaid to masquerade in men's clothes and dance like the devil, andall that kind of thing. I know nothing of politics, but—what a chance!"
"God forbid!" laughed Samson. "That young woman is altogethertoo capable of trouble without a throne to play with! I suspecther, as it happens, of very definite and dangerous intentionsalong another line connected with the throne of Sialpore. But Iknow how to disappoint her and stop her game. I intend torecommend—for the second time, by the way—that she,also, should be sent to Europe for a proper education! But thepoint I'm driving at is this: are we agreed as to the propercourse to take with Gungadhura?"
They nodded.
"Then, as I see it, there's no desperate hurry. Norwood willneed time to gather evidence; I'll need specific facts, nothearsay, to ram down Gungadhura's throat. I'll send a wire to thehigh commissioner and another to Simla, embodying what werecommend, and—what do you say to sending for a battery ortwo?"
"Good!" said Willoughby de Wing. "A very good thought indeed!I know nothing of politics, except this; that there's nothinglike guns to overawe the native mind and convince him that thegame's up! Let's see—who'd come with the guns? Coburn,wouldn't he? Yes, Coburn. He's my junior in the service. Yes, avery good notion indeed. Ask for two batteries by all means."
"I'll tell them not to hurry," said Samson. "It's hot weather.They can make it in easy stages."
"By Jove!" said Topham. "They'll be here in time for the polo.Won't they beef!"
"Talking of polo, who's to captain the other side? Is it knownyet?" asked De Wing.
"Utirupa," answered Topham. "There was never any doubt ofthat. We've got Collins to captain us, and Latham and Cartwright,besides me. We'll give him the game of his life!"
"That settles quite an important point," said Samson. "Thepolo tournament —after it, rather—is the time to talkto Utirupa. If we keep quiet until then—all of us, Imean—there'll be no chance of the cat jumping before theState Department pulls the string. I feel sure, from insideinformation, that Headquarters would like nothing known aboutthis coup d'état until it's consummated. Explanations afterward,and the fewer the better! Have a drink anybody?"
In the outer office beyond the curtain Sita Ram cautiouslyrefitted the knot into its hole, and sat down to write hurriedlywhile details were fresh in mind. Ten minutes afterward, when theconference had broken up in small-talk, he asked permission toabsent himself for an hour or two. He said he had a debt to payacross the river, to a man whose wife was ill.
One hour and a half later by Sita Ram's wrist watch, Ismail,an Afridi gate-keeper at present apparently without a job,started off on a racing camel full-pelt for the border, with aletter in his pocket addressed to a merchant by way of ostensiblebusiness, and ten rupees for solace to the Desert Police. Tuckedaway in the ample folds of his turban was a letter to Yasmini,giving Sita Ram's accurate account of what had happened at thesecret conference.
Safe rules for defeating a rascal are three,
And the first of them all is appear to agree.
The second is boggle at points that don't matter,
Hold out for expense and emolument fatter.
The third is put wish-to-seem-wise on the shelf
And keep your eventual plan to yourself.
Giving heed to the three with your voice and eyes level
You can turn the last trick by out-trumping the devil.
MEANWHILE, Gungadhura was not inactive, norwithout spies of his own, who told him more or less vaguely thattrouble was cooking for him in the English camp. A letter heexpected from the Mahsudi tribe had not reached him. It was thevery letter he had hoped to show to Samson in proof of Mahsudivillainy and his own friendship; but he rather feared it hadfallen into secret service hands, in which case he might have ahard time to clear himself.
Then there was the murder of Mukhum Dass. He had not been ableto resist that opportunity, when Patali reported to him whatMukhum Dass had been seen to make away with. And now he had thesecret of the treasure in his possession—implicitdirections, and a map! He suspected they had been written by someold priest, or former rajah's servant, in the hope of a chancefor treachery, and hidden away by Jengal Singh with the sameobject. There were notes on the margins by Jengal Singh. Thething was obviously genuine. But the worst of it was Patali knewall about it now, and that cursed idiot Blaine had complained toSamson of burglary, after he learned that the cellar door wasbroken open by the money-lender. Why hadn't he come to himself,he wondered, and been satisfied with a string of promises? Thatwould have been the courteous thing to do. Instead of that, nowSamson's spies were nosing about, and only the gods knew whatthey might discover. The man who had done the murder was safelyout of the way—probably in Delhi by that time, or on hisway there; but that interfering ass Norwood might be awake foronce, and if the murderer should happen to get caught, and shouldconfess—as hired murderers do sometimes—it would needan awful lot of expert lying and money, too, to clearhimself.
With funds—ample extravagant supplies of ready cash, hefelt he could even negotiate the awkward circumstance that hehimself was deeply in debt to Mukhum Dass at the time of themurder. Money and brains combined can accomplish practicallyanything. Delhi and Bombay and Calcutta were full of cleverlawyers. The point was, he must hurry. And he did not dare trustany one with knowledge of his secret, except Patali, who hadwormed out some and guessed the rest, because of the obvious riskof Samson getting wind of it through spies and so forestallinghim. He felt he had Samson's character estimated nicely.
Arguing with himself—distracted between fear on onehand, and Patali's importunity on the other, he reached theconclusion that Dick Blaine was his only safe reliance. TheAmerican seemed to have an obsession for written contracts, andfor enforcing the last letter of them. Well and good, he wouldmake another contract with Dick Blaine, and told Patali so, sheagreeing that the American was the safest tool to use. She sawherself already with her arms up to the shoulders in the treasureof Sialpore.
"The American has few friends," she said. "He smokes a pipe,and thinks, and now that they say his wife has gone away there isless chance than ever of his talking."
"He will need to be paid," said Gungadhura.
"There will be plenty to pay him with!" she answered, her eyesgleaming.
So Gungadhura, with his face still heavily bandaged, drove ina lumbering closed carriage up the rough track to the tunnel Dickhad blasted in the hill-side. The carriage could not go close tothe tunnel-mouth, because the track was only wide enough justthere for the dump-carts to come and go. So he got out and walkedinto the tunnel unattended. Dick was used to seeing him about theworks in any case and never objected to explaining things,several times over on occasion.
He found Dick superintending the careful erection of a wall ofrock and cement, and he thought for an instant that the Americanlooked annoyed to see him there. But Dick assumed his pokerexpression the moment afterward, and you couldn't have guessedwhether he was glad or sorry.
"You block the tunnel?" the maharajah asked.
"The vein's disappeared," said Dick. "The rock's all faultyhere this and that way. I'm shoring up the end to keep the rooffrom falling down on us, and next I'm going to turn sharp atright angles and try to find the end of the vein where it brokeoff."
"You are too near the fort in any case," said the maharajah."No use driving under the fort."
"What do you propose I should do?" Dick answered a trifletestily.
"Dig elsewhere."
"What, and scrap this outlay?"
"Yes. I have a reason. Aparticular—eh—reason."
Dick nodded, poker face set solid.
The maharajah paused. His advantage was that his face was allsmothered in the bandages, and the dim light in the tunnel wasanother good ally. His back, too, was toward the entrance, sothat the American's chance of reading between the words wasremarkably slight. Dick's back was against the uncompletedmasonry.
"Could I—eh—count on you for—eh—veryabsolute silence?"
"I talk like that parrot in the story," Dick answered.
"You—eh—know a little now of Sialpore, Mr. Blaine.You —eh—understand how easily—eh—rumorsget about. A little—eh—foundationand—eh—up-side-down pyramids of fancy—eh? Youcomprehend me?"
"Sure, I get you."
"Eh—you have a good working party."
"Fine!" said Dick. "Just about broke in. Got the gang workingpretty well to rights at last."
"Would you—eh—it would take a long time to getsuch another party of laborers—eh—trained to workwell and swiftly?"
"Months!" said Dick. "Unless you've got tame wizards up yoursleeve."
"Eh—I was wondering—eh—whether you would becontent to—eh—take your working partyand—eh— do a little work for me elsewhere?"
"I'm right set on puzzling out this fault in the reef," Dickanswered promptly. "My contract reads—"
"For compensation, of course," said Gungadhura. "You would beadequately —eh—there could be a contract drawn."
"I wouldn't cancel this one—not for hard cash," Dickretorted.
"No, no. I do not ask that. It would—eh—not benecessary."
"Well, then, what's the proposal?"
Dick settled himself back against the masonry crossed hisfeet, and knocked out ashes from his pipe. The maharajah walkedtwice, ten yards toward the entrance and back again.
"How long would it takeyou—eh—to—eh—what was it yousaid?—to puzzle out this fault?"
"No knowing."
"A short—eh—additional delay will hardlymatter?"
"Not if I kept the gang in harness. 'Twouldn't pay to let theteam-work slide. Costs too much in time and trouble to break 'emin again."
"Then—eh—will you go and dig for meelsewhere?"
"On what terms?"
"The same terms."
"You pay all expenses and—what am I to dig for?"
"Gold!"
"Do I get my percentage of the gross of all gold won?"
"Yes. But because this is a certainty and—eh—I payall expenses—eh—of course, in—eh—returnfor secrecy you—eh—should be well paid,but—eh—a certain stated sum should be sufficient, ora much smaller percentage."
"Suppose we get down to figures?" Dick suggested.
"Fifty thousand rupees, or one per cent."
"At my option?"
Gungadhura nodded. Dick whistled.
"There'd have to be a time limit. I can't stay and dig foreverfor a matter of fifty thousand dibs."
Gungadhura grew emphatic at that point, using both clenchedfists to beat the air.
"Time limit? There must be no time lost at all! Have youpromised to be silent? Have you promised not to breathe onelittle word to anybody?— Not to your own wife? Not toSamson?—Above all not to Samson? Then I will tell you."
Gungadhura glanced about him like a stage conspirator.
"Go on," said Dick. "There's nobody here knows English exceptyou and me."
"You are to dig for the treasure of Sialpore! The treasure ofmy ancestors!"
"Fifty thousand dibs—or one per cent. at my option, eh?Make it two per cent., and draw your contract!"
"Two per cent. is too much!"
"Get another man to dig, then!"
"Very well, I make it two per cent. But you must hurry!"
"Draw your contract. Time limit how long?"
"Two weeks—three weeks—not more than a month atthe very utmost! You draw the contract in English, and I willsign it this afternoon. You must begin to dig tomorrow atdawn!"
"Where?"
"In the grounds of the River Palace—across theriver— beginning close to the great pipal trees."
"They're all outside the palace wall. How in thunder can Ikeep secret about that?"
"You must begin inside the palace wall, and tunnelunderground."
"Dirt's all soft down there," said Dick. "We'll need to propup as we go. Lots of lumber. Cost like blazes. Where's the lumbercoming from?"
"Cut down the pipal trees!"
"Man—we'd need a mill!"
"There is no lumber—not in such a hurry."
"What'll we do then? Can't have accidents."
"Pah! The lives of a few coolies, Mr. Blaine—"
"Nothing doing, Maharajah sahib! Murder's not my longsuit."
"Then pull the palace down and use the beams!"
"You'd have to put that in writing."
"Include it in the contract then! Now, have we agreed?"
"I guess so. If I think of anything else I'll talk it overwith you when I bring the contract round this afternoon."
"Good. Then I will give you the map."
"Better give it me now, so I can study it."
"The—eh—risk of that is too great, Mr.Blaine!"
"Seems to me your risk is pretty heavy as it is," Dickretorted. "If I was going to spill your secret, I could do itnow, map or no map!"
Three times again Gungadhura paced the tunnel, torn betweenmistrust, impatience and anxiety. At last he thrust his bandagedface very close to Dick's and spoke in a level hard voice,smiling thinly.
"Very well, Mr. Blaine. I will entrust the map to you. But letme first tell you certain things—certain quite true things.Every attempt to steal that treasure has ended in ill-luck! Therehave been many. All the conspirators have died—bypoison—by dagger—by the sword—bysnake-bite—by bullets—they have all died—always! Do you understand?"
Dick shuddered in spite of himself.
"Then take the map!"
Gungadhura turned his back and fumbled in the folds of hissemi-European clothing. He produced the silver tube after aminute, removed the cap from one end, and shook out a piece ofparchment. There was a dull crimson stain on it.
"The blood of a man who tried to betray the secret!" saidGungadhura. "See-the knife of an assassin pierced the tube, andblood entered through the hole. It happened long ago."
But he did not pass the tube to Dick that he might examine theknife mark.
"These notes on the edge of the map are probably in the handof Jengal Singh, who stole it. He died of snake-bite more than ayear ago. They are in Persian; he notes that four of the treesare dead and only their roots remain; therefore that measurementsmust allow for that. You must find the roots of the last tree,Mr. Blaine, and measure carefully from both ends, diggingafterward in a straight line from inside the palace wall bycompass. Is it clear?"
"I guess so. Leave it with me and I'll study it."
The maharajah kept the tube and left the parchment in Dick'shands.
"This afternoon, then?"
"This afternoon," said Dick.
When he had gone, Dick resumed the very careful building ofthe masonry, placing the last stones with his own hands. Then hewent out into the sunlight, to sit on a rock and examine theparchment with a little pocket magnifying-glass that he alwayscarried for business purposes. He studied it for ten minutes.
