Because Yasmini had monopolized imagination she told him last of all, at lunch, about the commissioner’s call, rehearsing that, too, detail by detail, word for word.

“Wants me to find the treasure, does he, and call the game on Gungadhura?  What does he take me for?  One of his stool-pigeons?  If it’s a question of percentage, I’d prefer one from the maharajah than from him.  If I ever stumble on it, Gungadhura shall know first go off the bat, and I’ll see the British Government in hell before I’ll answer questions!”

“They’d never believe Gungadhura hadn’t rewarded you,” said Tess.

“What of it?” he demanded.  “What do we care what they believe?  And supposing it were true, what then?  Just at present I’m in partnership with Gungadhura.”

Chapter Four

Jinendra’s Smile

Deep broods the calm where the cooing doves are mating
And shadows quiver noiseless ’neath the courtyard trees,
Cool keeps the gloom where the suppliants are waiting
Begging little favors of Jinendra on their knees. 
Peace over all, and the consciousness of nearness,
Charity removing the remoteness of the gods;
Spirit of compassion breathing with new clearness
“There’s a limit set to khama; there’s a surcease from the rods.” 
“Blessed were the few, who trim the lights of kindness,
Toiling in the temple for the love of one and all,
If it were not for hypocrisy and gluttony and blindness,”
Smiles the image of Jinendra on the courtyard wall.

“The law .... is like a python after monkey’s in the tree-tops.”

Yasmini, hooded like a bandit in the camel-hair cloak, resumed an air of leisurely dignity in keeping with the unhurried habit of Sialpore the moment she was through the gate.  It was just as well she did, for Mukhum Dass, the money-lender, followed by a sweating lean parasite on foot, was riding a smart mule on his customary morning round to collect interest from victims and oversee securities.

He was a fat, squat, slimy-looking person in a black alpaca coat, with a black umbrella for protection from the sun, and an air of sour dissatisfaction for general business purposes—­an air that was given the lie direct by a small, acquisitive nose and bright brown eyes that surely never made bad bargains.  Yasmini’s hooded figure brought him to a halt just at the corner, where the little road below the Blaines’ wall joined the wider road that led down-hill.  Business is business, and time a serious matter only for those who sign promissory notes; he drew rein without compunction.

“This house is yours?” she asked, and he nodded, his sharp eyes shining like an animal’s, determined to recognize his questioner.

“There is a miscalculating son of lies who brings a lawsuit to get the title?”

He nodded again—­a man of few words except when words exacted interest.