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.