"He has eaten the great shoe," he said, as though in explanation.

"But was the Rajah's sentence death?" demanded Gerrard.

"No," was the reluctant answer. "Whip back these dogs—it is the Sahib's will," he said to his men. "And now, sahib, be persuaded to remount. Our lord loves not to be kept waiting."

"But what has Dwarika Nath done?" asked Gerrard, as he complied, leaving the fallen minister freed at any rate from the mob that had persecuted him.

"He has doubtless been found out," was the cynical reply. "The word went forth from our lord this morning that the fellow was to be beaten with the great shoe immediately before the Sahib's arrival, and to be driven forth from the city to meet him as he came."

Gerrard pondered vainly the connection between the two events. Did the expulsion of Dwarika Nath synchronize with his own entrance as a warning to him, or as an assurance of safety? Partab Singh, receiving him in the utmost state, and leading him by the hand into the palace between rows of salaaming courtiers, made no allusion to it, and the attempted poisoning that very evening tended to overshadow the affair in his mind. Gerrard never knew whether the Rajah had become aware of the intended assassination beforehand, or whether he regarded it as so extremely probable as to be practically a certainty. However this might be, upon the appearance of a curry of which he was particularly fond, and of which he had signified his intention of sending a portion, as a special mark of favour, to Gerrard at his separate table, the old ruler called the attention of all present to the exquisite appearance of the dish, and ordered the cook to be fetched, that he might be suitably complimented upon his handiwork. Gerrard discerned in the man's aspect no more than the natural awkwardness of a rough fellow brought into a position of unaccustomed prominence, but no sooner did the cook present himself before him than Partab Singh rose with one fierce word, and drawing his jewelled tulwar, cut off his head at a single blow. The horror of the scene, the severed head rolling on the ground, the blood sprinkled upon the food, affected the Englishman so powerfully that he did not perceive at first that the dead man's son and assistant, was also being dragged before the Rajah. There was no need even to question him, for on his knees, with piteous lamentation, he confessed that in the spiced sauce accompanying the curry a quantity of very finely powdered glass had been mingled, which would ensure an agonising death to any one who partook of it. This had been done at the instigation of the disgraced Dwarika Nath, whose bribe for the purpose would be found hidden in the thatch of the cook-house. Gerrard retained only a vague recollection of the issue of certain orders, of the informers being dragged shrieking away, and the departure of a troop of horsemen with orders to bring back Dwarika Nath dead or alive, or of the hastily prepared food he forced himself to eat, and the unruffled conversation of Partab Singh after supper. Dwarika Nath was not brought back, for he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, but the bodies of the two cooks were an eyesore on the ground outside the palace until the dogs and kites had done their work.

Another trial to Gerrard was the supervision maintained over his movements. In order to carry out Colonel Antony's instructions, he wished to move about the city and talk with the traders and others in the bazars, but no matter how skilfully he thought he had eluded his guardians, he had no sooner slipped out of the palace than a panting escort was at his heels, insisting on his mounting the horse presented to him by the Rajah—which at once put an end to any chance of unfettered conversation. So tiresome did this surveillance become that at last he determined to take advantage of Partab Singh's continued friendliness to relieve himself of it. They were sitting one evening in the covered balcony of a tower looking over the palace garden, oddly assorted companions, Gerrard on the watch, as usual, against being morally taken by surprise, the Rajah puffing at his hookah—for in private he was the veriest free-thinker—in silence, the gleaming of his fierce eyes the only sign that he was not asleep. He took the mouthpiece from his lips when Gerrard broke into his complaint.

"My soldiers have been lacking in respect—have hesitated to attend my friend whither he desires?"

"No, no!" answered Gerrard hastily, fearing a sudden holocaust. "They are most courteous. It is merely that they are always there."

With a swift movement Partab Singh bent forward, and lightly touched the ground at Gerrard's feet. "O my friend, what have I done, that you would bring the guilt of your death upon me?"

"Maharaj-ji," protested Gerrard indignantly, "I am not a griffin, to try to penetrate into mosques or zenanas. I would but walk about—of course with a servant or two."

"Has my friend not perceived yet that this city is in the eyes of its inhabitants sacred even as a mosque or a zenana? He sees only eyes beaming with affection as he rides through the streets?"

"Not exactly," admitted Gerrard. "But I thought that the people were irritated by the action of the escort in clearing the way—and perhaps also by seeing me riding your Highness's horse. On foot, and unattended——"

"You would be slain before you had left the palace square. Listen, my friend—who knows Agpur best, I who have spent my life here, or you who see it now for the first time?"

"Your Highness, undoubtedly."

"Then let my friend listen to me. These Moslem notables, who would dispute the city itself with my Granthis, but for the firm hand I keep over both, think you that they love the English? Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia is the master they would choose to serve if they had their way. Say that they gratify their hatred by slaying a British officer, Antni Sahib's envoy. On whose head lies the guilt? Is it not on that of Rajah Partab Singh? The English come to punish him, and the whole of Granthistan is in a blaze again. Granthi sides with Granthi against the English, but these dogs of Mohammedans, who shall tell which side they will take? This only I can say, that it will be the side of their own advantage."

"Forgive me, Maharaj-ji. I had not thought——"

"No, my friend. You uttered hastily the words of an impatient mind, not having studied from your youth the art of playing off Granthi against Moslem, and both against Ranjitgarh. But it is a study that you will do well to take in hand now."

"I could have no better teacher than your Highness," said Gerrard politely. The Rajah looked at him almost with affection.

"Would that these were as the days of old, before the English crossed the Ghara! Then should Jirad Sahib have been my Englishman, and I would have given him a wife out of my own house, and he should have dwelt always in my city, and trained my soldiers. Verily we would have put Ranjitgarh itself to tribute when the fool sat on the gaddi in the place of Ajit Singh, and when death approached I would have put my son Kharrak Singh into my friend's arms and died content, knowing that he would serve the child even as he had served the father. But now who shall protect the boy from a thousand dangers?"

"If peril threatens him when I am at hand, your Highness can count upon my protecting him with my life."

"Of that I am certain." Partah Singh paused, and his eyes wandered over the dark gardens, with their gleaming white colonnades and kiosks and graceful towers rising into the blue-black sky. He traced the starlight down to its reflection in the great tank before he spoke again. "If I should place my son and my kingdom under the protection of the English, what would happen in Agpur?" he asked at last.

"Your Highness knows whether the army is to be trusted. There would be intense indignation on the part both of the Granthi and the Moslem notables, I presume? Whether they would proceed to active opposition——"

"If they saw a hope of success they would. But with the army faithful to an Englishman already established in charge here—and the English at Ranjitgarh ready to march to his assistance?"

"But you forget one thing, Maharaj-ji. That the days of your Highness may yet be prolonged for many years is a thing not only to be hoped for but confidently expected, and the English are at Ranjitgarh only for a certain time, until Ajit Singh's son comes of age."

The Rajah laughed impatiently. "Away with this foolishness between friends!" he said. "Where the English come, they stay. If young Lena Singh survives the quarrels of his mother and the Sirdars, how can he be left to rule Granthistan with all English help withdrawn? The Resident and the army must stay, or the day the youth mounts the gaddi will also be that of his death."

"So I have heard many say among ourselves," said Gerrard; "but it is not the view of Colonel Antony. Nothing would induce him to be a party to annexing Granthistan."

Partab Singh threw up one hand slightly. "Said I not that things might yet remain as they are? The English may go on ruling Granthistan while pretending that they do nothing of the kind, but it is in my mind that before many years are past they will be rulers in name also. If, then, I should place myself under the protection of the English"—he dropped his voice—"would they maintain my son in his kingdom under the regents that I should appoint?"

"I cannot possibly enter into any agreement that would bind Colonel Antony or the Government, but it sounds the kind of arrangement that they would be likely to sanction," replied Gerrard, in the same cautious tone. "But has your Highness considered the opposition that would be aroused in Agpur if it became known?"

"It is for that very reason I have broached the plan to you. Whether I die soon or not for years to come, there must be at hand a man who will take command of the army, with wealth in his power sufficient to ensure its allegiance, and use it boldly to maintain my son's title against all opposition, from whatever quarter it may arise."

Gerrard gave a start of dismay, for the last words brought back to his mind something he had forgotten. "Maharaj-ji, if I err bid me be silent, but it is in my mind to utter that which I fear is forbidden. Is there not one whose right to the throne is greater than that of Kharrak Singh?"

The Rajah betrayed no surprise, but extreme bitterness was in his voice as he answered, "There is one at whose evil deeds the sun would grow black, were they published abroad. His death was decreed, but I suffered him to elude my vengeance, saying, 'Surely he will hide his shame at the ends of the earth, mindful that one has died to save him from the reward of his deeds.' But since he has returned, and dared to put forth claims to the throne he forfeited, there is no mercy for him. Was it well done in you, O my friend, to listen favourably to his petition, and not drive him from you?"

