“Who is this friend?”

“Another one who builds no bridges on thy sanctity.”

“Not one of the English?  Beware of them, I say; beware of them!”

“No, not one of the English.  Next, let Gungadhura be told that Tom Tripe has ever an open-handed welcome at Blaine sahib’s—­”

“Ah!” he objected, shaking his fat face until the cheeks wabbled.  “Women are all fools sooner or later.  Why let a drunken English soldier be included in the long list of people to be reckoned with?”

“Because Gungadhura will then show much favor to Tom Tripe, who is my friend, and it amuses me to see my friends prosper.  Also I have a plan.”

“Plans—­plans—­plans!  And whither does the tangle lead us?”

“To the treasure, fool!”

“But if you know so surely where the treasure is, woman, why not tell me and —­”

Again the single note of mocking golden laughter cut him off short.

“I would trust thee with the secret, Brahman, just as far as the herdsman trusts a tiger with his sheep.”

“But I could insure that Gungadhura should divide it into three parts, and—­”

“When the time comes,” she answered, “the priest of Jinendra shall come to me for his proportion, not I to the priest.  Nor will there be three portions, but one—­with a little percentage taken from it for the sake of thy fat belly.  Gungadhura shall get nothing!”

“I wash my hands of it all!” the priest retorted indignantly.  “The half for me, or I wash my hands of it and tell Gungadhura that you know the secret!  I will trust him to find a way to draw thy cobra from its hole!”

“Maybe he might,” she nodded, smiling, “after the English had finished hanging thee for that matter of the strangling of Rum Dass.  Thy fat belly would look laughable indeed banging by a stretched neck from a noose.  They would need a thick rope.  They might even make the knot slippery with cow-grease for thy special benefit.”

The priest winced.

“None can prove that matter,” he said, recovering his composure with an effort.

“Except I,” she retorted, “who have the very letter that was written to Rum Dass that brought him into thy clutches—­and five other proofs beside!  Two long years I waited to have a hold on thee, priest, before I came to blossom in the odor of thy sanctity; now I am willing to take the small chance of thy temper getting the better of discretion!”

“You are a devil,” he said simply, profoundly convinced of the truth of his remark; and she laughed like a mischievous child, clapping her hands together.

“So now,” she said, “there is little else to discuss.  If Gungadhura should be superstitious fool enough to come to thee again for auguries and godly counsel—­”

“He comes always.  He shows proper devotion to Jinendra.”

“Repeat the former story that a clue to the treasure must be found in Blaine sahib’s house —­”