must delicately hint to him that I am in the inner circle of the
cognoscenti."

And then Alan Hawke cheerfully joined his obese and crafty friend
and host, Ram Lal Singh. For an hour the soft, oily voice of the
old jewel merchant flowed on in a purring monologue. The ease and
mastery of the Conqueror's language showed that the usurer had well
studied the masters of Delhi. Sixty years had given Ram Lal added
cunning. A crafty conspirator of the old days when the mystic
"chupatties" were sent out on their dark errand, the sly jewel
merchant had survived the bloody wreck of the throne of Oude, and
from the place of attendant to one of the slaughtered princes,
dropped down softly into the trade of money lender, secret agent,
and broker of the unlawful in many varied ways.

It was Ram Lal's easy task to purvey luxuries to the imperious
Briton, to hold the extravagant underlings in his usurious clutches,
to be at peace with Hindu, Moslem, Sikh, Pathan, Ghoorka, Persian,
and Armenian, and to blur his easy-going Mohammedanism in a generous
participation in all sins of omission and commission. A many-sided
man!

Alan Hawke heaved a sigh of easy contentment when he had brought
the chronique scandahuse of Delhi down to the day and hour.

"You say that she is beautiful, this girl?"

"As the stars on the sea!" nodded Ram Lal.

"And the Swiss woman?"