THE EYES OF RAJIID
Though, for reasons which you will soon understand, I have been known
recently by the name of Alfred Ferguson, I am no other than Cecil, Lord
Galonfield, and am the possessor of one of the most venerable titles
and one of the most debt-encumbered estates in the United Kingdom.
I am now thirty years of age. Of the incidents of my early life there
were few that bore any relation to the adventures which have befallen
me in the last two years. I went through Harrow, and from thence to
Cambridge, where I took my degree when I was twenty-two. Until this
time I believed myself to be heir to a valuable and well-ordered
estate. I was soon undeceived, for only a few days after I bade
farewell to my student life, I was summoned to the presence of my
father, who informed me that, owing to the reckless expenditure made by
the last two holders of the title, a period of strict retrenchment was
necessary, and that for ten years, at least, it would be necessary to
rent our family seat in Yorkshire and our house in London.
My father, who never had made a secret of his desire to have me prepare
for a political career, was especially outspoken now on this subject.
“Young as you are, this period of retirement from the fashionable world
may be employed to much advantage,” he said. “If you will go to Paris
or Berlin, where you are unknown, you will be spared the humiliation
of being compelled to expose your poverty. There you can address
yourself to the study of political affairs, and thus acquire a fund of
knowledge which will be invaluable to you when the time comes for you
to enter into your own.”
Believing myself to be ill-fitted temperamentally for such a career,
I had little liking for the prospect which my father, formerly so
indulgent, thus pointed out to me. In his younger days he had served in
the army, eventually rising to a colonelcy, and I long had cherished
the hope that I might do likewise.
“There is no chance for me in the army, then?” I asked sullenly.
“No,” he answered promptly. “Your income, which, for some time, will be
limited to three hundred a year, would prove insufficient to support a
commission. Besides, as an officer, you might be ordered to India.”
There was something in his tone that caused me to look at him with
surprise.
“Why should that possibility be regarded as an objection?” I asked,
wonderingly.
Removing the eyeglasses he was wearing at the time, he turned to me
gravely, and, for several moments, he gazed at me thoughtfully.
“My son,” he said, at length, “I was well advanced in the period of
middle age when you were born, and, inasmuch as more than fourscore
years are behind me, I have not much longer to live. If you go to the
Continent, as I have suggested, I may not see you for several months,
and in that time much may happen. It is best, therefore, that I should
speak with you on a certain serious matter before you go.”
As, leaning forward, I watched him earnestly, I saw a strange, far-away
expression come into his eyes, and the hand that was toying with his
watch-charm began to tremble. After pausing for several moments, he
went on:
“In my breast there is a secret which I had hoped to be able to take
with me to the grave. But I shall not succeed in doing this, for
during the last ten years I have been aware of the fact that strange
influences are at work around me. It is a secret that has to do with
India, and which has caused me to view with suspicion every man who has
come to me from that awful country.”
Pausing again, he looked abstractedly at the wall; then, rousing
himself suddenly, he continued:
“Were I to go into all details, the story would be a long one, but I
will tell it as briefly as I may.
“As you know, my father had two sons, and of these I was the younger.
My brother, Robert--who, by the way, you resemble greatly in more ways
than one--entered the army shortly after he obtained his degree. He
soon became popular with his brother officers, and, as he displayed
considerable military ability, his advancement, due partly to his
father’s influence, was singularly rapid. At the age of thirty he held
a major’s commission.
“It was about this time that the Indian Mutiny began, and Robert’s
regiment was ordered to India, whither I--a twenty-two-year-old
lieutenant--already had gone with another regiment. Despite the fact
that on several occasions our respective regiments were only a few
miles apart, Robert and I did not meet.
“Having received, at the battle of Mungulwar, a wound that
incapacitated me for further service, I returned home. Six months
later Robert caused to be sent to this country the body of Lieutenant
Wortley, who had only a small income, and was almost friendless in
England. At Robert’s request, my father made arrangements for the
unfortunate young man’s burial in the parish church at Hetley, in
Northumberland, where his parents and sister were entombed.
“I had been in England only nine months when, upon entering my father’s
study one morning, I found him stretched lifeless on the floor. He had
lived an unbridled sort of life, and for several years he had suffered
greatly with the gout. His heart had been weak, and as, spellbound with
horror, I bent over his body, I doubted not that heart disease was
responsible for his sudden death.
“Quickly recovering my presence of mind, I summoned the servants and
directed one to go for a village doctor. As I became more calm, I
picked up from the floor two sheets of paper which appeared to have
been dropped by my father as he fell. One of these sheets contained two
verses of doggerel, in the handwriting of my brother, Robert. Without
reading the verses, I glanced at the second sheet. This I found to be a
letter addressed by Robert to our father. It was as follows:
MY DEAR FATHER: Within an hour after this is despatched to you, a
ball from my own pistol will have ended my life. Two days ago I fell
into the hands of a band of native fanatics, who, subjecting me to a
series of the most terrible tortures, mutilated me in such a manner
that I have resolved never to permit myself to be seen by those who
knew me before.
And so, farewell--to you, to my brother, to dear old England and all
I have loved. Distant as you are from where I will die to-day, you
will be the first to know that your oldest son is dead.
I enclose herewith some verses entitled “Stars of Destiny.” As
they represent the only literary effort I have ever made, it is my
wish that they be pasted on the back of the frame that holds our
genealogical chart. It is an absurd request, perhaps, but it is the
last that you may have from
Your unfortunate son,
(signed) ROBERT.”
Tears filled my father’s eyes as, in a broken voice, he added:
“And thus did I become the twentieth Earl of Galonfield.”
“My Uncle Robert’s body was never identified?” I asked.
“No,” my father said. “His colonel reported him missing. I never heard
of him again. The verses were only doggerel, written, I suppose, after
the poor fellow’s mind had been weakened by the tortures to which he
was subjected, but, with reverent hands, I pasted them on the back
of the frame, as he requested, and only once since then have I seen
them. This was on the day when, imbued with a spirit of heartfelt
thankfulness, I took down the chart to inscribe upon it the name of him
who was destined to be my only son.
“My father had died in 1859, and having inherited the Galonfield title
and estates, I found the latter heavily encumbered by debts contracted
by my father and grandfather. Your mother, however, brought me a large
fortune, and I was in a fair way to establish my affairs on a financial
basis when a series of strange adventures began to befall me. Since
then I have lived the life of a haunted man.
“The first of these incidents was my receipt of a letter from the
London branch of the Calcutta banking firm of Golphin & Faley. This
letter informed me that the firm had been authorized by the Rajah of
Nauwar to receive from me two diamonds that had been entrusted to the
keeping of my brother Robert during the Indian Mutiny, and which, the
bankers said, were then known to be in my possession. Naturally, and
truthfully, I asserted that I never had seen or heard of them.
