"That's easily done," said Samson. "Utirupa is nothing if not anxious to please."
"Yes, Utirupa is a very fine young fellow—and a good sportsman, too,
I'm told."
"There is no reason why Utirupa should recognize the contract between Gungadhura and the American. It was a private contract—no official sanction. If Gungadhura isn't in position to continue it—"
"Exactly. Well—good-by. I'll look forward to a good report from you."
By train and horse and tonga Samson contrived to reach Sialpore on the morning before the day set for the polo tournament. He barely allowed himself time to shave before going to see Dick Blaine, and found him, as he expected, at the end of the tunnel nearly a hundred yards long that started from inside the palace wall and passed out under it. The guards at the gate did not dare refuse the commissioner admission. So far, Dick had not begun demolition of the palace, but had dragged together enough lumber by pulling down sheds and outhouses. He was not a destructive-minded man.
"Will you come outside and talk with me?" Samson shouted, amid the din of pick and shovel work.
"Sure."
Dick's poker face was in perfect working order by the time they reached the light. But he stood with his back to the sun and let Samson have the worst of the position.
"You're wasting time and money, Blaine. I've come to tell you so."
"Now—that's good of you."