THE SHADOW OF NEMESIS
In the insane asylums of the United States there are, at this hour,
hundreds of persons who are no more mad than are men and women who,
having witnessed one of the entertainments of some modern exponent of
the art of legerdemain, soberly describe to their friends the acts that
have excited their wonder.
No man who describes the impressions made upon him by Hermann or Kellar
is suspected of lunacy. But when such impressions are produced by some
event or events in everyday life, the minds which receive them are
thought to be abnormal.
It was in consequence of an experience of this sort that, several
months ago, I became an inmate of a sanitarium for the insane. In that
institution I doubtless should have been to-day had it not been for
the fact that its superintendent suddenly discovered that he, too, was
being threatened by the same mysterious force which, tightening its
grip on me, had caused me to be regarded as a madman. This discovery
resulted in my release from the asylum; but since I left its walls
my peril has been doubly great--so great, indeed, that the final
catastrophe may confront me at any moment.
Though my hair is white, and my hands are as palsied as those of a
nonogenarian, I am entering only my forty-third year. Two years ago my
hair was as black as it had been during the period of my youth, and, as
a result of several extended periods of travel, on foot and horseback,
in different parts of the world, I was the possessor of an excellent
physique.
My fondness for travel was developed at an early age, and shortly after
taking my degree at a well-known university I became a member of the
Geographical Society. I inherited a small fortune from an uncle and,
in a modest way, made a cruise among the South Sea Islands, and to the
East coast of Africa. There I joined a French exploring expedition,
with which I went through the territory lying between Zanzibar and
Victoria Nyanza. For the next ten years I found employment with
expeditions sent to remote sections of the world by universities and
learned societies in search of ethnological, zoological, archeological,
and botanical information.
In this manner I was able to indulge my taste for travel without
drawing to any great extent on my private income. The credit of all my
work has gone to those who employed me, and there are at least half a
score of authors of popular books of travel who are indebted to me for
much of the data which they profess to have collected themselves. But,
loving travel for its own sake, and craving neither fame nor fortune, I
was well content.
Shortly after my return to New York from an expedition to the sites of
some old Inca towns in South America, I was sitting in my room when my
servant brought to me a card which bore the name “Alfred Ferguson,”
who, I was informed, was waiting to see me. The name was unknown to me,
but I bade the servant bring the visitor to my room.
A few moments later my caller entered. He was a tall, long-limbed man,
of about twenty-eight years of age. His long face was almost as bronzed
as my own. He stooped slightly, and there was a slouchiness about
his clothes and gait that gave to him a “devil-may-care” appearance
that did not impress me favorably. His blue eyes were shrewd enough,
however, and as, throwing aside the newspaper I had been reading, I met
his gaze, I saw that he was looking at me with an expression that was
frankly earnest and critical.
“Mr. Ferguson?” I asked as I rose.
“Yes, yes, I’m Ferguson,” he replied, half-absently. “You are Forsythe,
the traveler, I believe.”
His accent was unmistakably that of an Englishman. I nodded and moved a
chair toward him. He seated himself deliberately and began to fumble in
one of the pockets of his coat. From this he drew a cigar-case, which,
when he had opened it, he offered to me. The cigars were large and as
black as the skin of an Ethiopian. Selecting one, I thanked him and
offered him matches.
Neither of us spoke again until our cigars were lighted.
“Well, now, Mr. Ferguson, what can I do for you?” I asked, pleasantly.
He did not answer at once. The expression of abstraction was still
on his face and, as I puffed on the strong cigar he had given me, I
watched him curiously. At length, in a voice that was so sullen that
the words seemed to be uttered against his will, he said:
“I want you to go with me to India.”
“To India!” I exclaimed.
“Yes. We’ll start to-morrow--on the _Camperdonia_. If we leave the ship
at Queenstown and cut across by the mail route to London, we will be
able to get the P. & O. liner that sails to-morrow week.”
“Indeed!” I murmured, coldly.
My visitor, apparently discomfited by my tone, looked at me anxiously.
“You have nothing else on, I hope,” he said, shortly.
“Why, no--nothing in the way of a business engagement,” I replied.
“But, before I take under consideration the proposition you have just
made, I must, of course, know something of the purpose of the journey.”
“I will explain it,” he replied, promptly. “You have been in India, I
believe.”
“Yes,” said I.
“While there did you visit the district of Nauwar?” he asked.
I told him I had not done so.
“In that district is a village named Rajiid,” he went on.
“I have heard of it,” I said. “It is there, I believe, that the statue
known as the Eyeless Buddha is to be found.”
My visitor looked at me coldly for several moments.
“True,” he replied. “It is in the temple of Rajiid that the Eyeless
Buddha is to be seen. The village is so remote from the routes of the
average traveler, however, that I was not aware that anyone outside
India knew of its existence.”
“The little knowledge I have of the place was obtained from an old
English colonel I met at Simla one Summer,” I explained.
“What did he tell you of the Eyeless Buddha?” asked my visitor,
carelessly.
“Why, as I remember it, he told me that the statue was of bronze
and about a thousand years old,” I answered. “It is said that the
eye-sockets, which are empty now, at one time held diamonds of great
value.”
“Did this Colonel tell you how they came to be lost?” asked Ferguson.
“They disappeared at the time of the Indian Mutiny,” I replied. “This,
I think, constitutes all the information which I have concerning Rajiid
and the Eyeless Buddha.”
Ferguson nodded, compressed his lips slightly, then rose and crossed to
one of the windows. As he looked out, I watched him curiously.
There was something in the aspect of my visitor that impressed me more
and more unfavorably, and I was attempting to formulate some excuse for
my inability to undertake the journey he had proposed when he turned to
me suddenly.
“Well, Mr. Forsythe, the situation is this,” he began. “In Rajiid there
are certain articles of exceptional archeological interest that I want
to acquire. I doubt not that these may be purchased readily and removed
from India by a man who already is known as a collector of such objects
for institutions of learning. In India there is no law prohibiting the
removal of art objects from the country, as there is in Italy, but in
order to acquire certain of these it is often essential first to obtain
the approval of the proper authorities. These authorities, in India,
are known to you, and, in view of the distinction which you have won
as a collector, they doubtless would grant to you privileges which it
would be idle for me to seek.”
“You have been in Rajiid?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Not only have I not been in Rajiid, but I have never
set foot in India.”
“And yet you have reason to believe that this obscure village possesses
objects of exceptional interest,” I said.
He shrugged his shoulders, and, for the first time since he had entered
the apartment, I saw him smile.
“Yes,” he answered. “If you will aid me in getting possession of these
objects, you will be well paid for your trouble.”
“Ah, it is a speculative enterprise, then!” I murmured.
“So far as I am concerned, perhaps it is,” he answered quickly. “You,
however, will be sure of your reward. The task will occupy less than
three months. If you will give me your services for that period, I will
pay you ten thousand dollars to-day. Besides this I will place a like
amount in a package which I will deliver to you with the understanding
that you put it in a safe-deposit vault to which I am to have a
duplicate key. You will not tell me, however, where this vault is to be
found.”
“Why, then, do you require the key?” I asked suspiciously.
My visitor shrugged his shoulders.
“It may be that you will lose yours,” he replied, with a little laugh.
“It is not well to carry all one’s eggs in the same basket, you know.”
“What is your purpose in leaving the ten thousand dollars with me?” I
inquired.
“It will be yours when our work is done,” he answered.
“You are willing to leave it in my care with nothing more than a verbal
understanding?” I asked wonderingly.
“I trust you implicitly,” said he. “Your reputation is well-known to
me. I require no better evidence of your good faith than that. Are the
terms I propose satisfactory?”
