To put on the Rajah's robe over his clothes, and don the turban and slippers, was the work of a moment for Gerrard, and he was ready before Partab Singh had even raised himself from his cushions. The spirit of adventure had laid hold of the young man, and the hint of peril suggested by his host's last words was thrilling his blood, but he was sufficiently master of himself to insist upon uttering one more warning.

"Your Highness will believe that I appreciate to the full the confidence you are prepared to repose in me, but I must remind you that outside Granthistan I am merely a junior officer in the Company's army. If it should unfortunately happen that the guardianship of Kharrak Singh and of the state devolved upon Colonel Antony by your arrangement, it is almost certain that he would make choice of an older man to represent him and act as regent."

"So that the army might rise against him in a week, and having slain him and Kharrak Singh and his mother, invade British territory and bring about a second Granthi war?" asked Partab Singh drily. "I have made my choice of a regent, O my friend, and by reason of the power I shall put into his hands, he will be the only man that Antni Sahib can choose."

Recollections of Colonel Antony's heroic disregard of commonplace safeguards in various outstanding cases made Gerrard persist. "Colonel Antony will choose the man he thinks best fitted for the post, as in the sight of God, Maharaj-ji, and it will be my duty to acquiesce in his decision."

"So be it," said the Rajah, with resignation. "Only swear to me that you will not betray the secret I am about to disclose to you to any living being, man or woman, priest or ruler, save to my son Kharrak Singh when he is of age and seated on the gaddi."

"Does it concern the state, Maharaj-ji?"

"The state might continue to endure were the secret lost, but on it depends the safety of Kharrak Singh and the existence of my house. At present I alone know it."

"But if any evil should befall your Highness and myself, the secret will be lost. Suffer me to reveal it to Colonel Antony, who will hold it sacred, and not permit the knowledge of it to influence his action."

"Nay, that were beyond the power of mortal man!" cried Partab Singh. "To Antni Sahib least of all must the secret be revealed. But this it is permitted you to do. Choose out an honourable man, lower than yourself in rank—or at least not likely to be preferred before you by your masters—and confide the secret to him under the conditions on which I reveal it to you. Let him be one that you can trust as yourself."

"Bob, of course!" said Gerrard in his own mind, with humorous dismay.
"It is well, Maharaj-ji. I choose my friend the officer in charge of
Darwan," he added aloud.

"And he is near at hand? It is well. Reveal the secret to him as soon as may be. I have your promise?"

"To keep your Highness's secret? Yes. But anything further must depend upon the will of my superiors."

"That I understand. Come, my friend."

They went down the spiral marble staircase of the tower, the Rajah leading, and passed the guards at the foot without a word. Gerrard noticed that they did not leave the tower by the carved marble gateway through which they had entered, but by a smaller door at the back, which gave access to a shaded terrace looking over the great tank. In the shadows a boat was waiting, with one man in it, leaning on a long pole, and when the Rajah and Gerrard had stepped in, this man punted them out into the starlight in perfect silence, and across the lake into a kind of backwater, covered thick with the flat leaves of the lotus, in an opposite corner. Gerrard expected to see the boat held fast among the twining roots, but it was evident that a channel was kept clear, for they slid through without difficulty. The boatman helped them to shore, still in silence, and Partab Singh touched his own ears and mouth lightly, explaining to Gerrard that the man was deaf and dumb, as he brought a lantern from the boat and preceded them through a thicket of bamboos and similar plants. The place suggested snakes, and Gerrard trod with caution, wondering what the great wall in front, over which the sound of clanking chains came faintly, might enclose. A small door was disclosed by the boatman's moving aside the bushes, and the Rajah brought out a key from his girdle, and taking the lantern from the man's hand, waved him back to the boat. The opening of the door disclosed only darkness, but the sound of the clanking of chains grew louder, mixed with growls and wild cries.

"Smells like a wild beast show!" mused Gerrard. "Where can we be coming to?"

Even as he spoke, the Rajah, who had shut the door, advanced a few steps and waved the lantern round, and the flickering light, with the chorus of snarls that arose, showed the Englishman that they were in a passage leading to the bottom of the great pit in which the palace menagerie was kept. He had often looked over the parapet at the top, generally in Kharrak Singh's company, and had the fighting animals pointed out to him, and been promised a grand display if he was present on the boy's next birthday, but now he was descending into the arena, with fierce eyes glaring at the intruders from all the surrounding cages.

"If only old Bob were here now!" he thought, as Partab Singh crossed the sanded space, and began deliberately to unfasten the gate of one of the largest cages.