"It's clever," he said at last. "Dashed clever. It 'ud foolthe Prince of Wales!" (Dick had astonishing delusions as to thesupposed omniscience of the heir to the throne of England.) "Theink looks old, and it's not metallic ink. The parchment's as oldas Methuselah—I'll take my oath on that. There's evendifferent ink been used for the map and the margin notes. Butthat's new blood or my name's Mike! That blood's not a week old!Phew! I bet it's that poor devil Mukhum Dass! Now—let'sfigure on this: Mukhum Dass burgled my house, and was murderedabout an hour afterward. I think —I can't swear, because hedidn't let me hold it, but I think that tube in Gungadhura's handwas the very identical one that I hid under the cellarfloor—that Mukhum Dass stole—and that the maharajahnow carries in his pocket. This map has blood on it. What's theinference?"
He filled his pipe and smoked reflectively.
"The inference is, that I'm accessory after the fact to themoney-lender's murder, unless" -
He finished the pipe, and knocked the ashes out.
"—unless I break my promise, and hand this piece ofevidence over to Norwood. I guess he's arch-high-policemanhere."
As if the guardian angel of Dick's conscience was at work thatvery minute to torment him, there came the sound of anapproaching horse, and Samson turned the corner into view.
"Oh, hullo, Blaine! How's the gold developing?"
"So-so. Have they found the murderer of Mukhum Dass yet?"
Samson dropped his reins to light a cigar, and took his timeabout it.
"Not exactly."
"Hum! You either exactly find the murderer, or you don't!"
"We've our suspicions."
"Leading anywhere?"
"Too soon to say."
"If I was to offer to put you next to a piece of prettyevidence, how'd that suit you?"
Samson had to relight the cigar, in order to get opportunityto read Dick's face before he answered.
"I don't think so, Blaine, thank you—at least not atpresent. If you've direct evidence of an eye-witness, ofcourse—"
"Nothing like that," said Dick.
"Well, I'll be candid with you, Blaine. We know quite well whothe murderer is. At the right moment we shall land on him hammerand tongs. But you see—we need to choose the right moment,for political reasons. Now—technically speaking—allevidence in criminal cases ought to go to the police, and thepolice might act too hastily—you understand me?"
"If you know who the man is, of course," said Dick, "there'snothing more I need do."
"Except to be discreet, Blaine! Please be discreet! We shallget the man. Don't doubt it! You and your wife have set us all anexample here of minding nobody's business except your own. I'd beawfully obliged if you'd keep yourself as far as possible out ofthis mess. Should we need any further evidence than we've gotalready, I'd ask you for it, of course."
"Suits me all right," said Dick. "I'm mum."
"Thanks awfully, Blaine. Can I offer you a cigar? I'm on myway to take a look at the fort. Seems like an anachronism,doesn't it, for us to keep an old-fashioned fort like this sonear our own border in native territory. Care to come with me?Well, so long then—see you at the club again, Isuppose?"
Samson rode on.
"A narrow squeak that!" said Dick to himself, stowing away themap that he had held the whole time in his right hand in fullview of the commissioner.
Sister Columbia, wonderful sister,
Weariless wings on aerial way!
Tell us the lore of thy loftiness, sister,
We of the dark are astir for the day!
Give us the gift of thy marvelous wings,
Spell us the charm that Columbia sings!
Oversea sister, affluent sister,
Queen inexclusive, though out of our reach!
How is thy genius ever unruffled?
What is the talisman altitudes teach?
Measureless meed of ability thine,
What is the goal of thy heart's design?
How shall we learn of it? How shall we follow?
Heavy the burden of earth where we lie!
Only a glimpse of thy miracle stirs us,
Stay in our wallow and teach us to fly!
How shall we spring to Columbia's call?
Oh, that thy wings could unweary us all!
—The East to Columbia
TESS was in something very near to paradise, ifparadise is constant assuaging of the curiosity amid surroundingsthat conduce to idleness. There were men on that country-side inplenty who would not have dared admit a Western woman into theirhomes; but even those could hardly prevent wives and daughtersfrom visiting Yasmini in the perfectly correct establishment shekept. And there were other men, more fearless of convention, whowere willing that Tess, if veiled, should cross their privatethresholds.
So there followed a round of visits and return calls, of othermarvelous rides by elephant at night, because the daytime was toohot for comfort, and oftener, long drives in latticed carriages,with footmen up behind and an escort to ride before and swear atthe lethargic bullock-men— carriages that bumped along thecountry roads on strange, old-fashioned springs.
Yasmini was welcome everywhere, and, in the cautious, tenfoldguarded Eastern way, kept open house. The women reveled in herfree ideas and in the wit with which she heaped scorn on thepriest-made fashions that have kept all India in chains forcenturies, mocking the priests, as some thought, at the risk ofblasphemy.
Almost as much as in Yasmini's daring they took ingenuousdelight in Tess, persuading Yasmini to interpret questions andreply or, very rarely, bringing with them some duenna who had asmattering of English.
All imprisoned folk, and especially women in the shutteredzenanas of the East, develop a news-sense of their own thatpasses the comprehension of free-ranging mortals. They wereastonishingly well informed about the outer world—even thefar-flung outer world, yet asked the most childish questions; andonly a few of them could have written their own names,—they who were titled ladies of a land of ancient chivalry.
"Wait until I am maharani!" Yasmini said. "The women havealways ruled India. Women rule the English, though the Englishhate the thought of it and make believe otherwise. With the aidof women I will change the face of India,—the women and thegods!"
But she was careful of her promises, holding out no prospectsthat would stir premature activity among the ranks she countedon.
"Promise the gods too much," she said, "and the gods overwhelmyou. They like to serve, which is their business, not to have yousquandering on them. Tell the women they are rulers, and theywill start to destroy their empire by making public what issecret! If you tell the men that the women rule them, what willthe men do?"
"Shut them up all the closer, I suppose," suggested Tess.
"Is that what they ever did? No. They will choose for themcertain offices they can not fill because of inexperience, andput the noisiest women in them, and make mock of them, and laugh!Not for a long time yet must India know who rules her!"
"Child, where did you learn all your philosophy?" Tess askedher, one night when they were watching the stars from the bedroomwindow-seat.
"Oh, men taught me this and that thing, and I have alwaysreversed it and believed the opposite. Why do men teach? To makeyou free, or to bind you to their own wheel? The English teachthat English ways are good for the world. I answer that the worldhas been good to England and the English would like to keep itso! The pundits say we should study the philosophies. They mademe study, hours and hours when I was little. Why? To bind me tothe wheel of their philosophy, and keep me subject to them! I sayphilosophy is good for pundits, as a pond is good for frogs; butshall I be a frog, too, and croak about the beauties of the mud?The priests say we should obey them, and pray, and makeofferings, and keep the religious law. I say, that religion isgood for priests, which is why they cherish it, and add to it,and persuade foolish women to believe it! As for the gods, ifthey are anything they are our servants!"
"Your husband is going to have an interesting time," laughedTess.
Yasmini's blue eyes suddenly turned soft and serious.
"Do you think I can not be a wife " she asked. "Do you supposethere is no mother-love in me? Do you think I do not understandhow a man needs cherishing? Do you think I will preach to myhusband, or oppose his plans? No! I will do as the gods do whenthe priests are asleep! I will let him go his own way, and willgo with him, never holding back; and little by little he willlearn that I have understanding. Little by little he will growinto knowledge of the things I know—and he will be a verygreat man!"
There were no visits whatever from Utirupa, for thecountry-side would have been scandalized. Only, flowers cameevery day in enormous quantities; and there was a wealth ofhorses, carriages, jewels and armed men at his bride's disposalthat proved he had not forgotten her existence or her needs. Shehad claimed marriage to him by Gandharva rite, and he had tacitlyconsented, but she was not ready yet to try conclusions with thesecret, octopus influence of the priests; and there was anotherreason.
"If it should get to Samson's cars that he and I are married,that would be the end of his chance of the throne of Sialpore.Samson is English of the English. He would oppose to the end thenomination of a maharajah, whose wife has notions of herown—as I am known to have! They like him— myhusband—because he plays good polo, and will bet with them,and can play cricket; and because he seems to follow no specialline of politics. But if it were known he had a cleverwife—me for wife—they would have none of him! I shallbe a surprise for them when the die is cast!"
Tess was in almost daily communication with Dick, for, whatwith Tom Tripe and Sita Ram and about a dozen other swornaccomplices, Yasmini had messages coming and going all the time.Camels used to arrive long after dark, and letters were broughtin, smelly with the sweat of loyal riders who had hidden themfrom too inquisitive police. Most of them carried back ascribbled word for Dick. But he said nothing about the treasurein his curt, anonymous, unsigned replies, being nervous aboutsending messages at all.
Only, when in one letter he mentioned digging in anotherplace, and Tess read the sentence aloud, Yasmini squealed withdelight. The next day her own advices confirmed the hint, SitaRam sending a long account of new developments and adding that"Samson sahib is much exercised in mind about it."
"All goes well!" Yasmini belled in her golden voice. "Samsonhas seen the hidden meaning of my letter! If I had told himbluntly where the treasure is, he would have laughed andforgotten it! But because he thinks he reads the secret of mymind, he flatters himself and falls into the trap! Now we haveSamson caught, and all is well!"
"It would be a very canny person who could read the secret ofyour mind, I should say!" laughed Tess.
"I am as simple as the sunlight!" Yasmini answered honestly."It is Samson who is dark, not I."
Yasmini began making ready for departure, giving a thousandorders to dependents she could trust.
"At the polo game," she asked Tess, "when the English askquestions as to where you have been, and what you saw, what willyou tell them?"
"Why not the truth? Samson expressly asked me to cultivateyour acquaintance."
"Splendid! Tell them you traveled on camel-back by nightacross the desert with me! By the time they have believed that wewill think of more to add to it! We return by elephant toSialpore together, timing our arrival for the polo game. There weseparate. You watch the game together with your husband. I shallbe in a closed carriage—part of the time. I shall be thereall the time, but I don't think you will see me."
"But you say they have rifled your palace. Where will yousleep?" Tess asked.
"At your house on the hill!"
"But that is in Gungadhura's territory. Aren't you afraid ofhim?"
"Of Gungadhura? I? I never was! But now whoever fears himwould run from a broken snake. I have word that the fool hasmurdered Mukhum Dass the money-lender. You may trust the Englishto draw his teeth nicely for him after that! Gungadhura is like atiger in a net he can not break!"
"He might send men to break into the house," Tess argued.
"There will be sharper eyes than any of his watching!"
But Tess was alarmed at the prospect. She did not mind in theleast what the English might have to say about it afterward; butto have her little house the center of nocturnal feuds, with herhusband using his six-shooters, and heaven only knew whatbloodshed resulting, was more of a prospect than she lookedforward to.
"Sister," said Yasmini, taking her by both hands. "I must useyour house. There is no other place."
No one could refuse her when her deep blue eyes grew soft andpleading, let alone Tess, who had lived with her and loved herfor a week.
"Very well," she answered; and Yasmini's eyes softened andbrightened even more.
"I shall not forget!"
Getting ready was no child's play. It was to be a leisurelyprocession in the olden style, with tents, servants, and all thehost of paraphernalia and hangers-on that that entails; notacross the desert this time, but around the edge of it, the waythe polo ponies went, and out of Gungadhura's reach. For, howevertruly Yasmini might declare that she was not afraid of Gungadhura(and she vowed she never boasted), she was running no unnecessaryrisks; it takes a long time for the last rats to desert a sinkingship, (the obstinate go down with it), and just as long for thelast assassins to change politics. She was eager to run all therisks when that was the surest strategy, but cautiousotherwise.
The secret of her safety lay in the inviolable privacysurrounding woman's life in all that part of India—privacythat the English have respected partly because of their owninherent sense of personal retirement, partly because it was theeasiest way and saved trouble; but mainly because India's womenhave no ostensible political power, and there is politics enoughwithout bringing new millions more potential agitators intolight. So word of her life among the women did not travel swiftlyto official ears, as that of a male intriguer would certainlyhave done. Utirupa was busy all day long with polo, and thePowers that Be were sure of it, and pleased. What Gungadhuraknew, or guessed, was another matter; but Gungadhura had his ownhands full just then.
So they formed part of a procession that straggled along themiles, of elephants, camels and groups of ponies, carts loadedwith tents, chattering servants, parties of Rajput gentlemen,beggars, hangers-on, retainers armed with ancient swords,mountebanks, several carriage-loads of women, who could sing anddance and were as particular about their veiling as if Lalun werenot their ancestress, the inevitable fakirs, camel-loads ofentertainers, water-carriers, sheep, asses, and bullock-drawn,squeaking two-wheeled carts aburst with all that men and animalscould eat. Three days and nights of circus life, as Tessdescribed it afterward to Dick.