“The bankers were insistent, and, finally, the Rajah brought suit
against me for the restitution of the diamonds. He attempted to prove
the delivery of the stones to my brother, but my attorneys soon showed
that his witnesses were perjuring themselves. Shortly after this the
Rajah died, and for several months I heard no more of the matter.
“At length, however, the affair assumed a far more extraordinary phase,
and you may easily imagine my astonishment when I began to receive from
India letters written, as were the addresses on the envelopes that
enclosed them, in the handwriting of--my brother!
“In each case the fluid used was India ink, and each letter consisted
of only a few lines--begging me--commanding me--to deliver the two
diamonds to Golphin & Faley without delay.
“In all, I have received no less than thirty of these letters during a
period that has extended over thirty years. The last came to my hands
three weeks ago.
“As I have said, your mother brought to me a large fortune. When she
died, four years after your birth, this was left to me unconditionally,
and most of it has been used in attempts to find my brother.
“The letters bearing Robert’s signatures were dated in various towns
in India--Calcutta, Oodeypoor, Allanhabad, Saugor, and Madras, and the
postmarks indicated that they were, in fact, sent from those places.
Some of these cities were so distant from one another, however, that
the territory which my agents found it necessary to search comprised
more than half of the Indian Empire. It is not surprising, therefore,
that the search was vain.
“That many persons, other than residents of India, believe that I have
these mysterious stones in my possession, is indicated by the fact
that, from time to time, dealers in precious stones have visited me and
have offered to purchase them at enormous sums. Scarcely a month has
gone by that has not found on my desk some letter threatening me with
death or financial ruin if I do not relinquish the gems.
“No house in England has been so frequently entered by burglars as has
mine, and I have been obliged to discharge scores of servants whom I
have found to be guilty of tampering with my private letter boxes.”
“Do you believe my Uncle Robert is still alive?” I asked.
“No,” replied my father with decision. “I do not doubt, for a moment,
that he died in the course of the few days following the despatch of
that last letter to my father. The letters I have been receiving, and
which purport to be from him, either are exceedingly clever forgeries,
or were written by him, while under duress, after writing to my father.”
“Well, it is plain that the Rajah and the others would not have made
such determined and costly efforts to get the stones from you had
they not an excellent reason for believing that, having come into the
possession of my Uncle Robert, they had been forwarded by him to you,”
I said thoughtfully.
My father nodded.
“That is unquestionably true,” he said. “But, despite all the inquiries
I have made, I have failed to discover why the stones were given to my
brother, or the identity of the person from whose hands he received
them. The Rajah asserted that the stones had been stolen from him, and
that the thief--a native--entrusted to my brother a commission to take
them to England, where they were to be offered for sale. The native is
dead, and, while the Rajah pretended to have documentary evidence of
the understanding which existed between my brother and the thief, he
failed to produce it.”
For several minutes we sat in silence; then, rising, my father laid a
hand on my shoulder.
“This, my son, is the secret that I have never, until now, asked you
to share. I hope and pray that the persecutions to which I have been
subjected may not pass to you with the title which you will inherit on
my death. If Robert still lives, I hope that he and I may meet again.
If he is dead, may his poor spirit rest in Heaven.”
The following week I bade farewell to my father, and set off for Paris.
I remained in the French capital for four years, and during that time
I succeeded in supplementing the three hundred pounds which I had
received annually from my father with a couple of hundred pounds for
services as Paris correspondent for a London weekly newspaper.
I regret to say, however, that, despite my profound regard for my
father, I devoted comparatively little time to the course of study
which he had suggested. Living in modest quarters, I found my income
sufficient to enable me to mingle with the laughter-loving denizens
of the Latin Quarter, and, devoid of all serious ambition, I was well
content.
But this irresponsible mode of life was brought to a sudden close when
I received from my father the following telegram:
In Heaven’s name come to me at once at Wercliffe. My life is no
longer my own. Insist on seeing me. Take no refusal.
(signed) GALONFIELD.
An hour later I was on my way to England. Arriving there, I hastened
to Wercliffe Hall, our country seat, where I was greeted by strange
servants. This fact caused me little surprise, for the Hall had been
rented to an American for a couple of years, and, naturally, our old
servants had dispersed.
When, however, a stranger, introducing himself as Dr. Tully, told me
that, as my father’s physician, he was compelled to ask me to delay my
visit to his bedside, my spirit was roused.
“I will go to him at once, even if it is necessary for me to knock down
a dozen men who bar my way,” I retorted, angrily.
His face grew livid, but whether this was the result of fear or anger I
could not tell. He stepped back, however, and, as I passed on, I heard
him mutter, sullenly:
“Well, the devil take you, then. I’ll not be responsible for the
consequences.”
Turning quickly, I addressed him again:
“What is the matter with my father?”
“He was stricken with heart trouble, ten days ago,” the man replied.
“Any excitement, however slight, is likely to prove fatal to him now.”
I hesitated, but it was only for a moment. The words of the message
flashed into my mind, and I knew that, in the circumstances, it was
more probable that my father would be more excited by my tardiness than
by my appearance. Accordingly, passing on, with Dr. Tully close at my
heels, I came at last to my father’s bedchamber.
As I opened the door quietly, I saw my father, wrapped in a
dressing-gown, seated in a chair near one of the windows. His face was
like a death-mask, and I shrank in horror from the change that had been
wrought in his appearance since I had seen him last, six months before.
But for only a moment did my gaze rest on the face and figure of the
invalid. Standing beside him, and bending over his chair, was a tall,
lanky, clean-shaven man whose features, it seemed to me, I had seen
somewhere before. This man was speaking, in a calm, low voice, but I
heard his words distinctly.
“So--so!” he was saying, musingly. “He was preparing to die. And his
last request had to do with some verses he had written. You read these
verses? Yes--ah, yes--they were sad things--about two stars--two stars
of destiny, and you pasted them on the back of a frame that held----”
A low cough behind me caused me to turn sharply. The sound had been
made by Dr. Tully.
But the cough had been heard by other ears than mine. The tall man
beside my father turned abruptly, and as, with kindling eyes and rising
color, he confronted me, I knew him in a moment.
It was Simon Glyncamp, an American, who, two years before, had created
a sort of furor in Paris by his mind-reading exhibitions.
“Why are you here?” I demanded--half in anger--half in wonder.
“As an assistant of Dr. Tully’s, I might, with more propriety, ask that
question of you,” he said, and he flashed an ugly look towards the
physician.
I was about to speak when a low, shrill cry interrupted me, and, with
outstretched arms, my father, trembling violently, rose from his chair.
“Cecil--Cecil, my son!” he cried in accents so pitifully weak that
they smote my heart. “Cecil, they are killing me--they have me in
their power. I am dying, and this man is robbing me of my soul. Fear
him--fear him--Cecil--I----”
He tottered toward me, then, as he fell in my arms, his figure became
inert. I bore him to a chair, and, as I laid him down, I looked into
his eyes. The lids were raised, but I knew that he never would see me
more.
