by Talbot Mundy
He was a handsome man — too handsome, some said — with a profile l ike a medallion of Mark Antony that lost a little of its strength and poise when he looked straight at you. A commissionership was an apparent rise in the world; but Sialpore has the name of being a departmental cul-de-sac, and they had laughed in the clubs about “Irish promotion” without exactly naming judge O’Mally. (Mrs. O’Mally came from a cathedral city, where distaste for the conventions is forced at high pressure from early infancy.)
But there are no such things as political blind alleys to a man who is a judge of indiscretion, provided he has certain other unusual gifts as well. Sir Roland Samson, K. C. S. I., was not at all a disappointed man, nor even a discouraged one.
Most people were at a disadvantage coming up the path through the Blaines’ front garden. There was a feeling all the way of being looked down on from the veranda that took ten minutes to recover from in the subsequent warmth of Western hospitality. But Samson had learned long ago that appearance was all in his favor, and he reenforced it with beautiful buff riding-boots that drew attention to firm feet and manly bearing. It did him good to be looked at, and he felt, as a painstaking gentleman should, that the sight did spectators no harm.
“All alone?” he asked, feeling sure that Mrs. Blaine was pleased to see him, and shifting the chair beside her as he sat down in order to see her face better. “Husband in the hills as usual? 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 one agreed what an acquisition you and your husband are to Sialpore. You’re so refreshing — quite different to what we’re all used to.”
“We’re enjoying the novelty too — at least, Dick doesn’t have 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 gold where there is any,” said Tess.
“You never told me how he came to choose Sialpore as prospecting ground.”
Tess recognized the prevarication instantly. Almost the first thing Dick had done after they arrived was to make a full statement of all the circumstances in the commissioner’s office. However, she was not her husband. There was no harm in repetition.
“The maharajah’s secretary wrote to a mining college in the States for the name of some one qualified to explore the old workings in these hills. They gave my husband’s name among others, and he got in correspondence. Finally, being free at the time, we came out here for the trip, and the maharajah offered terms on the spot that we accepted. That is all.”
Samson laughed.
“I’m afraid not all. A contract with the British Government would be kept.
I won’t say a written agreement with Gungadhura is worthless, but—”
“Oh, he has to pay week by week in advance to cover expenses.”
“Very wise. But how about if you find gold?”
“We get a percentage.”
Every word of that, as Tess knew, the commissioner could have ascertained in a minute from his office files. So she was quite as much on guard as he — quite as alert to discover hidden drifts.
“I’m afraid there’ll be complications,” he went on with an air of friendly frankness. “Perhaps I’d better wait until I can see your 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 as you say it.”
“I’d better be careful then!” he answered, smiling. “Wise wives don’t always tell their husbands everything.”
“I’ve no secrets from mine.”
“Unusual!” he smiled. “I might say obsolete! But you Americans with your reputation for divorce and originality are very old-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 are here.
For instance, does your contract stipulate where the gold is 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 your husband knows about the so-called islands? There are patches of British territory, administered directly by us, within the maharajah’s boundaries; and little islands of native territory administered by the maharajah’s government within the British sphere.”
“Something like our Indian reservations, I suppose?”
“Not exactly, but the analogy will do. If your husband were to find gold — of any kind — on one of our ‘islands’ within the maharajah’s territory, his contract with the maharajah would be useless.”
“Are the boundaries of the islands clearly marked?”
“Not very. They’re known, of course, and recorded. There’s an old fort on one of them, garrisoned by a handful of British troops — a constant source of heart-burn, I believe, to Gungadhura. He can see the top of the flag-staff from his palace roof; a predecessor of mine had the pole lengthened, I’m told. On the other hand, there’s a very pretty little palace over on our side of the river with about a half square mile surrounding it that pertains to the native State. Your husband could dig there, of course. There’s no knowing that it might not pay — if he’s looking for more kinds of gold than one.”
Tess contrived not to seem aware that she was being pumped.
“D’you mean that there might be alluvial gold down by the river?” she asked.
“Now, now, Mrs. Blaine!” he laughed. “You Americans are not so ingenuous as you like to seem! Do you really expect us to believe that your husband’s purpose isn’t in fact to discover the Sialpore Treasure?”
“I never heard of it.”