"Enter, my friend, and fear not!" said the old man, in a tone in which Gerrard detected a design upon the nerves. The darkness was not reassuring, but he stepped in, to be aware immediately of a huge body hurling itself at him through the air, with an awe-inspiring roar. A wicked snarl from behind him at the same moment warned him against stepping back, and he braced himself unconsciously to meet the impact. But the animal, whatever it was, fell short of him in its spring, and to his utter bewilderment he stood unharmed.

"They scent the stranger," said Partab Singh, turning the lantern to show first the huge lioness, almost black in colour, which had betrayed her presence by snarling, and then her mate, looking indescribably sulky and wounded in his self-esteem owing to the failure of his leap. "The gate is open; does my friend wish to return?"

It is no discredit to Gerrard that he was obliged to pull himself together before he could reply with suitable unconcern, "Is this the secret, then, Maharaj-ji? If not, let us go on," and the Rajah smiled grimly.

"Keep to the middle of the den, then," he said, as he fastened the gate. "The beasts are chained, and cannot touch you there."

That the honour of the Rajah's friendship was not without its drawbacks was a fact that had already forced itself upon Gerrard's mind that evening, and he now began to wonder whether its value was altogether correspondent to the severe tests it seemed to demand. The lions might be chained, but their chains were quite unnecessarily long, and they walked about in a highly disquieting manner while the Rajah was busy at the back of the den. Gerrard held the lantern, and hoped fervently that his hand did not shake—he was too much shaken himself to know whether it did or not. In the rear wall of the cage were several iron rings fixed to staples, to which chains might be attached, and through one of these Partab Singh passed his sheathed dagger, and gave it a sharp twist. Then, removing the dagger, he began to turn the ring the other way with his hands. When he had done this apparently an interminable number of times, Gerrard ventured to ask if he might help. An angry gesture of negation answered him, and he resigned himself to wait, while the lions strained at their chains. At last a great stone moved out like a door, and the Rajah entered, and motioned Gerrard to follow. Closing the door with a movement of his finger, he turned to his companion.

"The ring must be turned nine-and-twenty times, no more and no less," he said. "If you turn it less, no effect will follow, but if more, a great stone descends and blocks the entrance."

He led the way along a passage lined with masonry, which turned and twisted bewilderingly. At one point there was a deep recess, apparently intended for a window, but unfinished. Partab Singh motioned Gerrard to place his eye at a particular spot. There was a hole there, and to his surprise light came through. He looked into a great room or vault in which a lamp was burning. The rays fell upon elephant-trappings glittering with gold, jewelled bridles and saddlecloths, robes of gold tissue or priceless shawl-fabric, and a number of gaily painted boxes, such as the native goldsmiths used to contain their wares, and money-changers their stock of cash.

"That is the treasury of which all men know, the entrance to which is in the zenana," said the Rajah. "But though that were looted, and an army glutted with the spoil, the greater treasure beyond would remain safe and unknown."

Again he went on, until another stone moved on the pressure of a secret spring, the action of which he explained to Gerrard, and gave entrance to a small unlighted vault, piled with gold in ingots, bars and bricks, and in one corner a heap of tiny skin bags containing, as he pointed out, fine pearls and other precious stones. That the value of what was stored here must far exceed the more obvious wealth assembled in the larger treasury, Gerrard saw at a glance.

"You see now, O my friend, my secret store," said Partab Singh, "and by its means you may secure my son's succeeding me in peace. When I am dead, give large presents immediately in his name to all my Sirdars and Komadans, at the same time distributing a largess of ten rupees per man to the army. For this there is sufficient silver in the other treasury, but you will do well to assemble the money-changers and bargain with them to supply you with rupees against a portion of this gold. The tale of the riches at your command will go abroad, and the army will remain faithful in the hope of receiving more. Without it—I do not deceive myself—they would sell their swords to the highest bidder in the state or outside it, and it will also be necessary to use it with discretion, lest their minds should be so much inflamed by the thought of it that they should combine to seize and plunder the palace. They would never discover the hiding-place, but my son and his mother would meet with violence in the search. My friend sees, then, that I look to him to act with as much wisdom as courage, and he understands why I name him regent, since the only power that can keep my son on the throne is in his hands."

"Pardon the question, Maharaj-ji, but is not he who must not be named acquainted with this treasury?" asked Gerrard suddenly.

"Doubtless rumour has made him aware of its existence, but where it is he knows no more than the talkers in the city who swear by their lord's treasure. You and I are the sole living beings who know the secret."