Maddened by rage and horror, I seized Glyncamp by the throat and hurled
him toward the door. His head struck the wall and he fell like a bent
poker to the floor. I rang for a servant, and when the man appeared, I
bade him bring the old village doctor.
An hour later I had driven from the house Glyncamp, Tully, and every
servant who had been employed about the place. Among them there was not
one who did not know that I had murder in my heart. They went quickly.
The places of the servants were taken temporarily by some of the
villagers. That night two strangers, who were found loitering in the
park, were stoned from the grounds.
When I became more calm, I secured the services of two detectives, who
I directed to obtain evidence showing that Glyncamp and Tully were
responsible for my father’s death. A few hours later I learned that the
villains had crossed the channel.
For the two weeks following the funeral of my father, my attention was
absorbed by matters relative to the estate. These I found to be far
less serious than I had expected. The frugality of my father and the
excellence of his judgment were not without effect. Some debts were
still unpaid and there were several mortgages to be lifted, but it was
apparent that the financial crisis of the Galonfield affairs had been
passed successfully. I did not doubt that two more years would find
the estate, not only free from debt, but in such shape as to yield an
income of twenty thousand pounds a year. Having reached this gratifying
conclusion, I next addressed myself to a solution of the mystery which
enveloped the closing days of my poor father.
That a desperate attempt had been made to wring from my father some
sort of secret which his tormentors had believed him to possess
was, of course, perfectly apparent. What was it that this American
mind-reader had been trying to learn at the moment that my appearance
had interrupted his efforts?
I distinctly remembered the words I had heard on that occasion, and I
tried to understand their significance. It was plain that the American
was leading my father’s mind back to the time when he had read the
papers that had fallen from my dying grandfather’s hand. Why did
Glyncamp desire to know what disposition he had made of the verses he
found?
Then I suddenly remembered that, despite the fact that my father had
told me what he had done with these verses, I had not had sufficient
curiosity to look at them. Rising now, I left the study, in which I had
been seated, and, entering the library, I took down from the wall the
framed genealogical chart of the Galonfield family. Returning with this
to the study, I laid it on the desk.
The sheet containing the verses met my glance at once. It was yellow,
and covered with dust, but the India ink with which the lines had been
written had lost none of its blackness. The paste had dried, however,
and, as I touched the paper, it came off the wood to which it was
attached. The handwriting was small and almost femininely dainty, and I
read:
STARS OF DESTINY.
Rare as two angel-tears congealed
Are those that flashed their light
Just as great Buddha’s gaze revealed
Its splendors to men’s sight.
Immured within a human breast,
Down Tyneside one shall go.
’Tis only when the truth is guessed
Shall men behold its glow.
Let him who hath less haste than I,
Or deems himself less rich,
Seek that from which in fear I fly--
The treasure in the niche.
Encompassed by the very walls
Your temple-builders made,
Ere death unto the finder calls,
Seize fast the long-tongued jade.
I always have been a lover of poetry, but in this I found nothing that
appealed to me. The verses left the writer’s meaning so obscure that,
believing, as my father had done, they amounted to no more than mere
doggerel, I dropped them into one of the drawers of my desk. A few
moments later my solicitor entered the room to discuss with me some
matters that had to do with the settlement of the estate, and the
verses ceased to have a place in my thoughts. The chart was returned to
its place on the wall without the verses which, in accordance with the
writer’s wish, had been pasted on the back of the frame before my birth.
Five weeks after my father’s death, I received from another American an
offer for a lease on Wercliffe Hall, and, having decided to continue,
for two or three years at least, my father’s policy of retrenchment,
I promptly accepted it. A month later I established myself in an
apartment in London.
While arranging my papers in the desk in my new quarters, I found that
among them were the verses from the chart.
Despite my resolution to curtail my expenses as much as possible, I
yielded to the solicitation of an old family friend and joined a couple
of clubs which had had the names of Earls of Galonfield on their rolls
from the time of their foundation. It was at one of these clubs that I
first met Meschid Pasha who, little as I suspected it at the time, was
destined to play an important part in the history of my life.
Meschid Pasha, who had attained considerable prominence as an officer
in the Turkish army, was a man about fifty-five years of age, with a
pleasing address, thoughtful face and the physique of a man of thirty.
I was introduced to him by an old friend of my father’s, with whom,
however, I had only a slight acquaintance.
The Pasha explained that he had been in London only a few days, and
that twenty years had passed since his last visit. Courteously he asked
me for certain information concerning the town, and, as I was able to
give him this, we soon found ourselves conversing together in terms
of easy familiarity. There was something in the man that interested
me, and when he invited me to take dinner with him on the following
evening, I promised to do so.
He had told me that, designing to spend several months in London, he
had rented a furnished house in the West End. Thither I went, at the
time appointed, expecting to find a modest town house fitted up in
conventional British style. The house itself was modest enough, being
in the middle of a dingy brick block, but scarcely had I been admitted
to the hall when I became aware of the fact that the fastidious
Pasha had established in the heart of London a residence which, by
reason of its interior appointments, might have been transported from
Constantinople or Damascus.
In the dimly lighted hall I saw a Nubian, clad in Oriental costume,
steal like a shadow from a deep niche and noiselessly ascend the
stairs. The room to which I was conducted had the aspect of the corner
of a Turkish bazaar. The walls were hung with rich Oriental draperies,
and were further decorated with shields, simitars, yataghans and spears.
Meschid received me with marked cordiality, and, after a short
conversation, led me to an adjoining room where dinner was served.
Everything was cooked and served in Oriental fashion.
When dinner was finished we smoked, and, as we smoked, our talk was
of the collapse of Russia, the wrangles among Christian sects in
Jerusalem, the influence of sea power on history, and Parisian opera.
This brought us to a discussion of the relative merits of French,
German, Italian, and American singers, and so we talked of women. Then,
half-absently, Meschid said:
“My wife was an Englishwoman.”
I started, for I knew that among Mohammedans it is regarded as an
almost unpardonable breach of etiquette for men to speak of the female
members of their families.
“Indeed!” I murmured, faintly.
“My daughter, whose education was entrusted to an English governess,
has so long felt a desire to see her mother’s native country,
that, yielding to her wish, I brought her with me,” the Pasha went
on gravely. “I regret having done so, however, for her incessant
questioning almost drives me mad. I shall try to have her visited each
day by some discreet London woman, but your ladies’ ideas of a woman’s
life are so vastly different from ours that I am inclined to fear the
result.”
“Is your daughter’s English governess not with her?” I asked.
“No, my friend, her governess died last year.”
“Well, surely, among the wives of your English friends----”
“I have no English friends,” he interrupted. “To be perfectly frank
with you, I will confess that among my English acquaintances there is
none who is so well qualified to win my friendship as is the Earl of
Galonfield.”
“In view of what you have said concerning your daughter, that is most
unfortunate,” I said, laughingly. “The Earl of Galonfield has no wife,
mother, or sister.”
Smiling thoughtfully, Meschid nodded.