"I knew not the man, Maharaj-ji, and he gained access to me with a lying tale. When I learned who he was, it was my duty to hear what he had to say, but I drove him from me when he sought to influence me by a bribe."

"True, but your anger was kindled by the attack on your own integrity, not by the man's evil designs."

"I am here to report all things to Colonel Antony, Maharaj-ji, not one side of the case only." The Rajah's eyes were flashing, and Gerrard waited for an outburst of anger, but none came. "But how did your Highness learn of the man's visit?" he asked.

"From whom but from Dwarika Nath? I looked to hear of it from my friend, but I waited in vain."

"I did not desire to be the means of the man's death," said Gerrard, rather lamely.

"And why does not my friend tell me that Dwarika Nath offered to conceal the matter in return for a gift?"

"Your Highness does not mean to say that Dwarika Nath confessed that?" cried Gerrard. Partab Singh enjoyed his astonishment for a moment.

"Nay," he said softly, "the whole matter was recounted to me by one whom I can trust, who was on the watch from the beginning to the end, so that when Dwarika Nath, with many protestations of fidelity and condolence, made known to me the treachery of my friend, I was able to remind him that he had been willing to cover that treachery for money. For this he has received due punishment."

Gerrard remained silent a moment, Dwarika Nath's interview with him in his tent, and the expulsion of the disgraced Diwan from the city, jostling one another in his mind. Then quite another thought came upper-most. "So you set spies on me in my own tent, Maharaj-ji!" he cried indignantly. "And you call me your friend!"

"The wise man calls no one friend whom he has not tested when they are apart as well as when they are together," was the calm reply. "Do I not honour my friend by enabling the lustre of his character to shine forth even when he believes himself alone?"

"I said these walls seemed to have eyes!" muttered Gerrard. "I suppose your Highness's spies are here also?"

"You are watched from morning to night, and again from night to morning," said the Rajah with pride. "Even on your sacred day, when you worshipped your God in the company of the half-breed physician, my eyes were upon you."

Gerrard moved angrily. Among the verbal counsels with which Colonel Antony supplemented his official instructions to his assistants, there was one which invariably occurred; "I make no suggestion as to your action when alone, though you are acquainted with my own practice. But when there is even one other Christian within reach, it is my earnest entreaty that you will invite him to join with you on Sundays in the worship of God. Believe me, this will bring you no discredit among the heathen, but rather the contrary." The "one other Christian" in this case was Moraes, who regarded compliance with the invitation as an additional sin to be confessed and expiated on his return home, and Gerrard felt a natural resentment at the thought of the curious eyes that had watched the proceedings. He rose abruptly.

"Since you trust me so little, Maharaj-ji, I had better go. Have I your leave to depart?"

The Rajah made no movement. "O my friend, why this impatience? Said I not that all I had seen had only served to justify my confidence? Had I taxed you with treachery as the result of my watching, there might have been cause for anger. What is this? you cannot pardon my not trusting you untried? Know then that I had reason for my hesitation, for I design to admit you wholly to my confidence. You, O my friend, are the man I intend to appoint as regent, together with the mother of Kharrak Singh, should I die while he is still a child."

"I am grateful for the honour, Maharaj-ji, but I could not accept it without leave from my superiors."

"That leave will undoubtedly be given when they know that you alone have power to keep the troops in good humour. With them on your side you can laugh at the notables and the common people alike. I am about to show you what no living eyes but mine have seen, the secret store I have laid up to safeguard my son. And I will do more than that, for the mother of Kharrak Singh shall be bidden to look to you for help and guidance in all things. At my command she has already sworn not to become suttee on my decease, but to live and shield her son from the plots laid against him within the palace, as you will from those without. Here are turban, robe and slippers of mine. Put them on, lest the guardians of the treasure should refuse to let you pass, and come."



[1] Readers of the classics will perceive that Mr Charteris's memory played him false here.



CHAPTER VI.

THE CROWNING PROOF.

To put on the Rajah's robe over his clothes, and don the turban and slippers, was the work of a moment for Gerrard, and he was ready before Partab Singh had even raised himself from his cushions. The spirit of adventure had laid hold of the young man, and the hint of peril suggested by his host's last words was thrilling his blood, but he was sufficiently master of himself to insist upon uttering one more warning.

"Your Highness will believe that I appreciate to the full the confidence you are prepared to repose in me, but I must remind you that outside Granthistan I am merely a junior officer in the Company's army. If it should unfortunately happen that the guardianship of Kharrak Singh and of the state devolved upon Colonel Antony by your arrangement, it is almost certain that he would make choice of an older man to represent him and act as regent."

"So that the army might rise against him in a week, and having slain him and Kharrak Singh and his mother, invade British territory and bring about a second Granthi war?" asked Partab Singh drily. "I have made my choice of a regent, O my friend, and by reason of the power I shall put into his hands, he will be the only man that Antni Sahib can choose."

Recollections of Colonel Antony's heroic disregard of commonplace safeguards in various outstanding cases made Gerrard persist. "Colonel Antony will choose the man he thinks best fitted for the post, as in the sight of God, Maharaj-ji, and it will be my duty to acquiesce in his decision."

"So be it," said the Rajah, with resignation. "Only swear to me that you will not betray the secret I am about to disclose to you to any living being, man or woman, priest or ruler, save to my son Kharrak Singh when he is of age and seated on the gaddi."

"Does it concern the state, Maharaj-ji?"

"The state might continue to endure were the secret lost, but on it depends the safety of Kharrak Singh and the existence of my house. At present I alone know it."

"But if any evil should befall your Highness and myself, the secret will be lost. Suffer me to reveal it to Colonel Antony, who will hold it sacred, and not permit the knowledge of it to influence his action."

"Nay, that were beyond the power of mortal man!" cried Partab Singh. "To Antni Sahib least of all must the secret be revealed. But this it is permitted you to do. Choose out an honourable man, lower than yourself in rank—or at least not likely to be preferred before you by your masters—and confide the secret to him under the conditions on which I reveal it to you. Let him be one that you can trust as yourself."

"Bob, of course!" said Gerrard in his own mind, with humorous dismay. "It is well, Maharaj-ji. I choose my friend the officer in charge of Darwan," he added aloud.

"And he is near at hand? It is well. Reveal the secret to him as soon as may be. I have your promise?"

"To keep your Highness's secret? Yes. But anything further must depend upon the will of my superiors."

"That I understand. Come, my friend."

They went down the spiral marble staircase of the tower, the Rajah leading, and passed the guards at the foot without a word. Gerrard noticed that they did not leave the tower by the carved marble gateway through which they had entered, but by a smaller door at the back, which gave access to a shaded terrace looking over the great tank. In the shadows a boat was waiting, with one man in it, leaning on a long pole, and when the Rajah and Gerrard had stepped in, this man punted them out into the starlight in perfect silence, and across the lake into a kind of backwater, covered thick with the flat leaves of the lotus, in an opposite corner. Gerrard expected to see the boat held fast among the twining roots, but it was evident that a channel was kept clear, for they slid through without difficulty. The boatman helped them to shore, still in silence, and Partab Singh touched his own ears and mouth lightly, explaining to Gerrard that the man was deaf and dumb, as he brought a lantern from the boat and preceded them through a thicket of bamboos and similar plants. The place suggested snakes, and Gerrard trod with caution, wondering what the great wall in front, over which the sound of clanking chains came faintly, might enclose. A small door was disclosed by the boatman's moving aside the bushes, and the Rajah brought out a key from his girdle, and taking the lantern from the man's hand, waved him back to the boat. The opening of the door disclosed only darkness, but the sound of the clanking of chains grew louder, mixed with growls and wild cries.

"Smells like a wild beast show!" mused Gerrard. "Where can we be coming to?"

Even as he spoke, the Rajah, who had shut the door, advanced a few steps and waved the lantern round, and the flickering light, with the chorus of snarls that arose, showed the Englishman that they were in a passage leading to the bottom of the great pit in which the palace menagerie was kept. He had often looked over the parapet at the top, generally in Kharrak Singh's company, and had the fighting animals pointed out to him, and been promised a grand display if he was present on the boy's next birthday, but now he was descending into the arena, with fierce eyes glaring at the intruders from all the surrounding cages.

"If only old Bob were here now!" he thought, as Partab Singh crossed the sanded space, and began deliberately to unfasten the gate of one of the largest cages.

"Enter, my friend, and fear not!" said the old man, in a tone in which Gerrard detected a design upon the nerves. The darkness was not reassuring, but he stepped in, to be aware immediately of a huge body hurling itself at him through the air, with an awe-inspiring roar. A wicked snarl from behind him at the same moment warned him against stepping back, and he braced himself unconsciously to meet the impact. But the animal, whatever it was, fell short of him in its spring, and to his utter bewilderment he stood unharmed.