Gerrard remembered a certain grim tale he had heard, according to which every man who had taken part in the construction of the treasury had been put to death on the completion of the work, and the piled gold before him became hateful. "Is there any other entrance to this labyrinth, Maharaj-ji?" he asked abruptly.

"Surely, my friend. The passage continues until it reaches the old outer wall of the palace, and there ends with another turning stone, concealed from those without by a tree that has struck its roots into the masonry."

"But if that tree should be destroyed, the entrance would become visible."

"It must not be destroyed. You must see to that, as I have done. I gave large gifts to a fakir of great sanctity to declare that a spirit had taken up his abode in the tree, and must on no account be disturbed, though the people might bring offerings and venerate it from below. Should it fall, or be thrown down by a storm, you must at once plant a seedling or a shoot from it in the same place, sheltering the tender plant by mats let down from the top of the wall until it has grown sufficiently to conceal the stone. And now let us return. Stay! my friend has refused all the gifts that I would fain have heaped upon him, until I offer him no more in the sight of men for fear of courting further rebuffs. Here no man sees us. Will he then take with him one of these bags of pearls, such as any prince might desire in vain to buy, and any queen might wear? What! I have offended him again? Say no more, my friend; your ways are not as ours. Even to my friend I will not offer twice what he is too proud to take. But come, for there is more to be done to-night."

Gerrard rather wished it was not so as they retraced their steps through the long passage and the lions' den back to the quiet garden and the lotus-covered tank. The deaf and dumb man was waiting, and ferried them over, and on the terrace below the tower the Rajah bade Gerrard leave the turban and robe he had been wearing, which he did thankfully, for the night was hot. Then, as he stood erect in his white mess uniform in the moonlight, the old man laid his hands upon his shoulders.

"O my friend, I have tried you with gold and with fear and with the lust of power, and you have stood the test. Now I am about to repose such confidence in you as hardly one man of your race has known since the world began. You will come with me into the zenana, that the mother of Kharrak Singh may know whom she is to trust. This I do now, that when I am dead, you may demand admittance as by right—the right I confer upon you—and talk with her through the curtain, thus avoiding the danger and delay of go-betweens."

Gerrard had felt a lurking fear more than once that this crowning proof of confidence was to be conferred upon him, but had silenced his uneasiness by reminding himself that such a thing was almost unheard of. One or two of those orientalised Europeans to whom the Rajah had referred earlier in the evening had enjoyed the honour, as had one or two British officials held in almost divine veneration, but otherwise it had been the supreme mark of favour reserved by a ruler for his most tried, trusted, and faithful servants. It was a sensible thing to do in the circumstances, as Partab Singh had manoeuvred them, he owned, but the idea shocked him almost as much as it would have done a native. It was so incongruous.

"If Bob gets wind of this, I shall be chaffed to death!" he said to himself, and then realised that the Rajah was waiting for a reply from him. "I appreciate deeply this proof of your Highness's confidence, and trust I may show myself worthy of it," he said formally, and Partab Singh linked his arm in his and drew him along.

They went through the tower, across the courtyard, and up the steps into the hall of audience, passing thence through rooms and corridors till they reached a barred gate, guarded by soldiers, whose weapons clashed angrily as they perceived Gerrard. The Rajah made a sign, never loosing his hold on the young man's arm for a moment, and the gates were opened from within by zenana attendants, the guards standing rigidly with their backs to them. Inside, Gerrard knew enough of the etiquette of the occasion to walk with his eyes cast down, and obey every motion of the Rajah's arm, but he was aware that the darkness seemed to be full of eyes, and the silence of whispers. They came to a standstill at last before a pillared colonnade, with a crimson curtain hanging behind the pillars. No light came from behind the curtain, and Gerrard realised suddenly that he distinguished its colour by means of a light behind him. At a word from the Rajah, two old women came forward with flaring lamps, and stationed themselves one on each side of Gerrard, so as to throw his face into the clearest possible relief. Then Partab Singh spoke.

"Let the mother of Kharrak Singh look well upon this Sahib, that she may know whom to trust. I have given him freedom of entrance here, that he may speak with her through the curtain, and she may take counsel with him for the welfare of her son."

There was a moment's pause, and then a muffled voice made an inaudible reply from somewhere behind the curtain, apparently close to the ground. The Rajah turned to Gerrard.

"The mother of Kharrak Singh clasps the feet of Jirad Sahib, and entreats that in the evil day his virtue may be a high tower in which she and her son can take refuge."