“It is most unfortunate,” he replied with a sigh. “But what would you
advise me to do? Is there any cultured and thoroughly responsible woman
you would recommend who----”
He stopped suddenly, and, glancing at me sharply, he slowly twisted one
of the ends of his black mustache. For the first time since I had met
him I was conscious now of a sense of embarrassment.
“Stop!” he exclaimed, as he saw that I was about to speak. “There is an
old adage that directs those who are in Rome to do as the Romans do.
We are in England, and, relying on your discretion, I will do as the
English do. My daughter shall be present at our council.”
He smote his sinewy hands together with a force that startled me,
and, responding to this sound, a corpulent negro, wearing a red fez
and a long black coat, entered the apartment. To this man Meschid
addressed several quickly spoken sentences in a language that I did not
understand. The negro bowed profoundly and left the room.
Meschid and I smoked in silence.
Strange as it may seem, I was not agreeably impressed by these
manifestations of extraordinary friendliness, and from the moment that
my host had first spoken of his daughter, I was conscious of a rapidly
increasing feeling of distrust. I was never known as a “woman’s man,”
and all my life I have been peculiarly insensible to flattery. Why had
this distinguished foreigner sought my acquaintance? Why was he now
manifesting toward me such startling evidence of his confidence?
My discomfiting reflections were dissipated, however, by the parting
of the curtains at the door, and the appearance of one of the most
remarkable figures on which I ever had gazed.
Clad in a long-sleeved, silken caftan of purple silk, the open folds of
which revealed a low, white, gold-embroidered vest, an orange-colored
sash and pale-green trousers, it was the figure of a woman. Her head,
however, was enveloped in a snowy _yashmak_, and through the slit
of this I saw a pair of dark eyes lighted with what appeared to be
curiosity and amusement. Her bare feet were thrust into dainty, jeweled
slippers of crimson leather, and the light from the diamonds set in her
rings and bracelets almost dazzled me.
Utterly bewildered by the suddenness with which I had been confronted
with this pearl of an Oriental harem, as well as by my ignorance of the
conventionalities which should be observed on such occasions, I started
to rise. A moment later, with a fluttering heart and trembling limbs, I
sank helplessly back on the ottoman on which I had been seated.
At a word from the Pasha, the young woman had raised her jeweled hands,
and, by two or three deft movements, freed her head from the veil.
I was face to face with a beautiful creature that might have been one
of those houris who, according to the promise made by Mohammed, await
the faithful within the gates of Paradise!
I am not a poet, so I will not attempt to describe the face I saw. It
was unnaturally beautiful. Nature had been lavish in her gifts, but
these were so supplemented by the work of human hands that the general
effect bewildered me. It was plain that nature had not given to this
fair woman’s lips all their redness, nor had it invested her lashes
and eyebrows with such blackness. Diamonds were shimmering in her hair,
many of the stones being so concealed by the dark tresses that I could
see only their light.
Without rising, Meschid said quietly:
“This is my daughter, and, with the exception of the members of my
family, your lordship is the first man before whom she has unveiled her
face.”
Rising clumsily, I took in mine the dainty, gem-covered hand the young
woman held out to me.
“I am glad that one of my mother’s countrymen is the first of your sex
that I am permitted to meet,” the young woman said, smiling graciously
and speaking in faultless English.
She glanced half-timorously toward the Pasha, as if to assure herself
that her words had met with his approval.
Meschid smiled grimly, but said nothing.
I stammered a few conventional sentences, then we sat down. As I did
so, I observed that a second person had entered the room. This was a
tall woman clad in a black gown and a _yashmak_ of the same color. She
seated herself in one of the corners of the room, and, with her head
slightly bowed, remained motionless for the rest of the evening. This,
I doubted not, was some withered Turkish duenna to whose care the young
woman had been consigned.
In a surprisingly short time I was again at ease. Had it not been for
her Oriental costume and cosmetics, this fair stranger easily might
have passed for a charming, vivacious young Englishwoman. As it was,
there were moments when I felt as if, as a guest at a fancy-dress ball,
I was sitting in a corner of an Englishman’s home, talking with a
couple of English friends.
In the course of the two hours that followed my introduction to
this beautiful young woman, we conversed on many subjects, and,
incidentally, I learned that her name was Pauline.
“It is not a Turkish name, you know,” she explained laughingly. “I was
named after a relative of my mother’s.”
It was ten o’clock when I took leave of my host and his charming
daughter. They invited me to visit them again on the second evening
following, and at the appointed time I was there.
For more than a month I made a practice of visiting Meschid’s house
twice each week, and on most of these occasions I was afforded an
opportunity to pass an hour in the company of Pauline and the sombre,
featureless duenna, who followed her like a shadow, but whose voice
I never had heard. And there were times when, as the duenna appeared
to be absorbed in memories of distant lands and days, Pauline and I
drew so near together on one of the large ottomans that our hands were
wont to meet, and I saw in her eyes those wondrous lights that the old
Persian poets, looking into others, had seen and sung about.
How much of this the old duenna saw, we never knew.
At length, however, there came a sudden awakening, and I visited
Meschid’s house no more.
Pauline and I were sitting on the ottoman together, about nine o’clock
one night, and talking in whispers that could not have reached the
duenna’s ears, when I, raising my eyes, saw Meschid, who was scowling
darkly, standing in the doorway. Pauline, following the direction of my
glance, saw him, too, and, with a little cry, raised her head from my
shoulder, on which it had been lying.
For several moments the silence that followed the discovery of
Meschid’s presence was unbroken. The Pasha was the first to speak.
“Well, your lordship, you see I trusted you,” he said bitterly.
“Nor have I betrayed your confidence,” I said calmly, as I rose.
“Before introducing me to your daughter, you told me that, being in
England, you were prepared to do as the English do. I have taken you at
your word, and, having obtained your permission to visit your daughter,
I have acted as almost any Englishman who loves a woman would act in
similar circumstances. In the English manner I have wooed her, and,
as an Englishman who is able to offer her both social position and
fortune, I now ask your permission to make her my wife.”
Meschid’s face was less clouded now. His gaze wandered from me to the
duenna at the farther end of the room, and then I saw that the somber
figure had risen as if prepared to receive the expected rebuke. This
was not forthcoming, however. Walking deliberately toward the center
of the room, Meschid addressed his daughter, whose colorless face and
frightened eyes were turned toward him.
“Leave us,” Meschid said with an imperious wave of the arm.
Pauline, hesitating, turned to me. Taking her hands I pressed them to
my lips.
“Whatever happens now, we shall meet again,” I murmured. “No earthly
power except your own can prevent me from making you my wife.”
With a little sigh, she turned to the door. Then, followed closely by
the duenna, she left the room.
“Let us smoke,” the Pasha said, and, taking a cigar-case from his
pocket, he opened it and held it toward me.
I took one of the cigars and we sat down together on one of the
ottomans.
“And so you want to marry her,” Meschid said, gravely.
