Chapter 20

A bad man ruined by the run of luck

May shed the slime—they’ve done it,

Times and again they’ve done it.

That turn to aspiration out of muck

Is quick if heart’s begun it,

If heart’s desire’s begun it.

But ’ware revenge if greater craft it is

That jockeyed him to recognize defeat,

Or greater force that overmastered his—

Efficiency more potent than deceit

That craved his crown and won it!

Safer the she-bear with her suckling young,

Kinder the hooked shark from a yardarm hung,

More rational a tiger by the hornets stung

Than perfidy outcozened. Shun it!

 

"Millions! Think of it! Lakhs and crores!"

The business of getting a maharajah off the throne, even in a country
where the overlords are nervous, and there is precedent, is not entirely
simple, especially when the commissioner who recommends it has
a name for indiscretion and ambition. The government of conquered
countries depends almost as much on keeping clever administrators
in their place as on fostering subdivision among the conquered.

So, very much against his will, Samson was obliged to go to see a high
commissioner, who is a very important person indeed, and ram home
his arguments between four walls by word of mouth. He did not take
Sita Ram with him, so there is a gap in the story at that point, partly
bridged by Samson’s own sketchy account of the interview to Colonel
Willoughby de Wing, overheard by Carlos de Sousa Braganza the
Goanese club butler, and reported to Yasmini at third hand.

There were no aeroplanes or official motor-cars at that time to take
officials at outrageous speed on urgent business. But Samson’s favorite
study in his spare time was Julius Caesar, who usually traveled long
distances at the rate of more than a hundred miles a day, and was
probably short-winded from debauch into the bargain. What the great
Julius could do, Samson could do as well; but in spite of whip and
spur and post, ruthless robbery of other people’s reserved accommodation,
and a train caught by good luck on the last stage, it took him altogether
seven valuable days and nights. For there was delay, too, while the
high commissioner wired to Simla in code for definite permission to
be drastic.

The telegram from the secretary of state pointed out, as Samson had
predicted that it would, the desirability of avoiding impeachment and
trial if that were possible, in view of the state of public unrest in India
and the notorious eagerness of Parliament at home to interfere in
Indian affairs.

"Get him to abdicate!" was the meat of the long message.

"Can you do it?" asked the high commissioner.

"Leave that to me!" boasted Samson. "And now this other matter.
These ’islands’ as they’re called. It’s absurd and expensive to continue
keeping up a fort inside the maharajah’s territory. There’s no military
advantage to us in having it so near our border. And there are totally
unnecessary problems of administration that are entailed by the maharajah
administering a small piece of territory on our side of the river. I’ve
had a contract drawn for your approval—Sir Hookum Bannerjee drew it,
he’s a very able lawyer—stipulating with Utirupa, in consideration of our
recognition of himself and his heirs as rulers of the State of Sialpore,
that he shall agree to exchange his palace and land on our side of the
river against our fort on his side. What do you think of it?"

"It isn’t a good bargain. He ought to give us more than that in the
circumstances, against a fort and—and all that kind of thing."

"It’s a supremely magnificent bargain!" retorted Samson. "Altogether
overlooking what we’ll save in money by not having to garrison that
absurd fort, it’s the best financial bargain this province ever had the
chance of!"

"How d’ye mean?"

Samson whispered. Even those four solid walls were not discreet enough.

"The treasure of Sialpore is buried in the River Palace grounds! Millions!

Think of it—Millions! Lakhs and crores!"

 

The high commissioner whistled.

"That ’ud mean something to the province, wouldn’t it! Show me your proofs."

How Samson got around the fact that he had no actually definite proofs,
he never told. But he convinced the high commissioner, who never
told either, unless to somebody at Simla, who buried the secret among
the State Department files.

"I’ll wire Simla," said the high commissioner presently, "for permission to
authorize you to set your signature to that contract on behalf of government.
The minute I get it I’ll wire you to Sialpore and confirm by letter. Now
you’d better get back to your post in a hurry. And don’t forget, it would
be difficult in a case like this to err on the side of silence, Samson.
Who’ll have to be told?"

"Nobody but Willoughby de Wing. I’ll have to ask him for troops to
guard the River Palace grounds. There’s a confounded American
digging this minute in the River Palace grounds by arrangement with
Gungadhura. He’ll have to be stopped, and I’ll have to make some
sort of explanation."

"What’s an American doing in Sialpore?"

"Prospecting. Has a contract with Gungadhura."

"Um-m-m! We’ll have Standard Oil in next! Better point out to Utirupa
that contracts with foreigner’s aren’t regarded cordially."

"That’s easily done," said Samson. "Utirupa is nothing if not anxious
to please."

"Yes, Utirupa is a very fine young fellow—and a good sportsman, too,

I’m told."

 

"There is no reason why Utirupa should recognize the contract between
Gungadhura and the American. It was a private contract—no official
sanction. If Gungadhura isn’t in position to continue it—"

"Exactly. Well—good-by. I’ll look forward to a good report from you."