I was thoroughly interested now. The enterprise promised to be more
remunerative than any in which I had engaged, but it was not this fact
that appealed to me so much as the nature of the adventure itself.
There was something in the personality of my visitor, too, that now
excited my curiosity.
“Well, Forsythe, what do you say?” he asked, as I hesitated.
I rose and for several moments I thoughtfully paced to and fro.
“In short, then, it is your design to try and recover the gems which
formerly constituted the eyes of the Rajiid Buddha,” I muttered.
“I have not said so,” he answered, coldly. “My object in seeking your
services has been pretty clearly stated, I think. Your purpose will
be to secure and bring out of India certain articles, possessing
archeological interest, which, from time to time, I will indicate.”
“I see,” I answered shortly.
“You will accompany me, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“And you will be prepared to sail on the _Camperdonia_ to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“The vessel sails at noon,” he said.
Then, thrusting a hand into an inside pocket of his coat, he drew out a
package and continued:
“In this package you will find banknotes amounting to fifteen thousand
dollars. Of this sum, ten thousand belongs to you. The other five
thousand will defray the cost of your trip from New York to Bombay,
Rajiid and thence to Bombay again.”
Placing this on the table, he drew from his pocket a second package.
This, he explained, contained the second ten thousand dollars which
were to be mine on my return from India. He made me count the
banknotes, and, as these were of large denominations, the task soon was
completed. They amounted to the sum he had named.
In accordance with his instructions, I was about to put the package in
a box, which I took from my desk, when he asked me to slip into the box
a little cylindrical parcel, about six inches long and three inches in
diameter. Without questioning him as to the nature of the contents
of the parcel, I did as he requested. The box containing the second
ten thousand dollars and the parcel was then wrapped in a heavy piece
of brown paper. When this had been securely tied, Ferguson produced a
stick of sealing-wax and, sealing the knot and the sides of the little
bundle, he pressed a seal-ring to the soft wax. When he had finished,
he smiled gravely and placed the bundle in my hand.
“Upon our return I will ask you to deliver to me, unopened, the parcel
I have enclosed with the money,” he said. “It is only a trifle, but, as
it is all I am leaving behind, I will be extremely obliged if you will
see that it is cared for.”
I told him that I would place the bundle in a safe-deposit vault, and
would let him have a duplicate key on the following day.
“No, you will not do that,” he replied with a little laugh. “We will
not meet again until we are in India. Put the key in an envelope and
address it to me at my hotel--the Claymore. A district messenger will
deliver it.”
“But are we not to sail together on the _Camperdonia_ to-morrow?” I
asked with some surprise.
“Both of us will sail on the _Camperdonia_; but, in order that even
chance may not bring us together, you will go in the first cabin, and
I will go in the second. It is scarcely likely that you will see me
during the voyage. When you disembark at Queenstown, do not try to
assure yourself that I am among those who, like you, will take the
train and boat to Holyhead. Your movements must be entirely independent
of mine. When you get to London, secure first-class passage by the P.
and O. liner _Arran_ for Bombay. Though I will also be on the vessel,
it is altogether probable that you will not see me. Before we arrive
at our destination, however, we will be in communication.”
He held out his hand, and, as I took it, he bowed gravely.
“_Bon voyage_,” he said, with a smile. And a few minutes later I was
alone, pondering over my strange commission.
I began at once to make preparations for my departure. One of my first
acts was to deposit in a bank the ten thousand dollars that had been
advanced to me, and to place in a safe-deposit box the package that
had been sealed by my visitor. I obtained two keys to the box, and,
placing one of these in a pocket-book that I intended to take with me
on my trip, I sent the other by a messenger to the Claymore. My other
preparations for the journey, including the purchase of my steamship
ticket, were completed by nightfall.
It is unnecessary to relate any of the incidents of my voyage to
England, for none of these had any bearing on the mission on which I
had set out. Only once during that voyage did I find any evidence of
Ferguson’s presence on the vessel. This was about ten o’clock at night,
on our third day out. On this occasion I saw him standing alone on the
moonlit deck, in the second cabin section. As he turned to go below our
glances met for a moment, but he vouchsafed no sign of recognition.
Upon disembarking at Queenstown I saw my employer on the tender which
was to take us to the shore, but he was then looking in another
direction, and, in order to avoid him, I went aft. Though he doubtless
was on the train that carried me through Ireland, I did not see him,
and it was in vain that I looked for him on the boat that took me from
Dublin to Holyhead, and on the train from Holyhead to London.
The following day found me aboard the _Arran_, bound for Bombay. On
the second day out I became acquainted with Frank Blakeslee, a young
Englishman. He was an affable sort of chap, and though he, rather
than I, made the advances which resulted in our almost constant
companionship, I soon discovered that he had little disposition to
become acquainted with other passengers.
Moved by a curiosity which I found to be irresistible, I made several
quiet attempts to learn whether Ferguson was on the ship. As was the
case on the _Camperdonia_, his name did not appear on either the first
or second cabin lists, and, despite the instructions he had given to
me, I once went so far as to stroll through the second cabin saloons
and smoking-room in an attempt to reassure myself concerning his
presence on the vessel. All efforts to get a trace of him were vain.
It was not till we had passed through the Suez Canal that all my
doubts were set at rest. Then the revelation of Ferguson’s presence
came to me in a manner and from a source so wholly unexpected that the
intelligence fairly staggered me.
I was walking the deck shortly before luncheon, when I saw Blakeslee
approaching me. His face was grave, and I observed at once that there
was a nervousness in his manner that I had not remarked before.
“What is the matter, man?” I asked. “Is this heat knocking you out?”
He muttered two or three words incoherently, and glanced quickly to
right and left, as if to assure himself that we were alone. Then,
pausing beside me, he said in a low voice:
“Ferguson won’t join us at Bombay. We’ll have to look for him at
Aurungabad.”
I gave a start, and looked at him wonderingly.
“Then you know that----” I began.
“Yes, yes--I know everything,” he said, interrupting me impatiently.
“Is anything wrong?” I asked apprehensively.
“Yes--no,” he faltered. “Well, there’s a Hindu aboard who has just
committed suicide. They’ll be dropping him overboard presently, I
suppose.”
There was something in his manner--in his increasing nervousness and in
his eyes, which were gleaming with excitement, that caused a feeling of
foreboding to steal over me.
“Ferguson is aboard?” I muttered.
“Oh, yes--he’s aboard,” Blakeslee said, dryly, as he turned away.
When I found myself again alone I fell to wondering whether the dead
Hindu had been a friend or an enemy of Ferguson’s. That he was either
the one or the other I did not for a minute doubt.
I did not see Blakeslee again that day. From a steward I learned that
his meals were being served to him in his room. It soon became apparent
that if, indeed, a Hindu had committed suicide on the vessel, the fact
was being guarded as a secret.
We were then in the Red Sea, and the day was, I think, the most sultry
I had ever known. Only after nightfall did the passengers go out on
deck. When I turned into my berth, about ten o’clock, I soon found the
atmosphere of my stateroom so stifling that it was impossible for me to
sleep.
About eleven o’clock I rose, donned a light linen suit and went out on
deck. There I found scores of my fellow passengers tossing restlessly
as they lay on steamer chairs, and in a few minutes I was doing
likewise.
It was well after midnight when, waking from a brief and troubled
sleep, I saw that many of the passengers had left the deck. I rose
impatiently and, crossing to the rail, I leaned over it and gazed down
at the water. I had been in this position for several minutes when I
heard the sounds of low voices and shuffling feet on the deck below.
Suddenly these were stilled, and I saw a dark object being thrust
slowly over the rail of the deck.
