they were both staying at the same hotel, and the Fate that looks
after the Indian Empire ordained that Wonder should blunder and drop
the final '_e_'; that the Chaprassi should help him, and that the
note which ran--

DEAR MR. MELLISH,--Can you set aside your other engagements, and
lunch with us at two to-morrow? His Excellency has an hour at your
disposal then,

should be given to Mellish with the Fumigatory. He nearly wept with
pride and delight, and at the appointed hour cantered to Peterhoff, a
big paper-bag full of the Fumigatory in his coat-tail pockets. He had
his chance, and he meant to make the most of it. Mellishe of Madras
had been so portentously solemn about his 'conference,' that Wonder
had arranged for a private tiffin,--no A.-D.-C.'s, no Wonder, no one
but the Viceroy, who said plaintively that he feared being left alone
with unmuzzled autocrats like the great Mellishe of Madras.

But his guest did not bore the Viceroy. On the contrary, he amused
him. Mellish was nervously anxious to go straight to his Fumigatory,
and talked at random until tiffin was over and His Excellency asked
him to smoke. The Viceroy was pleased with Mellish because he did not
talk 'shop.'

As soon as the cheroots were lit, Mellish spoke like a man; beginning
with his cholera-theory, reviewing his fifteen years' 'scientific
labours,' the machinations of the 'Simla Ring,' and the excellence of
his Fumigatory, while the Viceroy watched him between half-shut eyes
and thought--'Evidently this is the wrong tiger; but it is an
original animal.' Mellish's hair was standing on end with excitement,
and he stammered. He began groping in his coat-tails and, before the
Viceroy knew what was about to happen, he had tipped a bagful of his
powder into the big silver ash-tray.

'J-j-judge for yourself, Sir,' said Mellish. 'Y' Excellency shall
judge for yourself! Absolutely infallible, on my honour.'

He plunged the lighted end of his cigar into the powder, which began
to smoke like a volcano, and send up fat, greasy wreaths of
copper-coloured smoke. In five seconds the room was filled with a
most pungent and sickening stench--a reek that took fierce hold of
the trap of your wind-pipe and shut it. The powder hissed and fizzed,
and sent out blue and green sparks, and the smoke rose till you
could neither see, nor breathe, nor gasp. Mellish, however, was used
to it.

'Nitrate of strontia,' he shouted; 'baryta, bone-meal, _etcetera_!