But that was not all, either.  The murderer of Mukhum Dass was refusing stolidly to plead guilty to another charge, and Blaine’s butler had come out with the whole story of the burglary.  Parliament would get to hear about it next, and then there would be the very deuce to pay.  The police were offering the murderer what they called “inducements and persuasion”; but he held out for “money down,” and did not seem to find too unendurable whatever it was that happened to him at intervals in the dark cell.  There are limits even to what an Indian policeman can do, without making marks on a man or compelling the attention of European officers.

On top of all that, Samson had to hand Dick Blaine a check amounting to a month’s pay, look pleasant while he did it, and—­above all—­look pleasant at the coming durbar.

On the other hand, there were people who enjoyed themselves.  Sialpore, across the river, was a dinning riot of excitement—­flags, triumphal arches, gala clothes and laughter everywhere.  Dick Blaine, driving Tess toward Yasmini’s palace in the very early dawn, had to drive slowly to avoid accident, for the streets were already crowded.  His own place in the procession was to be on horseback pretty nearly anywhere he chose to insert himself behind the royal cortege, and, not being troubled on the score of precedence, he had Tom Tripe in mind as a good man to ride with.  Tom could tell him things.

But he waited there for more than an hour until the royal elephants arrived, magnificent in silver howdahs and bright paint, and watched Tess emerge with Yasmini and the other women.  Tess wore borrowed jewels, and a veil that you could see her face through; but Yasmini was draped from head to foot as if the eyes of masculinity had never rested on her, and never might.  Things were not going quite so smoothly as they ought, although Tom Tripe was galloping everywhere red-necked with energy, and it was nearly half an hour more before the escort of maharajah’s troops came in brand-new scarlet uniforms, to march in front, and behind, and on each side of the elephants.  So Dick got quite a chance to “josh” Tess, and made the most of it.

But things got under way at last.  Dick’s sais found him with the horse he was to ride, and the procession gathered first on the great maidan (open ground) between the city and the river, with bands in full blast, drums thundering to split the ears, masters of ceremony shouting, and the elephants enjoying themselves most of all, as they always do when they have a stately part to play in company.

Utirupa led the way in a golden howdah on Akbar, the biggest elephant in captivity and the very archetype of sobriety ever since his escapade with Tom Tripe’s rum.  Akbar was painted all over with vermilion and blue decorations, and looked as if butter would not melt in his mouth.