A smile flitted across the Colonel’s face, erstwhile so unemotional, as he turned towards his guests, probably feeling that some sort of explanation for his attitude was due to them.

“I consider this half-million a very desirable acquisition towards the war expenses of my detachment.  But these Orientals never can understand our way of thinking, and our ideas of honour will always remain an insoluble riddle to them.  With a present, that he, of course, has meant for me personally, this despot believes he has smoothed over everything that could possibly spell trouble for him—­the plot against Mrs. Irwin as well as the diamond powder business.  For, of course, he has already been informed by the butler who has disappeared of the failure of his plot, and he is well aware of what is in store for him if I report the scandalous story to Calcutta.”

It was the first time the Colonel had openly declared his conviction that the Maharajah was the author of both plots.  No doubt he had especial reasons for this, and Heideck fancied he had fathomed them, when, in reply to the question of the regimental surgeon as to his intention of sending in such a report, the Colonel replied—­

“I do not know—­I really do not know yet.  According to the principle, fiat justitia, pereat mundus, I ought to do so, no doubt.  But the pereat mundus is, after all, a debatable point.  Probably war is imminent, and I am afraid the Viceroy would not be grateful to me were I to add fresh cares to all his other anxieties.  At present these Indian princes are indispensable to us.  They have to place their troops at our disposal, and we must not have any enemies in the rear when our army is engaged in Afghanistan.  A harsh procedure against one of them, and all these princes might revolt.  And a single defeat, or even only the false report of one, might entail incalculable consequences.”

Doctor Hopkins assented without further discussion, and also the other officers present shared the opinion of their chief.  As usual, during these last days a lively discussion had arisen as to the probabilities of war, and as to the probable course events would take.  Heideck, certain of learning nothing new from the mouths of these gentlemen, all so confident of victory, utilised the opportunity afforded by the noisy conversation to ask Edith, in a low voice—­

“Not only political considerations, but also your wishes, have prevented the Colonel from reporting the outrage of the other night to Calcutta—­is it not so?”

“Yes, I begged him not to do so,” she answered in the same low whisper.  “But to-day, after the abominable plot upon his life, I told him that I do not ask any longer for any consideration to be shown me, or my—­husband.”

“You seriously think it possible that Captain Irwin—­”

“Pray do not let us talk about it now, and not here, Mr. Heideck,” she begged, raising her eyes to him imploringly.  “You cannot have any idea how terribly I suffer from these dreadful thoughts.  I feel as if before me lay only dark, impenetrable night.  And when I reflect that some day I may be again forced—­”