"I kiss feet!" said the babu. "You must bless me, father. I kiss feet!"

The priest blessed him perfunctorily.

"Is there anything I can do, holy one? Anything a babu such as I can
do to earn merit?"

Rolling on his ponderous way toward the waiting bull-cart, the priest
paused a moment--eyed Sita Ram as a python eyes a meal--and answered him.

"Tell that woman from me that if she has a plan at all she must unfold
it swiftly. Tell her that this Samson sahib is after the treasure for himself;
that he invited me to help him and to share it with him. Let her have
word with me swiftly."

"What treasure?" asked Sita Ram ingenuously. Having had his ear
to the knot-hole throughout the interview, it suited him to establish innocence.
The priest could have struck himself for the mistake, and Sita Ram,
too, for the impudence.

"Never mind!" he answered. "Tell her what I say. Those who obey
and ask no unwise questions oftentimes receive rewards."

Inside the office Samson sat elated, wiping his forehead and setting
blotter over writing-paper lest sweat from his wrists make the ink run.
It was a bender of a night, but he saw his way to a brilliant stroke of
statecraft that would land him on the heights of official approval forever.
Heat did not matter. The man at the punkah had fallen asleep, but he
did not bother to waken him. Back at the knot-hole, babu Sita Ram
watched him scribble half a dozen letters, tearing each up in turn until