“Yes,” I answered.
“You are asking me to yield to you the most beautiful woman in the
world,” he went on, thoughtfully.
“I am well aware of that,” I said.
“And you know that every pearl has its price,” he added.
A sudden chillness crept over me, and my heart sank. For the first time
in my life I knew the sensation of fear. I realized, too, that I was
dealing now with a true son of the Orient--a part of the world where
women are bought and sold for harems.
“Well, what is the price of this?” I asked him, sullenly.
“The most valuable pair of diamonds known to man,” replied the Pasha
gravely.
I started, and looked at him sharply.
All was clear to me now. This man had come all the way to London to
tempt me. So far as Pauline and I were concerned, he had left nothing
to chance. This house, with its Oriental furnishings, had been fitted
up for no purpose other than that to which I had seen it applied. It
was a trap set for me alone, and baited with--Pauline!
Almost unconscious of the Pasha’s presence, I rose and began to pace
the floor. In my brain was raging a fire that seemed to be consuming
all the respect for man and love for woman that I ever had felt.
Was it possible that this splendid woman--the fairest I ever had
seen--had been only playing a part? Was she nothing more than a blind,
unreasoning puppet that moved in obedience to this jewel-seeker’s
will? Or, ignorant of her father’s base designs, had she really learned
to love me?
While I still was tortured by these conflicting thoughts, it suddenly
occurred to me that my position was presenting a second, and no less
serious, phase. The shadow of the curse that had blighted my father’s
life now had fallen upon me! I was in the presence of one of the men
who, it was apparent, thoroughly believed that the mysterious diamonds
were in the possession of my family. How did he come by this belief?
Glancing toward Meschid, I saw he was watching me stolidly.
“The most valuable pair of diamonds known to man might not be too
precious to offer in exchange for such a gift,” I said. “But where am I
to get them?”
The Pasha shrugged his shoulders.
“Your lordship must find the way,” he answered, shortly.
“Do you believe they are already in my possession?” I asked.
“No,” Meschid replied. “But I have reason to believe your father knew
where they might be found. I doubt not that he communicated the secret
to you.”
“Have you reason to believe that they are in England?”
“No,” said the Pasha, smiling slightly. “If I knew the secret of the
hiding-place, it is probable that I would not find it necessary to come
to you.”
“How were you led to suspect that the secret was in the possession of
my family?” I asked.
“That is my affair,” he retorted.
For several moments both of us were silent. Then, having thought calmly
on the matter, I addressed him.
“For many years men have suspected that two valuable diamonds either
were in my father’s possession or that he had the secret of their
hiding-place,” I said. “Why they should think this always constituted
a mystery that he never was able to fathom. Independent of my interest
in your daughter, it is desirable that I find the gems. If they come
into my possession I gladly will relinquish them to you in exchange for
the gift that it is in your power to bestow on me. I would require as
a further condition, however, that publicity be given to the fact that
you have become the owner of the stones.”
“That responsibility I would assume most cheerfully,” Meschid replied
with a smile.
“I am perfectly willing,” I said, “to undertake the quest, provided
it is possible for me to find the clue which, though unknown to me,
appears to be identified with the property that I have inherited. If
you have any suggestion to offer that is likely to put me on the right
track, I beg of you to let me have it.”
Meschid shrugged his shoulders.
“I can give you no advice,” he said, half-contemptuously. “I have told
you on what terms I will grant you my consent to marry my daughter. The
rest is your affair.”
“How much time may I have in which to attain my object?” I asked.
Again the Pasha shrugged his shoulders.
“My daughter is twenty now, and a woman’s beauty does not last
forever,” he answered, sharply. “If, within two years from to-day you
deliver these stones to me, Pauline shall be your wife. If you fail to
do this within the period I have named--why, then she will become the
bride of a more determined suitor.”
“What is the history of these stones?” I asked him desperately. “Who
was supposed to have had them before they were delivered to my uncle?
All large diamonds have distinctive names. By what names are these
known? How am I to learn who had them last, and how they may be
identified?”
The Pasha shook his head.
“I have no information concerning these details,” he said. “As I have
said, it is your affair.”
Meschid moved toward the door suggestively as he spoke, but I, standing
in the middle of the room, still hesitated.
“Will I not be permitted to see your daughter again before she leaves
London?” I asked.
“No,” he answered with decision. “I will start for Constantinople
to-morrow, and she will go with me.”
I bowed and left the room. Meschid, contrary to my expectation, did
not accompany me. As I passed through the dimly lighted hall, however,
a strange thing happened. A shapeless figure suddenly appeared, then
flitted to a doorway. On the wall opposite this doorway was an oval
mirror in a massive gold frame, and as I passed it, something in the
glass attracted, then riveted, my attention.
It was a human face from which had fallen the folds of the yashmak
that had concealed from my view the features of the duenna, and, as I
looked, I recognized the long, angular face of Glyncamp, the American
mind-reader!
Involuntarily I stopped. For several moments the mirrored eyes gazed
steadily into mine, then the face disappeared, and I passed on.
A black-garmented negro, gliding from a niche, met me as, descending
the stairs, I made my way to the lower hall. He opened the street door
for me, and, stepping out, I found that the city was enveloped in a fog
as thick, murky and gloomy as my thoughts.
On the following day I learned that Meschid, Glyncamp, and most of
the members of the Pasha’s household had left London for Dover. The
servants who remained behind were engaged in the task of packing
furniture.
The next week I gave much time to the examination of my father’s
correspondence, hoping to find therein a clue to the identity and
whereabouts of some person who might know something more of the
mysterious gems than I had been able to learn. My search was vain,
however, and, brooding over my failure, late one night, my thoughts
were diverted by the entrance of a servant who gave to me the card of a
visitor.
As I glanced at the card, an exclamation of pleased surprise came to
my lips. I pushed back my chair and hurried to the hall to welcome
the one man in all the world for whom, since my father’s death, I
had entertained feelings of real affection--Frank Blakeslee, an old
classmate, who, having obtained a commission in the army, had been
serving in India, Africa and Malta, and whom I had not seen for more
than four years.
I am not an emotional man, but now my heart seemed to rise to my
throat. Since Blakeslee and I had parted last, I had seemed to be
living a life of isolation, and during this period there was none I
regarded as a confidant. Now, when I saw the smiling bronzed face
of my old friend in the hallway, I gave no heed to the hand that
he held out to me, but, grasping him by the shoulders, I shook him
violently--insanely, like a very fool. My words of welcome fell
incoherently from trembling lips, but he read their meaning in my eyes.
Startled by the strangeness of my greeting, my friend looked a little
alarmed at first, then, smiling, he said, in his brusque, English way:
“Well, Cecil, how are things with you? I was sorry to hear of your
governor’s death. I knew it must have cut you up a bit.”
We talked for a while on various subjects of interest to us both. Then,
coming back to my affairs, I told him all that had befallen me since my
father had revealed to me the strange secret of his life.