In a moment the significance of the situation became clear to me. The
body of the dead Hindu was about to be committed to the sea.
All was over in a few moments. The board on which lay the shotted sack,
with its gruesome burden, was soon run out. There was a splash--a
little trail of bubbles moving swiftly astern, to be lost in the
white wake of the vessel, and the thing was done. None of the other
passengers on the deck on which I stood was aware of the fact that a
sea burial had now become one of the incidents of the voyage.
It was not until the following afternoon that I again met Blakeslee,
who, on this occasion, greeted me with much of his former cheerfulness.
“Well, how is our friend to-day?” I asked quietly, after we had
exchanged a few commonplace remarks.
An expression of sullenness crossed his face as he answered shortly:
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t seen him since yesterday?” I persisted.
“I have not seen him since we came aboard the _Arran_,” he replied.
“But--well, then, how did you know about that Hindu they buried last
night?” I asked.
“Because it has been one of my tasks to watch all Hindus on this
vessel, and it has been no easy matter, I assure you. There are more
than thirty of them, but I think the one that died yesterday was the
only one we had to fear.”
For several moments neither of us spoke. I was the first to break the
silence.
“Are we likely to encounter others whom we will have to--fear?” I asked.
Blakeslee laughed unpleasantly.
“I’m afraid we won’t be altogether popular with some of the natives of
the country,” he answered. “Still, I don’t think there is much that we
really will have to fear. So long as we are successful in our attempts
to prevent the brown men from learning the nature of our business, I
daresay there will be no trouble.”
“Well, if you and Ferguson are as successful in keeping that secret
from those fellows as you are in your efforts to keep it from me, there
is little doubt that all trouble will be averted,” I said gravely.
Blakeslee shrugged his shoulders.
“Everything will be made clear to you soon enough,” he answered,
abstractedly. “The task that confronts us is comparatively simple, and
I doubt not that Ferguson has explained to you all that it will be
necessary for you to know in order that you may act intelligently. He
wishes you to purchase, and to get out of India, certain articles that
appear to have little intrinsic value, but which natives may try to
prevent us from taking away.”
“Our quest may prove hazardous, then,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” Blakeslee answered, cheerfully, “it is likely to prove quite
hazardous, but, from what I have heard of you, Mr. Forsythe, I should
infer that you are scarcely likely to balk at it for that reason.”
“I am not inclined to balk at it,” I retorted, “but, like most men,
I prefer meeting danger in the light rather than in the dark. A man
always fights better when his enemies and their methods are known to
him.”
Blakeslee was silent for several moments, then, with a sigh, he said:
“Well, Forsythe, India is a remarkable country, and some of its people
have peculiar mental qualities which enable them to do strange things.
That there is something concerning our enterprise that Ferguson has not
told you, I will not deny. Though he has implicit confidence in you, he
has excellent reasons for withholding the secret from you. In your own
interest, as well as his and mine, it is best that you should not know
it now. Believe me, if that knowledge was yours it would be difficult
for you to keep from revealing it to those persons from whom we have
most to fear.”
Despite a natural feeling of resentment, I affected to treat the matter
lightly, and the conversation soon turned to other subjects.
The city of Bombay was in sight before I received the promised
communication from Ferguson. This came to me through Blakeslee, who,
entering the stateroom in which I was packing my things, said in a low
voice:
“I met Ferguson last night, and I am afraid we have plenty of trouble
cut out for us. He will not accompany us to Rajiid.”
“He will not?” I exclaimed in a tone of disappointment. “The expedition
is off, then?”
“Not at all,” Blakeslee replied. “In order to give him an opportunity
to precede us, we will remain for three days at Bombay. This will give
you time to renew your acquaintance with the Indian authorities, and to
let it be known that you have come to India for the purpose of adding
to some American museum a collection of Indian curiosities. Make as
much stir about it as you like. The better known you are, the more
likely you will be to prove successful in your quest. As I have served
in the Indian army, and as I am familiar with the country’s language
and modes of travel, we may cause it to be understood that you have
employed me to aid you in obtaining certain data that you seek.”
To this plan I readily assented, and as soon as we were landed in
Bombay I at once proceeded to put it into execution.
Except for such incidents as might have befallen other travelers, our
journey to Rajiid was comparatively uneventful. It took us nine days,
and when we arrived at our destination we found a miserable little town
which, having been visited by a plague the year before, had been nearly
depopulated by death and desertion.
The temple was easily found, and, as Blakeslee was confident that we
soon would get some word from Ferguson, we established our quarters in
a dak-bungalow on the outskirts of the village.
With us we had brought eight native attendants, nearly all of whom were
Brahmins. We had fourteen sturdy horses, and we believed that two of
these would be sufficient to bear away all the articles which we would
have occasion to purchase during our sojourn in the village.
We were not long in discovering that, rapid as had been our progress, a
stranger, answering Ferguson’s description, had arrived at the village
two days before and, after visiting the temple, had disappeared. We
also learned that he had seemed to manifest little interest in what he
had seen.
Accompanied by Blakeslee, I visited the temple a few hours after our
arrival in the village. It was a small, unpretentious affair, and a
mere glance at the dilapidated structure was enough to convince me that
it had constituted only a small part of the original building. In it,
however, stood the idol known as the Eyeless Buddha.
In this figure the founder of the religion which bears his name was
represented as sitting cross-legged on a rug, with his folded hands
lying in his lap. The figure was of dark bronze, and measured about
eight feet from the top of the head to the top of the stone pedestal
on which it was resting. The heavy eyelids were partly lowered, and
under each was a dark orifice which, it was apparent, at one time had
contained some object that was designed to represent a human eye. These
empty sockets had given to the figure the name by which it now was
known--the Eyeless Buddha. The statue was more crudely molded than many
other images of Buddha I had seen, but the sullen features and eyeless
sockets of this gave to it a sinister expression which, for a few
moments, excited within me a sensation of awe.
Like all temples in India, this had its quota of persistent beggars
and fakirs. Among these we distributed a couple of handfuls of small
coins, but the money, so far from granting us immunity from their
importunities, caused them to thrust their disgusting hands still
closer to our faces and redouble their cries.
Apprehensive lest an exhibition of violence would excite the resentment
of persons whose favor it was desirable that we should win, Blakeslee
and I restrained our attendants, who were preparing to use sticks in an
attempt to drive off our annoyers.
Suddenly, however, the clamor of the mendicants grew still. The throng
drew back, and from it issued the figure of an old native, who wore a
white turban and loin-cloth. His face, almost as brown as mahogany,
was partly covered by a scanty white beard. His eyes were deep-set,
searching, and crafty.
I had little doubt that the man who thus challenged our attention was
a jaboowallah, one of India’s miracle-working fakirs, and such he
soon proved to be. He besought us to allow him to give an exhibition
of his powers, and though we had seen most of the tricks practised by
members of his class, we granted him the permission he sought. The
tricks he showed us are common enough to all visitors to India--tricks
which, though hundreds of thousands have seen them, never have been
satisfactorily explained to Europeans.
This jaboowallah was neither better nor worse than a score of others we
had seen before. We saw him plant a mango seed, and within six minutes
it had grown, flowered, and borne fruit before our eyes. Then we beheld
him seated cross-legged in the air, apparently without support, four
or five feet above the surface of the ground. Later he placed a ring
in Blakeslee’s hand. In a few minutes this was dust, then virgin gold
again.
When all was done, we gave a few coins to the jaboowallah, and, in
consideration of the fact that the payment was rather in excess of
that usually given by travelers, we asked him to keep the crowd of
mendicants away from us--a task which he performed to our satisfaction.
