So it was that the _Pax Britannica_ solemnly took possession of the Rajah’s hoard, and men in Simla heard the news, and envied that Deputy-Commissioner his adventure with all their hearts. For his promptitude and decision was a matter of praise, and they said that Mindapore would certainly be annexed and added to the district over which he ruled. Only a fat old man named MacTurk, living in Allapore, a big man with a noisy quivering laugh, and a secret trade with certain native potentates, did not hear the news, excepting only the news of the murder of the Rajah and the departure of the Deputy-Commissioner, for several days. He heard nothing of the disposition of the treasure—an unfortunate thing, since, among other things, he had sold the Rajah his safe, and may even have known the word by which the lock was opened. The Deputy-Commissioner had theatrical tastes. These he gratified under the excuse that display was above all things necessary in dealing with Orientals. He imprisoned his four malefactors theatrically, and when the instructions came from Chobbs he had the safe lugged into the Hall of Audience, in order to open it with more effect. The Commissioner sat on the daïs, while the engineer worked at the safe on the crimson steps. In the central space was stretched a large white cloth. It reminded the Deputy-Commissioner of a picture he had seen of Alexander at Damascus receiving the treasures of Darius. “It is gold,” said one bystander to another. “There was a sound of chinking as they brought the safe in. My brother was among those who hauled.” The engineer clicked the lock. Every eye in the Hall of Audience grew brighter and keener, excepting the eyes of the Deputy-Commissioner. He felt the dignity of his responsibilities, and sat upon the daïs looking as much like the _Pax Britannica_ as possible. “Holy Smoke!” said the engineer, and slammed the safe again. A murmur of exclamations ran round the hall. Every one was asking every one else what they had seen. “An asp!” said some one. The Deputy-Commissioner lost his imperturbability. “What is it?” he said, springing to his feet. The engineer leant across the safe and whispered two words, something indistinct and with a blasphemous adjective in front. “_What?_” said the Deputy-Commissioner, sharply. “Glass!” said the engineer, in a bitter whisper. “Broken bottles. ’Undreds!” “Let me see!” said the Deputy-Commissioner, losing all his dignity. “Scotch, if I’m not mistaken,” said the engineer, sniffing curiously. “Curse it!” said the Deputy-Commissioner, and looked up to meet a multitude of ironical eyes. “Er— “The assembly is dismissed,” said the Deputy-Commissioner. “What a _fool_ he must have looked!” wheezed MacTurk, who did not like the Deputy-Commissioner. “What a _fool_ he must have looked! “Simple enough,” said MacTurk, “when you know how it came about.” “But how did it come about?” asked the station-master.