Blakeslee watched me intently as I proceeded with my narrative, and,
from time to time, the shrewd questions he put to me showed that the
last few years had not clouded the keen perceptions that had inspired
me with admiration in our college days. I brought the narrative down
to the very moment that the servant had placed my friend’s card in my
hands.
When I finished, Blakeslee slowly settled back in his chair and puffed
vigorously at his pipe. I watched him curiously, anxious to learn what
effect my recital had upon his mind. At length he spoke.
“How’s Cummings?” he asked, absently.
Cummings, an inconsequential fellow, was an old classmate of ours, of
whom I had lost sight. His life had never interested me.
“I don’t know anything about him,” I replied, shortly, and a feeling
of resentment sent the blood to my face as I realized that my friend’s
thoughts already had wandered from the subject I had found so vital.
“A helpless sort of duffer, wasn’t he?” said Blakeslee, meditatively.
For several moments he smoked silently, then he went on: “But, I
say, old man, you haven’t showed me that doggerel--those verses, you
know--that your uncle wrote.”
I hesitated. Blakeslee had disappointed me. As he sat now, thumbing
tobacco deeper into the bowl of his pipe, there seemed to be something
impertinent in his complacency. Dominated by a spirit of irritation, I
made no reply to his suggestion. He flashed toward me a look of earnest
inquiry.
“If you happen to have them anywhere about you, Cecil, I’d sort of like
to have a look at them,” he persisted.
Half-reluctantly, I opened a drawer of my desk, and, after a little
fumbling, found the sheet and handed it to him. He read the verses
deliberately.
“Humph--not bad!” he muttered, as he finished reading; then, laying the
sheet on one of his crossed knees, he lighted his pipe. “What have you
made of them?”
“Nothing,” I answered, sullenly.
“But the possibility that they might afford some sort of a clue to the
mystery of the diamonds naturally occurred to you,” my friend said
thoughtfully, as again picking up the sheet he looked at the back of it.
“The idea did occur to me, but there seemed to be nothing in the
character of the lines to encourage it. Accordingly, I dismissed it.”
“And you didn’t look for an acrostic or cryptogram or--or anything of
that sort?” he went on musingly, as, with his elbows on his knees, he
studied more carefully the lines on the sheet.
“No,” I replied.
For nearly five minutes the silence was unbroken. Puffing deliberately
at his pipe, Blakeslee kept his gaze on the sheet he was holding before
him.
“Well, Cecil, there’s something here,” he drawled, at last.
I stiffened suddenly. All my resentment left me now.
“Do you know, Cecil, I always had a fancy for this sort of thing,” said
Blakeslee, with a chuckle. He paused, then added: “He’s talking about
gems--two of them--that’s plain enough.”
“He calls them stars--stars of destiny,” I protested.
“Figuratively--figuratively, I suppose they are,” he said,
abstractedly. “But they are gems, for the writer plainly indicates
that the objects were capable of being handled--and one does not
handle stars, you know. Now, let us see. Listen to this: ‘Rare as two
angel-tears congealed--’ There were two of them, you see. ‘Are those
that flashed their light--’ Diamonds are the only gems that really
flash. But now let’s see what he means by ‘just as great Buddha’s gaze
revealed--’ That ‘just’ signifies the time the stones were there--that
they were--well, some place, I suppose. ‘Its splendors to men’s sight.’
Now it’s clear that the ‘its’ refers to the gaze and not the flashing
of the diamonds. In short, then, the diamonds flashed when Buddha
gazed.”
I rose irritably.
“Oh, that’s all nonsense!” I exclaimed. “If you are going to undertake
the thing at all, you’d better get on another track.”
“Nonsense!” Blakeslee repeated, in an injured tone. “There’s nothing
nonsensical about it, old top. I’ve been in India, and I’ve seen images
of Buddha that used to have necklaces of precious stones around their
necks. Sometimes the images were veiled. The withdrawal of the veil
would reveal the gems and the face of the image at the same time,
wouldn’t it?”
I went back to my chair. There seemed to be some method in the madness
of my friend, after all.
“Well,” Blakeslee went on, “let us see how this first verse goes when
the lines are taken together.
“‘Rare as two angel-tears congealed
Are those that flashed their light
Just as great Buddha’s gaze revealed
Its splendors to men’s sight.
Immured within a human breast,
Down Tyneside one shall go.
’Tis only when the truth is guessed
Shall men behold its glow.’
That’s clear enough, too--in a way.”
“Clear enough!” I exclaimed in disgust. “It seems to me that it makes
everything more obscure than it was before.”
“Not at all,” replied Blakeslee, calmly. “It plainly indicates that
one of the stones was to be taken from the land of Buddha to England.
That’s all.”
“Come, come, Blakeslee, you are letting your imagination carry you too
far from the field,” I said. “The last four lines of the stanza, more
than all the others, have convinced me that my poor uncle really was
in a sentimental mood when he wrote of the ‘Stars of Destiny.’ They
refer to the death of a comrade--Lieutenant Wortley, who, while serving
with my uncle in India, was killed in a skirmish with natives. Wortley
belonged to a comparatively humble family in Northumberland. The family
and its fortune were about extinct at the time of his death. My uncle’s
affection for the poor devil was so strong, however, that he had the
body embalmed and sent to England, paying all the expenses of the
funeral himself.”
“From what part of Northumberland did Wortley come?” Blakeslee asked
sharply.
“From a little village named Hetley,” I replied.
“And he was buried at Hetley?”
“Yes--in the family vault in Hetley churchyard. The town is on the
river Tyne, and the lines in the ‘Stars of Destiny’ that read ‘Down
Tyneside one shall go’ doubtless refer to this circumstance.”
There was a pause, then Blakeslee said musingly:
“I have heard of men swallowing diamonds in order to hide them--though
the act nearly always proved fatal, but stars--never, Cecil--never!”
For several moments I was speechless, and I felt drops of perspiration
gathering on my forehead.
“Great Heavens, Blakeslee, you don’t think--” I began.
“I’m only guessing, Cecil,” he answered gravely. “Listen:
“‘Immured within a human breast,
Down Tyneside one shall go.
’Tis only when the truth is guessed
Shall men behold its glow.’
I’m only guessing, boy--I’m only guessing.”
“But--if these diamonds are all that the Pasha believes them to be,
each must be almost as large as the Kohinoor. No man would attempt to
swallow such a stone.”
“Perhaps he didn’t swallow it,” said Blakeslee. “It may be that he died
before the idea of ‘immuring’ it occurred to your ingenious uncle.”
With an exclamation of horror and impatience I rose.
“The very idea is atrocious!” I said.
“Not at all,” Blakeslee protested, complacently. “If men go through
life with gold teeth and aluminum jaws in their heads, and silver pipes
in their chests, what is there revolting in the idea of a man going to
the grave with a diamond in the place formerly occupied by his heart?