That night there came to the dak-bungalow a half-naked Parsee. This
man gave to me a letter, written in English, and bearing the name of
Ferguson. The letter was as follows:--
The bearer of this is Ahmed-Kal, a Parsee, the only person I have met
in this sun-baked land of snakes who can be trusted. Communicate with
me through him.
The articles I want you to purchase are the brazier and the two
green jade images in the shrine. Be sure to land the one with the
protruding tongue in the niche near the roof. This must be obtained
without fail, and, when you get it, keep a careful eye on it, but do
not let anyone suspect that you set any great value on it. Deliver
this to me outside of India, and the ten thousand dollars I left
with you are yours.
Offer only a small price at first for the brazier and images.
Brahminism has practically ousted Buddhism from this locality and one
easily could buy the Eyeless Buddha itself for little more than a
song, were it not for the fact that it is supposed that one day its
presence here will attract travelers.
I will send Ahmed-Kal to you to-morrow night to learn whether or not
you have secured the articles I have named. Be prepared to set out
for Calcutta early the following morning. I will not accompany you,
and I doubt whether I will see you in India.
Burn this note at once. Do not write to me. Ahmed-Kal will report to
me that he has seen you.
(signed) FERGUSON.
I nodded to Ahmed-Kal as I finished reading. He bowed profoundly, but
made no move to go. When I asked him why he waited, he replied in a
voice which, though respectful, was expressive of reproach:
“The sahib has not burned it.”
I quickly held the paper over a lighted candle, but not till the last
charred corner of the letter fell from my fingers did Ferguson’s
punctilious messenger withdraw from the bungalow.
On the morrow I visited the temple again, and had no difficulty in
identifying the objects which Ferguson had directed me to purchase.
The brazier was about three feet high, and was an admirable example of
Indian art.
The two jade idols, both of which stood in niches near the dilapidated
roof, were companion-pieces, about fourteen inches in height, each
measuring about eight inches across the shoulders. The figures were
grotesque, one being that of a big-bellied man, with a diabolical
leer; while the other, somewhat similar in design, had an impudently
protruding tongue. The grotesque appearance of the images was increased
by a large number of cracks, which indicated that they had been
shattered and their fragments cemented together.
As soon as I told the temple’s custodian that I was a collector of
jade idols, he hastened to remove these from their niches and began to
descant on their merits.
“But these are not for sale,” I remarked.
“The temple needs rupees, sahib,” replied the priest in a soft,
insinuating voice.
When I offered twenty silver rupees for the pair he demanded forty. We
finally agreed on twenty-five rupees. The brazier I obtained for thirty
rupees, and to this collection I added several small bronze and jade
images, which I thought might serve as paper-weights for my friends.
The priest and I then parted cordially, and several of my native
attendants, bearing my purchases, accompanied Blakeslee and me back to
the dak-bungalow.
Thus far my enterprise had been successful, and on the way from the
temple to the bungalow Blakeslee and I chatted cheerfully, but, owing
to the presence of our attendants, the subject of our quest was not
referred to.
As Blakeslee and I entered the bungalow, to seek protection from the
heat and blinding glare of the sun, I saw a change come over the face
of my companion. His features became suddenly haggard, and there was a
strange glitter in his eyes.
“Well, Forsythe, for better or for worse we’re in for it now,” he said
in a low voice that trembled slightly with emotion.
I looked at him wonderingly.
“What, in Heaven’s name, is depressing you now?” I asked, irritably.
“Have we not succeeded, almost without making a real effort, in getting
the articles we sought? As soon as we get word to Ferguson that we have
carried out his instructions, we will start for home. The letters which
I obtained from the government officials at Bombay will assure us safe
conduct.”
Blakeslee glanced at me half-contemptuously.
“My dear fellow, our fight is just about to begin,” he said,
thoughtfully. “Neither Ferguson nor I looked for trouble on the
journey here, nor did Ferguson fear that you would have any difficulty
in obtaining the articles which now are in your possession. To be
perfectly frank with you, the value of these is as unknown to me as it
is to you.”
With a glance toward the corner of the room in which lay, like a heap
of junk, the articles I had purchased that morning, I went to the
door and looked out. Our attendants were unsaddling and watering our
horses at the foot of the hill, and the space around the bungalow was
deserted. Turning back to the room in which Blakeslee, with his hands
clasped over one of his knees, was sitting on a rude table, I spoke.
“Ferguson is seeking those lost eyes of the Buddha?” I said.
Blakeslee gazed at me fixedly, but did not answer.
“Has it not occurred to you that they may be concealed in the two jade
images that our friend is so anxious to obtain?” I asked.
My companion’s gaze fell thoughtfully to the floor.
“It has occurred to me, of course,” he answered quietly, after a
pause. “But I have rejected the idea. I am inclined to believe that
Ferguson is using us simply as a blind to cover other movements that
he has afoot. The images do not appear to be any more important
than the brazier, which, as a mere glance at it will assure you, is
not constructed in a manner that will allow it to conceal anything.
Ferguson is a pretty clever strategist, and I have reasons to suspect
that, before we get through with this thing, we will find that he is
trying to attain his object by means of crossed trails.”
“What reason is there for crossing trails when my reputation and the
arrangements I have made with the government officials appear to give
us a clear course to Calcutta?” I asked.
Blakeslee shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m hanged if I know, Forsythe,” he muttered, abstractedly. “Ferguson
is a queer fellow, and he’s pretty deep. The thing that puzzles me most
is the fact that he is in India. For the last two years he has been
watched by spies. That was one of them they dropped overboard from the
_Arran_. If these two idols and the brazier were the only things he
wanted here, why did he not send us to get them, and keep away himself?”
“Well,” I began, but he stopped me with a gesture.
“We’ve got to cut out this sort of talk,” he said, impatiently. “We
have the stuff we sought, and now the thing is up to Ferguson. If we
continue to speculate like this on the subject, some long-eared native,
who may be lurking about, will overhear us and the game will be up.
The fight’s on now and we must make the best of it. Open eyes and
silent tongues constitute the order of the day, so we’d better bar the
talking.”
At noon we had our luncheon. Then, after telling our attendants to rest
for the remainder of the day, in order that they might be prepared to
take the road before sunrise on the following morning, Blakeslee and I
stretched ourselves on our rugs. After a brief period of restlessness I
fell asleep.
It was twilight when I woke. Blakeslee was still asleep, and I glanced
apprehensively towards where our morning’s purchases lay heaped
carelessly in the corner, with one of our saddles resting on top of
the pile. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, but I resolved that
while Blakeslee and I remained in India one should keep awake while the
other slept.
An hour later we sat down to our evening meal, and then proceeded to
await the arrival of Ahmed-Kal.
It was nearly midnight, and all our attendants were asleep, when
Blakeslee and I, seated within the dak-bungalow, saw by the light of
the moon the figure of a native, in a half-crouching attitude, dart
towards the door.
“Well?” I demanded, rising quickly.
The man started at the sound of my voice, and, as he looked toward me,
I saw that our visitor was Ahmed-Kal. Drawing back a couple of paces,
he crossed his arms over his face.
Alarmed by the man’s strange attitude, I addressed him impatiently.
“Well, why do you not speak?” I asked.
With a low, sharp cry the Parsee, lurching forward, sank to the earth
and, crawling to my feet, he scraped up a handful of sand from the
ground and scattered it over his head.
Grasping him by one of his naked shoulders I shook him vigorously.
“Speak, man--your master--what has happened to him?” I demanded.
The Parsee gave utterance to a series of incoherent sentences, then he
again crossed his arms over his face.
Again I seized him and shook his shoulders.
“Where is the Ferguson sahib?” I asked, in a threatening voice.
“They’ve killed him,” whimpered Ahmed-Kal.