“I suspect he hasn’t told you.”
“I’ll bet with you, if you like,” she answered. “Our contract against your job that I know every single detail of his terms with Gungadhura!”
“Well, well, — of course I believe you, Mrs. Blaine. We’re not overheard are we?”
Not forgetful of the Princess Yasmini hidden somewhere in the house behind her, but unsuspicious yet of that young woman’s gift for garnering facts, Tess stood up to look through the parlor window. She could see all of the room except the rear part of the window-seat, a little more than a foot of which was shut out of her view by the depth of the wall. A cat, for instance, could have lain there tucked among the cushions perfectly invisible.
“None of the servants is in there,” she said, and sat down again, nodding in the direction of a gardener. “There’s the nearest possible eavesdropper.”
Samson had made up his mind. This was not an occasion to be actually indiscreet, but a good chance to pretend to be. He was a judge of those matters.
“There have been eighteen rajahs of Sialpore in direct succession father to son,” he said, swinging a beautiful buff-leather boot into view by crossing his knee, and looking at her narrowly with the air of a man who unfolds confidences. “The first man began accumulating treasure. Every single rajah since has added to it. Each man has confided the secret to his successor and to none else — father to son, you understand. When Bubru Singh, the last man, died he had no son. The secret died with him.”
“How does anybody know that there’s a secret then?” demanded Tess.
“Everybody knows it! The money was raised by taxes. Minister after minister in turn has had to hand over minted gold to the reigning rajah—”
“And look the other way, I suppose, while the rajah hid the stuff!” suggested Tess.
Samson screwed up his face like a man who has taken m
edicine.
“There are dozens of ways in a native state of getting rid of men who know too much.”
“Even under British overrule?”
He nodded. “Poison — snakes — assassination — jail on trumped-up charges, and disease in jail — apparent accidents of all sorts. It doesn’t pay to know too much.”
“Then we’re suspected of hunting for this treasure? Is that the 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 me first.”
“Would that be honest?”
He changed his mind. That was a point on which Samson prided himself.
He was not hidebound to one plan as some men are, but could keep
two or three possibilities in mind and follow up whichever suited him.
This was a case for indiscretion after all.
“Seeing we’re alone, and that you’re a most exceptional woman, I think I’ll let you into a diplomatic secret, Mrs. Blaine. Only you mustn’t repeat it. The present maharajah, Gungadhura, isn’t the saving kind; he’s a spender. He’d give his eyes to get hold of that treasure. And if he had it, we’d need an army to suppress him. We made a mistake when Bubru Singh died; there were two nephews with about equal claims, and we picked the wrong one — a born intriguer. I’d call him a rascal if he weren’t a reigning prince. It’s too late now to unseat him — unless, of course, 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 ultra vires — illegal, that’s to say. But you’ve put your finger on the point. If the treasure should be found — as it might be — somewhere hidden on that little plot of ground with a palace on it on our side of the river, our problem would be fairly easy. There’d be some way of — ah — making sure the fund would be properly administered. But if Gungadhura found it in the hills, and kept quiet about it as he doubtless would, he’d have every sedition-monger in India in his pay within a year, and the consequences might be very serious.”
“Who is the other man — the one the British didn’t choose?” asked Tess.
“A very decent chap named Utirupa — quite a sportsman. He was thought too young at the time the selection was made; but he knew enough to get out of the reach of the new maharajah immediately. They have a phrase here, you know, ‘to hate like cousins.’ They’re rather remote cousins, but they hate all the more for that.”
“So you’d rather that the treasure stayed buried?”
“Not exactly. But he tossed ash from the end of his cigar to illustrate offhandedness. “I think I could promise ten per cent. of it to whoever brought us exact information of its whereabouts before 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, he might—”
“Let me give you one word of caution, if I may without offense. We — our government — wouldn’t recognize the right of — of any one to take that treasure out of the country. Ten per cent. would be the maximum, and that only in case of accurate information brought in time to us.”
“Aren’t findings keepings? Isn’t possession nine points of the law?” laughed Tess.
“In certain cases, yes. But not where government knows of the existence somewhere of a hoard of public funds — an enormous hoard — it must run into millions.”
“Then, if the maharajah should find it would you take it from him?”
