There were no aeroplanes or official motor-cars at that time to take officials at outrageous speed on urgent business.  But Samson’s favorite study in his spare time was Julius Caesar, who usually traveled long distances at the rate of more than a hundred miles a day, and was probably short-winded from debauch into the bargain.  What the great Julius could do, Samson could do as well; but in spite of whip and spur and post, ruthless robbery of other people’s reserved accommodation, and a train caught by good luck on the last stage, it took him altogether seven valuable days and nights.  For there was delay, too, while the high commissioner wired to Simla in code for definite permission to be drastic.

The telegram from the secretary of state pointed out, as Samson had predicted that it would, the desirability of avoiding impeachment and trial if that were possible, in view of the state of public unrest in India and the notorious eagerness of Parliament at home to interfere in Indian affairs.

“Get him to abdicate!” was the meat of the long message.

“Can you do it?” asked the high commissioner.

“Leave that to me!” boasted Samson.  “And now this other matter.  These ‘islands’ as they’re called.  It’s absurd and expensive to continue keeping up a fort inside the maharajah’s territory.  There’s no military advantage to us in having it so near our border.  And there are totally unnecessary problems of administration that are entailed by the maharajah administering a small piece of territory on our side of the river.  I’ve had a contract drawn for your approval—­Sir Hookum Bannerjee drew it, he’s a very able lawyer—­stipulating with Utirupa, in consideration of our recognition of himself and his heirs as rulers of the State of Sialpore, that he shall agree to exchange his palace and land on our side of the river against our fort on his side.  What do you think of it?”

“It isn’t a good bargain.  He ought to give us more than that in the circumstances, against a fort and—­and all that kind of thing.”

“It’s a supremely magnificent bargain!” retorted Samson.  “Altogether overlooking what we’ll save in money by not having to garrison that absurd fort, it’s the best financial bargain this province ever had the chance of!”

“How d’ye mean?”

Samson whispered.  Even those four solid walls were not discreet enough.

“The treasure of Sialpore is buried in the River Palace grounds!  Millions!  Think of it—­Millions!  Lakhs and crores!”

The high commissioner whistled.

“That ’ud mean something to the province, wouldn’t it!  Show me your proofs.”

How Samson got around the fact that he had no actually definite proofs, he never told.  But he convinced the high commissioner, who never told either, unless to somebody at Simla, who buried the secret among the State Department files.

“I’ll wire Simla,” said the high commissioner presently, “for permission to authorize you to set your signature to that contract on behalf of government.  The minute I get it I’ll wire you to Sialpore and confirm by letter.  Now you’d better get back to your post in a hurry.  And don’t forget, it would be difficult in a case like this to err on the side of silence, Samson.  Who’ll have to be told?”