“Killed him!” Blakeslee and I exclaimed together.
“Even so,” moaned the Parsee.
The eyes that Blakeslee turned on me were dilated with horror.
“Dead--Ferguson!” he muttered. “No, no, no! This man----”
“Not dead, sahib--not dead, for he still speaks,” Ahmed-Kal interrupted.
We looked at the Parsee with expressions of bewilderment.
“You said he was killed?” I suggested.
“Even so, sahib. They have killed him, but he still speaks, and he bade
me summon you to come and see the end.”
“How the dev--” Blakeslee began.
“There’s no use standing here trying to get rational answers from the
fool,” I interrupted. “Let’s mount and follow where he leads.”
Our horses soon were saddled. Preceded by Ahmed-Kal and followed by two
of our servants, Blakeslee and I set out in search of Ferguson.
As we advanced in this manner, Ahmed-Kal, from time to time, manifested
signs of the most abject fear. His trembling, groans and sudden starts
at length had such an effect on my nerves that, like him, I fancied, at
times, that I saw dark figures flitting among the thickets we passed.
Once a piercing wail, coming from a point about a hundred yards distant
from the road, so startled Blakeslee and me that we drew in our
bridle-reins with a force that almost caused our horses to go down on
their haunches.
“It is only the cry of a jackal, sahib,” said one of our servants
reassuringly.
Even as the man spoke, we saw a small, wolfish form loping from one
thicket to another, but it was several minutes before the feeling of
creepiness passed away and our heartbeats again became normal.
At the expiration of a half hour we came in view of a little grove of
trees, among which the walls of a small temple gleamed white in the
moonlight. To this temple a narrow path led from the road by which
we approached the place. At the path Ahmed-Kal drew rein. Then, after
dismounting, he came to me.
“This ground is sacred, sahib,” he explained. “None save uncovered feet
may tread this path.”
I nodded; then Blakeslee and I alighted and, after directing our
attendants to await our return, we commanded Ahmed-Kal to lead the way.
“What are we in for now, I wonder?” Blakeslee muttered. “I’ve got this
trembling fool covered with my gun, and if he’s up to any of his Hindu
tricks it will be his last, I promise you.”
Following our guide, we had gone about a couple of hundred paces when
Blakeslee seized me by the arm.
“Look!” he cried.
We were now in a little open space in the grove that surrounded the
temple, and, glancing in the direction that Blakeslee had indicated,
I saw, in one of the corners of this space, a human figure seated
cross-legged on a white cloth. The figure was as immovable as one of
those statues of Buddha which are to be seen everywhere in India, and
the shadow cast by one of the swaying branches of a tree gave to it an
uncanny aspect that chilled my blood.
Blakeslee and I, followed by Ahmed-Kal, moved forward uncertainly.
“It’s Ferguson!” exclaimed Blakeslee in a hoarse whisper.
We quickened our steps, and in a few moments we halted before the
motionless and silent figure of our friend.
Neither by word nor sign did Ferguson bespeak a recognition of our
presence. His face was deadly pale, and there was an expression of
stupor in his eyes.
“Ferguson!” I said, in a low, awed voice; and, as I spoke, I was about
to lay a hand on his shoulder to rouse him from his apparent lethargy.
“Stop!” he commanded sharply. “Don’t touch me, Forsythe. Step round in
front of me. I cannot turn my head.”
“What’s the matter, old man?” Blakeslee asked. “What have they done to
you? That fool, Ahmed-Kal, told us that you had been murdered.”
Ferguson hesitated a few moments before he replied.
“Ahmed-Kal was right. I have been slain.”
“What madness is this?” I demanded, impatiently.
“It is not madness, but truth,” Ferguson answered, sadly. “I have been
slain.”
Blakeslee and I exchanged glances of horror. It was plain that our
friend had lost his reason.
“Come, come, Ferguson, you would not have us believe that we are
talking with your ghost,” said Blakeslee, indulgently.
“No,” replied Ferguson, deliberately. “But, to all intents and
purposes, I am a dead man. Were I to move my body, ever so slightly,
the next moment would find me a corpse at your feet. The fact is, I
have been decapitated. Though my head has been completely severed from
my body, it has been done in such a manner that, while no human skill
can save my life, I cannot die except by my own act.”
Turning his haggard face to mine, Blakeslee said, quietly:
“Come, Forsythe, we must get him out of this.”
Ferguson heard the words.
“Stop--Forsythe--Blakeslee!” he protested quickly. “Let there be no
mistake. Blakeslee, strike a match; then examine my neck and tell me
what you see.”
With trembling hands, Blakeslee drew out his matchbox and struck a
match. By the light of this we saw a thin, dark, threadlike line that
completely encircled the neck of our friend. From the line there had
exuded drops of blood which had trickled down to Ferguson’s collar.
With faces as pallid as that of our friend, Blakeslee and I drew back a
couple of paces. The silence that followed was broken by Ferguson.
“Well?” he asked.
“It’s bleeding a little,” Blakeslee replied, speaking thickly.
“It was good of you to answer my summons so promptly,” Ferguson went
on. “Brief as our acquaintance has been, I was overjoyed to learn
yesterday that chance had led you to India and that you were in this
neighborhood. I had intended to seek you yesterday afternoon, but,
before I could put my plan into execution, I met with the adventure
which Fate had ordained should be my last.”
As he paused, Blakeslee and I gazed at him searchingly. Was the man
mad, or was he playing a part? Were the words he was addressing to us
now reaching ears other than our own?
“What was the nature of the adventure?” I asked.
“Having been brought to India by certain business matters,” Ferguson
continued, “I was tempted to travel a bit through the country. Several
years ago I heard a traveler describe the Eyeless Buddha of Rajiid,
and tell its strange story. Being in this neighborhood, I decided, a
few days ago, to visit the shrine. It did not interest me greatly, and
I was continuing on my way when I was halted to-day by a company of
natives. These took me before a jaboowallah, who, on the day before,
had performed some of his tricks before me at Rajiid. This man charged
me with an attempt to find and take out of the country the lost
diamonds which, many years before, formed the eyes of the Buddha. I
protested my innocence, but to no avail.
“Professing to believe that I already had found the hiding-place of
the diamonds, and had obtained possession of the stones, several
natives, in accordance with the direction of the jaboowallah, searched
my garments, and then subjected me to the most excruciating tortures
in an attempt to wring from me information concerning the diamonds. In
this attempt they failed, of course; for, though I had heard the story
of the lost gems, the idea of attempting to find them never entered my
mind.
“At length my captors ceased their efforts, and, after granting me
a rest of several hours, they brought me here, where I was again
confronted by the jaboowallah. I was compelled to seat myself on this
cloth and was told to prepare myself for death.
“Taking a sword, the jaboowallah whirled it several times through the
air, and then--then I was reduced to the plight in which you find me.
“Though I felt the blade pass through my neck, I retained
consciousness. My head did not fall, and my gaze was riveted on the
mocking face of the jaboowallah as he drew back from me. He told me
then that, though my head had been severed from my shoulders, I should
not die save only by own act--that a single movement might result in
the extinction of life. Then, with a devil-like laugh, he told me I
might go when or where I listed.
“I replied that, since this was impossible, my only wish was that I
might be able to have my friends informed of my death. To this end, I
asked permission to send for you, who, as I had been informed in the
morning, were in the vicinity. He hesitated, but finally granted me
the favor that I asked.
“Ahmed-Kal, my Parsee servant, was standing near, and I bade him go
to you, after I had received the jaboowallah’s assurance that no
harm should befall you. And I thank Heaven that you and your friend
Blakeslee have come at last.”
