From Lieut. Robert Charteris, Darwan, to Lieut. Henry Gerrard:—

"DEAR HAL,—I have not had long to wait for a billet doux from you. I had thought you would draw the line at assassination, but we live and learn. Last night, as I was returning to the shelter of my humble roof, a dirty hairy fellow—but why should I describe him to you?—leapt out and fired at me point-blank with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol, and missed. I give you my word he singed half an inch off my left whisker. Of course they say he was a ruffianly suitor offended by my just decision in favour of his opponent, but I know better. 'Sweet Hal, by my faith!' thinks I to myself, says I, and what I says I sticks to. I know he ought to have been taken alive, and returned to you postage-paid, with an insulting message inviting you to try again and do your worst. Unfortunately my honest fellows, not being versed in these niceties of behaviour, fell on him in a body and incontinently despatched him. But bring on your minions. Come one, come all, this rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as

Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,

R. C."

From Lieut. Henry Gerrard, Agpur City, to Lieut. Robert Charteris:—

"DEAR BOB,—I grieve to find that you answered what you are good enough to call my billet doux even before receiving it. Had your miserable tool's fortune not failed him when your plot was on the verge of success, you would now be rid of a rival. I own I should not have believed you fallen so low as to resort to poison—a nasty ungentlemanly weapon, if you will pardon my natural warmth. The wretch declared himself to have been employed by a villainous Dewan lately dismissed, 'tis true, but my apprehensive heart framed, though my lips refrained from uttering, your name. Powdered glass, too! Let me ask you as a favour to choose a less revolting form of death next time, or I swear to you that my expiring lips shall murmur 'Et tu, Roberte!' with sufficient reiteration to excite remark. And pray how had poor old Pertaub Sing injured you, that your vengeance should include him? Avaunt, traitor! I pities and despises you. H. G."

From Lieut. Robert Charteris to Lieut. Henry Gerrard:—

"Ha, most noble Hal, and have the little god's arrows but just failed to prove fatal in your case also? Honour, what crimes are committed in thy name! But none shall say Bob Charteris don't fight fair. Please receive herewith a buffalo horn, the trophy of my bow and spear. You remember how Mithridates, or some old classical fellow, used it as an antidote to poisons?[1] The exact method of application has slipped my memory, but I fancy the horn should be ground small and mixed in all you eat and drink. If I am wrong, send me word when it begins to take effect, and I will make a point of arriving in time to give you a thumping big funeral. But by the horn, (not now, alas! by the buffalo,) there hangs a tale. The animal charged me in the most ferocious manner when I was passing peaceably upon my lawful occasions, and had I not snatched my gun from my boy, who promptly bolted, your dearest wish would now be fulfilled. But the trusty weapon did not play me false, and on mature reflection, I have decided not to lay the beast's malice to your account, for lack of evidence. To all appearances it was the wildest wild beast in Asia, but hardly were my escort come up to view the spoil and acclaim my prowess, than there arrived also a wretched cultivator, swearing with tears and howls that I had wantonly destroyed the friend of his family, the mainstay of his lowly cot. I held a court on the spot, and desired to know what sum would compensate him for this cruel loss. The opportunity of taking in the stranger was too promising to resist, and he requested leave to retire and consult with his friends—an interval I employed in making inquiry as to the market price of buffaloes in that neighbourhood. Returning, the honest man named a sum that would have bought him a dozen, at the lowest computation. Remembering Colonel A.'s maxims regarding kindness to the people, I was in some doubts whether to pay the demand and put it down to office expenses, but reflected in time that my appearance in public would in that case be the signal for loosing against me droves of charging buffaloes wherever I went. I brought the fellow down, therefore, to something like two and a half times the value of the very best bull ever bred in Granthistan, but as he was retiring, with difficulty concealing his smiles over the Sahib's gullibility, I called him smartly back, and fined him one and a half times the value of the said ideal bull for damage to my person and dignity by allowing his ill-conditioned beast to roam at large and uncontrolled. If the judgment of Solomon was received with one-half the applause and admiration that greeted mine, then Solomon must have been an insufferable person to converse with for at least a twelvemonth after. If you are flush of cash, then, I can recommend buffalo-shooting as a tolerable amusement, but if not, let me suggest that you obtain khubber of a tiger—of course a man-eater—in the direction of my boundary, when I will lay aside the cares of office and join you in the chase, and the resulting skin, should there be one, shall be laid, with our united respectful compliments, at the feet of a lady who shall be nameless. We hear marvellous tales of your having tamed a certain old bear, and leading him about with a silken string, but ain't there something of over-confidence in accompanying him into his very den? Even a tame bear is treacherous at times, and when riled, an awkward customer to tackle. Why not guide your bear gently in this direction, and settle the disputed boundary between Augpore and Durwan while I am on this side of my kingdom? Give me open country and room to move rather than the finest bear-pit ever built, says