It was a good thing for the Lieutenant, I should say. Had it not been
for that diamond his bones would now be lying in an Indian trench. As
it is, he has found burial among his forefathers. There will be no
difficulty in getting permission to open the tomb, I suppose.”
“No,” I murmured. “In view of the fact that members of my family had
the body brought from India, I dare say the matter readily may be
arranged.”
Blakeslee nodded.
“Well, there’s one of the gems accounted for,” he said. “Now let’s see
to the other one.”
He again picked up the sheet containing the verses, and began to study
the lines attentively. I gave him little attention. Trembling with
excitement, I paced the floor with nervous steps. At length a little
chuckle from Blakeslee caused me to halt abruptly.
“As an exponent of practical expression, this old chap was a veritable
Wordsworth, Alfred Austin, or Walt Whitman--too simple to become
great,” he said. “We don’t require any of the literary acumen of a
woman’s Browning club to decipher his meaning. Listen to this:
‘Let him who hath less haste than I,
Or deems himself less rich,
Seek that from which in fear I fly--
The treasure in the niche.
Encompassed by the very walls
Your temple-builders made,
Ere death unto the finder calls,
Seize fast the long-tongued jade.’
All that’s plain enough, isn’t it?”
“Now that the mystery of the first verse has been cleared away, I
confess that the lines of the second become more significant,” I
replied. “The lines, ‘The treasure in the niche’ have, from the first,
encouraged in me the suspicion that the writer might, indeed, be
referring to the hiding-place of precious stones. But, while a certain
temple undoubtedly is referred to, the lines, ‘Your temple-builders
made,’ and ‘Seize fast the long-tongued jade’ have baffled me. There
is nothing to indicate where the temple may be found, and, as ‘jade’
undoubtedly signifies a woman, it is scarcely probable that she has
been living all these years. These reflections have led me to believe
that the language was only figurative, after all--that ‘The treasure
in the niche’ was Truth, and that the ‘long-tongued jade’ who must be
seized before Death calls to the ‘finder,’ was Opportunity.”
Throwing back his head, Blakeslee laughed loud and boyishly.
“And so they are--so they are,” he said pacifically, as he saw the
anger in my eyes. “But let us look at the thing from a distinctively
material viewpoint. Briefly, then, the writer tells us that having
discovered the hiding-place of the stones, and succeeded in getting
away with one, he finds himself compelled to seek safety in flight.
Others, less fortunate than he has been, may return for the treasure
in the niche, if they will, but, so far as he is concerned, the game
isn’t worth the candle. Besides telling us that the treasure is in the
niche, he also says that the seeker will find it within ‘the very walls
your temple-builders made.’ The ‘very’ indicates that the walls are the
same that had been reared by the builders of the temple in which the
stones were at the time of their disappearance, ‘your temple-builders’
undoubtedly being the builders of the temple in which you are
especially interested--in short, the temple originally associated with
the gems.”
Fairly gasping for breath as the force of this interpretation became
impressed upon me, I voiced my last protest.
“But the jade--the jade--” I began.
“That line is at once the most important and intelligible of all,” he
said. “The word has, of course, several meanings--a tired horse, a
woman, and a certain kind of stone that is plentiful enough in India.
Many jars, idols, and other ornaments are made of this stone, and the
line in the verse apparently refers to a piece of jade carved in some
form that shows a long tongue. In this stone you doubtless will find
Diamond Number Two. But the writer warns us that the possession of this
is likely to prove fatal to the finder, for he says: ‘Ere Death unto
the finder calls’!”
“That is all very well,” I muttered moodily, “but how are we to know
where to look for this temple?”
“My dear fellow, this sagacious, plainly spoken uncle of yours had so
little confidence in the perception of his prospective nephew that he
left nothing to chance,” replied Blakeslee laughingly. “He has told
you.”
“Told me!” I exclaimed as I took the sheet that Blakeslee held out to
me.
“You said, I believe, that you tried to find an acrostic in the lines,”
Blakeslee went on.
“I tried the first verse only, but I failed. The first letters of the
lines are ‘R-a-j-i-i-d-t-s’--a combination that is devoid of sense.”
“There is no ‘t,’” protested Blakeslee. “The seventh line begins with
an apostrophe. The word, therefore, is Rajiid’s. In the second verse
the acrostic is plain--‘Lost eyes.’ Thus we have ‘Rajiid’s Lost Eyes.’
Taking these words in conjunction with the idea expressed in the first
four lines of the poem--namely, that the diamonds flashed ‘just’ as
Buddha gazed--it is easy to infer that the diamonds served as the eyes
themselves. Therefore, the diamonds are the lost eyes. Now, as temples
often are designated by the names of the towns in which they stand, it
is reasonable to assume that the Rajiid mentioned is the name of the
town in which we are to find our temple. Have you an Indian Gazetteer
among your books?”
I had one, and quickly placed it in his hands. Blakeslee turned the
pages deliberately. At length he stopped and, taking his pipe from his
mouth, read aloud:
“‘Rajiid, Nauwar: population, three hundred and twenty-five. Shoorgai,
forty miles.’”
As he passed the open book to me, he added:
“Well, there’s your temple, laddie. And now give me a place to turn in,
won’t you? When I got to London it was too late for me to get a train
out to the mater’s place, so I thought I would come up and smoke a pipe
with you. I won’t be up to town again for a week or so--unless--well,
I’ll see that thing through with you at Hetley, if you like.”
That night Blakeslee shared my bed with me. He was soon asleep, and
it was not long before he had the bed to himself; for, after tossing
restlessly for a couple of hours, I rose and, donning my bathrobe,
paced the floor of the library until after daybreak. At breakfast
it was arranged that I should communicate with the rector of Hetley
Church, and that, as soon thereafter as might be practicable, Blakeslee
should go with me to the vault where our gruesome task was to be
performed.
When Blakeslee left me, I at once proceeded to formulate a general plan
for the intended undertaking.
All his life my father had been watched by spies. In Glyncamp, who had
so nearly succeeded in obtaining from him the secret of the mysterious
verses, I recognized a powerful enemy. Was he working in the interest
of Meschid or in his own? Were his interests or those of Meschid allied
with interests of the native Indians who had attempted to get the
stones from my father? If not, how many independent jewel-seekers were
to be numbered among my persecutors?
I saw at once that it was all-important that I should move with
secrecy. Glyncamp was the man I most dreaded, and I shuddered when I
reflected what might happen to me, now that the mystery lay open in my
mind, if Glyncamp should succeed in getting me in his power. How easily
this might be effected was shown by my experience in that dimly lighted
house of the Pasha’s, when, in the guise of a veiled Turkish woman, he
had sat, unrecognized, in the room with me for hours.
In less than an hour I had decided to abandon the policy of
retrenchment that had been inaugurated by my father. All my energies,
financial and otherwise, now would be directed to the task of obtaining
these diamonds. I would win Pauline, and, by publicly transferring the
gems to other ownership, I would remove the curse that had pursued my
father to his grave and now was casting its shadow over me.
