"There was another matter that she told me," said the priest.

"Repeat it then, Belly-of-Jinendra! Thy paunch retains a tale too long!"

"Tripe, the drill-master, is a welcome guest at the house built by Jengal Singh."

"What of it?"

"He may enter even when the sahibs are away from home. The servants
have orders to admit him."

"Well?"

The priest smiled again.

"If it should chance to be true that the princess knows the secret of
the treasure, and that she is selling it to the commissioner, Tripe could
enter that house and discover the clue. Who could rob you of the
treasure once you knew the secret of its hiding-place?"

It was at that point that the maharajah grew so exasperated at the thought
of another's knowledge of a secret that he considered rightly his own
by heritage, that his language exceeded not only the bounds of decorum
but the limits of commonplace blasphemy as well. Turning his back
on the priest he rushed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
And, being a ruminant fat mortal, the priest sat so still considering on
which side of the equation his own bread might be buttered as to cause
the impression that the room was empty; whereas only the maharajah
had left it. And a little later the babu Sita Ram came in.