In vain the English sought to return to the scrimmage play; it was too late.  The Rajputs had them rattled.  Topham at full-back on the pie-bald was a stone wall, swift, hard-hitting and resourceful, but in vain.  Swooping down the wings, and passing with the dextrous wrist-work and amazing body-bends that they alone seem able to accomplish, they put the English team on the defensive and kept them there.  Once, at about half-time, by a dash all together the English did succeed in carrying t he ball down-field, but that was their last chance, and they missed it.  In the last two minutes the Rajputs scored two goals, the last one driven home by Utirupa himself, racing ahead of the field with whirling stick and the thunder of a neck-and-neck stampede behind him.

“That’ll be your month’s pay!” laughed Dick.  “I hope you won’t starve for thirty days!”

The crowd went mad with delight, and swarmed on to the ground, shouting and singing.  Samson got up, looking as if he rather enjoyed to lose three thousand rupees in an afternoon.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, I’ll go and shake hands with Utirupa.  He deserves congratulation.  It was head-work won that game.”

“I wonder what she said to him at the end of the third chukker,” Tess whispered to Dick.

Samson found Utirupa giving orders to the saises, and shook hands with him.

“Good game, Utirupa!  Congratulate you.  By the way:  there’s going to be a meeting on important business in my office half an hour from now.  When you’ve had a tub and a change, I wish you’d come and join us.  We want a word with you.”

“Where are the gunners going to?” asked Tess.  “The men who kept the line—­look!  They’re all trooping off the ground in the same direction.”

“Dunno,” said her husband.  “Let’s make for the dog-cart and drive home.  If we hang around Samson’ll think we’re waiting for that money!”

Half an hour after that, Utirupa presented himself at Samson’s office in the usual neat Rajput dress that showed off his lithe figure and the straightness of his stature.  There was quite a party there to meet him—­ Samson, Willoughby de Wing, Norwood, Sir Hookum Bannerjee, Topham (still looking warm and rather weary after the game)—­and outside on the open ground beyond the compound wall two batteries of horse-guns were drawn up at attention.  But if Utirupa felt surprise he did not show it.

“To make a short story of a long one, Prince Utirupa,” Samson began at once, “as you know, Gungadhura abdicated yesterday.  The throne of Sialpore is vacant, and you are invited to accept it.  I have here the required authority from Simla.”

Utirupa rose from his chair, and bowed.

“I am willing to accep,” he answered quietly.  His face showed no emotion.

“There is one stipulation, though,” said Samson.  “We are tired of these foolish ’islands’—­our territory in yours and yours in ours.  There’s a contract here.  As your first official act—­there’s no time like the present—­we want you to exchange the River Palace, on this side of the river, for out fort on your side.”