Yasmini and Tess rode part of the way on an elephant, lyingfull-length in the hooded howdah with a view of all thecountry-side, starting before dawn and resting through the longheat of the day. But monotony formed no part of Yasmini's schemeof life, and daring was the very breath she breathed. Most of thetime they rode horseback together, disguised as men and taking tothe fields whenever other parties drew too close. But sometimesYasmini left Tess on the elephant, and mingled freely with thecrowd, her own resourcefulness and intimate knowledge of thelanguage and the customs enough protection.
Nights were the amazing time. A great camp spread out underancient trees —bonfires glowing everywhere, and nativefollowers squatted around them,—long, whinnyinghorse-lines—elephants, great gurgling shadows, swaying attheir pickets—shouting, laughter, music,—and, overall, soft purple darkness and the stars.
For it was something more than a mere polo tournament thatthey were traveling to. It had grown out of a custom abolished bythe government, of traveling once a year to Sialpore to air andconsider grievances—a custom dating from long before theBritish occupation, when the princes of the different states wereall in rival camps and that was about the only opportunity tomeet on reasonably friendly terms. In later years it had lookedlike developing into a focus of political solidity; so someingenious commissioner had introduced the polo element,eliminating, item after item, all the rest. Then the date hadbeen changed to the early hot weather, in order to reduceattendance; but the only effect that had was to keep away theEnglish from outlying provinces. It was the one chance that partof Rajputana had to get together, and the Rajputs swarmed to thetournament—along the main trunk road that the English hadreconstructed in early days for the swifter movement of theirguns. (It did not follow any particular trade route, althoughtrade had found its way afterward along it.)
Yasmini saw Utirupa every night, she apparently as much a manas he in turban and the comfortable Rajput costume—shorterby a bead, but as straight-standing and as agile. Tess andHasamurti used to watch them under the trees, ready to give thealarm in case of interruption, sometimes near enough to catch themurmured flow of confidence uniting them in secrecy of sacred,unconforming interviews. It was common knowledge that Yasmini wasin the camp, but she was always supposed to be tented safely onthe outskirts, with her women and a guard of watchful servantsall about her. There was no risk of an affront to her in anycase; it was known that Utirupa would attend to that.
Each night between the bonfires there wasentertainment—men who walked tight-ropes, wrestlers, aperforming horse, ballad-singers and, dearest delight of all, thetellers of Eastern tales, who sat with silent rings of men aboutthem and reeled off the old, loved, impossible adventures of thedays when the gods walked with men on earth—stories ofmiracles and love and derring-do, with heroes who could fight ahundred men unscathed, and heroines to set the heart on fire.
Then off again before sunrise in the cool amid the shoutingand confusion of a breaking camp, with truant ponies to behunted, and everybody yelling for his right of road, and theelephants sauntering urbanely through it all with trunks alertfor pickings from the hay-carts. They were nights and dayssuperbly gorgeous, all-entertaining, affluent of humor.
Then on the third day, nearing Sialpore toward evening theyfiled past two batteries of Royal Horse Artillery, drawn up on alevel place beside the road to let them by—an act ofcourtesy not unconnected with its own reward. It is never a badplan to let the possibly rebellious take a long look at theengines of enforcement.
"Ah!" laughed Yasmini, up in the howdah now beside Tess on theelephant, "the guns of the gods! I said the gods were helpingus!"
"Look like English guns to me," Tess answered.
"So think the English, too. So thinks Samson who sent forthem. So, too, perhaps Gungadhura will think when he knows theguns are coming! But I know better. I never promise the gods toomuch, but let them make me promises, and look on while theyperform them. I tell you, those are the guns of the gods!"
A bad man ruined by the run of luck
May shed the slime—they've done it,
Time and again they've done it.
That turn to aspiration out of muck
Is quick if heart's begun it,
If heart's desire's begun it.
But 'ware revenge if greater craft it is
That jockeyed him to recognize defeat,
Or greater force that overmastered his—
Efficiency more potent than deceit
That craved his crown and won it!
Safer the she-bear with her suckling young,
Kinder the hooked shark from a yardarm hung,
More rational a tiger by the hornets stung
Than perfidy outcozened. Shun it!
THE business of getting a maharajah off thethrone, even in a country where the overlords are nervous, andthere is precedent, is not entirely simple, especially when thecommissioner who recommends it has a name for indiscretion andambition. The government of conquered countries depends almost asmuch on keeping clever administrators in their place as onfostering subdivision among the conquered.
So, very much against his will, Samson was obliged to go tosee a high commissioner, who is a very important person indeed,and ram home his arguments between four walls by word of mouth.He did not take Sita Ram with him, so there is a gap in the storyat that point, partly bridged by Samson's own sketchy account ofthe interview to Colonel Willoughby de Wing, overheard by Carlosde Sousa Braganza the Goanese club butler, and reported toYasmini at third hand.
There were no airplanes or official motor-cars at that time totake officials at outrageous speed on urgent business. ButSamson's favorite study in his spare time was Julius Caesar, whousually traveled long distances at the rate of more than ahundred miles a day, and was probably short-winded from debauchinto the bargain. What the great Julius could do, Samson could doas well; but in spite of whip and spur and post, ruthless robberyof other people's reserved accommodation, and a train caught bygood luck on the last stage, it took him altogether sevenvaluable days and nights. For there was delay, too, while thehigh commissioner wired to Simla in code for definite permissionto be drastic.
The telegram from the secretary of state pointed out, asSamson had predicted that it would, the desirability of avoidingimpeachment and trial if that were possible, in view of the stateof public unrest in India and the notorious eagerness ofParliament at home to interfere in Indian affairs.
"Get him to abdicate!" was the meat of the long message.
"Can you do it?" asked the high commissioner.
"Leave that to me!" boasted Samson. "And now this othermatter. These 'islands' as they're called. It's absurd andexpensive to continue keeping up a fort inside the maharajah'sterritory. There's no military advantage to us in having it sonear our border. And there are totally unnecessary problems ofadministration that are entailed by the maharajah administering asmall piece of territory on our side of the river. I've had acontract drawn for your approval—Sir Hookum Bannerjee drewit, he's a very able lawyer —stipulating with Utirupa, inconsideration of our recognition of himself and his heirs asrulers of the State of Sialpore, that he shall agree to exchangehis palace and land on our side of the river against our fort onhis side. What do you think of it?"
"It isn't a good bargain. He ought to give us more than thatin the circumstances, against a fort and—and all that kindof thing."
"It's a supremely magnificent bargain!" retorted Samson."Altogether overlooking what we'll save in money by not having togarrison that absurd fort, it's the best financial bargain thisprovince ever had the chance of!"
"How d'ye mean?"
Samson whispered. Even those four solid walls were notdiscreet enough.
"The treasure of Sialpore is buried in the River Palacegrounds! Millions! Think of it—Millions! Lakhs andcrores!"
The high commissioner whistled.
"That 'ud mean something to the province, wouldn't it! Show meyour proofs."
How Samson got around the fact that he had no actuallydefinite proofs, he never told. But he convinced the highcommissioner, who never told either, unless to somebody at Simla,who buried the secret among the State Department files.
"I'll wire Simla," said the high commissioner presently, "forpermission to authorize you to set your signature to thatcontract on behalf of government. The minute I get it I'll wireyou to Sialpore and confirm by letter. Now you'd better get backto your post in a hurry. And don't forget, it would be difficultin a case like this to err on the side of silence, Samson. Who'llhave to be told?"
"Nobody but Willoughby de Wing. I'll have to ask him fortroops to guard the River Palace grounds. There's a confoundedAmerican digging this minute in the River Palace grounds byarrangement with Gungadhura. He'll have to be stopped, and I'llhave to make some sort of explanation."
"What's an American doing in Sialpore?"
"Prospecting. Has a contract with Gungadhura."
"Um-m-m! We'll have Standard Oil in next! Better point out toUtirupa that contracts with foreigner's aren't regardedcordially."
"That's easily done," said Samson. "Utirupa is nothing if notanxious to please."
"Yes, Utirupa is a very fine young fellow—and a goodsportsman, too, I'm told."
"There is no reason why Utirupa should recognize the contractbetween Gungadhura and the American. It was a privatecontract—no official sanction. If Gungadhura isn't inposition to continue it—"
"Exactly. Well—good-by. I'll look forward to a goodreport from you."
By train and horse and tonga Samson contrived to reachSialpore on the morning before the day set for the polotournament. He barely allowed himself time to shave before goingto see Dick Blaine, and found him, as he expected, at the end ofthe tunnel nearly a hundred yards long that started from insidethe palace wall and passed out under it. The guards at the gatedid not dare refuse the commissioner admission. So far, Dick hadnot begun demolition of the palace, but had dragged togetherenough lumber by pulling down sheds and outhouses. He was not adestructive-minded man.
"Will you come outside and talk with me?" Samson shouted, amidthe din of pick and shovel work.
"Sure."
Dick's poker face was in perfect working order by the timethey reached the light. But he stood with his back to the sun andlet Samson have the worst of the position.
"You're wasting time and money, Blaine. I've come to tell youso."
"Now—that's good of you."
"Your contract with Gungadhura is not worth the paper it'swritten on."
"How so?"
"He will not be maharajah after noon today!"
"You don't mean it!"
"That information is confidential, but the news will be out bytomorrow. The British Administration intends to take over all theland on this side of the river. That's confidential too. Betweenyou and me, our government would never recognize a contractbetween you and Gungadhura. I warned you once, and your wife asecond time."
"Sure, she told me."
"Well. You and I have been friends, Blaine. I'd like you toregard this as not personal. But—"
"Oh, I get you. I'm to call the men off? That it?"
"You've only until tomorrow in any case."
"And Gungadhura, broke, to look to for the pay-roll!Well—as you say, what's the use?"
"I'd pay your men off altogether, if I were you."
"They're a good gang."
"No doubt. We've all admired your ability to make men work.But there'll be a new maharajah in a day or two, and, strictlybetween you and me, as one friend to another, there'll be a veryslight chance indeed of your getting a contract from the incomingman to carry on your mining in the hills. I'd like to save youtrouble and expense."
"Real good of you."
"Er—found anything down there?" Samson nodded over hisshoulder toward the tunnel mouth.
"Not yet."
"Any signs of anything?"
"Not yet."
Samson looked relieved.
"By the way. You mentioned the other day something aboutevidence relating to the murder of Mukhum Dass."
"I did."
"Was it anything important?"
"Maybe. Looked so to me."
"Would you mind giving me an outline of it?"
"You said that day you knew who murdered Mukhum Dass?"
"Yes. When I got in this morning there was a note on my deskfrom Norwood, the superintendent of police, to say that they'vearrested your butler and cook, and the murderer of Mukhum Dassall hiding together near a railway station. The murderer hassquealed, as you Americans say. They often do when they'recaught. He has told who put him up to it."
"Guess I'll give you this, then. It's the map out of thesilver tube that Mukhum Dass burgled from my cellar. Gungadhuragave it to me with instructions to dig here. You'll note there'sblood on it."
Samson's eyes looked hardly interested as he took it. Then helooked, and they blazed. He put it in his inner pockethurriedly.
"Too bad, Blaine!" he laughed. "So you even had a map of thetreasure, eh? Another day or two and you'd have forestalled us! Isuppose you'd a contract with Gungadhura for a share of it?"
"You bet!"
"Well—it wasn't registered. I doubt if you could haveenforced it. Gungadhura is an awful rascal."
"Gee!" lied Dick. "I never thought of that! I had my othercontract registered all right—in your office—youremember?"
"Yes. I warned you at the time about Gungadhura."
"You did. I remember now. You did. Well, I suppose the wifeand I'll be heading for the U. S. A. soon, richer by theexperience. Still—I reckon I'll wait around and see the newmaharajah in the saddle, and watch what comes of it."
"You've no chance, Blaine, believe me!"
"All right, I'll think it over. Meanwhile, I'll whistle offthese men."
The next man Samson interviewed was Willoughby de Wing.
"Let me have a commissioner's escort, please," he demanded."I'm going to see Gungadhura now! You'd better follow up with atroop to replace the maharajah's guards around his palace. Wecan't put him under arrest without impeaching him; but—makeit pretty plain to the guard they're there to protect a man whohas abdicated; that no one's to be allowed in, and nobody outunless he can explain his business. Then, can you spare someguards for another job? I want about twenty men on the RiverPalace at once. Caution them carefully. Nobody's to go inside thegrounds. Order the maharajah's guards away! It's a littleprevious. His officers will try to make trouble of course. But anapology at the proper time will cover that."
"What's the new excitement?" asked the colonel. "More murders?More princesses out at night?"
"This is between you and me. Not a word to a living soul, DeWing!" Samson paused, then whispered: "The treasure ofSialpore!"
"What—in the palace?"
"In the grounds! There's a tunnel already half-dug, leadingtoward it from inside the palace wall. I've proof of the locationin my pocket!"
"Gad's teeth!" barked Willoughby de Wing. "All right, I'llhave your escort in a jiffy. Have a whisky and soda, my boy, tostiffen you before the talk with Gungadhura!"