"They scent the stranger," said Partab Singh, turning the lantern to show first the huge lioness, almost black in colour, which had betrayed her presence by snarling, and then her mate, looking indescribably sulky and wounded in his self-esteem owing to the failure of his leap. "The gate is open; does my friend wish to return?"

It is no discredit to Gerrard that he was obliged to pull himself together before he could reply with suitable unconcern, "Is this the secret, then, Maharaj-ji? If not, let us go on," and the Rajah smiled grimly.

"Keep to the middle of the den, then," he said, as he fastened the gate. "The beasts are chained, and cannot touch you there."

That the honour of the Rajah's friendship was not without its drawbacks was a fact that had already forced itself upon Gerrard's mind that evening, and he now began to wonder whether its value was altogether correspondent to the severe tests it seemed to demand. The lions might be chained, but their chains were quite unnecessarily long, and they walked about in a highly disquieting manner while the Rajah was busy at the back of the den. Gerrard held the lantern, and hoped fervently that his hand did not shake—he was too much shaken himself to know whether it did or not. In the rear wall of the cage were several iron rings fixed to staples, to which chains might be attached, and through one of these Partab Singh passed his sheathed dagger, and gave it a sharp twist. Then, removing the dagger, he began to turn the ring the other way with his hands. When he had done this apparently an interminable number of times, Gerrard ventured to ask if he might help. An angry gesture of negation answered him, and he resigned himself to wait, while the lions strained at their chains. At last a great stone moved out like a door, and the Rajah entered, and motioned Gerrard to follow. Closing the door with a movement of his finger, he turned to his companion.

"The ring must be turned nine-and-twenty times, no more and no less," he said. "If you turn it less, no effect will follow, but if more, a great stone descends and blocks the entrance."

He led the way along a passage lined with masonry, which turned and twisted bewilderingly. At one point there was a deep recess, apparently intended for a window, but unfinished. Partab Singh motioned Gerrard to place his eye at a particular spot. There was a hole there, and to his surprise light came through. He looked into a great room or vault in which a lamp was burning. The rays fell upon elephant-trappings glittering with gold, jewelled bridles and saddlecloths, robes of gold tissue or priceless shawl-fabric, and a number of gaily painted boxes, such as the native goldsmiths used to contain their wares, and money-changers their stock of cash.

"That is the treasury of which all men know, the entrance to which is in the zenana," said the Rajah. "But though that were looted, and an army glutted with the spoil, the greater treasure beyond would remain safe and unknown."

Again he went on, until another stone moved on the pressure of a secret spring, the action of which he explained to Gerrard, and gave entrance to a small unlighted vault, piled with gold in ingots, bars and bricks, and in one corner a heap of tiny skin bags containing, as he pointed out, fine pearls and other precious stones. That the value of what was stored here must far exceed the more obvious wealth assembled in the larger treasury, Gerrard saw at a glance.

"You see now, O my friend, my secret store," said Partab Singh, "and by its means you may secure my son's succeeding me in peace. When I am dead, give large presents immediately in his name to all my Sirdars and Komadans, at the same time distributing a largess of ten rupees per man to the army. For this there is sufficient silver in the other treasury, but you will do well to assemble the money-changers and bargain with them to supply you with rupees against a portion of this gold. The tale of the riches at your command will go abroad, and the army will remain faithful in the hope of receiving more. Without it—I do not deceive myself—they would sell their swords to the highest bidder in the state or outside it, and it will also be necessary to use it with discretion, lest their minds should be so much inflamed by the thought of it that they should combine to seize and plunder the palace. They would never discover the hiding-place, but my son and his mother would meet with violence in the search. My friend sees, then, that I look to him to act with as much wisdom as courage, and he understands why I name him regent, since the only power that can keep my son on the throne is in his hands."

"Pardon the question, Maharaj-ji, but is not he who must not be named acquainted with this treasury?" asked Gerrard suddenly.

"Doubtless rumour has made him aware of its existence, but where it is he knows no more than the talkers in the city who swear by their lord's treasure. You and I are the sole living beings who know the secret."

Gerrard remembered a certain grim tale he had heard, according to which every man who had taken part in the construction of the treasury had been put to death on the completion of the work, and the piled gold before him became hateful. "Is there any other entrance to this labyrinth, Maharaj-ji?" he asked abruptly.

"Surely, my friend. The passage continues until it reaches the old outer wall of the palace, and there ends with another turning stone, concealed from those without by a tree that has struck its roots into the masonry."

"But if that tree should be destroyed, the entrance would become visible."

"It must not be destroyed. You must see to that, as I have done. I gave large gifts to a fakir of great sanctity to declare that a spirit had taken up his abode in the tree, and must on no account be disturbed, though the people might bring offerings and venerate it from below. Should it fall, or be thrown down by a storm, you must at once plant a seedling or a shoot from it in the same place, sheltering the tender plant by mats let down from the top of the wall until it has grown sufficiently to conceal the stone. And now let us return. Stay! my friend has refused all the gifts that I would fain have heaped upon him, until I offer him no more in the sight of men for fear of courting further rebuffs. Here no man sees us. Will he then take with him one of these bags of pearls, such as any prince might desire in vain to buy, and any queen might wear? What! I have offended him again? Say no more, my friend; your ways are not as ours. Even to my friend I will not offer twice what he is too proud to take. But come, for there is more to be done to-night."

Gerrard rather wished it was not so as they retraced their steps through the long passage and the lions' den back to the quiet garden and the lotus-covered tank. The deaf and dumb man was waiting, and ferried them over, and on the terrace below the tower the Rajah bade Gerrard leave the turban and robe he had been wearing, which he did thankfully, for the night was hot. Then, as he stood erect in his white mess uniform in the moonlight, the old man laid his hands upon his shoulders.

"O my friend, I have tried you with gold and with fear and with the lust of power, and you have stood the test. Now I am about to repose such confidence in you as hardly one man of your race has known since the world began. You will come with me into the zenana, that the mother of Kharrak Singh may know whom she is to trust. This I do now, that when I am dead, you may demand admittance as by right—the right I confer upon you—and talk with her through the curtain, thus avoiding the danger and delay of go-betweens."

Gerrard had felt a lurking fear more than once that this crowning proof of confidence was to be conferred upon him, but had silenced his uneasiness by reminding himself that such a thing was almost unheard of. One or two of those orientalised Europeans to whom the Rajah had referred earlier in the evening had enjoyed the honour, as had one or two British officials held in almost divine veneration, but otherwise it had been the supreme mark of favour reserved by a ruler for his most tried, trusted, and faithful servants. It was a sensible thing to do in the circumstances, as Partab Singh had manoeuvred them, he owned, but the idea shocked him almost as much as it would have done a native. It was so incongruous.

"If Bob gets wind of this, I shall be chaffed to death!" he said to himself, and then realised that the Rajah was waiting for a reply from him. "I appreciate deeply this proof of your Highness's confidence, and trust I may show myself worthy of it," he said formally, and Partab Singh linked his arm in his and drew him along.

They went through the tower, across the courtyard, and up the steps into the hall of audience, passing thence through rooms and corridors till they reached a barred gate, guarded by soldiers, whose weapons clashed angrily as they perceived Gerrard. The Rajah made a sign, never loosing his hold on the young man's arm for a moment, and the gates were opened from within by zenana attendants, the guards standing rigidly with their backs to them. Inside, Gerrard knew enough of the etiquette of the occasion to walk with his eyes cast down, and obey every motion of the Rajah's arm, but he was aware that the darkness seemed to be full of eyes, and the silence of whispers. They came to a standstill at last before a pillared colonnade, with a crimson curtain hanging behind the pillars. No light came from behind the curtain, and Gerrard realised suddenly that he distinguished its colour by means of a light behind him. At a word from the Rajah, two old women came forward with flaring lamps, and stationed themselves one on each side of Gerrard, so as to throw his face into the clearest possible relief. Then Partab Singh spoke.

"Let the mother of Kharrak Singh look well upon this Sahib, that she may know whom to trust. I have given him freedom of entrance here, that he may speak with her through the curtain, and she may take counsel with him for the welfare of her son."

There was a moment's pause, and then a muffled voice made an inaudible reply from somewhere behind the curtain, apparently close to the ground. The Rajah turned to Gerrard.

"The mother of Kharrak Singh clasps the feet of Jirad Sahib, and entreats that in the evil day his virtue may be a high tower in which she and her son can take refuge."

Gerrard sought vainly for a suitably self-deprecatory reply, but the Rajah was equal to the occasion, and rendered his disjointed murmurs into a polite desire that he might serve as a sturdy elephant to carry the Rani and her son over a flooded river. The voice spoke again, and Partab Singh turned to Gerrard.

"Is my friend yet wedded?" Gerrard shook his head. "Then the mother of Kharrak Singh desires to be informed when he brings home a wife, that she may send the bride her clothes and jewels."

