The Rangars, he resolved, must be made to take the blame for the broaching of the treasure.  He proposed to go about the broaching even before hostilities between himself and his brother had commenced, and he expected to be able to trick the Rangars into seeming to be looting.  To appear to defend the treasure would probably not be difficult; and it would be even less difficult to blame the Rangars afterward for the death of any priest who might succumb during the ensuing struggle.  He counted on the populace, more than on his own organized forces, to make the Rangars powerless when the time should come for them to try to take the upper hand.  The mob would suffer in the process, but its fanaticism—­its religious prejudice and numbers—­would surely win the day.

As for Rosemary McClean, the more he considered her the more his brown eyes glowed.  He had promised to make her Maharanee.  But he knew too thoroughly what that would mean not to entertain more than a passing doubt as to the wisdom of the course.  He was as ready to break his word on that point as on any other.

A woman of his own race, however wooed and won, would have been content to accept the usual status of whisperer from behind the close-meshed screens.  Not so an Englishwoman, with no friends to keep her company and with nothing in the world to do but think.  She, he realized, would expect to make something definite of her position, and that would suit neither his creed (which was altogether superficial), nor custom (which was iron-bound and to be feared), nor prejudice (which was prodigious), nor yet convenience (which counted most).

He came to the conclusion that the fate in store for her was not such as she would have selected had she had her choice.  Nor were his conclusions in regard to her such as would commend him in the eyes of honest men.

But, after all, the throne was the fulcrum of his plotting; and the lever had to be the treasure, if his plans were to succeed beyond upsetting.  He changed his plans a dozen times over before he arrived at last at the audacious decision he was seeking.

Like many another Hindoo in that hour of England’s need, he did not lose sight altogether of the distant if actual possibility that the Company’s servants might—­by dint of luck and grit, and what the insurance papers term the Act of God—­pull through the crisis.  Therefore, he decided that under no circumstances should Rosemary McClean be treated cavalierly until the Rangars were out of the way and he could pose as her protector if need be.

He would be able to prove that Rosemary and her father had come to him of their own free will.  He would say that they had asked him for protection from the Rangars.  He had evidence that his brother Howrah had been in communication with the Rangars.  So, should the Company survive and retain power enough to force an answer to unpleasant questions, he thought it would not be difficult to prove that he had been the Company’s friend all along.