By train and horse and tonga Samson contrived to reach Sialpore on
the morning before the day set for the polo tournament. He barely
allowed himself time to shave before going to see Dick Blaine, and
found him, as he expected, at the end of the tunnel nearly a hundred
yards long that started from inside the palace wall and passed out under it.
The guards at the gate did not dare refuse the commissioner admission.
So far, Dick had not begun demolition of the palace, but had dragged
together enough lumber by pulling down sheds and outhouses. He
was not a destructive-minded man.

"Will you come outside and talk with me?" Samson shouted, amid the
din of pick and shovel work.

"Sure."

Dick’s poker face was in perfect working order by the time they reached
the light. But he stood with his back to the sun and let Samson have
the worst of the position.

"You’re wasting time and money, Blaine. I’ve come to tell you so."

"Now—that’s good of you."

"Your contract with Gungadhura is not worth the paper it’s written on."

"How so?"

"He will not be maharajah after noon today!"

"You don’t mean it!"

"That information is confidential, but the news will be out by tomorrow.
The British Administration intends to take over all the land on this side of
the river. That’s confidential too. Between you and me, our government
would never recognize a contract between you and Gungadhura. I warned
you once, and your wife a second time."

"Sure, she told me."

"Well. You and I have been friends, Blaine. I’d like you to regard this
as not personal. But—"

"Oh, I get you. I’m to call the men off? That it?"

"You’ve only until tomorrow in any case."

"And Gungadhura, broke, to look to for the pay-roll! Well—as you say,
what’s the use?"

"I’d pay your men off altogether, if I were you."

"They’re a good gang."

"No doubt. We’ve all admired your ability to make men work. But there’ll
be a new maharajah in a day or two, and, strictly between you and me,
as one friend to another, there’ll be a very slight chance indeed of your
getting a contract from the incoming man to carry on your mining in the hills.
I’d like to save you trouble and expense."

"Real good of you."

"Er—found anything down there?" Samson nodded over his shoulder
toward the tunnel mouth.

"Not yet."

"Any signs of anything?"

"Not yet."

Samson looked relieved.

"By the way. You mentioned the other day something about evidence
relating to the murder of Mukhum Dass."

"I did."

"Was it anything important?"

"Maybe. Looked so to me."

"Would you mind giving me an outline of it?"

"You said that day you knew who murdered Mukhum Dass?"

"Yes. When I got in this morning there was a note on my desk from
Norwood, the superintendent of police, to say that they’ve arrested your
butler and cook, and the murderer of Mukhum Dass all hiding together
near a railway station. The murderer has squealed, as you Americans say.
They often do when they’re caught. He has told who put him up to it."

"Guess I’ll give you this, then. It’s the map out of the silver tube that
Mukhum Dass burgled from my cellar. Gungadhura gave it to me with
instructions to dig here. You’ll note there’s blood on it."

Samson’s eyes looked hardly interested as he took it. Then he looked,
and they blazed. He put it in his inner pocket hurriedly.

"Too bad, Blaine!" he laughed. "So you even had a map of the treasure, eh?
Another day or two and you’d have forestalled us! I suppose you’d
a contract with Gungadhura for a share of it?"

"You bet!"

"Well—it wasn’t registered. I doubt if you could have enforced it.

Gungadhura is an awful rascal."

 

"Gee!" lied Dick. "I never thought of that! I had my other contract
registered all right—in your office—you remember?"

"Yes. I warned you at the time about Gungadhura."

"You did. I remember now. You did. Well, I suppose the wife and I’ll
be heading for the U. S. A. soon, richer by the experience. Still—I reckon
I’ll wait around and see the new maharajah in the saddle, and watch
what comes of it."

"You’ve no chance, Blaine, believe me!"

"All right, I’ll think it over. Meanwhile, I’ll whistle off these men."

The next man Samson interviewed was Willoughby de Wing.

"Let me have a commissioner’s escort, please," he demanded. "I’m
going to see Gungadhura now! You’d better follow up with a troop to r
eplace the maharajah’s guards around his palace. We can’t put him
under arrest without impeaching him; but—make it pretty plain to the
guard they’re there to protect a man who has abdicated; that no one’s
to be allowed in, and nobody out unless he can explain his business.
Then, can you spare some guards for another job? I want about twenty
men on the River Palace at once. Caution them carefully. Nobody’s
to go inside the grounds. Order the maharajah’s guards away! It’s a
little previous. His officers will try to make trouble of course. But an
apology at the proper time will cover that."

"What’s the new excitement?" asked the colonel. "More murders?

More princesses out at night?"

 

"This is between you and me. Not a word to a living soul, De Wing!"

Samson paused, then whispered: "The treasure of Sialpore!"

 

"What—in the palace?"