R. C."

Gerrard read this second letter in the quarters assigned to him in Partab Singh's fortified palace at Agpur, and appreciated the motive which had led Charteris both to send the warning and to couch it in veiled and sportive language. A kind of envy of his friend, whose problems, if difficult, were comparatively simple, and whose enemies attacked in front, seized upon him, for he also preferred open country and room to move. Nothing was simple at Agpur; it seemed as though there was a malign influence about the place which brought hints of tragedy into the most ordinary sights and sounds. Even as Gerrard approached the city, to which the Rajah had preceded him the day before, the gay procession of soldiers and dancing-girls that escorted him was interrupted by a very different crowd. Followed by a jeering rabble, there hurried forth from the gate a portly Hindu, whose spotless muslins were rapidly being converted into filthy rags by the attentions of his pursuers, and whose shaven head glistened bare under the sun's rays. Glancing hither and thither like a hunted animal for some place of refuge, the wretched man missed his footing and fell, with a red gash across his brow where a stone had struck him. Smiles and sarcasms passed among the soldiery, and one of the dancing-girls introduced into her song a verse inspired by the occasion, to judge by the cruel laughter it evoked. Fearing that the victim would be done to death as soon as his back was turned, Gerrard dismounted and went to help him up, intending to send one of his own men a little way back with him, to see him clear of the mob. To his astonishment, he recognised the distorted face which glared into his as that of the Diwan Dwarika Nath, and found his help refused with a venomous curse. The commander of the escort smiled.

"He has eaten the great shoe," he said, as though in explanation.

"But was the Rajah's sentence death?" demanded Gerrard.

"No," was the reluctant answer. "Whip back these dogs—it is the Sahib's will," he said to his men. "And now, sahib, be persuaded to remount. Our lord loves not to be kept waiting."

"But what has Dwarika Nath done?" asked Gerrard, as he complied, leaving the fallen minister freed at any rate from the mob that had persecuted him.

"He has doubtless been found out," was the cynical reply. "The word went forth from our lord this morning that the fellow was to be beaten with the great shoe immediately before the Sahib's arrival, and to be driven forth from the city to meet him as he came."

Gerrard pondered vainly the connection between the two events. Did the expulsion of Dwarika Nath synchronize with his own entrance as a warning to him, or as an assurance of safety? Partab Singh, receiving him in the utmost state, and leading him by the hand into the palace between rows of salaaming courtiers, made no allusion to it, and the attempted poisoning that very evening tended to overshadow the affair in his mind. Gerrard never knew whether the Rajah had become aware of the intended assassination beforehand, or whether he regarded it as so extremely probable as to be practically a certainty. However this might be, upon the appearance of a curry of which he was particularly fond, and of which he had signified his intention of sending a portion, as a special mark of favour, to Gerrard at his separate table, the old ruler called the attention of all present to the exquisite appearance of the dish, and ordered the cook to be fetched, that he might be suitably complimented upon his handiwork. Gerrard discerned in the man's aspect no more than the natural awkwardness of a rough fellow brought into a position of unaccustomed prominence, but no sooner did the cook present himself before him than Partab Singh rose with one fierce word, and drawing his jewelled tulwar, cut off his head at a single blow. The horror of the scene, the severed head rolling on the ground, the blood sprinkled upon the food, affected the Englishman so powerfully that he did not perceive at first that the dead man's son and assistant, was also being dragged before the Rajah. There was no need even to question him, for on his knees, with piteous lamentation, he confessed that in the spiced sauce accompanying the curry a quantity of very finely powdered glass had been mingled, which would ensure an agonising death to any one who partook of it. This had been done at the instigation of the disgraced Dwarika Nath, whose bribe for the purpose would be found hidden in the thatch of the cook-house. Gerrard retained only a vague recollection of the issue of certain orders, of the informers being dragged shrieking away, and the departure of a troop of horsemen with orders to bring back Dwarika Nath dead or alive, or of the hastily prepared food he forced himself to eat, and the unruffled conversation of Partab Singh after supper. Dwarika Nath was not brought back, for he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, but the bodies of the two cooks were an eyesore on the ground outside the palace until the dogs and kites had done their work.

Another trial to Gerrard was the supervision maintained over his movements. In order to carry out Colonel Antony's instructions, he wished to move about the city and talk with the traders and others in the bazars, but no matter how skilfully he thought he had eluded his guardians, he had no sooner slipped out of the palace than a panting escort was at his heels, insisting on his mounting the horse presented to him by the Rajah—which at once put an end to any chance of unfettered conversation. So tiresome did this surveillance become that at last he determined to take advantage of Partab Singh's continued friendliness to relieve himself of it. They were sitting one evening in the covered balcony of a tower looking over the palace garden, oddly assorted companions, Gerrard on the watch, as usual, against being morally taken by surprise, the Rajah puffing at his hookah—for in private he was the veriest free-thinker—in silence, the gleaming of his fierce eyes the only sign that he was not asleep. He took the mouthpiece from his lips when Gerrard broke into his complaint.

