The gods had probably killed them by lightning,
but the Maharajah wanted to know. So he sent for the Englishman,
who did not mind touching a dead thing, and the Englishman told him
that the little red-spotted fishes had undoubtedly been poisoned.
Moti was listening when the doctor said this.
'It could not have been the cake,' said Moti.
But when all was looked into, including one of the little fishes,
Dr. Roberts found that it undoubtedly had been the cake. Scraps of
it were still lying about the banyan-tree to help him to this
conclusion, and the monkey chattered as if she could give evidence,
too, if anybody would listen. But she gave evidence enough in not
eating it. Everybody, that is, everybody in Rajputana, knows that
you can never poison a monkey. The little prince maintained that
the voice he heard was the voice of Matiya, yet every one
recognised the jewels to be Tarra's. There was nothing else to go
upon, and the Maharajah decided that it was impossible to tell
which of the two had wickedly tried to poison his eldest son. He
arranged, however, that they should both disappear--he could not
possibly risk a mistake in the matter. And I wish that had been
the greatest of the Maharajah's injustices. When the truth came
out, later, that it was undoubtedly Matiya, the Maharajah said that
he had always been a good deal of that opinion, and built a
beautiful domed white marble tomb, partly in memory of Tarra and
partly, I fear, to commemorate his own sagacity, which may seem,
under the circumstances, a little odd.
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