As Her Majesty's Head of Chancery in India, Hugo Frenchman was the consummate British diplomat, his life a model of propriety, except for two areas of untidiness. One was his death: Diplomats do not tend to be found in a bloody heap, fatally stabbed with an antique dagger. Nor do they tend to amass priceless collections of Tibetan artifacts and bulging bank accounts. Had Frenchman been smuggling' Spying' Clearly he had been up to something, and George Sinclair is sent off to Delhi to find out what it was and—ideally—sweep it all under an ornate Indian rug.