"My soldiers have been lacking in respect—have hesitated to attend my friend whither he desires?"

"No, no!" answered Gerrard hastily, fearing a sudden holocaust. "They are most courteous. It is merely that they are always there."

With a swift movement Partab Singh bent forward, and lightly touched the ground at Gerrard's feet. "O my friend, what have I done, that you would bring the guilt of your death upon me?"

"Maharaj-ji," protested Gerrard indignantly, "I am not a griffin, to try to penetrate into mosques or zenanas. I would but walk about—of course with a servant or two."

"Has my friend not perceived yet that this city is in the eyes of its inhabitants sacred even as a mosque or a zenana? He sees only eyes beaming with affection as he rides through the streets?"

"Not exactly," admitted Gerrard. "But I thought that the people were irritated by the action of the escort in clearing the way—and perhaps also by seeing me riding your Highness's horse. On foot, and unattended——"

"You would be slain before you had left the palace square. Listen, my friend—who knows Agpur best, I who have spent my life here, or you who see it now for the first time?"

"Your Highness, undoubtedly."

"Then let my friend listen to me. These Moslem notables, who would dispute the city itself with my Granthis, but for the firm hand I keep over both, think you that they love the English? Abd-ur-Rashid Khan of Ethiopia is the master they would choose to serve if they had their way. Say that they gratify their hatred by slaying a British officer, Antni Sahib's envoy. On whose head lies the guilt? Is it not on that of Rajah Partab Singh? The English come to punish him, and the whole of Granthistan is in a blaze again. Granthi sides with Granthi against the English, but these dogs of Mohammedans, who shall tell which side they will take? This only I can say, that it will be the side of their own advantage."

"Forgive me, Maharaj-ji. I had not thought——"

"No, my friend. You uttered hastily the words of an impatient mind, not having studied from your youth the art of playing off Granthi against Moslem, and both against Ranjitgarh. But it is a study that you will do well to take in hand now."

"I could have no better teacher than your Highness," said Gerrard politely. The Rajah looked at him almost with affection.

"Would that these were as the days of old, before the English crossed the Ghara! Then should Jirad Sahib have been my Englishman, and I would have given him a wife out of my own house, and he should have dwelt always in my city, and trained my soldiers. Verily we would have put Ranjitgarh itself to tribute when the fool sat on the gaddi in the place of Ajit Singh, and when death approached I would have put my son Kharrak Singh into my friend's arms and died content, knowing that he would serve the child even as he had served the father. But now who shall protect the boy from a thousand dangers?"

"If peril threatens him when I am at hand, your Highness can count upon my protecting him with my life."

"Of that I am certain." Partah Singh paused, and his eyes wandered over the dark gardens, with their gleaming white colonnades and kiosks and graceful towers rising into the blue-black sky. He traced the starlight down to its reflection in the great tank before he spoke again. "If I should place my son and my kingdom under the protection of the English, what would happen in Agpur?" he asked at last.

"Your Highness knows whether the army is to be trusted. There would be intense indignation on the part both of the Granthi and the Moslem notables, I presume? Whether they would proceed to active opposition——"

"If they saw a hope of success they would. But with the army faithful to an Englishman already established in charge here—and the English at Ranjitgarh ready to march to his assistance?"

"But you forget one thing, Maharaj-ji. That the days of your Highness may yet be prolonged for many years is a thing not only to be hoped for but confidently expected, and the English are at Ranjitgarh only for a certain time, until Ajit Singh's son comes of age."

The Rajah laughed impatiently. "Away with this foolishness between friends!" he said. "Where the English come, they stay. If young Lena Singh survives the quarrels of his mother and the Sirdars, how can he be left to rule Granthistan with all English help withdrawn? The Resident and the army must stay, or the day the youth mounts the gaddi will also be that of his death."

"So I have heard many say among ourselves," said Gerrard; "but it is not the view of Colonel Antony. Nothing would induce him to be a party to annexing Granthistan."

Partab Singh threw up one hand slightly. "Said I not that things might yet remain as they are? The English may go on ruling Granthistan while pretending that they do nothing of the kind, but it is in my mind that before many years are past they will be rulers in name also. If, then, I should place myself under the protection of the English"—he dropped his voice—"would they maintain my son in his kingdom under the regents that I should appoint?"

"I cannot possibly enter into any agreement that would bind Colonel Antony or the Government, but it sounds the kind of arrangement that they would be likely to sanction," replied Gerrard, in the same cautious tone. "But has your Highness considered the opposition that would be aroused in Agpur if it became known?"