A little less than half an hour later Samson drove across thebridge in the official landau, followed by an officer, a jemadar,a naik and eight troopers of De Wing's Sikh cavalry. Willoughbyde Wing drove in the carriage with him as a witness. They enteredthe palace together, and were kept waiting so long that Samsonsent the major-domo to the maharajah a second time with a veiledthreat to repeat, said slowly:
"Say the business is urgent and that I shall not be heldresponsible for consequences if he doesn't see me at once!"
"Gad!" swore De Wing, screwing in his monocle. "I'd like asecond whisky and soda! I suppose there's none here. I hate tosee a man broke—even a blackguard!"
Gungadhura received them at last, seated, in the officialdurbar room. The bandages were gone from his face, but a strip offlesh-colored court-plaster from eye to lip gave him an almostcomical look of dejection, and he lolled in the throne-chair withhis back curved and head hung forward, scowling as a man does notwho looks forward to the interview.
Samson cleared his throat, and read what be had to say,holding the paper straight in front of him.
"I have a disagreeable task of informing Your Highness thatyour correspondence with the Mahsudi tribe is known to HisMajesty's Government."
Gungadhura scowled more deeply, but made no answer.
"Amounting as it does to treason, at a time when His Majesty'sGovernment are embarrassed by internal unrest, your act can notbe overlooked."
Gungadhura made a motion as if to interrupt, but thoughtbetter of it.
"In the circumstances I have the honor to advise Your Highnessthat the wisest course, and the only course that will avoidimpeachment, is abdication."
Gungadhura shook his head violently.
"I can explain," he said. "I have proofs."
Samson turned the paper over—paused a moment—andbegan to read the second sheet.
"It is known who murdered Mukhum Dass. The assassin has beencaught, and has confessed."
Gungadhura's eyes that had been dull, and almost listlesshitherto, began to glare like an animal's.
"I have here—" Samson reached in his pocket, "a certainpiece of parchment—a map in fact—that was stolen fromthe body of Mukhum Dass. Perhaps Your Highness will recognize it.Look!"
Gungadhura looked, and started like a man stung. Samsonreturned the map to his pocket, for the maharajah almost lookedlike trying to snatch it; but instead he collapsed in his chairagain.
"If I abdicate?" he asked, as if his throat and lips couldhardly form the words.
"That would be sufficient. The assassin would then be allowedto plead guilty to another charge there is against him, and thematter would be dropped."
"I abdicate!"
"On behalf of His Majesty's Government I accept theabdication. Sign this, please."
Samson laid a formal written act of abdication on the table bythe throne. Gungadhura signed it. Willoughby de Wing wrote hissignature as witness. Samson took it back and folded it away.
"Arrangements will be made for Your Highness to leave Sialporetomorrow morning, with a sufficient escort for your protection.Provision will be made in due course for your private residenceelsewhere. Be good enough to hold yourself and your family inreadiness tomorrow morning."
"But my son!" exclaimed Gungadhura. "I abdicate in favor of myson!"
"In case of abdication by a reigning prince, or deposition ofa reigning prince," said Samson, "the Government of Indiareserves the right to appoint his successor, from among eligiblemembers of his family if there be any, but to appoint hissuccessor in any case. There is ample precedent."
"And my son?"
"Will certainly not be considered."
Gungadhura glanced about him like a frenzied man, and then layback in a state of near-collapse. Samson and De Wing both bowed,and left the room.
"Poor devil!" said De Wing, "I'm sorry for him."
"Would you be a good fellow," said Samson, "and send off thiswire for me? There—I've added the exact time of theabdication. I've got to go now and summon a durbar ofGungadhura's state officers, and tell them in confidence what'shappened. I shall hint pretty broadly that Utirupa is our man,and then ask them which prince they'd like to have succeed."
"Good!" said De Wing. "Nothing like tact! Why not meet me atthe club for a whisky and soda afterward?"
Inside the durbar hall Gungadhura sat alone for just so longas it took the sound of the closing door to die away. Thenanother door, close behind the throne chair opened, and Patalientered. She looked at him with pity on her face, andcuriosity.
"That American sold you," she said after a minute.
"Eh?"
"I say, that American sold you! He sold you, and the map, andthe treasure to the English!"
"I know it! I know it!"
"If I were a man—"
She waited, but he gave no sign of manhood.
"If I were a man I know what I would do!"
"Peace, Patali! I am a ruined man. They will all desert me assoon as the news is out. They are deserting now; I feel it in mybones. I have none to send."
"Send? It is only maharajahs who must send. Men do their ownwork! I know what I would do to an American or any other man, whosold me!"
The king sent his army and said, "Lo, I didit. Consider my prowess and my strategy!" But the godslaughed.
—Eastern Proverb
Very shortly after dawn on the morning of the polo gameYasmini left the Blaines' house on business of her own. The newsof Gungadhura's abdication was abroad already, many timesmultiplied by each mouth until two batteries of guns had becomean army corps. But what caused the greatest excitement was thenews, first of all whispered, then confirmed, that Gungadhurahimself was missing.
That disturbing knowledge was the factor that preventedYasmini from returning to her own rifled palace and making thebest of it; for it would take time to hedge the place aboutproperly with guards. There was simply no knowing what Gungadhuramight be up to. She judged it probable that he had seen throughher whole plot in the drear light of revelation that so oftencomes to stricken men, and in that case her own life was likelyin danger every second he was still at liberty. But she sent wordto Utirupa, too, to be on the alert. And she saw him herself thatmorning, in her favorite disguise of a Rangar zemindar, which isa Rajput landowner turned Mohammedan. The disguise precluded anyHindu interference, and Mohammedans on that country-side, whomight have questioned her, were scarce.
The polo did not take place until late afternoon, because ofthe heat, but the grounds were crowded long before the time by amulti-colored swarm in gala mood, whom the artillerymen, pressedinto service as line-keepers, had hard work to keep back of theline. There was a rope around three sides of the field, but itbroke repeatedly, and in the end the gunners had to be stationeda few feet apart all down the side opposite the grand-stand tokeep the crowd from breaking through.
There were carriages in swarms, ranging from the spider-wheelgig of a British subaltern to the four-in-hand of Rajputnobility—kept pretty carefully apart, though. Theconquerors of India don't mix with the conquered, as a rule,except officially. And there were half a dozen shutteredcarriages that might have contained ladies, and might not; noneknew.
It was a crowd that knew polo from the inside outward, andwhen the ponies were brought at last and stood in line below thegrand-stand, each in charge of his sais, there grew a greatmurmur of critical approval; for the points of a horse inRajputana are as the lines of a yacht at Marblehead, and themarks of a dog in Yorkshire; the very urchins know them. TheBombay side of India had been scoured pretty thoroughly formounts for that event. The Rajputs had on the whole the weight ofmoney, and perhaps the showiest ponies, but the English team,nearly all darker in color as it happened, except for onepie-bald, looked trained up to the last notch and bore the air ofknowing just what to expect, that is as unmistakable in horses asin men.
Tom Tripe was there with his dog. Trotters had theself-imposed and wholly agreeable task of chasing all unattacheddogs off the premises. But Tom Tripe himself was keeping ratherin the background, because technically, as a servant ofGungadhura, he was in a delicate position. A voice that he couldswear he almost recognized whispered to him in the crowd that theEnglish were going to forbid the next maharajah to have any butemployees of his own race. And a laugh that he could pick out ofa million greeted his change of countenance. But though he turnedvery swiftly, and had had no brandy since morning to becloud hisvision, he failed to see his tormentor.
Tess and Dick drove down in ample time, as they had imagined,and found hard work to squeeze the dog-cart in between thephalanxes of wheels already massed on the ground. When they wentto the grand-stand it was to find not a seat left in the rowsreserved for ordinary folk; so Samson, who arrived late too,magnificent in brand-new riding-boots, invited them to sit nexthim in front.
The ground was in perfect condition—a trifle hard,because of the season, but flat as a billiard table and as fastas even Rajputs could desire. A committee of them had been goingover it daily for a week past, recommending touches here,suggesting something there, neglecting not an inch, because thefiner stick-work of the Rajput team would be lost on unevenground; and the English had been sportsmen enough to accommodatethem without a murmur.
When a little bell rang and the teams turned out for the firstchukker in deathly-silence, it was evident at once what theRajput strategy would be. They had brought out their fastestponies to begin with, determined to take the lead at the startand hold it.
One could hear the crowd breathe when the whistle blew; for inIndia polo is a game to watch, not an opportunity for small talk.Instantly the ball went clipping toward the English goal, to bechecked by Topham at full-back, who sent it out rattling to theright wing. But the Rajput left-wing man, a young cousin ofUtirupa, cut in like an arrow. The ball crossed over to the rightwing, where Utirupa took it, galloping down the line on achestnut mare that had the speed of wind. Topham, racing tointercept the ball, missed badly; a second later the Rajputcenter thundered past both men and scored the goal, amid a roarfrom the spectators, less than a minute from the start.
"Dick!" Tess exclaimed. "You ought to be ashamed of me! I'mrooting for the Rajputs against my own color!"
"So'm I!" he answered. "I wish to glory there was some onehere to bet with!"
Samson overheard.
"Which way do you want to bet?" he asked.
"A thousand on the Rajputs."
"Thousand what?"
"Dollars. Three thousand rupees."
"Confound it, you Americans are all too rich! Never mind, I'lltake you."
"A bet!" Dick answered, and both men wrote it down.
About nine words were said by the captain of the English teamas they rode back to the center of the field, and when the ballwas in play again there was no more of the scattering open playthat suited the other side, but a close, short-hitting,chop-and-follow method that tried ponies' tempers, and ascrimmage every ten yards that made all unavailing the Rajputs'speed and dash. Whenever a stroke of lightning wrist-work sentthe ball clipping down-field Topham returned it to the center andthe scrimmage began all over again. The first chukker ended inmid-field, with the score 1—0.
Both sides brought out fresh ponies for the second, and theRajputs tried again to score with their favorite tactics oflong-hitting and tremendous speed. But the English were playingdogged-does-it, and Topham on the pie-bald at full back wasinvincible. Nothing passed him. Nor were the English slow. Threetimes they seized opportunity in mid-field and rode with a burstof fiery hitting toward the Rajput goal. Three times the gunnersdown the line began to yell. The English team were gettingtogether, and the Rajputs a little wild. But the chukker endedwith the same score, 1— 0.
"How d'you feel about it now?" asked Samson, looking as calmas the English habitually do whenever their pulse beatsfuriously.
"I'd like to bet too!" Tess laughed, leaning across.
"What—the same sized bet?"
"No, a hundred."
"Dollars ?"
"Rupees!" she laughed. "I'm not so rich as my husband."
"Can't refuse a lady!" Samson answered, noting the bet down."I shall be a rich man tonight. They play a brilliant game, thosefellows, but we always beat them in the end."
"How do you account for that?" Dick asked, suspecting what wascoming.
"Oh, in a number of ways, but chiefly because they lackteam-loyalty among themselves. They're all jealous of oneanother, whereas our fellows play as a unit."
As if in confirmation of Samson's words the Rajput team seemedrather to go to pieces in the third chukker. There was the samebrilliant individual hitting, and as much speed as ever, but thegenius was not there. In vain Utirupa took the ball out of ascrimmage twice and rode away with it. He was not backed up inthe nick of time, and before the end of the third minute theEnglish scored.
"You'd better go and hedge those bets," laughed Samson whenthe chukker ended. "There are plenty of the native gentry overyonder who'd be delighted to gamble a fortune with you yet!"
Dick scarcely heard. He was watching Utirupa, who stood by thepony-line where a sais was doing something to a saddle girth. Arangar came up to the prince and spoke to him—a slim,young-looking man, a head the shorter of the two, with a turbanrather low over his eyes, and the loose end of it, for somereason, across the lower half of his face. Dick nudged Tess, andshe nodded. After that Utirupa appeared to speak in low tones toeach member of his own team.
"I beg your pardon. What was that you said?" asked Dick.
"I say you'd better hedge those bets."
"I'll double with you, if you like!"
"Good heavens, man! I've wagered a month's pay already! Go andbet with Willoughby de Wing or one of the gunner officers."
The rangar disappeared into the crowd before the teams rodeout for the fourth encounter, and Tess, who had made up her mindto watch the shuttered carriages that stood in line together in aroped enclosure of their own, became too busy with the game.Something had happened to the Rajputs. They no longer played withthe gallery-appealing smash-and-gallop fury that won them thefirst goal, although their speed held good and the stick-work wasmarvelous. But they seemed more willing now to mix it in themiddle of the field, and to ride off an opponent instead ofracing for the chance to shine individually. It became theEnglish turn to drive to the wings and try to clear the ball fora hurricane race down-field; and they were not quite so good atthose tactics as the other side were.
All the rest of that game until the eighth, chukker afterchukker, the Rajputs managed to reverse the usual procedure,obliging the English team to wear itself out in terrific effortsto break away, tiring men and ponies in a tight scramble in whichneither side could score.
"It looks like a draw after all," said Samson. "Bets off inthat case, I suppose? Disappointing game in my opinion."
"'Tisn't over yet," said Dick.