In response to this very high honour Gerrard could only bow low, and promise to send the desired information when the time came, and then the appearance of the inevitable attar and pan in the hands of thickly veiled women of apparently most discreet age announced the termination of the interview. Partab Singh maintained his hold on Gerrard's arm until they had returned to the hall of audience, and then detailed an escort to guard him back to his own quarters. It was a most dissipated hour to return home, but when Gerrard mounted to the roof, where his bed was spread, he felt no inclination for sleep, and stood leaning on the parapet, thinking over the events of the evening. It must be his first care to find out what attitude Colonel Antony would adopt towards the arrangement desired by Partab Singh, since the workings of the Resident's mind were by no means easy to forecast. If he could meet the Rajah face to face and hear his story, Gerrard was inclined to think he might acquiesce. True, the addition of another infant heir and female regent to his burden of cares would not be agreeable to him, but the Rajput lady of royal ancestry would be a very different person to deal with from the low-born little upstart who kept the palace and city of Ranjitgarh agog with her stormy and transitory love affairs. Still, if Sher Singh should have the brilliant inspiration of seeking an interview with Colonel Antony, and having learnt a lesson from his previous failure, present himself merely as a disinherited innocent of pacific tendencies, it was quite likely that he would establish in the Resident's mind a prepossession in his favour which would tell heavily against little Kharrak Singh. Gerrard found himself planning the letter in which he would describe the state of affairs, placing things in their proper perspective and omitting no detail of importance, not putting himself forward, and yet not concealing his readiness to accept the post of Resident at Agpur if it should be thought fit to offer it him. Both in importance and responsibility it would be considered quite unsuitable for so young a man, he knew; but after all, Partab Singh had chosen him, and given him unsolicited two aids to success which were not, and could not be, in the power of any other man on earth.

Gerrard lost himself in dreams. This miniature palace, sheltered within the fort walls, yet standing by itself in its own garden, remote from the rambling pile of buildings occupied by Partab Singh and his court, would make an ideal Residency. Not for a solitary man, of course, but the Resident at Agpur could well afford to marry. Gazing down into the inner courtyard he saw it in the light of a shrine for Honour. Honour walked up and down the flagged paths in her white gown, Honour sat on the broad stone margin of the fountain and raised serious eyes from her book at his approach—and her whole face lighted up with a flash of welcome to him, such a flash as he had caught in Lady Cinnamond's eyes when Sir Arthur returned unexpectedly from a distant expedition. What blissful evenings they would spend on that broad pillared verandah, Honour working and he reading to her, or both together reading, writing, talking, as Colonel and Mrs Antony were wont to do, two minds working as one, so quickly and naturally did each supply the deficiencies of the other.

He pulled himself up sharply. Not so very many miles away was another man dreaming similar dreams—and yet not similar, since the charms of history and poetry and romance held no place in them. Gerrard himself might have pleaded guilty to the charge of allowing no opening for the cultivation of the good works which meant so much to Honour, but he would probably have defended himself with the not uncommon maxim of his day that looking after a husband was sufficient good works for any woman. But Bob Charteris—who was utterly incapable of appreciating the real Honour, who had no idea of her absolute uniqueness, and might have fallen in love with any other woman with equal satisfaction to himself! Bob—who could make a joke of his love and even laugh at his lady, who would probably not mind smoking while he thought about her! (In those days the smoker was largely considered as a pariah, if not an enemy of the human race. Gerrard himself smoked, but he was properly conscious that it was a weakness, and not an amiable one, and nothing would have induced him to set himself to think of Honour with a cheroot in his mouth.) It was Bob's rivalry that had driven him to put his fortune to the touch by proposing to Honour when patience would better have served his turn, and it was Bob to whose pleasure, by his own suggestion, he must defer before speaking to her again, were he ten times Resident at Agpur. Worst of all, it was Bob who was only too likely to win her in the end, and not undeservedly, Gerrard knew his friend's good points as few others did, and he did not deceive himself as to his chances of success. At this point he broke off his musings abruptly, and went to bed. Bob was not only superfluous, but a positive nuisance.



CHAPTER VII.

ON GUARD.

A haunting, half-superstitious dread beset Gerrard as he dressed the next morning, the presentiment that he would hear that Partab Singh had died in the night. After the determination the old man had shown in laying his plans, and the earnestness with which he had impressed them upon the Englishman, it would be eminently suitable dramatically, if absolutely fatal practically, that he should die before the steps could be taken to carry them out. But the foreboding proved to be baseless, and during the next few days Gerrard spent a good deal of time in close converse with the Rajah. The first step to be taken was undoubtedly to secure the approval of Colonel Antony, without whose active sympathy the great scheme would not have a chance of success. In his anxiety to assure the succession to his favourite child, Partab Singh had seriously compromised the jealously guarded independence of his state by his advances to the English as represented by Gerrard, and there could be no doubt that Granthis and Mohammedans would unite in resenting this betrayal. Hence, when the day of reckoning came, it was all-important to have not only the moral, but the physical support of the British secured, and it would be all the better if the agreement could be announced as an accomplished fact before the need arose to put it in practice. The Rajah had indeed confided his wishes to his most trusted councillors, but it was highly probable that in case of a popular rising these worthy gentlemen would find it more convenient, as it would certainly be safer, to forget the exact nature of the charge committed to them.

Adhering to his opinion that a personal interview between the Rajah and the Resident would be the surest way of enlisting Colonel Antony's sympathy for Kharrak Singh and his future, Gerrard now bent his efforts towards bringing this about. The disputed boundary between Agpur and Darwan afforded an excellent excuse for the Rajah to journey to his frontier and meet Charteris, who would hold the brief for Darwan, and if it could be so arranged that Colonel Antony should accidentally be in the neighbourhood, the thing would be done. Gerrard wrote urging his chief's presence with all the earnestness he could command, suggesting that if he could not come himself, he should depute his brother James to represent him. He then turned to the task of inducing Partab Singh to undertake the journey—a difficult endeavour, since he could not promise the desired interview at the end of it. A change had come over the Rajah since the evening when he had bestowed his confidence, and there was no doubt that he was failing. It seemed as though his vigour of body and mind had given way when he had once entrusted the care of his son to other hands, for Gerrard could distinctly trace the progress of decay in the short time he had known him, and the exertion of planning a move on such a large scale appeared to be too much for his strength. Since it was not to be supposed that this was a mere flying visit to the frontier, undertaken for a purpose, it must have all the characteristics of a royal progress, court, zenana, troops, elephants and guns, all accompanying their lord. The trusted councillors looked unutterable things at all Gerrard's suggestions, and military and civil officials combined to defeat all his arrangements by means of the dead weight of their inertia. The Rajah was willing to go, provided he had not to take any trouble, but he criticised freely all the points submitted to him, indicating how much simpler and less laborious it would have been if Gerrard had accepted his offers without insisting on referring things to his superiors. However, by dint of patience and resolution, the long train of men and baggage-animals was got under way at last, and with thankfulness Gerrard left the minarets of Agpur behind him. It was arranged that during the first day's journey, which was a very short one, he and his men should march with the Rajah's cavalcade, that he might notice anything neglected or forgotten and set it right, but that afterwards he should press on by forced marches, so as to meet Colonel Antony's returning couriers on the Darwan frontier, and if the tenor of the letters they bore should be disappointing, make a flying journey to Ranjitgarh itself, and urge his views upon the Resident. That this might be necessary he gathered from the latest instructions he had received—written, as he guessed, just before the arrival of his detailed report, and containing stringent warnings against committing the British Government on his own responsibility to any particular plan in dealing with Agpur.

The evening of the first day's march Gerrard spent with Partab Singh in his private audience-tent, laying plans which were to provide against the occurrence of all possible contingencies during his absence. At the close of the interview he took leave of the Rajah, whom he would only see from a distance as he rode away on the morrow, and received his urgent injunctions to let nothing delay his return, whether his mission was successful or not.

"For there is no one I can trust save you, O my friend," said the old man. "All these men, who flew to do my bidding when my eye was clear and my sword keen, are beginning to make plans for their own advantage, thinking that I cannot detect their guile. In your hands I can leave my son in confidence, but as for them, they would follow the banner of that other to-morrow if he offered them larger bribes."

Gerrard assured him that he would return as soon as he was allowed, and went back to his own tents, wondering whether he was doing well in leaving things to take care of themselves, even for so important an errand. Orders for an early start had already been issued, and when he wished to note down one or two things that had occurred during the day, his canteen served for a seat and a camel-trunk set on end for a table, Munshi Somwar Mal lending ink and a reed pen. Sleep seemed inclined to forsake the young man that night when at length he lay on his bed before the tent-door, the quarrelling round the camp-fires and the fidgeting of the horses waking him whenever he dropped into a doze. At last he succeeded in falling asleep, only to wake in a cold perspiration, and to find himself standing up and hastily girding on sword and revolver. What had awakened him he could not imagine, but he had a vague impression of a cry or wail of some sort. It was not repeated, and he unbuckled his belts and lay down again, mentally anathematizing the perfume mingled with the Rajah's tobacco, which must have given him nightmare. But when he woke again, in the grey light of early dawn, the air was full of the sound of wailing, and his Granthi officers and chief servants were gathered round his bed, respectfully waiting for his eyes to open.