There was a pause; then I asked, nervously:
“What is it you would have us do?”
“Merely report my death to Ormond Dulmer, my solicitor, in London. You
will easily find him. You will do this?”
I hesitated; then I turned to the trembling Ahmed-Kal.
“Bid our attendants come here as quickly as they can,” I said to him.
“They are armed and----”
“Stop!” cried Ferguson. “Ahmed-Kal, stay here.”
The Parsee, with a little cry, sank to the ground and crawled toward
Ferguson’s feet.
Drawing my revolver, I turned toward where I had left our attendants
in the road. Then, raising my voice, I called one of them by name,
intending to direct him to hurry to me with his companions.
“Stop--Forsythe--fool!” cried Ferguson desperately.
His words prevented me from hearing any response that might have been
made to my summons. Giving no heed to his protest, I called again.
The sound had scarcely left my lips when Blakeslee’s revolver flashed.
For a moment the report dazed me; then, as I saw Blakeslee being set
upon and borne down by four or five dark figures, who seemed to have
issued from the ground, I raised my own weapon. But it was too late.
Before my finger drew the trigger, a violent blow fell on my head. A
thousand glints of light flashed before my eyes; and, as I blindly
turned toward my assailant, a second blow felled me to the ground and
I became unconscious.
When I regained my senses, I was lying on the spot on which I had
fallen. My head was throbbing slightly, and, as I opened my eyes, I saw
the moon still was shining, but that the persons who had been around
me when I fell were gone. As I started to rise, I was conscious of a
pungent, sweet flavor in my mouth, and of a dull pain and sensation of
fullness in my throat. My breathing was quick and labored.
Rising to a sitting posture, I saw, only a couple of paces away, the
white cloth on which I last had seen Ferguson. He, like Blakeslee
and the natives, had disappeared; but in the middle of the cloth lay
something which, arresting my gaze, inspired me with fear and horror.
Rising to my feet, I moved toward it.
It was the severed head of Ahmed-Kal!
Breathing heavily, I took the path leading to the road in which
Blakeslee and I had left our attendants. As I walked on, the sensation
of fullness in my throat became more and more distressing. My tongue
was swollen, and I was tortured by thirst and hunger.
As I drew near the road, I saw our horses, with our servants beside
them. A glance at the little company revealed the fact that Blakeslee
was not there.
Turning to one of the natives, I attempted to ask him why he and his
companions had not responded to my call, but no sound issued from my
lips, and the effort to speak racked my throat.
At length I succeeded in whispering weakly:
“Blakeslee Sahib? Have you seen him?”
The native addressed shook his head negatively.
“The sahib has not returned,” he said.
As I glanced at the faces of the natives, I saw that a strange
sullenness had come upon them, and instinct told me they were not to
be trusted in an attempt to attack those who had obeyed the commands
of the jaboowallah. Accordingly, I mounted my horse and, with my
attendants, returned to the dak-bungalow.
In the bungalow I found things in the same order in which I had left
them. Despite my hunger, the condition of my throat made it impossible
for me to swallow anything else than biscuits soaked in beef-tea. When
this meal was finished, physical and mental exhaustion compelled me
to lie down before I had succeeded in formulating any definite plan
for the morrow. I knew that there was no English-speaking official
within forty miles of me, and it was doubtful whether, in my present
condition, I could accomplish such a journey over rough Indian roads in
less than a couple of days.
Scarcely had I lain down when one of my servants appeared.
“Will the sahib leave Rajiid before sunrise?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered. “We will wait.”
The man left the room, and I composed myself for sleep. I had just
sunk in a troubled doze, however, when I was aroused by someone who
was shaking me gently. As I opened my eyes, I saw, by candlelight, the
face of the jaboowallah, who, as I had good reason to believe, was
responsible for the misfortune that had befallen my friends and myself.
“The sahib need not rise,” said the jaboowallah gravely.
But, giving no heed to his words, I sat up on the blanket on which I
had been lying.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded in a whisper that caused my
throat to throb with pain.
“I have come to the sahib to warn him,” my visitor replied. “If he
returns to his own country at once, no further evil will come to him;
but if he tarries in India, or causes the white king’s soldiers to come
to Rajiid, he must die; and it is as easy for the holy men to kill him
in Calcutta as it is to kill him here.”
“Where is my friend--Blakeslee Sahib?” I asked.
“He attempted to slay those who had punished one who came to us to
desecrate our shrines--to take from us a priceless stone which did not
belong to him.”
“You miserable murderer--” I began, but, with hardening features, the
jaboowallah interrupted me.
“It was an evil hour that the man who came to steal learned that
Forsythe Sahib and his friend were traveling here,” he said. “But now
Forsythe Sahib must go his way alone, nor pause, except for rest, until
he is on the vessel which is to take him home. He cannot bring the
dead to life any more than he can recover that power of speech which
has left him. What is written is written, and what is done is done. By
sunrise the sahib must be on his way.”
As he finished speaking, the jaboowallah blew out the candle that he
held; then he passed out of the door.
I sank back on my blanket, and for several minutes I lay inert.
Convinced that the jaboowallah had spoken truth, and that my poor
friends were indeed dead, I realized my helplessness. I was alone among
strangers of another race, and there was little doubt that, in a sense,
the jaboowallah had justice on his side.
Ferguson had come to take from a sacred shrine a pair of precious gems
to which he had no claim. It was perfectly apparent that he knew the
adventure was fraught with peril. He had taken chances, and had failed.
With me, however, guilty though I was, the case was somewhat different.
The jaboowallah believed me to be innocent of complicity with Ferguson.
Why, then, had he caused me to be subjected to treatment which was
responsible for the loss of my voice?
When I had returned to the bungalow, I lighted a candle and, with
the aid of a pocket-mirror, examined my neck. There was nothing on
the outside of my throat to indicate that it had been wounded. I
then had fancied that my inability to speak had been caused by rough
treatment after the last blow had robbed me of consciousness; but the
jaboowallah, apparently cognizant of the nature of my injury, had told
me that my voice had gone forever.
At length, despite my mental turmoil, I succumbed to fatigue and
physical weakness, and slept.
Once again I was awakened by a hand that grasped my shoulder,
and I saw, bending over me, with a candle in his hand, one of my
attendants--the one who, a few hours before, had asked me whether I
intended to set out on my journey before sunrise. Before I had time to
ask him why he had awakened me, he spoke.
“The horses are saddled, sahib,” he said quietly.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Two hours before sunrise, sahib.”
As I looked at him searchingly, his gaze fell.
“Who bade you prepare for the journey?” I asked.
“The jaboowallah, sahib,” he answered.
Conscious of my inability to offer resistance to the power that had
robbed me of my friends and of my voice, I nodded and rose. Glancing
toward the corner in which had been heaped the articles which, in
accordance with Ferguson’s directions, I had purchased at the temple, I
saw that they were gone.
Apparently the man did not observe my glance, for he vouchsafed no
explanation, and I asked no further questions.
Before leaving the bungalow I ate more moistened biscuits, and then
went out to where the little company of attendants awaited me. These
were already in their saddles; and, when I was mounted, all of us moved
away from the bungalow.
As we came to the outskirts of the village I saw the figure of a man
standing beside the road. Drawing nearer, I recognized the jaboowallah.
As our eyes met, the wonder-worker quickly sank to the ground and
prostrated himself at the roadside as I rode by. He was still on the
ground when a turn in the road hid him from our view.
With the exception of two incidents, my journey to Calcutta was
uneventful. The first of these incidents occurred shortly after sunrise
on the morning I left Rajiid. Glancing behind me I saw four led
horses. The loads borne by three of these constituted, as I knew, the
impedimenta we had taken with us to Rajiid. The fourth load, however,
was covered, and I asked one of the natives what the pack contained.