The Rajputs were coming out for the last chukker with theirfirst and fastest ponies that had rested through the game; andthey were smiling. Utirupa had said something that was either agood joke or else vastly reassuring. As a matter of fact he hadturned them loose at last to play their old familiar game again,and from the second that the ball went into play the crowd was ontiptoe, swaying this and that way with excitement.
In vain the English sought to return to the scrimmage play; itwas too late. The Rajputs had them rattled. Topham at full-backon the pie-bald was a stone wall, swift, hard-hitting andresourceful, but in vain. Swooping down the wings, and passingwith the dextrous wrist-work and amazing body-bends that theyalone seem able to accomplish, they put the English team on thedefensive and kept them there. Once, at about half-time, by adash all together the English did succeed in carrying t he balldown-field, but that was their last chance, and they missed it.In the last two minutes the Rajputs scored two goals, the lastone driven home by Utirupa himself, racing ahead of the fieldwith whirling stick and the thunder of a neck-and-neck stampedebehind him.
"That'll be your month's pay!" laughed Dick. "I hope you won'tstarve for thirty days!"
The crowd went mad with delight, and swarmed on to the ground,shouting and singing. Samson got up, looking as if he ratherenjoyed to lose three thousand rupees in an afternoon.
"If you'll excuse me," he said, I'll go and shake hands withUtirupa. He deserves congratulation. It was head-work won thatgame."
"I wonder what she said to him at the end of the thirdchukker," Tess whispered to Dick.
Samson found Utirupa giving orders to the saises, and shookhands with him.
"Good game, Utirupa! Congratulate you. By the way: there'sgoing to be a meeting on important business in my office half anhour from now. When you've had a tub and a change, I wish you'dcome and join us. We want a word with you."
"Where are the gunners going to?" asked Tess. "The men whokept the line —look! They're all trooping off the ground inthe same direction."
"Dunno," said her husband. "Let's make for the dog-cart anddrive home. If we hang around Samson'll think we're waiting forthat money!"
Half an hour after that, Utirupa presented himself at Samson'soffice in the usual neat Rajput dress that showed off his lithefigure and the straightness of his stature. There was quite aparty there to meet him —Samson, Willoughby de Wing,Norwood, Sir Hookum Bannerjee, Topham (still looking warm andrather weary after the game)—and outside on the open groundbeyond the compound wall two batteries of horse-guns were drawnup at attention. But if Utirupa felt surprise he did not showit.
"To make a short story of a long one, Prince Utirupa," Samsonbegan at once, "as you know, Gungadhura abdicated yesterday. Thethrone of Sialpore is vacant, and you are invited to accept it. Ihave here the required authority from Simla."
Utirupa rose from his chair, and bowed.
"I am willing to accept," he answered quietly. His face showedno emotion.
"There is one stipulation, though," said Samson. "We are tiredof these foolish 'islands'—our territory in yours and yoursin ours. There's a contract here. As your first officialact—there's no time like the present—we want you toexchange the River Palace, on this side of the river, for outfort on your side."
Utirupa said never a word.
"It's not a question of driving a bargain," Samson went on."We don't know what the palace may be worth, or what is in it. Ifthere is any valuable furniture you'd like removed, we'll waivethat point; but on the terms of the contract we exchange thefort, with the guns and whatever else is there except the actualharness and supplies of the garrison, against the land and palaceand whatever it contains except furniture."
Utirupa smiled—perhaps because the guns in that fortwere known to date from before the Mutiny.
"Will you agree?"
"I will sign," said Utirupa. And he signed the contract thereand then, in presence of all those witnesses. Ten minutes later,as he left the office, the waiting batteries fired him afourteen-gun salute, that the world might know how a newmaharajah occupied the throne of Sialpore.
Meanwhile, up at the house on the hill Tess and Dick foundYasmini already there ahead of them, lying at her ease, dressedas a woman of women, and smoking a cigarette in the window-seatof the bedroom Tess had surrendered to her.
"What was it you said to him after the third chukker?" was thefirst question Tess asked.
"You recognized me?"
"Sure. So did my husband. What did you say to him?"
"Oh, I just said that if he hoped to win he must play the gameof the English, and play it better, that was all. He won, didn'the? I didn't stay to the end. I knew he would win."
Almost as they spoke the fourteen-gun salute boomed out fromacross the river, and echoed from the hills.
"Ah!" said Yasmini. "Listen! The guns of the gods! He ismaharajah now."
"But what of the treasure?" Tess asked her. "Dick told me thismorning that the English have a guard all round the River Palace,and expect to dig the treasure up themselves."
"Perhaps the English need it more than he and I do," Yasminianswered.
That evening Tom Tripe turned up, and Yasmini came down-stairsto talk with him, Trotters remaining outside the window with hisash-colored hair on end and a succession of volcanic growlsrumbling between flashed teeth.
"What's the matter with the dog, that he won't come in?" askedTess.
"Nothing, ma'arm He's just encouraging himself. He stays heretonight."
"Trotters does? Why?"
"It's known all over Sialpore that her ladyship's stayinghere, and Gungadhura's at large somewhere.
You're well guarded; that's been seen to, but Trotters staysfor double inner-guard. One or two men might go to sleep.Gungadhura might pass them a poisoned drink, or physic theirrations in some way. And then, they're what you might call fixedpoint men here, one there, with instructions they'll be skinnedalive and burned if they leave their exact position. Trotters hasa roving commission, to nose and snarl whenever he's minded. Youcan't poison him, for he won't eat from strangers. You can't seeto knife him in the dark, because he's ash-colored and moves tooswift. And if Gungadhura comes an' shoots at where Trotters' eyesgleam—well—Mr. Dick Blaine is liable to wake up an'show his highness how Buffalo Billy imitates a Gatling gun! Thehouse is safe, but I thought I'd come and mention it."
"When will my palace be ready?" Yasmini asked.
"Tomorrow or the next day, Your Ladyship. There wasn't so muchtaken out after all, though a certain amount was stolen. Thefirst orders the new maharajah gave were to have your palaceattended to; and some of the stolen stuff is coming in already;word went out that if stuff was returned there'd be nothing said,but if it weren't returned there'd be something brand-new in theline of trouble for all concerned. The priests have been told topass the word along. 'No obedience from priests, no priests atthe coronation ceremony!—It's my belief from about twohours' observation that we've got a maharajah now with guts, ifyou'll excuse my bad French, please, ma'am."
"What does it matter to you, Tom, whether he is good or not?"Yasmini asked mischievously. Isn't there a rumor that the Englishwon't allow any but the native-born instructors after this?"
"Ah, naughty, naughty!" he laughed, shaking a gnarledforefinger. "I thought it was your voice in the crowd. YourLadyship 'ud like to have me all nervous, wouldn't you?Well—if Tom Tripe was out of a job tomorrow, the very firstperson he'd apply to for a new one would be the Princess Yasmini;and she'd give it him!"
"What have you in your hand?" Yasmini asked.
"Gungadhura's turban that he wore the night when Akbar chasedhim down the street."
Yasmini nodded, understanding instantly.
Five minutes later, after a rousing stiff night-cap, Tom tookhis leave. They heard his voice outside the window:
"Trotters!"
The dog's tail beat three times on the veranda.
"Take a smell o' this!"
There was silence, followed by a growl.
"If he comes,—kill him! D'ye understand? Kill him!There— there's the turban for you to lie on an' memorizethe smell! Kill him! Ye understand?"
A deep growl was the answer, and Tom Tripe marched off towardthe stables for his horse, whistling Annie Rooney, lest some tooenthusiastic watcher knife him out of a shadow.
"When I am maharani," said Yasmini, "Tom Tripe shall have thetitle of sirdar, whether the English approve of it or not!"
The Creator caused flowers to bloom in thedesert and buried jewels in the bosom of the earth. That is lestmen should grow idle, wallowing in delights they have, instead ofacquiring merit in the search for beauty that is out ofreach.
—Eastern Proverb
TECHNICALLY, Yasmini was as much Maharani ofSialpore as she would ever be, the moment that the fourteen-gunsalute boomed out across the river. For the English do notrecognize a maharani, except as courtesy title. The reigningprince is maharajah, and, being Hindu, can have one wife or asmany as he pleases. Utirupa and Yasmini claimed to have marriedthemselves by Gandharva rite, and, had she chosen, she could havegone to live with him that minute.
But that would not have paid her in the long run. The priests,for instance, whom she despised with all her character, wouldhave been outraged into life-long enmity; and she knew theirpower.
"It is one thing," she told Tess, "to determine to be rid ofcobras; but another to spurn them with your hand and foot. Theybite!"
Then again, it would not have suited her to slip quietly intoUtirupa's palace and assume the reins of hidden influence withoutthe English knowing it. She proposed taking uttermost advantageof the purdah custom that protects women in India fromobservation and makes contact between them and the English almostimpossible. But she intended, too, to force the Indian Governmentinto some form of recognition of her.
"If they acknowledge me, they lock swords with every woman inthe country. Let them deny me afterward, and all those swordswill quiver at their throats! A woman's sword is subtler than aman's."
(That was the secret of her true strength in all the yearsthat followed. It was never possible to bring her quite to bay,because the women pulled hidden strings for her in the spherethat is above and below the reach of governments.) So she movedback into her own palace, where she received only Tess of all theAnglo-Saxon women in India.
"Why don't you keep open house to English women, and startsomething?" Tess asked her. But Yasmini laughed.
"My power would be gone. Do you fight a tiger by going down onall-fours with him and using teeth and claws? Or do you keep yourdistance, and use a gun?"
"But the English women are not tigresses."
"If they were, I would laugh at them. Trapping tigers is atask the jungle coolies can attend to well! But if I admit theEnglish women into my palace, they will come out of curiosity.And out of pity, or compassion or some such odious emotion theywill invite me to their homes, making an exhibition of me totheir friends. Should I be one of them? Never! Would they admitother Indian women with me? Certainly; any one I cared torecommend. They would encourage us to try to become their socialequals, as they would call it, always backing away in front of usand beckoning, we striving, and they flattered. No! I willreverse that. I will have the English women striving to enter oursociety! They shall wake up one day to discover there issomething worth having that is out of reach. Then see thecommotion! Watch the alteration then! Today they say, when theytrouble to think of us at all, 'Come and visit us; our ways aregood; we will not hurt you; come along,' as the children call toa kitten in the street. Then they will say, 'We have this andthat to offer. We desire your good society. Will you admit us ifwe bring our gifts?' That will be another story, but it will taketime."
"More than time," Tess answered. "Genius."
"I have genius. That is why I know too much to declare war onthe priests. I shall have a proper wedding, and priests shallofficiate, I despising them and they aware of it. That will betheir first defeat. They shall come to my marriage as dogs cometo their mistress when she calls—and be whipped away againif they fawn too eagerly! They will not dare refuse to come,because then war would be joined, and I might prove to people howunnecessary priests are. But they are more difficult to deal withthan the English. A fat hypocrite like Jinendra's high priest islike a carp to be caught with a worm, or an ass to be beaten witha stick; but there are others—true ascetics—lustingfor influence more than a bellyful, caring nothing for theoutside of the power if they hold the nut—nothing for thepetals, if they hold the seed. Those men are not easy. For thepresent I shall seem to play into their hands, but they know thatI despise them!"
So great preparations were made for a royal wedding. And whenSamson heard that Yasmini was to be Utirupa's bride he wassufficiently disgusted, even to satisfy Yasmini, who was noadmirer of his. Sita Ram's account of Samson's rage, as heexplained the circumstance to Willoughby de Wing, was almostepic.
"Damn the woman! And damn him! She's known for atrouble-maker. Simla will be asking me why on earth I permittedit. They'll want to know why I didn't caution Utirupa and warnhim against that princess in particular. She's going to paradethrough the streets under my very nose and in flat defiance ofour government, just at the very time when I've gone on record assponsor for Utirupa. I've assured them he wouldn't do anill-advised thing, and I specifically undertook to see that hemarried wisely. But it was too early yet to speak to him aboutit. And here he springs this offense on me! It's toobad—too bad!"
"You'll be all right with Simla," said Willoughby de Wing."Dig up the treasure and they'll recommend you for the K. C. B.,with the pick of all the jobs going!"
"They don't give K. C. B.'s to men in my trade," Samsonanswered rather gloomily. "They reserve them for you professionalbutchers."
He was feeling jumpy about the treasure, and dreaming of itall night long in a way that did not make the waking fears morecomfortable. A whole company of sappers bad been sent for; andbecause of the need of secrecy for the present, a specialappropriation had had to be made to cover the cost of lumber forthe tunnel that Dick began, and that the sappers finished. Theyhad dug right up to the pipal trees, and half-killed them bytunneling under their roots along one side; but withoutdiscovering anything so far, except a few old coins. (The veryancient golden mohur in the glass case marked "Sialpore" in theAllahabad Museum is one of them.) Now they were going to tunneldown the other side and kill the ancient trees completely.
Being a man of a certain courage, Samson had it inmind—perhaps —to send the map to an expert for anopinion on it. Only, he hated experts; they were so bent alwayson establishing their own pet theory. And it was late—alittle late for expert opinions on the map. The wisest way was tokeep silent and continue digging, even if the operation did killancient landmarks that one could see—from across the river,for instance.
