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Updated: June 25, 2025
Tess, talking with a group of guests some little distance off, observed a look of battle in Tom Tripe's eye, and smiled two seconds later as the commissioner let fall his monocle. Two things she was certain of at once: Tom Tripe would tell her at the first opportunity exactly what had happened, and Samson would lie about it glibly if provoked. She promised herself she would provoke him.
It was a low oblong shed they sat in, with a wide door opening on a side street within four hundred yards of Yasmini's palace gate. It was furnished with a table, two chairs and a cot for Tom Tripe's special use whenever the maharajah's business should happen to keep him on night duty, his own proper quarters being nearly a mile away.
She attended the usual round of dinners, teas and tennis parties, that are part of the system by which the English keep alive their courage, and growing after a while a little tired of trivialty, she tried to scandalize Sialpore by inviting Tom Tripe to her own garden party, successfully overruling Tripe's objections. "Between you and I and the gate-post, lady, they don't hanker for my society.
The dog doubled of a sudden between Akbar's legs and the elephant slid on his rump in the futile effort to turn after him then crashed into the wall opposite Tripe's dismantled shed cannoned off it with a grunt of sheer disgust and set off up-street, once more in hot pursuit. "That brute got my good rum, damn him!" said Tom, opening the stable door. "Hello! Horse down? Any harm done? Right-oh!
The maharajah, sprawling on the divan in a flowered silk deshabille and with his head swathed in bandages, ignored Tom Tripe's salute, and snarled at the major-domo to take himself out of sight and hearing. Soldier-fashion, as soon as the door had closed behind him Tom stood on no ceremony, but spoke first. "There was a fracas last night, Your Highness, outside a certain palace gate."
He stopped as they turned at the end of the path, and wrote on a leaf of his pocket-book. Behind his back Tess waved her secret letter to attract Tom Tripe's notice, and nodded. "There." said Samson. "That's preliminary. I'll confirm it later by letter on official paper. But nobody will dare question that. If any one does, let me know immediately." "Thank you." "And now, Theresa " "You forget."
Was Tom Tripe's friendship worth having then? Now suit yourself! I've said all I'm going to say." The Rajput muttered something in his beard, stared again at the letter as if that of itself would justify him, looked sharply at Tess, whose hamper might or might not be corroborative evidence, folded the letter away in his tunic pocket, and made a gesture of assent. "Now, lady, hurry!" said Tom.
She seemed all fragrance and airy grace and impelling life. Lane had to smile. "How do you know?" "I can tell by your face. Now aren't you?" "Well, to be honest, Miss Bessy" "For tripe's sake, don't be so formal," she interrupted. "Call me Bessy." "Oh, very well, Bessy. There's no use to lie to you. I'm not very happy at what I see here." "What's the matter with it with us?" she queried, quickly.
Once they walked up the path and down again, talking of dogs, because it happened that Tom Tripe's enormous beast was sprawling in the shadow of a rose-bush at the farther end. The commissioner did not like dogs. "Something loathsome about them degrading especially the big ones." She disagreed. She liked them, cold wet noses and all, even in the dark.
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