Gerrard sought vainly for a suitably self-deprecatory reply, but the Rajah was equal to the occasion, and rendered his disjointed murmurs into a polite desire that he might serve as a sturdy elephant to carry the Rani and her son over a flooded river. The voice spoke again, and Partab Singh turned to Gerrard.

"Is my friend yet wedded?" Gerrard shook his head. "Then the mother of Kharrak Singh desires to be informed when he brings home a wife, that she may send the bride her clothes and jewels."

In response to this very high honour Gerrard could only bow low, and promise to send the desired information when the time came, and then the appearance of the inevitable attar and pan in the hands of thickly veiled women of apparently most discreet age announced the termination of the interview. Partab Singh maintained his hold on Gerrard's arm until they had returned to the hall of audience, and then detailed an escort to guard him back to his own quarters. It was a most dissipated hour to return home, but when Gerrard mounted to the roof, where his bed was spread, he felt no inclination for sleep, and stood leaning on the parapet, thinking over the events of the evening. It must be his first care to find out what attitude Colonel Antony would adopt towards the arrangement desired by Partab Singh, since the workings of the Resident's mind were by no means easy to forecast. If he could meet the Rajah face to face and hear his story, Gerrard was inclined to think he might acquiesce. True, the addition of another infant heir and female regent to his burden of cares would not be agreeable to him, but the Rajput lady of royal ancestry would be a very different person to deal with from the low-born little upstart who kept the palace and city of Ranjitgarh agog with her stormy and transitory love affairs. Still, if Sher Singh should have the brilliant inspiration of seeking an interview with Colonel Antony, and having learnt a lesson from his previous failure, present himself merely as a disinherited innocent of pacific tendencies, it was quite likely that he would establish in the Resident's mind a prepossession in his favour which would tell heavily against little Kharrak Singh. Gerrard found himself planning the letter in which he would describe the state of affairs, placing things in their proper perspective and omitting no detail of importance, not putting himself forward, and yet not concealing his readiness to accept the post of Resident at Agpur if it should be thought fit to offer it him. Both in importance and responsibility it would be considered quite unsuitable for so young a man, he knew; but after all, Partab Singh had chosen him, and given him unsolicited two aids to success which were not, and could not be, in the power of any other man on earth.

Gerrard lost himself in dreams. This miniature palace, sheltered within the fort walls, yet standing by itself in its own garden, remote from the rambling pile of buildings occupied by Partab Singh and his court, would make an ideal Residency. Not for a solitary man, of course, but the Resident at Agpur could well afford to marry. Gazing down into the inner courtyard he saw it in the light of a shrine for Honour. Honour walked up and down the flagged paths in her white gown, Honour sat on the broad stone margin of the fountain and raised serious eyes from her book at his approach—and her whole face lighted up with a flash of welcome to him, such a flash as he had caught in Lady Cinnamond's eyes when Sir Arthur returned unexpectedly from a distant expedition. What blissful evenings they would spend on that broad pillared verandah, Honour working and he reading to her, or both together reading, writing, talking, as Colonel and Mrs Antony were wont to do, two minds working as one, so quickly and naturally did each supply the deficiencies of the other.

He pulled himself up sharply. Not so very many miles away was another man dreaming similar dreams—and yet not similar, since the charms of history and poetry and romance held no place in them. Gerrard himself might have pleaded guilty to the charge of allowing no opening for the cultivation of the good works which meant so much to Honour, but he would probably have defended himself with the not uncommon maxim of his day that looking after a husband was sufficient good works for any woman. But Bob Charteris—who was utterly incapable of appreciating the real Honour, who had no idea of her absolute uniqueness, and might have fallen in love with any other woman with equal satisfaction to himself! Bob—who could make a joke of his love and even laugh at his lady, who would probably not mind smoking while he thought about her! (In those days the smoker was largely considered as a pariah, if not an enemy of the human race. Gerrard himself smoked, but he was properly conscious that it was a weakness, and not an amiable one, and nothing would have induced him to set himself to think of Honour with a cheroot in his mouth.) It was Bob's rivalry that had driven him to put his fortune to the touch by proposing to Honour when patience would better have served his turn, and it was Bob to whose pleasure, by his own suggestion, he must defer before speaking to her again, were he ten times Resident at Agpur. Worst of all, it was Bob who was only too likely to win her in the end, and not undeservedly, Gerrard knew his friend's good points as few others did, and he did not deceive himself as to his chances of success. At this point he broke off his musings abruptly, and went to bed. Bob was not only superfluous, but a positive nuisance.