'And I will bring trouble to Miss Leezie also,' he began viciously, when Burkut cut him short. 'That were unwise. She stands too close to authority. Say it was Dilarâm----' 'Dilarâm! wherefore?' put in Jehân stupidly. Burkut's laugh was evil beyond words. 'Because they who touch her and hers, rouse what they cannot still. Thou needst not say it for certain. That is the best of lies--there is freedom for the tongue in them. Say it seems so. And hearken----! Govind the editor will pay for this news. If thou canst get word, by means of this money, to Sobrai herself, it would be well. She knows her fate if she comes back to thy house. Promise her escape if she will say it was Lucanaster.' Jehân's pious wishes for the immediate destruction of all the unfaithful came almost cheerfully. He felt infinitely relieved all round. So far as the ring went, he was inclined to believe that Burkut was right. It might even now be back in Noormahal's keeping; but, before making sure of that, it would be as well to see what Lateefa would do. Then as for the pearls, he at least got some revenge. And the beauty of it was that a solid substratum of truth, sufficient to save him from trouble, underlay all the lies. The pearls _were_ his; he _had_ sold them to Lucanaster _sahib_; Sobrai's _four_ did belong to that string; she _had_ been beguiled into the cantonments. It was only that a different complexion had been put upon the facts; a complexion which might, almost, be the right one, since who was to know why Sobrai---- Once more the irrational, uncontrollable animal jealousy of the thought seized on him, and he felt a fierce joy in knowing that the story was one to rouse a similar feeling in many minds. And wherefore not? Were not similar stories true? Were they not to be heard every day? Were not tales of the libertinism, tyranny, and corruption of the _sahibs_ to be read in every line of the newspapers? And none contradicted them; therefore they could not be contradicted. So if _this_ tale were not all true (a faint scruple, that was as much an inheritance as Jehân's passion for power, lingered in spite of his desire for revenge), there were plenty of others far worse that could be proved up to the hilt. Thus, once more, that commonest of all Indian conjuring tricks, the making of one lie out of two or more truths, started on its evil errand. Yet not a mile away from its starting-place rose the Government College, the Courts of Justice, the Secretariat, the Revenue Offices; all the plant, the stock, and lock, and block, of an administration which, take it as you will, is the only one India has ever had, which has allowed even a whisper to be raised against it without condign punishment. At that very moment Sir George Arbuthnot, in his private office, was reading an article from the day's issue of the _Voice of India_, that had been brought over amongst the usual selections from the native newspapers which are submitted by the Press censor.