"It is for that very reason I have broached the plan to you. Whether I die soon or not for years to come, there must be at hand a man who will take command of the army, with wealth in his power sufficient to ensure its allegiance, and use it boldly to maintain my son's title against all opposition, from whatever quarter it may arise."

Gerrard gave a start of dismay, for the last words brought back to his mind something he had forgotten. "Maharaj-ji, if I err bid me be silent, but it is in my mind to utter that which I fear is forbidden. Is there not one whose right to the throne is greater than that of Kharrak Singh?"

The Rajah betrayed no surprise, but extreme bitterness was in his voice as he answered, "There is one at whose evil deeds the sun would grow black, were they published abroad. His death was decreed, but I suffered him to elude my vengeance, saying, 'Surely he will hide his shame at the ends of the earth, mindful that one has died to save him from the reward of his deeds.' But since he has returned, and dared to put forth claims to the throne he forfeited, there is no mercy for him. Was it well done in you, O my friend, to listen favourably to his petition, and not drive him from you?"

"I knew not the man, Maharaj-ji, and he gained access to me with a lying tale. When I learned who he was, it was my duty to hear what he had to say, but I drove him from me when he sought to influence me by a bribe."

"True, but your anger was kindled by the attack on your own integrity, not by the man's evil designs."

"I am here to report all things to Colonel Antony, Maharaj-ji, not one side of the case only." The Rajah's eyes were flashing, and Gerrard waited for an outburst of anger, but none came. "But how did your Highness learn of the man's visit?" he asked.

"From whom but from Dwarika Nath? I looked to hear of it from my friend, but I waited in vain."

"I did not desire to be the means of the man's death," said Gerrard, rather lamely.

"And why does not my friend tell me that Dwarika Nath offered to conceal the matter in return for a gift?"

"Your Highness does not mean to say that Dwarika Nath confessed that?" cried Gerrard. Partab Singh enjoyed his astonishment for a moment.

"Nay," he said softly, "the whole matter was recounted to me by one whom I can trust, who was on the watch from the beginning to the end, so that when Dwarika Nath, with many protestations of fidelity and condolence, made known to me the treachery of my friend, I was able to remind him that he had been willing to cover that treachery for money. For this he has received due punishment."

Gerrard remained silent a moment, Dwarika Nath's interview with him in his tent, and the expulsion of the disgraced Diwan from the city, jostling one another in his mind. Then quite another thought came upper-most. "So you set spies on me in my own tent, Maharaj-ji!" he cried indignantly. "And you call me your friend!"

"The wise man calls no one friend whom he has not tested when they are apart as well as when they are together," was the calm reply. "Do I not honour my friend by enabling the lustre of his character to shine forth even when he believes himself alone?"

"I said these walls seemed to have eyes!" muttered Gerrard. "I suppose your Highness's spies are here also?"

"You are watched from morning to night, and again from night to morning," said the Rajah with pride. "Even on your sacred day, when you worshipped your God in the company of the half-breed physician, my eyes were upon you."

Gerrard moved angrily. Among the verbal counsels with which Colonel Antony supplemented his official instructions to his assistants, there was one which invariably occurred; "I make no suggestion as to your action when alone, though you are acquainted with my own practice. But when there is even one other Christian within reach, it is my earnest entreaty that you will invite him to join with you on Sundays in the worship of God. Believe me, this will bring you no discredit among the heathen, but rather the contrary." The "one other Christian" in this case was Moraes, who regarded compliance with the invitation as an additional sin to be confessed and expiated on his return home, and Gerrard felt a natural resentment at the thought of the curious eyes that had watched the proceedings. He rose abruptly.

"Since you trust me so little, Maharaj-ji, I had better go. Have I your leave to depart?"

The Rajah made no movement. "O my friend, why this impatience? Said I not that all I had seen had only served to justify my confidence? Had I taxed you with treachery as the result of my watching, there might have been cause for anger. What is this? you cannot pardon my not trusting you untried? Know then that I had reason for my hesitation, for I design to admit you wholly to my confidence. You, O my friend, are the man I intend to appoint as regent, together with the mother of Kharrak Singh, should I die while he is still a child."

"I am grateful for the honour, Maharaj-ji, but I could not accept it without leave from my superiors."

"That leave will undoubtedly be given when they know that you alone have power to keep the troops in good humour. With them on your side you can laugh at the notables and the common people alike. I am about to show you what no living eyes but mine have seen, the secret store I have laid up to safeguard my son. And I will do more than that, for the mother of Kharrak Singh shall be bidden to look to you for help and guidance in all things. At my command she has already sworn not to become suttee on my decease, but to live and shield her son from the plots laid against him within the palace, as you will from those without. Here are turban, robe and slippers of mine. Put them on, lest the guardians of the treasure should refuse to let you pass, and come."

[1] Readers of the classics will perceive that Mr Charteris's memory played him false here.