“In the circumstances I have the honor to advise Your Highness that the wisest course, and the only course that will avoid impeachment, is abdication.”

Gungadhura shook his head violently.

“I can explain,” he said.  “I have proofs.”

Samson turned the paper over—­paused a moment—­and began to read the second sheet.

“It is known who murdered Mukhum Dass.  The assassin has been caught, and has confessed.”

Gungadhura’s eyes that had been dull, and almost listless hitherto, began to glare like an animal’s.

“I have here—­” Samson reached in his pocket, “a certain piece of parchment—­ a map in fact—­that was stolen from the body of Mukhum Dass.  Perhaps Your Highness will recognize it.  Look!”

Gungadhura looked, and started like a man stung.  Samson returned the map to his pocket, for the maharajah almost looked like trying to snatch it; but instead he collapsed in his chair again.

“If I abdicate?” he asked, as if his throat and lips could hardly form the words.

“That would be sufficient.  The assassin would then be allowed to plead guilty to another charge there is against him, and the matter would be dropped.”

“I abdicate!”

“On behalf of His Majesty’s Government I accept the abdication.  Sign this, please.”

Samson laid a formal written act of abdication on the table by the throne.  Gungadhura signed it.  Willoughby de Wing wrote his signature as witness.  Samson took it back and folded it away.

“Arrangements will be made for Your Highness to leave Sialpore tomorrow morning, with a sufficient escort for your protection.  Provision will be made in due course for your private residence elsewhere.  Be good enough to hold yourself and your family in readiness tomorrow morning.”

“But my son!” exclaimed Gungadhura.  “I abdicate in favor of my son!”

“In case of abdication by a reigning prince, or deposition of a reigning prince,” said Samson, “the Government of India reserves the right to appoint his successor, from among eligible members of his family if there be any, but to appoint his successor in any case.  There is ample precedent.”

“And my son?”

“Will certainly not be considered.”

Gungadhura glanced about him like a frenzied man, and then lay back in a state of near-collapse.  Samson and De Wing both bowed, and left the room.

“Poor devil!” said De Wing, “I’m sorry for him.”

“Would you be a good fellow,” said Samson, “and send off this wire for me?  There—­I’ve added the exact time of the abdication.  I’ve got to go now and summon a durbar of Gungadhura’s state officers, and tell them in confidence what’s happened.  I shall hint pretty broadly that Utirupa is our man, and then ask them which prince they’d like to have succeed.”

“Good!” said De Wing.  “Nothing like tact!  Why not meet me at the club for a whisky and soda afterward?”