"Hillo, I must have overslept!" he cried. "Get the men into order of march, Badan Hazari. I shall be dressed in no time."

"Do the orders of the Presence for the early start hold good?" asked the Granthi officer significantly.

"Why not? What in the world is that noise?"

"It is the wailing of the women in the Rajah's camp, sahib. His Highness was found dead by his attendants in the night."

"What! murdered?"

"They say there are no marks of violence, sahib. Hearing no sound from the tent of audience after your honour had left, the servants ventured to peep in, and found his Highness stretched upon the cushions, dead."

"The Protector of the Poor is earnestly entreated to shed the light of his countenance upon the all-prevailing darkness in the camp," said a white-bearded old man, whom Gerrard knew to be the Rani's scribe. He rose hastily.

"I will be there immediately. The start is postponed for the present, Badan Hazari, but strike the tents ready for marching, and get ready a messenger at once to go to Darwan."

In the intervals of dressing he scribbled a hasty note to Charteris, telling him what had happened, and that he should probably return to the city at once, urging him also to forward the news immediately to Ranjitgarh, and ask for definite instructions. Having seen this despatched, he mounted and rode over to the Rajah's camp, which was in a state of the wildest confusion. The bodyguard, the only portion of the troops that could be trusted, were mounting guard round the zenana enclosure, into which the corpse of the Rajah had been carried, the Rani having, as Gerrard learned, at once sent out her jewellery to be divided among them, and thus secured their fidelity for the time. The rest of the soldiers, with the servants and transport-drivers, had evidently been holding high carnival outside the ring of steel. In the few hours which had elapsed since the ghastly discovery, the brocades and kincob of the audience-tents had been torn down and distributed, the cushions deprived of their rich covers, and the very gaddi on which the Rajah's body had been found stripped of its damask. Even the carpets were gone from the floors, and the cotton ground-cloths torn in every direction. Gerrard's first task was the restoration of some measure of order. His boldness in taking command of the situation attracted the soldiers towards him, and he made a definite bid for their allegiance by the promise of large rewards to be distributed by Rajah Kharrak Singh at Agpur. Strict orders were issued against further plundering, and every man who had obtained nothing, or less than he expected, became a detective ready to hunt down his more fortunate comrade and secure the return of the spoils. Partab Singh's councillors and courtiers began to appear out of various hiding-places, and all expressed a most touching anxiety to be honoured with any commands from Gerrard. But before he had time to listen to them, the circle of soldiers round the zenana tents opened, and a little procession came out. Between the Rani's scribe and her spiritual adviser, a large Brahmin, came Kharrak Singh, with the royal umbrella held over his head, and a guard of the Rani's own Rajput servants following him. Marching up to Gerrard as he stood among the crowd of eager suitors in the devastated audience-tent, the boy took off his turban and laid it at his feet.

"The widow of Rajah Partab Singh kisses the footprints of Jirad Sahib, and entreats that she and her son may sit down under his shadow," he said perfunctorily, evidently repeating what had been taught him. "Jirad Sahib knows that I am Rajah now? He will make them give me a real sword, will he not?"

"Presently. At Agpur," said Gerrard hastily. Stooping, he took the child into his arms, and a gasp of satisfaction broke from the onlookers. Kharrak Singh's cause was to have the support of the English, as represented by this agent of Colonel Antony's.

Still holding the boy by the hand, Gerrard gave orders for an immediate return to Agpur, where the body of the Rajah might be burnt with due solemnity. Colonel Antony's warning against involving the British Government in responsibility came back to him with a touch of irony. This responsibility had thrust itself upon him, and the return to Agpur would involve further responsibility, in that he must proceed to secure the allegiance of the troops by the means prescribed by Partab Singh, and they would place themselves at the command of the man who paid them. Whether he was allowed to continue in the position or not, he was undoubtedly acting as Regent of Agpur for the present.

One man after another was dismissed to his duties, and retired with salaams, until practically only the old councillors were left. There was a guilty and subdued air of expectancy about some of them, a tendency to start at any sudden sound and look round suspiciously, which made Gerrard wonder what they were waiting for. But when the last soldier had stridden clanking out of the tent, a distant thudding became audible, like the approach of a body of horse. Significant glances passed between the men Gerrard had noticed, to be succeeded by an expression of utter guilelessness when they saw that they were observed, while those who were not in the secret began to show signs of fear. In the general disorder no guards had been posted on the outskirts of the camp, and the approaching cavalcade swept gorgeously up the broad avenue leading to the Rajah's tent, riding down the few who sought to challenge their passage. Gerrard turned hastily to the scribe and the Brahmin.

"Take the boy back to the zenana at once, and see that no one passes the guards, either going in or coming out, save by orders from me. Who is this that comes?" he demanded, facing round upon the councillors, as Kharrak Singh was hurried away.

"Who should it be but the eldest son of our lord, sahib?" was the answer, and as the old men spoke, Sher Singh flung himself from his reeking horse at the door of the tent and entered.

"Where is my lord and father?" he cried. "Bring me to him, that I may embrace his feet, and receive the forgiveness and the favour he has graciously promised me."

"Alas, Kunwar-ji!" chorused the councillors, all trying to push one another forward to tell the news. Sher Singh glanced at them contemptuously.

"Fools, will you try to keep me from my father now that he has sent for me? Because he has not made his beneficent intentions known to you, will you deny them? Let him be told that I am here, and you will learn what is his will."

"Prince, your venerable father passed away in the night," said Gerrard laconically. The exact bearing of this new arrival upon the situation he could not determine, but he was very certain that it behoved him to walk warily. Sher Singh turned upon him a magnificent glance of anger and disdain.

"This is well done—very well done!" he exclaimed, while the councillors cowered before the meaning accents like reeds before a blast. "My lord and father proclaims his gracious willingness to lay the hand of forgiveness upon the brow of penitence, and in the few short hours before the feet of haste can carry me to the spot, he dies, and his intentions are unfulfilled."

"Were his intentions known to any besides yourself, Prince?" asked Gerrard, and noted that the eyes of the councillors sought Sher Singh's face, as though to inquire what he wished them to say. But he disregarded them.

"I understand that Jirad Sahib has enjoyed the honour of the Rajah's confidence of late, to the neglect of his tried and trusted councillors. Is it possible that nothing was said to him of my father's wishes?"

"They were communicated to me in great detail, but you, Prince, bore no part in them whatever." Gerrard weighed his words carefully, feeling that the time had come to throw down the gauntlet.

Sher Singh turned slowly to the councillors, and Gerrard noticed for the first time that the armed men who had accompanied him were crowding at the entrance of the tent. "I call you all to witness," said the Prince deliberately, "that this stranger, this encroaching Feringhee, who has supplanted my father's natural councillors in his confidence, desires now to supplant me also in my rights. Brothers, friends, when he thought he had attained the height of his evil desires, and learned too late that he had only opened the path for me, what did he do? My father made his final decision last night, when he despatched to me with a gracious message of favour the runner who had carried my humble petition. Before I can arrive, before he can announce his determination to the world, he dies. Who stands to profit by his death?"

Before the last words were out of Sher Singh's mouth, the tent was filled with the clash of weapons. The armed men in the entrance sprang forward at Gerrard, who believed that his last moment had come. But to his amazement a ring of bucklers encompassed him. The six Rajputs had remained when Kharrak Singh was taken away, and they stepped before him with ready swords. Baulked of the easy prey they had expected, Sher Singh's men hesitated, and the councillors flung themselves into the breach, weeping, clutching at the Prince's coat, urging in tremulous voices the impolicy of slaying a British envoy and thus bringing destruction upon Agpur. Sher Singh allowed himself to be turned from his immediate purpose.

"Let the Feringhee live for the present," he said, waving his followers back. "Speak, O Jirad Sahib, you who hide behind the servants of a woman, and tell me who stood to profit by my father's death?"

"You!" returned Gerrard promptly. "You, who have trumped up this story of a reconciliation, and come here to assert it now that he cannot contradict you. You, of whom your father spoke to me with aversion and absolute lack of forgiveness only last night. Tell me," he turned to the councillors, "when did this messenger of Kunwar Sher Singh's arrive—before my visit to his Highness, or after I had left him? You, O Sarfaraz Khan, as keeper of his Highness's head, must know all who entered or left his presence. When was it?"

The old Mohammedan captain of the guard gazed miserably from Gerrard to Sher Singh and back again, and finally faltered out that to the best of his recollection it was before the Sahib's visit.

"Then the petition had been rejected before I arrived, and the messenger despatched bearing the Rajah's refusal to see his son's face," said Gerrard.

