Bernard shook his head.  “Nothing whatever I am afraid.  Major Ralston has suspected trouble for some time, it seems.  We might of course get a specialist’s opinion at Calcutta, but the baby is utterly unfit for a journey of any kind, and it is doubtful if any doctor would come all this way—­especially with things as they are.”

“What do you mean?” said Tommy.

Bernard looked at him.  “The place is a hotbed of discontent—­if not anarchy.  Surely you know that!”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders.  “That’s nothing new.  It’s what we’re here for.”

“Yes.  And matters are getting worse.  I hear that the result of this trial will probably mean the Rajah’s enforced abdication.  And if that happens there is practically bound to be a rising.”

Tommy laughed.  “That’s been the situation as long as I’ve been out.  We’re giving him enough rope, and I hope he’ll hang, though I’m afraid he won’t.  The rising will probably be a sort of Chinese cracker affair—­a fizz, a few bangs, and a splutter-out.  No honour and glory for any one!”

“I hope you are right,” said Bernard.

“And I hope I’m wrong,” said Tommy lightly.  “I like a run for my money.”

“You forget the women,” said Bernard abruptly.

Tommy opened his eyes.  “No, I don’t.  They’ll be all right.  They’ll have to clear out to Bhulwana a little earlier than usual.  They’ll be safe enough there.  You can go and look after ’em, sir.  They’ll like that.”

“Thank you, Tommy.”  Bernard smiled in spite of himself.  “It’s kind of you to put it so tactfully.  Now tell me what you think of Everard.  Is he really ill?”

“No; worried to death, that’s all.  He’s talking of sending in his papers.  Did you know?”

“I suspected he would,” Bernard spoke thoughtfully.

“He mustn’t do it!” said Tommy with vehemence.  “He’s worth all the rest of the Mess put together.  You mustn’t let him.”

Bernard lifted his brows.  “I let him!” he said.  “Do you think he is going to do what I tell him?”

“I know you have influence—­considerable influence—­with him,” Tommy said.  “You ought to use it, sir.  You really ought.  It’s up to you and no one else.”

He spoke insistently.  Bernard looked at him attentively.

“You’ve changed your tune somewhat, haven’t you, Tommy?” he said.

“Yes,” said Tommy bluntly.  “I have.  I’ve been a damn’ fool if you want to know—­the biggest, damnedest fool on the face of creation.  And I’ve been and told him so.”

“For no particular reason?” Bernard’s blue eyes grew keener in their regard.  He looked at Tommy with more interest than he had ever before bestowed upon him.

Tommy’s face was red, but he replied without embarrassment.  “Certainly.  I’ve come to my senses, that’s all.  I’ve come to realize—­what I really knew all along—­that he’s a white man, white all through, however black he chooses to be painted.  And I’m ashamed that I ever doubted him.”