The man looked at me with an expression of surprise as he answered:
“They are the brazier and the idols purchased from the priest at the
Rajiid temple.”
I made no answer, but an hour later I directed the servants to quicken
their pace, and for the next four days we moved even more rapidly than
we had done on our journey to Rajiid.
The second incident occurred three days before my arrival at Calcutta.
Ever since landing in India I had kept a diary in which I had recorded
briefly each day’s incidents, being careful, of course, to make no
mention of anything that had to do with the real object of my journey.
On the day I have mentioned, I just had finished making an entry when
an official returned to me my passport, which he had viséd. The date on
this was the twenty-seventh of the month, while the entry I had made in
the diary was dated the twenty-fifth. I called the man’s attention to
what I then believed to be his error. He smiled and shook his head.
“It is the twenty-seventh, sir,” he said.
I bowed, and he left me. Turning over the pages of the diary, I was
unable to find that I had made a mistake in dating the entries; then an
idea occurred to me, and I turned to one of the two attendants who had
accompanied me all the way from Rajiid.
“How long was I with the jaboowallah?” I asked abruptly.
“For two days the sahib was in the priest’s house near the temple,”
the man replied. “On the second night the sahib was placed in the same
position in which he fell, and the jaboowallah bade us retire and wait
for the sahib in the road.”
I attempted to question him further, but he was so reticent that I
learned little more. The next day he and his companion, who had been at
Rajiid, deserted me. For the remainder of the journey I was attended
only by servants I had picked up on the way to Calcutta.
Immediately after my arrival at Calcutta, I hastened to an English
physician and bade him examine my throat. As he did this, I saw an
expression of gravity settle on his face.
“How did this happen?” he asked sharply. “The vocal cords have been
cut.”
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I heard his words. Then I told
him all. When I finished my account of the misadventures of my friends
and myself, the physician shook his head gravely.
“Such things do happen occasionally in India,” he said, “but in almost
every case it has been proved that the natives have had justice
on their side, and the government, assured of this, rarely adopts
vigorous measures, for, in the circumstances, they would result in
serious disaffections in certain districts. It is better, perhaps, to
heed the jaboowallah’s warning and leave the country, rather than to
expose yourself to new misfortunes in an attempt to have your enemies
punished--an attempt which I fear, would fail.”
I decided, reluctantly enough, to take his advice, and five weeks later
I was in London.
I at once repaired to the office of Ormond Dulmer, the solicitor to
whom Ferguson had directed me, and to him I gave a full account of my
Indian adventures. Dulmer, who was an elderly, stolid sort of man,
listened gravely to all I had to say, but neither by word nor by the
expression of his face did he manifest the slightest degree of surprise
or emotion. In conclusion, I said:
“And now, Mr. Dulmer, since I have told you all, nothing remains for me
to do but to turn over to you the articles I purchased in Rajiid, and
to refund to you the ten thousand dollars which Ferguson instructed me
to deposit in New York until his return.”
The lawyer raised a hand protestingly.
“No,” he replied. “The ten thousand dollars are your own. The jade
images and the brazier should be retained by you, however, until you
receive from me other instructions for their disposition. Ferguson was
a peculiar fellow, and was very precise in his methods. In planning to
have you get the images out of India, it is more than probable that he
made arrangements for some person to claim them of you in the event
of his premature death. Be good enough, please, to carry out his
instructions to the letter.”
I looked at Dulmer searchingly.
“You do not believe that Ferguson is dead?” I asked.
Dulmer shrugged his shoulders.
“I know no more than you,” he replied. “Still, I scarcely think I will
open his will until you and I obtain more definite evidence of his
decease than is afforded by the testimony of your mutual enemy, the
jaboowallah.”
And so it came to pass that, a week later, I stood in my own room in
New York, gazing speculatively at a brazier and two grotesque jade
images that rested on the floor. My decision concerning these was
quickly made. I resolved to send them to a storage warehouse where they
might remain until some one authorized to claim them should receive
them from my hands. Having formed this resolution, I at once proceeded
to put it into execution. Accordingly, I locked my door and went to the
office of a storage company, where I made the necessary arrangements.
It was agreed that a wagon should be sent to take the articles away
early the next morning.
I returned to my room after an absence of a little more than four
hours. As I opened the door, however, I gasped with astonishment.
The brazier and the images were gone!
Thinking that, perhaps, the storage company had found it practicable to
call for the articles that day, and remembering that, as I went out,
I had told my landlady that I intended to send the things away, I was
partly reassured. I hastened downstairs to the landlady, and learned
from her that two Italians had come with a black, unlettered wagon, and
had told her that I had directed them to call for the articles.
I reported my loss to the police; but from that day to this, so far as
I have been able to learn, no trace of the articles has been found by
the detectives who were assigned to the case.
And now new dangers began to beset me. On the day following the
disappearance of the images, I became conscious of the fact that I was
under surveillance, and that no less than four men were employed for
the purpose. Whenever I left the house in which I lodged--whether I
walked or whether I rode in street-cars or cabs--some stranger would
persistently keep me in view. These persons, I doubted not, were in the
employ of some detective agency that had undertaken to watch and report
my movements. Why anyone should find it necessary to spy on me now I
could not understand.
I had been in New York only a week when, returning late to my room
one night, I found all my effects in disorder, and it was plain that
everything belonging to me had been carefully searched. Some of my
private papers were missing, tacks had been removed from the carpet,
which appeared to have been turned back in an attempt to discover the
hiding-place of some paper or other object. Despite all these facts,
however, I found the door locked as I had left it.
The next morning, before daybreak, I telephoned for a taxicab, and,
entering it almost before it came to a standstill in front of the
house, I directed the man to take me to the City Hall. Then dismissing
him, I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, and, for the first time in a week,
I congratulated myself that I had eluded the vigilance of the spies.
In Brooklyn I engaged a couple of rooms in a modest dwelling-house at
which I gave an assumed name.
I remained indoors all day, and at night I went to a neighboring
haberdasher’s to purchase articles of wearing apparel, for I had left
my room in New York with scarcely more than the clothes I wore.
Having made my purchases, I returned to the house I had left only a few
minutes before. I had just thrust my key in the lock, and was preparing
to turn it, when a hand fell on one of my shoulders. Turning quickly, I
was confronted by a dusky face which was partly covered by a scant gray
beard.
It was the face of the jaboowallah of Rajiid!
“The sahib will allow me to speak to him--in his room?” the strange man
asked gravely.
He wore a black derby and a suit of dark clothes; and, as I saw him
then, he had the appearance of an aged negro.
For several moments I was too overcome by astonishment and dismay to
reply.
“As you please,” I faltered as I turned the key.
Then, leading the way, I conducted my persecutor to my room on the
second floor.
I turned up the gas and faced my visitor.
“What brings you here?” I demanded abruptly.
“I seek the lost eyes of the Buddha, sahib,” the jaboowallah answered.
I looked at him wonderingly.
“Why do you come to me?” I asked.
“Because I have learned the Forsythe Sahib has them,” was the solemn
answer.
Utterly bewildered, I gazed into his burning eyes.
“Not only have the gems you seek never been in my possession, but I
have never seen them or heard anyone suggest a place where they were
likely to be found,” I replied.
“The sahib cannot deceive me,” said my visitor, sullenly. “Both gems
have been in his possession. One was in the body of the jade image
with the protruding tongue, which the sahib brought with him from
India, and the other was in the little parcel left with him by the
Ferguson Sahib on the day before he sailed for Europe.”
The room swam before my eyes, and for several moments I was speechless.