"The man lies. It was after," burst forth Sher Singh. "Here is Sada Sukhi, the king's friend, who can testify it."

"Then," said Gerrard calmly, "the messenger murdered the Rajah, since both my guards and his own can testify that he bade me farewell in good health at the door of this very tent, and did me the honour to admire my horse."

"Fool! does a man murder the one who has just promised to give him all he desires?" cried Sher Singh.

"No, but he does sometimes murder the one who has refused it. And so Prince Sher Singh was his own messenger?"

"It is a lie—I swear it!" He appealed frantically to the bystanders. "I was at Adamkot, the fortress of my father-in-law, and rode forth on the very heels of my messenger, so eager was I to receive my father's answer. Then when the gracious response arrived—the messenger meeting me on the way—as I could set no bounds to my joy, even so was it with my speed, and I rode hither at a pace that was like to kill my horse and the horses of those that were with me."

Gerrard dismissed the explanation with a wave of the hand, but old Sada Sukhi, who had succeeded Dwarika Nath as Diwan, and was by common consent the wiliest man in Agpur, cringed humbly forward.

"I will take it upon me to speak, worthless as I am, in the presence of these great ones," he murmured. "Surely there is wrong in speaking of murder, since no sign of any such horror has been found. But if our lord Partab Singh Rajah died in the course of nature, then Kunwar Sher Singh has been unjustly accused by Jirad Sahib, and Jirad Sahib by Sher Singh. Is this a moment to bandy accusations that cannot be maintained, when our lord's body lies unburnt, and all our minds should be devoted to mourning him and paying fitting reverence to his obsequies?"

"Truly do they call thee wise, old man!" said Sher Singh heartily. "My sorrow comes upon me as a flood at thy words, and I desire only to mourn my beloved father."

"But wait," said Gerrard. "The Prince knows as well as I do, and you also, Diwan-ji, how much depends upon the funeral ceremony. It was the will of Partab Singh Rajah that his son Kharrak Singh should set light to the pyre as chief mourner, and as his successor on the gaddi."

Sher Singh covered his face. "Dust is on my head, that an evil chance has come between me and my desire!" he said in a broken voice. "What is the gaddi to me, if I am deprived of my father's forgiveness? The right of deciding upon his successor was his, and he has exercised it in favour of Kharrak Singh. The child's mother is of royal blood, mine was not, and I bow to the decree. But I will not consent to be robbed of my right to walk beside my brother in the procession, and to guide his hand when he fires the pile. The pyre of Partab Singh Rajah and his Rani shall not be left to the care of a Feringhee and a Christian."

"There will be no suttee," said Gerrard decisively.

"The matter is not in your hands, Jirad Sahib," said Sher Singh, as a murmur broke from the councillors. "When the meanest of the Ranjitgarh Maharajas died, two Ranis and eleven women-slaves bore him company to the tomb, and shall Partab Singh lack the tribute of respect? I think more highly of the dwellers behind the curtain than you do, if you dream that they will permit themselves to be prevented from performing this glorious duty."

"Not the meanest slave-girl shall ascend the pyre," repeated Gerrard. "The Rani Gulab Kur is bound by an oath imposed upon her by your father to live and watch over her son, and I shall prevent the sacrifice of any other woman."

"You! and by what authority?"

"By the authority of the Rani, who is regent of Agpur by the will of Rajah Partab Singh."

Sher Singh turned to the rest, his face convulsed with fury. "You hear this low-born one, how he denies me my natural rights, and would deprive my father of the customary honours? Am not I rightfully regent during my brother's minority? If I advance no claim to the gaddi, do you think that I am to be set aside altogether? Let this man Jirad know that I have the promise of Antni Sahib's support."

"When Colonel Antony's instructions reach me, I will hasten to acknowledge you as co-regent," said Gerrard. "Until then, I take my orders from the Rani alone, and exercise the powers she has conferred upon me."

"Come aside with me and let us speak together," said Sher Singh imperiously. "See, I am unarmed," casting sword and dagger on the ground. Gerrard laid aside his sword and revolver, and walked with him to the back of the tent.

"I do not desire your death, sahib," said Sher Singh eagerly. "You can see for yourself that it would prejudice me with Antni Sahib, whose favour I desire to retain. But the army is with me, and will acclaim me as regent, and that place I will not give up. It might be very greatly to your advantage if you could make it convenient to recollect my father's desiring you to admit me to a third share of power with yourself and the Rani Gulab Kur."

"It is impossible for me to recollect what did not happen," said Gerrard, turning away coldly. Sher Singh's voice pursued him.

"Then until we start the way will be open for you to return to Darwan with your own troops if you desire it. After that, if you still insist on accompanying me to the city—by the Guru, you shall see more of it than you care for!"

Gerrard beckoned to his Granthi orderly, who came up quickly. "Bid Badan Hazari parade the troop in mourning order, ready to ride to Agpur at the appointed time," he said.

"In an evil day for yourself were you born, O youth of little wisdom!" said Sher Singh, and withdrew. The Rajputs followed Gerrard closely as he also left the tent, and approached the zenana enclosure, where the less important tents were already being struck in preparation for the return march. The scribe was looking out for him, and the guards allowed the old man to pass.

"Sahib," he whispered fearfully, "it was murder. Our lord Partab Singh was stabbed with a needle dagger above the heart, so that he would not bleed, and the weapon was broken in the wound. Only a scratch is visible, and her Highness has bound all who saw it to silence, that that other may not learn that his wickedness has been discovered. But she desires me to say to your honour that evil is certainly determined, and to bid you depart in safety while you may, that you share not the fate of her son and herself."

"I go to Agpur to set Kharrak Singh on the gaddi," said Gerrard doggedly. "Bid the Rani beware of poison, and eat and drink nothing that has not been prepared by one she trusts."

"The Cherisher of the Poor forgets that her Highness is fasting," said the scribe, scandalized.

"So much the better. But look after the boy, and see that he accepts food from no one outside. And tell the Rani to permit no one, freewoman or slave, to quit the zenana without an order from me. There is to be no suttee."



CHAPTER VIII.

THE SUPERFLUOUS CHARTERIS.

"Is it true that we ride to Agpur, sahib?" Badan Hazari, coming to report the troop ready for the march, lingered to ask the question.

"It is true. See to it that we take our place in the procession on the right of the elephant bearing the Rajah's body. Prince Sher Singh will ride on the left, but on no account are his followers to be permitted to surround the corpse."

"It is an order, sahib. But they say that the man Sher Singh desires to dissuade your honour from going to Agpur, and that he has given you much abuse."

"Evil heart, evil tongue, Sirdar-ji. Yet I go to Agpur, though I would have bidden you and the troop return to Darwan, had I not known that this would be to insult you."

The Granthi made a horrified gesture of aversion. "Black indeed would our faces be!" he said. "Trust me, sahib, there will be a great killing before your slaves go down before the onslaught of the Agpuri mongrels. But is your honour well advised in remaining here until the march begins?"

"I am at the Rani's disposal, and must wait for any orders she is pleased to give. But send hither Mohammed Jan with some food, for I am not minded to eat what is prepared in this camp."

"Your honour is wise," said Badan Hazari, and before long the servant arrived, carrying a tray, and escorted by two stalwart troopers. Gerrard ate and drank eagerly, for he had taken nothing since rising, and it would be necessary to scrutinise all food and drink very carefully for poison during the next two or three days. Having dismissed Mohammed Jan, he summoned to a conference Rukn-ud-din, the officer second in command of the Rajah's bodyguard, since old Sarfaraz Khan was evidently not to be trusted. With this man he arranged that the litters containing the Rani and her son and the other inmates of the zenana should follow immediately after the elephant carrying the corpse, surrounded by the guards, so that Gerrard and his men, in their station on the right of the animal, would be continuously in touch with them, and either party would be ready to help the other in case of emergency. Then, having taken all the precautions he could think of, he could only wait patiently until the worst heat of the day was over, and the time came for the start. His reflections were not particularly pleasant as he mounted his horse at last. Sher Singh had no doubt spent the intervening hours in strengthening his hold on the court and the troops by means of lavish promises, which the Englishman durst not emulate as yet, since his power to fulfil them would depend upon his gaining a peaceful and undisturbed entrance to the palace. Badan Hazari and the officer of the bodyguard had carried out their instructions most dexterously, and Sher Singh appeared resigned to his inferior position, but there was obvious resentment among the rest of the troops at the impudence of the Feringhee in putting himself forward. When their numbers were reinforced by the notoriously violent mob of Agpur, they would easily overwhelm the little force of Ranjitgarh troopers and the guards loyal to the Rani. The situation was practically hopeless, since safety hung upon the very slender thread of Sher Singh's judgment. Would his self-interest prompt him to avoid at all costs bringing down upon himself British vengeance, or to snatch the immediate advantage of wiping out all his opponents at one blow, and taking the consequences? Since this was the course likely to commend itself to the people of Agpur, there could be little doubt how he would decide. Yet Gerrard had no choice, if he was to keep his promise to Partab Singh at all. Had he taken the road to Darwan with his escort, he might eventually have returned at the head of larger forces, but it would have been to find that the Rani had been drugged and hurried to the funeral pyre, and that Kharrak Singh had "died of grief"—little likely as the vivacious youngster appeared to succumb to such a fate.