“No. We would put the screws on, and force him to administer the 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 the political stormy petrels are not yet heading his way. He’s handicapped by not being able to hunt for it openly. Some ill-chosen confidant might betray the find to us. I doubt if he trusts more than one or two people at a time.”
“It must be hell to be a maharajah!” Tess burst out after a minute’s silence.
“It’s sometimes hell to be commissioner, Mrs. Blaine.”
“If I were Gungadhura I’d find that money or bust! And when I’d found it—”
“You’d endow an orphan asylum, eh?”
“I’d make such trouble for you English that you’d be glad to leave me in peace for a generation!”
Samson laughed good-naturedly and twisted up the end of his mustache.
“Pon my soul, you’re a surprising woman! So your sympathies are all with Gungadhura?”
“Not at all. I think he’s a criminal! He buys women, and tortures animals in an arena, and keeps a troupe of what he is pleased 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’s despicable. But if I were in his shoes I’d find that money and make it hot for you English!”
“Are you of Irish extraction, Mrs. Blaine?”
“No, indeed I’m not. I’m Connecticut Yankee, and my husband’s from the West. I don’t have to be Irish to think for myself, do I?”
Samson did not know whether or not to take her seriously, but recognized that his chance had gone that morning for the flirtation he had had in view — very mild, of course, for a beginning; it was his experience that most things ought to start quite mildly, if you hoped to keep the other man from stampeding the game. Nevertheless, as a judge of situations, be preferred not to take his leave at that moment. Give a woman the last word always, but be sure it is a question, which you leave unanswered.
“You’ve a beautiful garden,” he said; and for a minute or two they talked of flowers, of which he knew more than a little; then of 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. Some one’s bringing suit against your landlord for possession on some ground or another.”
“What of it? Suppose the other should win — could he put us out?”
“I don’t know. That might depend on your present landlord’s power to make the lease at the time when he made it.”
“But we signed the agreement in good faith. Surely, as long as we 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 the landlord?”
“I haven’t heard his name — don’t even know the details. I hope you’ll come out of it all right. Certainly I’ll help in any way I can. Sometimes a little influence, you know, exerted in the right way — well — Please give my regards to your husband — Good morning, Mrs. Blaine.”
It was a pet theory of his that few men pay enough attention to their backs, — not that he preached it; preaching is tantamount to spilling beans, supposing that the other fellow listens; and if he doesn’t listen it is waste of breath. But he bore in mind that people behind him had eyes as well as those in front. Accordingly he made a very dignified exit down the long path, tipped Mrs. Blaine’s sais all the man had any right to expect, and rode away feeling that he had made the right impression. He looked particularly well on horseback.
Theresa Blaine smiled after him, wondering what impression she herself had made; but she did not have much time to think about it. 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 for a sin! I shall love you forever! Now that burra-wallah Samson sahib will ride into the town, and perhaps also to the law-court, and to other places, to ask about your
landlord, of whom he knows nothing, having only heard a servant’s tale. But Tom Tripe will have told already that I am at the burra commissioner’s house, and Gungadhura will send there to ask questions. And whoever goes will have to wait long. And when the commissioner returns at last he will deny that I have been there, and the messenger will return to Gungadhura, who will not believe a word of it, especially as he will know that the commissioner has been riding about the town on an unknown errand. So, after he has learned that I am back in my own palace, Gungadhura will try to poison me again. All of which is as it should be. Come closer and let me—”
“Child!” Tess protested. “Do you realize that you’re dressed up like an extremely handsome man, and are kissing me through a window in the sight of all Sialpore? How much reputation do you suppose 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 more carefully.”
“You must take care! How will you prevent him?”
By quite unconscious stages Tess found herself growing concerned about this young truant princess. One minute she was interested and amused. The next she was conscious of affection. Now she was positively anxious about her, to use no stronger word. Nor had she time to wonder why, for Yasmini’s methods were breathless.
“I shall eat very often at your house. And then you shall take a journey with me. And after that the great pig Gungadhura shall be very sorry he was born, and still more sorry that be tried to poison me!”
“Tell me, child, haven’t you a mother?”
“She died a year ago. If there is such a place as hell she has gone there, of course, because nobody is good enough for Heaven. But I am not Christian and not Hindu, so hell is not my business.”