“How does anybody know that there’s a secret then?” demanded Tess.

“Everybody knows it!  The money was raised by taxes.  Minister after minister in turn has had to hand over minted gold to the reigning rajah—­”

“And look the other way, I suppose, while the rajah hid the stuff!” suggested Tess.

Samson screwed up his face like a man who has taken medicine.

“There are dozens of ways in a native state of getting rid of men who know too much.”

“Even under British overrule?”

He nodded.  “Poison—­snakes—­assassination—­jail on trumped-up charges, and disease in jail—­apparent accidents of all sorts.  It doesn’t pay to know too much.”

“Then we’re suspected of hunting for this treasure?  Is that the idea?”

“Not at all, since you’ve denied it.  I believe you implicitly.  But I hope your husband doesn’t stumble on it.”

“Why?”

“Or if he does, that he’ll see his way clear to notify me first.”

“Would that be honest?”

He changed his mind.  That was a point on which Samson prided himself.  He was not hidebound to one plan as some men are, but could keep two or three possibilities in mind and follow up whichever suited him.  This was a case for indiscretion after all.

“Seeing we’re alone, and that you’re a most exceptional woman, I think I’ll let you into a diplomatic secret, Mrs. Blaine.  Only you mustn’t repeat it.  The present maharajah, Gungadhura, isn’t the saving kind; he’s a spender.  He’d give his eyes to get hold of that treasure.  And if he had it, we’d need an army to suppress him.  We made a mistake when Bubru Singh died; there were two nephews with about equal claims, and we picked the wrong one—­a born intriguer.  I’d call him a rascal if he weren’t a reigning prince.  It’s too late now to unseat him—­unless, of course, we should happen to catch him in flagrante delicto.”

“What does that mean?  With the goods?  With the treasure?”

“No, no.  In the act of doing something grossly ultra vires—­illegal, that’s to say.  But you’ve put your finger on the point.  If the treasure should be found—­as it might be—­somewhere hidden on that little plot of ground with a palace on it on our side of the river, our problem would be fairly easy.  There’d be some way of—­ah—­making sure the fund would be properly administered.  But if Gungadhura found it in the hills, and kept quiet about it as he doubtless would, he’d have every sedition-monger in India in his pay within a year, and the consequences might be very serious.”

“Who is the other man—­the one the British didn’t choose?” asked Tess.

“A very decent chap named Utirupa—­quite a sportsman.  He was thought too young at the time the selection was made; but he knew enough to get out of the reach of the new maharajah immediately.  They have a phrase here, you know, ‘to hate like cousins.’  They’re rather remote cousins, but they hate all the more for that.”