And, of course, he could not refuse to recognize the weddingofficially and put on record the name, ancestry and title of themaharajah's legal first wife. Nor could he keep away, because,with amazingly shrewd judgment, Yasmini had contrived the noveltyof welding wedding and coronation ceremony and festival in one.Instead of two successive outbursts of squandering, there wouldbe only one. It was economic progress. One could not withholdapproval of it. He must go in person, smile, give a valuablepresent (paid for by the government, of course), and say theproper thing.
One modicum of consolation did ooze out of the rind ofSamson's situation. It would have been no easier, be reflected,to say the right thing at the right time at the coronationceremony, especially to the right people, if that treasure shouldalready have been dug up and reposing in the coffers of theIndian Government. After a certain sort of bargain, one's tonguefeels unpleasant in one's cheek.
Sialpore, however, was much more taken up with preparationsfor the colossal coronation-wedding feast than with Samson'sdigging. Yasmini went on her palace roof each day to see how thetrees leaned this and that way, as the earth was mined from underthem. And Tom Tripe, standing guard on the bastion of the fort tooversee the removal of certain stores and fittings before theEnglish should march out finally and the maharajah's men marchin, could see the destruction of the pipal trees too. So, forthat matter, could Dick Blaine, on the day when he took some ofthe gang and blocked up the mouth of the mine on the hill withcemented masonry—to prevent theft; and cursed himselfafterward for being such a fool as to brick up his luncheonbasket inside the tunnel, to say nothing of all the men's waterbottles and some of their food and tools. But nobody else inSialpore took very much notice of Samson's excavation, and nobodycared about Dick's mine.
Every maharajah always tries to make his wedding andcoronation ceremonies grander, and more extravagant and memorablethan anybody's else have been since history began; and there areplenty whose interest it is to encourage him, and to help him doit; money-lenders, for instance. But Utirupa not only had twomagnificent ceremonies to unite in one, but Yasmini to supply thegenius. The preparations made the very priests gasp (and theywere used to orgies of extravagance—taught and preached andprofited by them in fact.)
Once or twice Tess remonstrated, but Yasmini turned ascornfully deaf ear.
"What would you have us do instead? Invest all the money ateight per cent., so that the rich traders may have more capital,and found an asylum where Bimbu, Umra and Pinga may live inidleness and be rebuked for mirth?"
"Bimbu, Umra and Pinga might be put to work," said Tess. "Asfor mirth, they laugh at such unseemly things. They could betaught what proper humor is."
"Have they not worked?" Yasmini asked. "Has one man got intoyour house, without you, or the guard set to watch you, knowingit? Could any one have done it better? Did it not have to bedone? As for humor—have they not enjoyed the task? Has itnot been a sweeter tale in their ears than the story-teller's atthe corner, because they have told it to themselves and acted apart in it?"
"Well," said Tess, "you can't convince me! There areinstitutions that could be founded with all that money you andyour husband are going to spend on ceremony, that would dogood."
"Institutions?" Yasmini's eyes grew ablaze with blue indignantfire. "There were institutions in this land before the Englishcame, which need attention before we worry ourselves over newones. Play was one of them, and I will revive it first! Thepeople used to dance under the trees by moonlight. Do they do itnow? It is true they used to die of famine in the bad years,growing much too fat in good ones, and the English have changedthat. But I will give them back the gladness, if I can, that hasbeen squeezed out by too many 'institutions!'"
"You would rather see Bimbu, Umra and Pinga happy, thanprosperous and well-clothed?"
"Which would you rather?" Yasmini asked her. "You shall seethem well clothed in a little while. Just wait."
There were almost endless altercations with the priests.Utirupa himself was known to have profound Sikhtendencies—a form of liberalism in religion that producedalmost as much persecution at one time as Protestantism did inEurope. To marry a woman openly who had no true claim to caste atall, as Yasmini, being the daughter of a foreigner, had not, wasin the eyes of the priests almost as great an offense asYasmini's father's, who crossed the kali pani* and married abroadin defiance of them. So the priests demanded the most elaborateritual of purification that ingenuity could devise, together withstaggering sums of money. Utirupa's eventual threat to lead areform movement in Rajputana brought them to see reason, however,and they eventually compromised, with a stipulation that thepublic should not be told how much had been omitted.
[*kali pani (Hindi)—ocean;literally: "black water."]
There was feasting in the streets for a week before the greatinauguration ceremony. Tables were set in every side-street,where whoever cared to might eat his fill of fabulous freerations. Each night the streets were illuminated with coloredlights, and fireworks blazed and roared against the velvet sky atintervals, dowering the ancient trees and temple-tops withmomentary splendor.
All day long there were performances by acrobats, and songs,and story-telling whenever there was room for a crowd to gather.Fakirs as gruesome and fantastic as the side-shows at a Westernfair flocked in to pose and be gaped at, receiving, besides freerations and tribute of small coin, gratification to their vanityin return for the edifying spectacle.
There were little processions, too, of princes arriving from adistance to be present on the great day, their elephants of stateloaded with extravagant gifts and their retainers vying withpeacocks in efforts to look splendid, and be arrogant, and claimimportance for their masters. Never a day but three or four orhalf-a-dozen noble guests arrived; and nobody worked except thosewho had to make things easy for the rest; and they workedovertime.
One accustomed spectacle, however, was omitted. Utirupa wouldhave none of the fights between wild animals in the arena thathad formed such a large part of Gungadhura's public amusement.But there was ram-fighting, and wrestling between men such asSialpore had never seen, all the best wrestlers from distantparts being there to strive for prizes. Hired dancers added tothe gaiety at night, and each incoming nobleman brought nautchgirls, or acrobats, or trained animals, or all three to add tothe revelry. And there was cock-fighting, and quail-fighting, ofcourse, all day long and every day, with gambling inproportion.
When the day of days at last arrived the city seemed full ofelephants. Every compound and available walled space had beenrequisitioned to accommodate the brutes, and there weresufficient argumentative mahouts, all insisting that theirelephants had not enough to eat, and all selling at least half ofthe provided ration, to have formed a good-sized regiment. Theelephants' daily bath in the river was a sight worth crossingIndia to see. There was always the chance, besides, thatsomebody's horses would take fright and add excitement to thespectacle.
Up in the great palace Utirupa feasted and entertained hisequals all day long, and most of the night. There washorse-racing that brought the crowd out in its thousands, and acertain amount of tent-pegging and polo, but most of the royalgala-making was hidden from public view. (Patali, for instance,reckless of Gungadhura's fall and looking for new fields toconquer, provided a nautch by herself and her own trained galaxyof girls that would not have done at all in public.)
Yasmini kept close in her own palace. She, too, had her handsfull with entertaining, for there were about a dozen of the wivesof distant princes who had made the journey in state to attendthe ceremony and watch it from behind the durbar grille—tosay nothing of the wives of local magnates. But she herself keptwithin doors, until the night before the night of full moon, theday before the ceremony.
That night she dressed as a rangar once more, and rode incompany with Tess and Dick, with Ismail the Afridi running like adog in the shadows behind them, to the fort on the hill that theEnglish had promised to evacuate that night. They never changedthe garrison in any case except by night, because of the heat andthe long march for the men; and as near the full moon as possiblewas the customary date.
As they neared the fort they could see Tom Tripe, with hishuge dog silhouetted on the bastion beside him, standing likeNapoleon on the seashore keeping vigil. From that height he couldoversee the blocked-up mouth of Dick's mine, and in the brightmoonlight it would have been difficult for any one to approacheither mine or fort without detection; for there was only oneroad, and Dick's track making a detour from it—both in fullview.
He caught sight of them, and Dick whistled, the dog answeringwith a cavernous howl of recognition. Tom disappeared from thebastion, and after about ten minutes turned up in the shadowwhere they waited.
"Come to watch the old march out and the new march in?" heasked. "I'll stand here with you, if I may. They're due."
"Is everything ready?" asked Yasmini.
"Yes, Your Ladyship. They've been ready for an hour, andfretful. There's a story gone the rounds that the fort ishaunted, and if ever a garrison was glad to quit it's this one!Let's hope the incoming garrison don't get wind of it. A Sepoywith the creeps ain't dependable. Hullo, here they come!"
There came a sound of steady tramping up-hill, and a buglesomewhere up in the darkness announced that the out-goinggarrison had heard it and were standing to arms. PresentlyUtirupa rode into view accompanied by half a dozen of his guests,and followed by a company from his own army, officered byRajputs. If he knew that Yasmini was watching from the shadow hemade no sign, but rode straight on up-hill. The heavy breathingof his men sounded through the darkness like the whispering ofgiants, and their steady tramp was like a giant's footfall; forTom Tripe had drilled them thoroughly, even if their weapons werenearly as old-fashioned as the fort to which they marched.
After an interminable interval there came another bugle-blastabove them, and the departing garrison tramped withinear-shot.
"Now count them!" Yasmini whispered, and Tess wonderedwhy.
They were marching down-hill as fast as they couldswing—a detachment of Punjabi infantry under the command ofa native subahdar, with two ammunition mules and a cartful oftheir kits and personal belongings —all talking andlaughing as if regret were the last thing in their minds.
"Ninety-seven," said Tess, when the last had passeddown-hill.
"Did you count the man beside the driver on the cart?"
"Yes."
"There was one sick man in a doolie. Did you count him?"
"No."
"Ninety-eight, them Tom!"
"Your Ladyship?"
"Weren't there some English officers?"
"Two. A captain and a subaltern. They left late thisafternoon."
"Making?" said Yasmini.
"Exactly a hundred," answered Tess.
"Let us go now," said Yasmini. "We must be up at dawn for thegreat day. I shall expect you very early, remember. Tom! You mayride back with us. His highness will mount the guard in person.You're to come to my palace. I've a present waiting for you."
It is better to celebrate the occasion thanto annoy the gods with pretended virtue and too manypromises.
—Eastern Proverb
THE day of the great inauguration ceremonydawned inauspiciously for somebody. For one thing, the blastingpowder laid ready by the sappers under the pipal trees forexplosion the day following, blew up prematurely. Some idiot hadleft a kerosene lamp burning in the dug-out, probably, and a ratupset it; or some other of the million possibilities took place.Nobody was killed, but a dozen pipal trees were blown tosmithereens, and the ghastly fact laid bare for all to see thatin the irregular chasm that remained there was not a symptom ofthe treasure—as Samson was immediately notified.
So Samson had to attend the ceremony with that disconcertingknowledge up his sleeve. But that was not all. The nightsignaler, going off duty, had brought him a telegram from thehigh commissioner to say that all available military bands wereto be lent for the day to the maharajah, and that as many Britishofficers as possible, of all ranks, were to take part in theprocession to grace it with official sanctity.
That was especially aggravating because it had reached hisears that the Princess Yasmini intended to ride veiled in theprocession, and to sit beside her husband in the durbar hallunveiled. He was therefore going to be obliged to recognize hermore or less officially as consort of the reigning prince. Simladid not realize that, of course; but it was too late to wire fordifferent instructions. He had a grim foreboding that he himselfwould catch it later on when the facts leaked out, as they werebound to do.
(It was babu Sita Ram who "caught it" first, though. Withintwo days Samson discovered that Sita Ram had been sendingofficial telegrams in code on his own account, very cleverlydesigned to cause the high commissioner to give those last minuteinstructions. It was obvious that a keener wit than the babu'shad inspired him; but, though he was brow-beaten for an hour hedid not implicate Yasmini. And after he had been dismissed fromthe service with ignominy she engaged him as a sort of secretary,at the same pay.)
But that was not all, either. The murderer of Mukhum Dass wasrefusing stolidly to plead guilty to another charge, and Blaine'sbutler had come out with the whole story of the burglary.Parliament would get to hear about it next, and then there wouldbe the very deuce to pay. The police were offering the murdererwhat they called "inducements and persuasion;" but he held outfor "money down," and did not seem to find too unendurablewhatever it was that happened to him at intervals in the darkcell. There are limits even to what an Indian policeman can do,without making marks on a man or compelling the attention ofEuropean officers.
On top of all that, Samson had to hand Dick Blaine a checkamounting to a month's pay, look pleasant while he did it,and—above all— look pleasant at the comingdurbar.
On the other hand, there were people who enjoyed themselves.Sialpore, across the river, was a dinning riot ofexcitement—flags, triumphal arches, gala clothes andlaughter everywhere. Dick Blaine, driving Tess toward Yasmini'spalace in the very early dawn, had to drive slowly to avoidaccident, for the streets were already crowded. His own place inthe procession was to be on horseback pretty nearly anywhere hechose to insert himself behind the royal cortege, and, not beingtroubled on the score of precedence, he had Tom Tripe in mind asa good man to ride with. Tom could tell him things.