The heat of the day was by no means over, though it was late in the afternoon, and actual bodily discomfort almost blotted out thought as Gerrard rode on through the dust, the landscape ahead one blinding glare of trembling, moving lines. He was on the sunny side of the elephant, and on the other Sher Singh seemed to find shade enough to stimulate his inventive faculties. At any rate, he was talking loudly to his friends, and the words which Gerrard overheard occasionally assured him that they were devising unpleasant experiences for him. Beside him the great beast swung patiently along, and behind came the zenana litters, their golden draperies covered by way of mourning with coarse cotton cloth, so as to shut out every possible breath of air. The towers and minarets of Agpur began at last to grow visible through the wavering haze, and Gerrard realised that a grove of trees surrounding a saint's tomb, which they were approaching, would be the scene of a halt to rearrange the procession and enable it to enter the city with proper dignity. There might even be troops waiting there, summoned by Sher Singh when he found himself worsted in the moral combat, and in that case the struggle would take place immediately, and could have but one result. Gerrard felt that he really did not much mind how soon it came, but he roused himself angrily from the lethargy which was creeping over him, and called up Badan Hazari and Rukn-ud-din to acquaint them with his intention of seizing the tomb if there was any sign of hostilities, and getting the corpse and the women into the courtyard, where the guard might close the gates and defend them for a time. Even as he spoke, the outlines of the trees became clearer, and he saw that there were certainly mounted men waiting under their shadow. He was turning to give the order which would have sent Badan Hazari and half his men to drive Sher Singh from the other side of the elephant, and turned the stately procession into a wild rush for the tomb, when it struck him that one of the men under the trees wore the curtained forage-cap of a European. Hardly able to believe his eyes, he rode forward a little, and as he did so. Bob Charteris, comparatively cool and apparently quite comfortable, came out from under the trees to meet him. Gerrard had no words of greeting at command.

"How many men have you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Only fifty here, but the rest of my forces are behind, and the Ranjitgarh army is behind them," said Charteris easily. Sher Singh had ridden up in obvious alarm, and Charteris bowed to him. "I ride with a small escort, Prince, to show the last tokens of respect to your father, but as I was saying to my friend, I have not only my Darwanis, but the Ranjitgarh army behind me."

"But what should the Ranjitgarh army be doing in Agpur?" demanded Sher Singh.

"Why, it is not exactly in Agpur territory, but merely ready to enter it, in case Colonel Antony does not receive every day satisfactory reports from my friend here and myself."

"Does Antni Sahib not trust me, that he thus blackens the face of his most faithful slave?" cried Sher Singh.

"Ah, you should not have left Darwan without replying to my messages, you know," said Charteris. Sher Singh's self-assertion collapsed.

"I have acted foolishly," he said. "For doing wrong I am rightly punished. The gracious rebuke of Antni Sahib I lay upon my forehead and my eyes, and submit."

"Such wisdom is only what was expected from you, Prince."

"And the heaven-born messenger of Antni Sahib"—pursued Sher Singh feverishly—"him I receive with honour, and place his foot upon my head, but to the man Jirad I have nothing to say, nor will I hear a word from his mouth."

"Now you are foolish again," said Charteris gravely. "If Lieutenant Gerrard is good enough to entrust his commands to me, I will convey them to you, but that is a matter in which he decides and you obey. I see you are making a short halt here, and I may be able to wait upon you with instructions before long." Sher Singh moved aside, with a distinctly unamiable expression of countenance, and Charteris turned back to Gerrard.

"Why, Hal, what's the matter, old boy? Didn't I maintain your authority strongly enough to please you?"

"You seem to have worked a miracle," said Gerrard feebly, "but I'm a bit done up—couldn't see how you did it."

"A rest and something cool to drink is what you want," said Charteris, half helping, half pulling him off his horse. "Lie down here and take this. I give you fair warning, Master Gerrard, you ain't going to die on my hands and leave me to settle with this hornet's nest you have stirred up here—not if I know it."

Gerrard obeyed meekly, and lay still until the trees and Charteris and the horses and the troopers had ceased whirling and wavering before his eyes. Then he sat up. "Bob, what was it you told Sher Singh? How can it have happened?"

"Bounce, all bounce!" said Charteris sadly. "At least, my Darwanis are certainly behind me, but a jolly good way behind; and as to Antony, if he is on the move, it's solely in response to my urgent entreaties, which he is highly unlikely to regard with favour."

"Anyhow, you seem to have got me out of a very nasty fix."

"Such was my intention. But you wish it hadn't fallen to me to get you out? Never mind, old boy; I wish it hadn't been you to be got out."

"Oh, nonsense! You know I'm uncommon obliged to you, my dear fellow. But did you fly here? It can't possibly be my message this morning that brought you."

"Lie down like a decent Christian and don't talk, and I'll tell you all about it. You don't seem to realise that you have had a precious narrow escape of sunstroke. Well, you don't need me to tell you that I have been keeping a vigilant eye on your proceedings for some time, with a shrewd suspicion that the air of the very high circles in which you were moving would not be good for your health. I felt so more than ever when my spies brought me word that Sher Singh was sneaking through my territory, evidently bound for Agpur. I sent him my salaams and a polite invitation to pay me a visit, but he had made himself scarce just in time. Then I thought it well to take the liberty of opening a letter of Antony's to you, as we agreed I should do in case of emergency, and when I found him cautioning you against any interference in the question of the Agpur succession, and talking of the extraordinary moderation of the claim advanced by the elder son, I decided it was time to move. So I set out to meet you on your way to the frontier, ostensibly to make arrangements for receiving the Rajah properly. This morning the people in the village where we halted for the night were full of the Rajah's death. As usual, nothing would make them say how they knew of it, but they were firm on the fact, so I saw the plot was thickening. Then, as we rode, we came across your messenger, and it was clear that the fat was in the fire already. I sent him on at once, with letters to my fellows in Darwan, and to try and open Antony's eyes, and made straight for this tope to intercept you."

"And to save all our lives," said Gerrard. "My dear Bob, how can I thank you?"

"Don't want to be thanked," growled Charteris. "If you don't know from your own feelings how I hated doing it, you ought to, that's all. Never mind, you'll do something of the same sort for me one day, and then I shall have the crow over you. And now just give me some idea of the state of affairs. Keep your silly head quiet, can't you? I didn't tell you to get up. Well, put your back against the tree, if you must sit up. Who killer Cock Robin—that is to say, Partab Singh?"

"Either Sher Singh or some emissary of his."

"Not openly, then?"

"No, in the night. The wound was so small that it escaped notice at first. I charged Sher Singh with the murder on suspicion merely. He may not know that the truth has been discovered."

"Never show your teeth unless you can bite," said Charteris sententiously. "What does the opposition party consist of?"

"Little Kharrak Singh and his mother, whom Sher Singh wishes to become suttee."

Charteris whistled. "And which is more important—to bring home the Rajah's death to Sher Singh, or to save the Rani?"

"For Kharrak Singh's sake, to save his mother, undoubtedly. But now you are here, I hope to do both."

"We shall see about that. I gather from what you said in your letter last week that you know where to lay hands upon a sum of money sufficient to secure the loyalty of the army?"

"Yes, but to get at it I must be inside the palace enclosure, and even then I shall need your help."

"On the whole, my young friend,"—Charteris's voice was didactic in the extreme,—"you seem to me to have contrived to surround yourself with the materials for a very pretty row. Be thankful that you have at hand the services of a person of experience and knowledge of the world—myself, sir,"—with a resounding thump on his chest,—"to extricate you from a situation of uncommon difficulty and delicacy for one so young. You place yourself unreservedly in my hands?"

"Not a bit of it!" said Gerrard, struggling up, only to be pressed down again by Charteris's grip upon his shoulders.

"My dear Hal, you do. There's no other course open to you. Sher Singh has the big battalions, and though I admire your design of capturing Agpur with no weapons but cool cheek and shaky promises, I have a mean objection to adding my bones to the heap that would be the result. It is eminently a case for negociation, and here is the negociator. You stay where you are, and get ready to ride into Agpur to-night, 'pride in your port, defiance in your eye,' while I try my blandishments upon that nasty uncertain beggar, Sher Singh."

Gerrard obeyed perforce, for the effort to stand had brought back the feeling of giddiness, and Charteris clanked off among the trees. Presently Badan Hazari came very quietly, and peered round a trunk to see whether his commander was awake. Gerrard called to him.