Then, with a trembling hand, I motioned to my visitor to sit down.
He remained standing, but I, overcome by conflicting emotions, sank
inertly on a couch.
“The sahib has these, has he not?” the jaboowallah asked.
“No,” I answered. “The image has been stolen from me, and the parcel is
in the safe-deposit vault in which I was directed to place it by the
man to whom it belonged.”
The face of the jaboowallah grew darker.
“Stolen!” he exclaimed.
“The loss was reported by me to the police, who say they are trying to
find the thief,” I explained.
My visitor hesitated.
“You will deliver the parcel to me?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, “but I will lead you to the vault, and you may take
it, if you will.”
The jaboowallah nodded gravely.
“Can you do this to-night?” he asked.
“It will be impossible for me to have access to the vault until ten
o’clock in the morning,” I explained.
“I will be here at nine,” the jaboowallah said.
He bowed profoundly, and then, without further words, he left me.
I passed a restless night. In the morning I had breakfast served in my
room. At nine the jaboowallah appeared.
I summoned a taxicab, and, accompanied by my tormentor, I went to
Manhattan. By ten o’clock we were in the office of the safe-deposit
company. The vaults were in the basement, and to them we at once
descended. There, giving a key to the jaboowallah, I pointed to the box
I had engaged, and bade him open it.
Glancing at the box as my companion drew it out, I saw that the seals,
which Ferguson had affixed to the bundle, were broken.
“Some one else has been here,” I whispered, fearfully.
The eyes of the jaboowallah blazed with anger.
“We will see,” he said, as he unfolded the wrapping paper.
Within he found a package of banknotes--nothing more.
As calmly as he had taken out the box, the jaboowallah returned it to
its place. Then facing me, he said, quietly:
“The sahib does not lie well. If the things have been stolen, the
sahib has stolen from himself. Only ten days remain to him in which to
restore the stones to the priests in whose keeping they belong. If they
are not returned in this time, the holy men will place the eyes of the
sahib in the empty sockets of the sacred image of Rajiid, and there
they will remain until the lost gems are restored.”
Stricken aghast by the awful threat, as well as by my helplessness, I
made no attempt to reply. My visitor turned, ascended the stairs, and
disappeared from my view; nor have I seen him since that hour.
All that remains of my terrible story may be briefly told.
My flight to Brooklyn had been in vain. Wherever I went I was watched
by spies. I notified the police, and, on two occasions, I pointed out
men whom I suspected of hounding me. They established their innocence,
and I was discredited. The police then began to suspect that I had
attempted to delude them when I reported the loss of the articles from
my room.
At length, convinced that the law would vouchsafe me no redress, I
turned one day on one of the spies and attacked him so vigorously that
I left him insensible on the pavement. I was arrested, subjected to an
examination, and pronounced to be a victim of delusions. When the court
directed that I be sent to an insane asylum, friends came to my aid and
had me placed in a sanitarium.
By this time the ten days allowed to me for the restoration of the gems
had expired; but, even though surrounded by madmen, I felt a sense
of security in the institution to which I had been committed until,
one morning, on looking through a window, I saw two strangers driving
along the road. In one of them I recognized one of the spies who had
been watching my movements in New York. Accordingly, I obtained an
interview with the superintendent and told him my story. He appeared to
give little credence to it, but two days later I learned that he had
been severely wounded in an encounter with a Hindu whom he had found
prowling about the grounds. The next night a mysterious fire consumed
the wing of the building in which I had my room.
Once more the superintendent sent for me, and in his presence and that
of two strangers I repeated my story. This was many months ago. A week
later I was released. Accompanied by the superintendent, I was taken
to a house in which I found Mr. Westfall. There I remained carefully
guarded and in seclusion, until I was taken to his yacht, which brought
me to this barge.
* * * * *
When the Whispering Gentleman finished his narrative, the Nervous
Physician pushed back his chair impatiently, and, rising, began to pace
to and fro.
“Absurd--utterly absurd!” he exclaimed, disgustedly. “Do you expect
me to believe--any sane man to believe--that this blundering friend
of yours continued to breathe and speak after the jaboowallah had
decapitated him?”
“I have not asked you to believe it,” replied the Whispering Gentleman,
calmly. “I merely have described to you certain things which I have
seen and heard.”
The Duckhunter, turning to the Hypochondriacal Painter, who sat beside
him, muttered grumpily:
“An insane asylum is the best place for him, after all.”
The Hypochondriacal Painter, making no reply, kept his wide, mournful
eyes turned to Westfall, who was in the act of taking from Driggs,
the servant, a large, covered, silver dish. This dish the host thrust
toward the middle of the table, and then removed the cover.
From that moment the voices of all Doubting Thomases were hushed. A
long-drawn sigh seemed to issue from the company as each guest gasped
for breath. By the removal of the dish’s cover, Westfall had revealed
a cushion of purple velvet on which gleamed, like the fragments of a
scintillating star, two diamonds as large as hen’s eggs.
“My friends,” said Westfall gravely, “for these gems most women--aye,
even those who wear queenly crowns--would sell their very souls. They
are the lost eyes of Rajiid’s Buddha.”
“In Heaven’s name--where--how did you come by these?” the Whispering
Gentleman asked, tremulously.
Westfall, laughing, shook his head.
“For several weeks both were in your possession, my dear Forsythe,” he
said.
“In mine?” exclaimed the Whispering Gentleman, who was now the
incarnation of bewilderment. “Did the jaboowallah----”
“No,” replied Westfall, interrupting him. “I obtained them from a
person who will now occupy the chair that has been reserved for the
ninth guest, and from whose lips you will hear the story of the
Decapitated Man.”
As he spoke, all eyes turned toward the doorway. The curtains were seen
to flutter; then the figure of a tall, gaunt man, with pallid cheeks
and burning eyes, moved slowly down the steps.
“Ferguson!” hissed the Whispering Gentleman, tottering backward as if
he were about to fall.
A moment later the bewildered guests were startled by a low, frightened
cry from the farther end of the table, and, turning, they saw the
Veiled Aeronaut sink back in her chair.
“Water--water--let’s have some water here!” commanded the Duckhunter,
as, bending over the inert figure of the young woman, he roughly raised
her veil. “Come, be quick--one of you! The lady’s fainted!”
The Fugitive Bridegroom, with a water-carafe in his hand, was hurrying
toward the end of the table when his gaze fell on the features which
the act of the Duckhunter had exposed to view.
Halting suddenly, the Fugitive Bridegroom grew pale as death, and, as
the carafe fell from his hand to the floor, an exclamation of amazement
escaped his lips.
“Paula--my wife!” he muttered.
The effect produced on the newcomer by the sight of the young woman’s
face was scarcely less extraordinary than that produced on the Fugitive
Bridegroom.
“Pauline!” he gasped. “At last----”
He was starting forward impulsively, when one of Westfall’s hands fell
on his shoulder.
“Stop!” the millionaire said sharply. “You forget that you promised me
that you would not speak to her until I bade you do so.”
“True, true,” Ferguson replied, sullenly. “But when I promised, I did
not believe that you could make good your word. I thank you, sir,
and--and, my promise will be kept.”
Harvette, the Frenchwoman, was quickly summoned, but by the time she
arrived the young woman had recovered and again lowered her veil.
Westfall hastened to her side and suggested that she go to her room.
The Veiled Aeronaut shook her head, however.
“I will remain,” she said, determinedly. “It is better that I should
know all now.”
Harvette retired, and the guests resumed their places at the table.
Then once more Westfall addressed them.
“We will now hear the story of the Decapitated Man,” he said.
The ninth guest, resolutely turning his eyes from the Veiled Aeronaut,
then began an account of his adventures.