But he waited there for more than an hour until the royalelephants arrived, magnificent in silver howdahs and brightpaint, and watched Tess emerge with Yasmini and the other women.Tess wore borrowed jewels, and a veil that you could see her facethrough; but Yasmini was draped from head to foot as if the eyesof masculinity had never rested on her, and never might. Thingswere not going quite so smoothly as they ought, although TomTripe was galloping everywhere red-necked with energy, and it wasnearly half an hour more before the escort of maharajah's troopscame in brand-new scarlet uniforms, to march in front, andbehind, and on each side of the elephants. So Dick got quite achance to "josh" Tess, and made the most of it.
But things got under way at last. Dick's sais found him withthe horse he was to ride, and the procession gathered first onthe great maidan between the city and the river, with bands infull blast, drums thundering to split the ears, masters ofceremony shouting, and the elephants enjoying themselves most ofall, as they always do when they have a stately part to play incompany.
Utirupa led the way in a golden howdah on Akbar, the biggestelephant in captivity and the very archetype of sobriety eversince his escapade with Tom Tripe's rum. Akbar was painted allover with vermilion and blue decorations, and looked as if butterwould not melt in his mouth.
Next after Utirupa the princes rode in proper order of rankand precedence, each with two attendants up behind him wavingfans of ostrich plumes. Then came a band. Then Samson, and ascore of British officers in carriages whose teams were nearlyfrantic from the din and the smell of elephants and had to haverunners to hold their heads—all of which added exquisiteamusement. Then another band, and a column of the maharajah'stroops. Then more elephants, loaded with the lesser notables; andafter them, a column nearly a mile long of Rajput gentry on themost magnificent horses they could discover and go in debtfor.
After the Rajput gentry came a third band, followed by moremaharajah's troops, and then Yasmini on her elephant, followed bytwenty princesses and Tess, each with a great beast to herselfand at least two maids to wave the jeweled fans. Then moretroops, followed by Dick and Tom Tripe together on horsebackleading the rank and file. Trotters jogged along between Tom andDick, pausing at intervals to struggle with both forefeet toremove a collar bossed with solid gold that he regarded as anoutrage to his dogly dignity.
And the rank and file were well worth looking at, for whoevercould find a decent suit of clothes was marching, shouting,laughing, sweating, kicking up the dust, and having a good timegenerally. The water-sellers were garnering a harvest; fruit- andsweetmeat-peddlers were dreaming of open-fronted shops and how todefeat the tax-collector. The police swaggered and yelled andordered everybody this and that way; and nobody took theslightest notice; and the policemen did not dare do anythingabout it because the crowd was too unanimously bent on having itsown way, and therefore dangerous to bully but harmless if nothit.
Half-way down the thronging stream of men on foot came anotherelephant —a little one, alone, carrying three gentlemen infine white raiment —Bimbu and Pinga and Umra to wit, who,it is regrettable to chronicle, were very drunk indeed andlaughed exceedingly at most unseemly jokes, exchanging jests withthe crowd that would have made Tess's hair stand on end, if shecould have heard and understood them. From windows, and roofsthat overhung the street, people threw flowers at Bimbu, Pingaand Umra, because all Hindustan knows there is merit in treatingbeggars as if they were noblemen; and Bimbu wove himself agarland out of the buds to wear on his turban, which made himlook more Bacchanalian than ever.
In and out and around and through the ancient city theprocession filed, passing now and then through streets so narrowthat people could have struck Utirupa through the upper storywindows; but all they threw at him was flowers, calling him"Bahadur" and king of elephants, and great prince, and dozens ofother names that never hurt anybody with a sense of pageantry andhumor. He acted the part for them just as they wanted him to,sitting bolt upright in the howdah like a prince in a fairystory, with jeweled aigrette in his turban and more enormousdiamonds flashing on his silken clothes than a courtesan wouldwear at Monte Carlo. And all the other princes were likewise indegree, only that they rode rather smaller elephants, Akbarhaving no peer when he was sober and behaved himself.
And when Yasmini passed, and Tess and all the otherprincesses, there was such excitement as surely had never beenbefore; for if you looked carefully, with a hand held to keep thesun from your eyes, you could actually see the outlines of theirfaces through the veils! And such loveliness! Such splendor! Suchpride! Such jewels! Above all, such fathomless mystery andsuggestion of intrigue! Pageantry is expensive, but—believeSialpore —it is worth the price!
And then in front of the durbar hall in the dinning, throbbingheat, all the animals and carriages and men got mixed in amilling vortex, while the notables went into the hall to bejealous of one another's better places and left the crowd outsideto sort itself. And everything was made much more interesting bythe fact that Akbar was showing signs of ill-temper, throwing uphis great trunk once or twice to trumpet dissatisfaction. Hismahout was calling him endearing names and using the ankusalternately, promising him rum with one breath and a thrashingwith the next. But Akbar wanted alcohol, not promises, and nonedared give him any before evening, when he might get as drunk ashe wished in a stone-walled compound all to himself.
Then Samson's horses took fright at Akbar's trumpeting, hegetting out of the carriage at the durbar door only in the nickto time. The horses bolted into the crowd, and an indignantelephant smashed the carriage; but nobody was hurt beyond abruise or two, although they passed word down the thunderous linethat a hundred and six and thirty had been crushed to death andone child injured, which made it much more thrilling, and thesensation was just as actual as if the deaths had reallyhappened.
And inside the durbar hall there was surely never such asplendid scene in history—such a sea of turbans—suchglittering of jewels —such a peacocking and swaggering andproud bearing of ancient names! Utirupa sat on the throne infront of a peacock-feather decoration; and-marvel ofmarvels!—Yasmini sat on another throne beside him,unveiled!—with a genuine unveiled and very beautifulprincess beside her, whom nobody except Samson suspected might beTess. She wore almost as many jewels as the queen herself, andlooked almost as ravishing.
But the Princess Yasmini's eyes—they were the glory ofthat occasion! Her spun-gold hair was marveled at, but hereyes—surely they were lent by a god for the event! Theywere bluer than the water of Himalayan lakes; bluer thanturquoise, sapphire, the sky, or any other blue thing you canthink of—laughing blue,—loving, understanding,likable, amusing blue—two jewels that outshone all theother jewels in the durbar hall that day.
And as each prince filed past Utirupa in proper order ofprecedence, to make a polite set speech, and bow, and be bowed toin return, he had to pass Yasmini first, and bow to her first,although he made his speech to Utirupa, who acknowledged it. So,when Samson's turn came, he, too, had to bow first to Yasmini,because as a gentleman he could hardly do less; and her wonderfuleyes laughed into his angry ones as she bowed to him in return,with such good humor and elation that he could not help but smileback; he could forgive a lovely woman almost anything, couldSamson. He could almost forgive her that no less than nineteenBritish officers of various ranks, as well asone-hundred-and-three-and-twenty native noblemen had seen himwith their own eyes to make an official bow to the consort of areigning maharajah. He had recognized her officially! Well; hesupposed he could eat his aftermath as well as any man; and hedrove home with a smile and a high chin, to unbosom himself toColonel Willoughby de Wing over a whisky and soda at the club, asFerdinand de Sousa Braganza reported in some detail at theGoanese Club afterward.
Late that night, when the fireworks were all over and thelights were beginning to be extinguished on the roofs andwindows, it was a question which was most drunk—Akbar, thethree beggars, or Tom Tripe. Akbar's outrageous trumpeting couldbe heard all over the city, as he raced around his dark compoundafter shadows, and rats, and mice and anything else that heimagined or could see. What Tom Tripe saw kept him to hisquarters, where Trotters watched him in dire misery. The threebeggars, Bimbu, Pinga and Umra, saw three amber moons in a purplesky, for they said so. They also said that all the world waslovely, and Yasmini was a queen of queens, out of whose jeweledhand the very gods ate. And when people scolded them forblasphemy, they made such outrageously funny and improper jokesthat everybody laughed again.
Drunk or sober (and more than ninety-nine per cent. ofSialpore was absolutely sober then as always) every one hadsomething to amuse and entertain, except Samson, whose mentalvision was of a great empty hole in the ground in which he mightjust as well bury all his hopes of ever being high commissioner;and poor Tom Tripe, who had worked harder than anybody, and wasnow enjoying the aftermath perhaps least.
Sialpore put itself to bed in great good temper, sure thatprinces and elephants and ceremony were the cream of life, andthat whoever did not think so did not deserve to have anypageantry and pomp, and that was all about it.
Next morning early, Dick Blaine drove down to look for TomTripe, found him—bound him in a blanket—shoved him,feet first, on to the floor of the dog-cart, and drove him,followed by Trotters in doubt whether to show approval or fight,to his own house on the hill, where Tess and he nursed the oldsoldier back to soberness and old remorse.
By that time Bimbu and Pinga and Umra were back again at thegarden gate, sitting in the dust in ancient rags and whining,"Bhig mangi, saheebi!" "Alms! heaven-born, alms!"
"You are a fool," said the crow. "Am I?" thehen answered. "Certainly you are a fool. You sit in a dark cornerhatching eggs, when there are live chickens for the asking overyonder." So the hen left her nest in search of ready-madechickens, and the crow, made a square meal.
—Eastern Proverb
IT began to be rumored presently that Utirupahad declined to recognize Blaine's contract with his predecessor.Samson's guarded hints, and the fact that the mouth of the mineremained blocked with concrete masonry were more or lesscorroborative. But the Blaines did not go, although Dick put inno appearance at the club.
Then Patali, who was sedulously cultivating Yasmini'spatronage, with ulterior designs on Utirupa that were notmisunderstood, told Norwood's wife's ayah's sister's husband thatthe American had secured another contract; and the news, ofcourse, reached Samson's ears at once.
So Samson called on Utirupa and requested explanations. He wastold that the mining contract had not received a moment'sconsideration and, with equal truth, that the American, being anexpert in such matters and on the spot, had been asked toundertake examination of the fort's foundations. The newmaharani, it seemed, had a fancy to build a palace where the fortstood, and the matter was receiving shrewd investigation andestimate in advance.
Samson could not object to that. Those foundations had notbeen examined carefully for eight hundred years. A perfectly goodpalace had been wrested away by diplomatic means, on Samson's owninitiative, and there was no logical reason why the maharajahshould not build another one to replace it. The fort had nomodern military value.
"I hope you're not going to try to pay for your new palace outof taxes?" Samson asked bluntly.
But Utirupa smiled. He hoped nothing of that kind would benecessary. Samson could not go and investigate what Blaine wasdoing, because he was given plainly to understand that the newpalace was the maharani's business; and one does not intrudeuninvited into the affairs of ladies in the East. The efforts ofquite a number of spies, too, were unavailing. So Dick had hisdays pretty much to himself, except when Tess brought his lunchto him, or Yasmini herself in boots and turban rode up for a fewminutes to look on. The guards on the bastions, and in the greatkeep in the center, knew nothing whatever of what was happening,because all Dick's activity was underground and Tom Tripe, withthat ferocious dog of his, kept guard over the ancient door thatled to the lower passages. Dick used to return home every eveningtired out, but Tom Tripe, keeping strictly sober, slept in thefort and said nothing of importance to any one. He looked drawnand nervous, as if something had terrified him, but publicopinion ascribed that to the "snakes" on the night of thecoronation.
Then about sundown one evening Tom Tripe galloped in a greathurry to Utirupa's palace. That was nothing to excite comment,because in his official capacity he was always supposed to begalloping all over the place on some errand or another. But afterdark Utirupa and Yasmini rode out of the palace unattended, whichdid cause comment, Yasmini in man's clothes, as usual when shewent on some adventure. It was not seen which road they took,which was fortunate in the circumstances.
Tess was up at the fort before them, waiting with Dick outsidethe locked door leading to the ancient passages below. They saidnothing beyond the most perfunctory greetings, but, each taking akerosene lantern, passed through the door in single file, Tomleading, and locked the door after them. That was all that thefort guards ever knew about what happened.
"I've not been in," said Dick's voice from behind them. "AllI've done is force an entrance."
From in front Tom Tripe took up the burden.
"And I wouldn't have liked your job, sir! It was bad enough tosit and guard the door. After you'd gone o' nights I'd sit forhours with my hair on end, listening; and the dog 'ud growlbeside me as if he saw ghosts!"
"Maybe it was snakes," Yasmini answered. "They will flee fromthe lantern-light—"
"No, Your Ladyship. I'm not afraid of snakes—except themScotch plaid ones that come o' brandy on top o' royal durbars!This was the sound o' some one digging—digging all nightlong down in the bowels of the earth! Look out!"
They all jumped, but it proved to be only Tom's own shadowthat had frightened him. His nerves were all to pieces, and DickBlaine took the lead. The dog was growling intermittently andkeeping close to Tom's heels.
They passed down a long spiral flight of stone steps into asort of cavern that had been used for ammunition room. Thedeparting British troops had left a dozen ancient cannon balls,not all of which were in one place. The smooth flags of the floorwere broken, and at the far end one very heavy stone was liftedand laid back, disclosing a dark hole.
"I used the cannon balls," said Dick, "to drop on the stonesand listen for a hollow noise. Once I found that, the game wassimple."
Leading down into the dark hole were twelve more steps,descending straight, but turning sharply at the bottom. Dick ledthe way.
"The next sight's gruesome!" he announced, his voice boominghollow among the shadows.
