absolute independence. So you can do what you like. But don't kill the
white women and children--at least, not openly. They might not like it
in England, though personally I don't care if you massacre every damned
Britisher in the country. From what I've seen of 'em it's only what
they deserve. The insolence I've met with from those whipper-snapper
officers! And the civil officials would be as bad, if they dared.
Then their women--I wouldn't like to say what I think of _them_."

The _Dewan_ turned to Chunerbutty.

"Go now; you have my leave. His Highness wishes to see you. I have sent him
word that you are here."

The engineer rose and salaamed respectfully. Then, with a nod to Macgregor,
he withdrew full of thought. He had not known before that the conspiracy to
expel the British was so widespread and promising. He had not regarded it
very seriously hitherto. But he had faith in the _Dewan_, and the pledge of
the great political party in England was reassuring.

Admitted to the presence of the Rajah, Chunerbutty found him reclining
languidly on a pile of soft cushions on the floor of a tawdrily-decorated
room. The walls were crowded with highly-coloured chromos of Hindu gods and
badly-painted indecent pictures. A cut-glass chandelier hung from the
ceiling, and expensive but ill-assorted European furniture stood about the
apartment. French mechanical toys under glass shades crowded the tables.

The Rajah was a fat and sensual-looking young man, with bloated face and
bloodshot that eyes spoke eloquently of his excesses. On his forehead was
painted a small semicircular line above the eyebrows with a round patch in
the middle, which was the sect-mark of the _Sáktas_. His white linen