“You’re a hard-hearted woman!”

She had contrived by that time to extract a letter from the envelope behind her back, but how to read it without informing Samson was another matter.  As she turned up the path for the sixth time, the sight of Tom Tripe making semi-surreptitious signals to attract her attention convinced her that the message was urgent and that she should not wait to read it until after her last guests were gone.  It was only one sheet of paper, written probably on only one side—­she hoped in English.  But how —

Suddenly she screamed, and Samson was all instant concern.

“Was that a snake?  Tell me, was that a snake I saw.  Oh, do look, please!  I loathe them.”

“Probably a lizard.”

“No, no, I know a lizard.  Do please look!”

Unbelieving, he took a stick and poked about among the, flowers to oblige her; so she read the message at her leisure behind the broad of his back, and had folded it out of sight before he looked up.

“No snakes.  Nothing but a lizard.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!  Please forgive me, but I dread snakes.  Now tell me the secrets while I listen properly.”

He noticed a change in her voice—­symptoms of new interest, and passed it to the credit of himself.

“There’s an intrigue going on, and you can help me.  Sp—­people whose business it is to keep me informed have reported that Tom Tripe is constantly carrying letters from the Princess Yasmini of Sialpore to that young Prince Utirupa who was here this afternoon.  Now, it’s no secret that if Gungadhura Singh were to get found out committing treason (and I’m pretty sure he’s guilty of it five days out of six!) we’d depose him—­”

“You mean the British would depose him?”

“Depose him root and branch.  Then Utirtipa would be next in line.  He’s a decent fellow.  He’d be sure of the nomination, and he’d make a good ruler.”

“Well?”

“I want to know what the Princess Yasmini has to do with it.”

“It seems to me you’re not telling secrets, but asking favors for nothing.”

“Not for nothing—­not for nothing!  There’s positively nothing that I won’t do!”

“In return for—?”

“Sure information as to what is going on.”

“Which you think I can get for you?”

“I’m positive!  You’re such an extraordinary, woman.  I’m pretty sure it all hinges on the treasure I told you about the other day.  Whoever gets first hold of that holds all the trumps.  I’d like to get it myself.  That would be the making of me, politically speaking.  If Gungadhura should get it he’d ruin himself with intrigue in less than a year, but he might cause my ruin in the process.  If the local priests should get it—­and that’s likeliest, all things considered—­there’d be red ruin for miles around; money and the church don’t mix without blood-letting, and you can’t unscramble that omelet forever afterward.  I confess I don’t know how to checkmate the priests.  Gungadhura I think I can manage, especially with your aid.  But I must have information.”