"Heaven-born!" said the Granthi, saluting. "I have ventured to disturb the repose of your honour at the request of Komadan Rukn-ud-din."

Gerrard started. "Bring him here," he said. "What is it?"

"They are trying to corrupt the guard, sahib," and Rukn-ud-din confirmed the assertion. Since the halt, old Sarfaraz Khan had been in and out among the men, making them lavish offers if they would forsake the Rani and come over to the side of Sher Singh.

"What has he offered them?" asked Gerrard.

"The plunder of the tosha khana[1] in the palace, sahib."

"And that is all he has to offer, and they must share it with the whole army? Tell them that in Kharrak Singh Rajah's name I promise them such a reward for their fidelity that they would pass by the tosha khana with contempt if it were thrown open to them."

The Mohammedan's eyes glittered. "How shall I make them believe so wonderful a thing, sahib?"

"I cannot speak more particularly here. But you may give them my word it is so."

"The word of the Presence will be amply sufficient." Rukn-ud-din salaamed and withdrew on leave being given, while Badan Hazari lingered to report that the corpse and the women were halted in the courtyard of the tomb, according to his orders, and that the guard, though evidently disturbed in mind by Sher Singh's overtures, had so far faithfully prevented him and his followers from entering. That they would now remain loyal to the Rani there was no doubt, and Gerrard waited with something more of hopefulness for Charteris's return. He came at last, and sat down on the rug which had been spread for his friend.

"We shall have to be moving soon," he remarked casually. "The news has reached the city, and the mourners are coming out. The funeral will take place in the morning."

"But you have forgotten—the murder!" gasped Gerrard.

"I have forgotten nothing, but things are settled in the approved diplomatic style, by concessions on both sides. There is just about time to tell you—but of course you understand that you are the moving spirit throughout; I am merely your mouthpiece. Sher Singh consents that there shall be no suttee, and you agree not to interfere with the funeral—in other words, to make no inquiry into the cause of the Rajah's death."

"In other words, to condone an atrocious crime."

"My dear Hal, what did you propose doing? If you were thinking of laying violent hands on the corpse—but that would be absurd. The Brahmins would tear us to pieces with their bare hands. You know we should defile it and bring indelible disgrace on Kharrak Singh if we even approached too near. A post-mortem? Who do you suggest should perform it? Moraes is about the figure for the job, ain't he? Show a little common-sense."

"If the thing is so impossible, why should Sher Singh make an important concession to avoid it?"

"Because it would raise nasty rumours if we made the attempt, and getting rid of us would prejudice him with Antony. Remember, you have no evidence. If Partab Singh was murdered, who is going to prove that Sher Singh did it? You secure an important advantage at the cost of giving up the right to make a gigantic fool of yourself."

"But who is to see that Sher Singh keeps his word and does not arrange a suttee?"

"You and I, of course. We attend the funeral, naturally, with all our sowars, to show due honour to the deceased. By the bye, that reminds me, we should be rather an easy prey after firing the volleys. The front rank had better load with ball, and reserve their fire, and only the rear rank fire with blank. In the smoke and noise it won't be noticed that only half the men have fired, and we shan't be defenceless if Sher Singh takes it into his head to let the army loose on us."

"But you seem to be allowing Sher Singh to take the lead in all the funeral arrangements, which is exactly the matter in dispute."

"To be sure. There comes in the second concession. We, with the bodyguard and our own men, are to occupy the palace enclosure to-night, and watch over the safety of the corpse and the women, in return for allowing Sher Singh to walk next to young Kharrak Singh in the procession, and guide his hand when he fires the pile. Why that lowering brow? The possession of the palace is all-important to you, ain't it?"

"Yes, and even more now than when you left me. But to concede Sher Singh's claim——"

"My good Hal, the man is next heir. If anything happens to the youngster, he must be Rajah, there's no one else. You may be thankful he don't claim to mount the gaddi at once. But since he is content to stand aside, and has contrived to gull Antony into taking his part——"

"That's merely temporary, Bob, believe me. When the Colonel learns the scoundrel's real character, he will withdraw his support in disgust."

"I'm none so sure of that. Remember his fatal predilection for black sheep. What about his handing over Bala to Tika Singh, after he himself had exhausted all the resources of the English language in finding suitably opprobrious epithets for him? The Bala people hated him, too, whereas I gather that the Agpuris have no particular dislike for Sher Singh."

"Nor to any one that will bribe them," said Gerrard bitterly. "You think Antony will make him Regent, then I."

"It would be in accordance with the usual custom, wouldn't it? I suppose the next heir wishes to look after his prospective dominions, but I'll own it always seems to me uncommon hard on the reigning child. However, for the present, Sher Singh acknowledges the Rani as sole Regent, and consents to refer the difference between you and himself to Antony and the Ranjitgarh Durbar. How could poor old Partab Singh ever have thought of making you Regent? If Antony don't treat you to a pretty wigging on the score of it, I'll eat my hat."

"It was a kind of fixed idea of his, though I told him over and over again it was impossible."

"Well, if it had been me, hanged if I wouldn't have taken the job, as the wigging is bound to come anyhow. A man might do a good deal while the runners were going to Ranjitgarh and back. But as Antony will probably punish your misdeeds by sentencing you to stay on here and keep the peace between the rival Regents, it's just as well you didn't make yourself impossible by accepting. Can't say I envy you the billet."

"I am almost inclined to ask you to shoot me through the head and put me out of my misery," remarked Gerrard.

"Oh, cheer up! We may all be shot down in a heap to-morrow, you know, in spite of my powers of persuasion. But I don't fancy you will, somehow. Sher Singh asked me very mysteriously whether you knew the secret of the entrance to his father's private treasury. Not knowing I couldn't say, but I can be mysterious too, and I told him there were some things that couldn't be spoken about. He seemed to take that as an affirmative, and I think he felt that to shut you up there to feed on gold was about the only thing that would fit the case. But, by the way, how is it that he leaves the palace to you to-night, if he believes you know the secret?"

"He don't know it himself. I am the only living creature that does, now, and you are the only living creature that I may reveal it to."

"An honour likely to be associated with sudden and painful death—eh? But I'm game. And as your principal duty in connection with the treasury will probably be to pay out of it Sher Singh's allowance as fixed by the Ranjitgarh Durbar, I don't fancy you'll enjoy a bed of roses."



[1] Treasury.



CHAPTER IX.

IN SLIPPERY PLACES.

Owing to the combined influence of Charteris's strong hand, Gerrard's lavish promises to the army, and what Colonel Antony chose to style the "moderation" of Sher Singh, the succession of Kharrak Singh to his father's throne was effected without general bloodshed. The city was evidently seething with all the possibilities of revolt when the funeral procession entered and passed through the streets, but the army was staunch for the moment—apparently from a sportsmanlike readiness to allow Gerrard to redeem his promises if he could—and one or two attempts at disturbance were ruthlessly put down. The women and the corpse of Partab Singh were got safely into the palace, and Sher Singh, who would have liked to edge in under cover of the confusion, dexterously excluded. The walls were garrisoned by the loyal guard, the disappointed Sher Singh quartering himself with his followers in the house of a reluctant Armenian near at hand, and Gerrard and Charteris spent an arduous night in getting up from the secret treasury an amount sufficient to fulfil their obligations. The heads of the goldsmiths' guild had been warned to be in attendance early in the morning, and they came with a mixture of surly defiance and ostentation of poverty that showed they expected Gerrard's financial expedient to take the form of obtaining a forced loan from them. The sight of the gold ingots softened them wonderfully, and though it would not have been human nature had they failed to exact an exorbitant rate of exchange for their silver, both sides parted well pleased, the money-changers only grieving that they could not discover whether this transaction was a final one, or merely a prelude to further business of the same sort.

The military arrangements for the funeral were made by Gerrard and Charteris, who were quite aware that they and their men, in the character of sympathetic spectators, were in as great danger as Kharrak Singh himself. The army must be entrusted with the duty of keeping the ground, since it was necessary for the guard, with the exception of a small detachment, to remain at the palace and garrison it in case of a surprise attack, and had the army been ill-disposed, it could have swept away both claimants and the small Ranjitgarh force with a single volley. But the army remained unmoved, and Sher Singh walked behind Kharrak Singh as mourner, and guided his hand when he set light to the great pyre of sandalwood dripping with costly perfumes. It was the first time that the body of a Rajah of Agpur had been burnt without the accompanying self-immolation of a number of his women, and troops and Brahmins were alike displeased, while the mob surging outside the lines enlivened the ceremony with taunts and maledictions. The troops made various raids into the crowd to punish the most outspoken of the dissentients, and this may have served to assure the people that there would be no change in the drastic methods of Partab Singh. At any rate, when the dead man's two sons had watched the pyre burn down into ashes, had performed the ceremonies of purification and were returning—on separate elephants, for the Rani had insisted on this—to the square before the palace for the proclamation of the new Rajah, the mob acclaimed Kharrak Singh with ardour.