The passage turned into a lofty chamber in the rock, whosewalls once had all been lined with dressed stone, but some of thelining had fallen. In the shadows at one end an image of Jinendrasmiled complacently, and there were some ancient brass lampsbanging on chains from arches cut into the rock on everyside.
"This is the grue," said Dick, holding his lantern high.
Its light fell on a circle of skeletons, all perfect, eachwith its head toward a brass bowl in the center.
"Ugh!" growled Tom Tripe. "Those are the ghosts that dig o'nights! Go smell 'em, Trotters! Are they the enemy?"
The dog sniffed the bones, but slunk away againuninterested.
"Nothing doing!" laughed Dick. "You haven't laid the ghostyet, Tom!"
"Have you got your pistols with you?" Tom retorted, pattinghis own jacket to show the bulge of one beneath it.
"Those," said Yasmini, standing between the skeletons andholding up her own light, "are the bones of priests, who diedwhen the secret of the place was taken from them! My father toldme they were left to starve to death. This was Jinendra'stemple."
"D'you suppose they pulled that cut stone from the walls,trying to force a way out?" Dick hazarded. "The lid of the holewe came down through is a foot thick, and was set solid incement; they couldn't have lifted that if they tried for a week.Everything's solid in this place. I sounded every inch of thefloor with a cannon ball, but it's all hard underneath."
"I would have gone straight to the image of Jinendra," saidYasmini. "Jinendra smiles and keeps his secrets so well that Ishould have suspected him at once!"
"I went to that last," Dick answered. "It looks so like apiece of high relief carved out of the rock wall. As a matter offact, though, it's about six tons of quartz with a vein of goldin it—see the gold running straight up the line of the noseand over the middle of the head?—I pried it away from thewall at last with steel wedges, and there's just room to squeezein behind it. Beyond that is another wall that I had to cutthrough with a chisel. Who goes in first?"
"Who looks for gold finds gold!" Yasmini quoted. "The vein ofgold you have been mining was the clue to the secret allalong."
She would have led the way, but Utirupa stopped her.
"If there is danger," he said, "it is my place to lead."
But nobody would permit that, Yasmini least of all.
"Shall Samson choose a new maharajah so soon as all that?" shelaughed.
"Let the dog go first!" Tom proposed. Trotters was sniffing atthe dark gap behind Jinendra's image, with eyes glaring and a lowrumbling growl issuing from between bared teeth. But Trotterswould not go.
Finally, in the teeth of remonstrances from Tess, Dick cockeda pistol and, with his lantern in the other hand, strode inboldly. Trotters followed him, and Tom Tripe next. Then Utirupa.Then the women.
Nothing happened. The passage was about ten feet long and ayard wide. They squeezed one at a time through the narrow breakDick had made in the end of it, into a high, pitch-dark cave thatsmelt unexplainably of wood-smoke, Dick standing just inside thegap to bold the lantern for them and help themthrough—continuing to stand there after Tess had enteredlast.
"Jee-rusalem!" he exclaimed. "This is where I lose out!"
The first glance was enough to show that they stood in thesecret treasure-vault of Sialpore. There were ancient gold coinsin heaps on the floor where they had burst by their own weightout of long-demolished bags —countless coins; and drums andbags and boxes more of them behind. But what made Dick exclaimwere the bars of silver stacked at the rear and along one side inrows as high as a man.
"My contract reads gold!" he said. "A percentage of all gold.There's not a word in it of silver. Who'd ever have thought offinding silver, anyhow, in this old mountain?"
"Your percentage of the gold will make you rich," saidUtirupa. "But you shall take silver too. Without you we mighthave found nothing for years to come."
"A contract's a contract," Dick answered. "I drew it myself,and it stands."
"Look out!" yelled Tom Tripe suddenly. But the warning cametoo late.
Out of the shadow behind a stack of silver bars rushed a manwith a long dagger, stabbing frantically at Dick. Tom's greatbarking army revolver missed, filling the chamber with noise andsmoke, for he used black powder.
Down went Dick under his assailant, and the dagger rose andfell in spasmodic jerks. Dick had hold of the man's wrist, butthe dagger-point dripped blood and the fury of the attackincreased as Dick appeared to weaken. Utirupa ran in to drag theassailant off, but Trotters got there first—chose hisneck-hold like a wolf in battle—and in another second Dickwas free with Tess kneeling beside him while a life-and-deathfight between animal and man raged between the bars ofsilver.
"Gungadhura!" Yasmini shouted, waving her lantern for a sightof the struggling man's face. He was lashing out savagely withthe long knife, but the dog had him by the neck from behind, andhe only inflicted surface wounds.
"Hell's bells! He'll kill my dog!" roared Tom. "Hi, Trotters.Here, you —Trotters!"
But the dog took that for a call to do his thinking, and letgo for a better hold. His long fangs closed again on the victim'sjugular, and tore it out. The long knife clattered on the stonefloor, and then Tom got his dog by the jaws and hauled himoff.
"You can't blame the dog," he grumbled. "He knew the smell ofhim. He'd been told to kill him if he got the chance."
"Gungadhura!" said Yasmini again, holding her lantern over thedying man. "So Gungadhura was Tom Tripe's ghost! What a pity thatthe dog should kill him, when all he wanted was a battle to thedeath with me! I would have given him his fight!"
Dick was in no bad way. He had three flesh wounds on his rightside, and none of them serious. Tess stanched them with tornlinen, and she and Tom Tripe propped him against some bags ofbullion, while Utirupa threw his cloak over Gungadhura's deadbody.
"How did Gungadhura get in here?" wondered Tess.
"Through the hole at the end of the mine-shaft, I suppose,"said Dick. "I built up the lower one—he came one day andsaw me doing it— but left a space at the top that lookedtoo small for a man to crawl through. Then I blocked the mouth ofthe tunnel afterward, and shut him in, I suppose. He's had themen's rice and water-bottles, and they left a lot of faggots inthe tunnel, too, I remember. That accounts for the smell ofsmoke."
"But what was the digging I've heard o' nights?" demanded Tom."I'm not the only one. The British garrison was scared out of itswits."
Utirupa was hunting about with a lantern in his hand, watchingthe dog go sniffing in the shadows.
"Come and see what he has done!" he called suddenly, andYasmini ran to his side.
In a corner of the vault one of the great facing stones hadbeen removed, disclosing a deep fissure in the rock. One of DickBlaine's crow-bars that he had left in the tunnel lay besideit.
"He must have found that by tapping," said Tom Tripe.
"Yes, but look why he wanted it!" Yasmini answered. "Tom,could you be as malicious as that?"
"As what, Your Ladyship?"
"See, he has poured gold into the fissure, hoping to close itup again so that nobody could find it!"
"But why didn't he work his way out with the crow-bar?" Dickobjected from his perch between the bags of bullion.
"What was his life worth to him outside?" Yasmini asked."Samson knew who murdered Mukhum Dass. He would have been aprisoner for the rest of his life to all intents and purposes.No! He preferred to hide the treasure again, and then wait herefor me, suspecting that I knew where it is and would come for it!Only we came too soon, before he had it hidden!"
But it was Patali afterward, between boasting and confession,who explained that Dick was Gungadhura's real objective afterall. He preferred vengeance on the American even to a settledaccount with Yasmini. He must have found the treasure by accidentafter crawling into the unsealed crack in the wall to wait thereagainst Dick's coming.
"The money must stay here, and be removed little by little,"said Utirupa.
"First of all Blaine sahib's share of it!" Yasmini added. "Whoshall count it? Who!"
"Never mind the money now," Tess answered. "Dick's alive! Whendid you first know you'd found the treasure, Dick?"
"Not until the day that Gungadhura found me closing up thefault, and asked me to dig at the other place. The princess toldme I was on the trail of it that night that you went with her bycamel; but I didn't know I'd found it till the day thatGungadhura came."
"How did you know where it was?" Tess asked, and Yasminilaughed.
"A hundred guarded it. I looked for a hundred pipal trees, andfound them —near the River Palace. But they were notchanged once a month. I looked from there, and saw anotherhundred pipal trees—here, below this fort—exactly ahundred. But neither were they changed once a month. Then Icounted the garrison of the fort—exactly a hundred, alltold. Then I knew. Then I remembered that 'who looks for goldfinds gold,' and saw your husband digging for it. It seemed to methat the vein of gold he was following should lead to thetreasure, so I pulled strings until Samson blundered, trying totrick us. And now we have the treasure, and the English do notknow. And I am maharani, as they do know, and shall know stillbetter before I have finished! But what are we to do withGungadhura's body? It shall not lie here to rot; it must have adecent burial."
Very late that night, Tom Tripe moved the guards about on thebastions, contriving that the road below should not be overlookedby any one. The moon had gone down, so that it was difficult tosee ten paces. He produced an ekka from somewhere—one ofthose two-wheeled carts drawn by one insignificant pony that domost of the unpretentious work of India; and he and Ismail, theAfridi gate-man, drove off into the darkness with a coveredload.
Early next morning Gungadhura's body was found in the greathole that Samson's men had blasted in the River Palace grounds,and it was supposed that a jackal had mangled his body afterdeath.
That was what gave rise to the story that the English got thetreasure after all, and that Gungadhura, enraged and mortified atfinding it gone, had committed suicide in the great hole it wastaken from. They call the great dead pipal tree that is the onlyone left now of the hundred, Gungadhura's gibbet; and there isquite a number, even of English people, who believe that theIndian Government got the money. But I say no, because Yasminitold me otherwise. And if it were true that t he English reallygot the money, what did they do with it and why was Samsonremoved shortly afterward to a much less desirable post? Any onecould see how Utirupa prospered, and he never raised the taxeshalf a mill.
Samson had his very shrewd suspicions, one of which was thatthat damned American with his smart little wife had scored offhim in some way. But he went to his new post, at about the sametime that the Blaines left for other parts, with some of thesting removed from his hurt feelings. For he took Blaine's riflewith him—a good one; and the horse and dog-cart, and ariding pony—more than a liberal return for payment of athree-thousand rupee bet. Pretty decent of Blaine on the whole,he thought. No fuss. No argument. Simply a short note offarewell, and a request that he would "find the horses a home anda use for the other things." Not bad. Not a bad fellow afterall.
Down rings the curtain on a tale of love andmystery,
Clash of guile and anger and the consequence it bore;
The adventurers and kings
Disappear into the wings.
The puppet play is over and the pieces go in store.
Back, get ye back again to shop and ship and factory,
Mine and mill and foundry where the iron yokes are made;
Ye have trod a distant track
With a queen on camel-back,
Now hie and hew a broadway for your emperors of trade!
Go, get ye gone again to streets of strife re-echoing—
Clangor of the crossings where the tides of trouble meet;
For a while on fancy's wing
Ye have heard the nautch-girls sing,
But a Great White Way awaits you where the Klaxon-hornsrepeat.
Back, bend the back again to commonplace and drudgery,
Beat the shares of vision into swords of dull routine,
Take the trolley and the train
To suburban hives again,
For ye wake in little runnels where the floods of thought havebeen.
Speed, noise, efficiency! Have flights of fancy rested you?
A while we set time's finger back, and was the labor vain?
If so we whiled your leisure
And the puppets gave you pleasure,
Then say the word, good people, and we'll set the stageagain.
—L'envoi
SMOKING a cigarette lazily on Utirupa's palaceroof, Yasmini reached for Tess's hand.
"Come nearer. See—take this. It is the value, and more,of the percentage of the silver that your husband would nottake."
She clasped a diamond necklace around Tess's neck, and watchedit gleam and sparkle in the refracted sunlight.
"Don't you love it? Aren't they perfect? And now—you'vea great big draft of money, so I suppose you're both off toAmerica, and good-by to me forever?"
"For a long time."
"But why such a long time? You must come again soon. Come nextyear. You and I love each other. You teach me things I did notknow, and you never irritate me. I love you. You must come backnext year!"
Tess shook her head.
"But why?"
"They say the climate isn't good for them until they'reeighteen at least —some say twenty."
"Oh! Oh, I envy you! What will you call him? It will be aboy—it is sure to be a boy!"
"Richard will be one name, after my husband."
"And the other? You must name him after me in some way. Youcan not call a boy Yasmini. Would Utirupa sound too strange inAmerica?"
"Rupert would sound better."
"Good! He shall be Rupert, and I will send a gift to him!"
(That accounts for the initials R.R.B. on a certain youngman's trunk at Yale, and for the imported pedigree horse he ridesduring vacation— the third one, by the way, of a successionhe has received from India.)
And that is the whole story, as Yasmini told it to me in thewonderful old palace at Buhl, years afterward, when Utirupa wasdead, and the English Government had sent her into forcedseclusion for a while—to repent of her manifold politicalsins, as they thought—and to start new enterprises as ithappened. She had not seen Theresa Blaine again, she told me,although they always corresponded; and she assured me over andover again, calling the painted figures of the old gods on thewalls to witness, that but for Theresa Blaine's companionship andaffection at the right moment, she would never have had thecourage to do what she did, even though the guns of the gods werethere to help her.