"In the grounds! There’s a tunnel already half-dug, leading toward it
from inside the palace wall. I’ve proof of the location in my pocket!"

"Gad’s teeth!" barked Willoughby de Wing. "All right, I’ll have your
escort in a jiffy. Have a whisky and soda, my boy, to stiffen you before
the talk with Gungadhura!"

A little less than half an hour later Samson drove across the bridge in
the official landau, followed by an officer, a jemadar, a naik and eight
troopers of De Wing’s Sikh cavalry. Willoughby de Wing drove in the
carriage with him as a witness. They entered the palace together, and
were kept waiting so long that Samson sent the major-domo to the
maharajah a second time with a veiled threat to repeat, said slowly:

"Say the business is urgent and that I shall not be held responsible
for consequences if he doesn’t see me at once!"

"Gad!" swore De Wing, screwing in his monocle. "I’d like a second
whisky and soda! I suppose there’s none here. I hate to see a man
broke—even a blackguard!"

Gungadhura received them at last, seated, in the official durbar room.
The bandages were gone from his face, but a strip of flesh-colored
court-plaster from eye to lip gave him an almost comical look of dejection,
and he lolled in the throne-chair with his back curved and head hung
forward, scowling as a man does not who looks forward to the interview.

Samson cleared his throat, and read what be had to say, holding the
paper straight in front of him.

"I have a disagreeable task of informing Your Highness that your
correspondence with the Mahsudi tribe is known to His Majesty’s Government."

Gungadhura scowled more deeply, but made no answer.

"Amounting as it does to treason, at a time when His Majesty’s Government
are embarrassed by internal unrest, your act can not be overlooked."

Gungadhura made a motion as if to interrupt, but thought better of it.

"In the circumstances I have the honor to advise Your Highness that
the wisest course, and the only course that will avoid impeachment,
is abdication."

Gungadhura shook his head violently.

"I can explain," he said. "I have proofs."

Samson turned the paper over—paused a moment—and began to read
the second sheet.

"It is known who murdered Mukhum Dass. The assassin has been
caught, and has confessed."

Gungadhura’s eyes that had been dull, and almost listless hitherto,
began to glare like an animal’s.

"I have here—" Samson reached in his pocket, "a certain piece of parchment—
a map in fact—that was stolen from the body of Mukhum Dass. Perhaps
Your Highness will recognize it. Look!"

Gungadhura looked, and started like a man stung. Samson returned
the map to his pocket, for the maharajah almost looked like trying to
snatch it; but instead he collapsed in his chair again.

"If I abdicate?" he asked, as if his throat and lips could hardly form the words.

"That would be sufficient. The assassin would then be allowed to plead
guilty to another charge there is against him, and the matter would be dropped."

"I abdicate!"

"On behalf of His Majesty’s Government I accept the abdication. Sign
this, please."

Samson laid a formal written act of abdication on the table by the throne.

Gungadhura signed it. Willoughby de Wing wrote his signature as witness.

Samson took it back and folded it away.

 

"Arrangements will be made for Your Highness to leave Sialpore tomorrow
morning, with a sufficient escort for your protection. Provision will be
made in due course for your private residence elsewhere. Be good
enough to hold yourself and your family in readiness tomorrow morning."

"But my son!" exclaimed Gungadhura. "I abdicate in favor of my son!"

"In case of abdication by a reigning prince, or deposition of a reigning
prince," said Samson, "the Government of India reserves the right to
appoint his successor, from among eligible members of his family if
there be any, but to appoint his successor in any case. There is
ample precedent."

"And my son?"

"Will certainly not be considered."

Gungadhura glanced about him like a frenzied man, and then lay back
in a state of near-collapse. Samson and De Wing both bowed, and
left the room.

"Poor devil!" said De Wing, "I’m sorry for him."

"Would you be a good fellow," said Samson, "and send off this wire
for me? There—I’ve added the exact time of the abdication. I’ve got
to go now and summon a durbar of Gungadhura’s state officers, and
tell them in confidence what’s happened. I shall hint pretty broadly that
Utirupa is our man, and then ask them which prince they’d like to
have succeed."

"Good!" said De Wing. "Nothing like tact! Why not meet me at the
club for a whisky and soda afterward?"

Inside the durbar hall Gungadhura sat alone for just so long as it took
the sound of the closing door to die away. Then another door, close
behind the throne chair opened, and Patali entered. She looked at him
with pity on her face, and curiosity.

"That American sold you," she said after a minute.

"Eh?"

"I say, that American sold you! He sold you, and the map, and the
treasure to the English!"

"I know it! I know it!"

"If I were a man—"

She waited, but he gave no sign of manhood.

"If I were a man I know what I would do!"

"Peace, Patali! I am a ruined man. They will all desert me as soon
as the news is out. They are deserting now; I feel it in my bones. I
have none to send."

"Send? It is only maharajahs who must send. Men do their own work!

I know what I would do to an American or any other man, who sold me!"