Sending for the head of one of the most prominent private detective
agencies in London, I directed him to secure all possible information
relative to Glyncamp’s past life, and to locate him and keep him under
surveillance. Some of this information reached me quickly.
I learned that the man was a native of Ohio, and that, having won
considerable celebrity as a mind-reader in the United States, he
had gone to Paris, where his performances had excited extraordinary
interest. Impressed by his singular ability, the Russian government had
offered him a large sum to go to that country and give his services
to the secret police. He had about decided to accept this offer when
a proposition coming to him from Turkey caused him to change his
plans. He went to Constantinople, and his arrival in the Turkish
capital was followed quickly by the discovery of the secret plans
of a revolutionary society. This resulted in more than a score of
executions. Then Glyncamp’s trail was lost, only to be found again when
he appeared in England with Meschid Pasha. Upon leaving London with
the Pasha, the mind-reader again had disappeared.
Convinced of the correctness of Blakeslee’s interpretation of the
mysterious verses, I decided that the sooner the tomb in Hetley
churchyard was opened the better would be my chance of keeping the
proceeding secret. I saw that I must do one of two things. Either
I would have to write to the rector, or I would have to see him
personally. I realized that writing on such a subject would be unwise
in the circumstances, but I reflected that, if I made two visits to
Hetley, I would take a double chance of exciting the suspicion of spies.
In the end, I came to the conclusion that the better plan would be to
summon Blakeslee, and, accompanied by him, get to Hetley about the
middle of some afternoon, and, after obtaining the rector’s consent to
the proceeding, go to the churchyard at night and perform the necessary
task.
I selected as the date of our visit to Hetley the second day of the new
moon, hoping that in the darkness our visit to the churchyard would be
unobserved by villagers.
Fortunately, all weather conditions were in our favor. Blakeslee and I
arrived at Hetley in a driving rain. We found our way to the rectory
without trouble, and were there greeted by the Rev. John Wivering,
the rector. To him I explained who I was, and I told him that the
purpose of my visit was to obtain from the inside lining of Lieutenant
Wortley’s coat a paper of the greatest importance which had been placed
there by my uncle. The fact that this was there, I said, had been
revealed by a document which I found among the papers of my father.
Though a little startled at first by the nature of my purpose, the
rector assented readily enough to my request. The key to the vault
was in the sexton’s room in the church, but the sexton himself was
confined to his bed by an attack of quinsy. The rector offered to
summon a couple of villagers to give us any assistance that we might
require, but we assured him that the task was so comparatively simple
we needed no aid.
Convinced that I was the person I represented myself to be, and that
my purpose was perfectly legitimate, the rector readily promised to
maintain the strictest secrecy concerning the proceeding. We had
tea with the good man and his wife; and, soon after darkness fell,
Blakeslee and I, carrying a satchel that we had brought with us,
repaired to the churchyard.
The task of conquering the rusty lock occupied more than ten minutes,
but it yielded at last. The rust-encrusted iron door moved inward, and
a rush of damp air passed our faces.
Stepping quickly inside the vault, I drew a dark lantern from the
satchel and bade Blakeslee close the door. A few moments later the
lantern’s fan-like ray was sweeping the floor, roof, and walls.
In the general aspect of the vault there was nothing to inspire an
average man with a sense of morbidness. The open space was about ten
feet square. The walls were of sandstone, and in these were set slabs
of yellowish marble on which were inscribed in black letters the
epitaphs of the persons entombed behind them. The slab bearing the name
of Lieutenant Wortley was almost level with the floor.
From the satchel we took chisels and mallets. The plaster surrounding
the slab was easily crumbled, and, working quietly and quickly, we
succeeded in releasing the slab in about twenty minutes. Behind this we
encountered a row of bricks. These were soon removed, and, at last, we
beheld the side of the box we sought.
Without pausing, we addressed ourselves to the most formidable part of
our task--that of withdrawing the box from the niche into which it had
been thrust. But the efforts of our perspiring, muscle-strained bodies
told at last. Then, with fingers quivering as a result of the violence
of our efforts, we produced a couple of screw-drivers and began to
remove the screws from the cover of the box. The raising of this
disclosed the top of a casket covered with black cloth.
Once more we returned to work with our screw-drivers, and the second
lid soon was lifted. Beneath this was a coffin, crudely fashioned
of lead. Fearing that this was sealed with metal, we examined it
carefully, and were relieved to find that, like the others, the cover
was only screwed down.
At length, Blakeslee and I, having worked our way around the gruesome
box, came together. My companion was withdrawing the last screw. In a
few moments the result of our quest would be known to us.
“Well, Cecil, let’s have it off,” said Blakeslee after a brief period
of hesitation, during which each of us looked at the pale face and
questioning eyes of the other.
Bending, Blakeslee grasped one end of the lid and I took the other. As
we lifted this, I kept my gaze on the metal cover until we laid it on
the floor. Then, for the first time, I turned my eyes to that which its
removal revealed.
“By Jove!” Blakeslee gasped, and stopped.
Well might we have been astonished at the object that now presented
itself to our view--the body of a soldier, clad in a scarlet jacket and
blue trousers. The head was large, and on the young, handsome features
there was an expression of dignified serenity that one might have
expected to find on the face of a sleeping Charlemagne.
“Why, the man looks as if he might have been alive this morning!” I
gasped.
Kneeling beside the still figure, Blakeslee began to unbutton the
jacket with such gentleness that one would have thought he was afraid
of waking the sleeper.
“They cut his head a bit,” mused Blakeslee, as he glanced at the dark
hair critically.
He had scarcely spoken, when, throwing back the folds of the jacket, he
exposed the bare torso of the still figure.
“That’s what did it, though,” whispered my soldier friend, pointing to
a round, bluish hole in the middle of the chest. “He was facing the
brown devils when he fell--one of the Queen’s own lads was this one,
Cecil.”
But my gaze had wandered lower. There I saw two lines--one
perpendicular, the other horizontal--that formed a cross, made, as I
knew by the embalmers. These lines had been roughly stitched, but some
of the catgut threads had been torn away.
Blakeslee gave utterance to a little exclamation of dismay.
“Some one has been here before us,” I muttered between chattering teeth.
“Give me the scissors,” directed Blakeslee grimly.
I passed them to him, then, with trembling limbs, I, too, knelt beside
the box.
A few moments later, when my friend again closed the scarlet jacket
over the cold breast, I, sitting limply on the floor, thrust into the
inner pocket of my coat a hard, oblong object that was sewed in a
little bag of oiled silk which exhaled the odor of fragrant spices--a
bag that I did not attempt to open then.
I tottered to my feet, and, as Blakeslee took one of the dead man’s
hands, I grasped the other.
“Good-night, old chap,” Blakeslee murmured, addressing the dead
soldier. “Perhaps, some morning, the same bugle music will wake us
both.”
As carefully as we had opened the three boxes, we closed them again. We
made no undue haste to leave the place. To the dead we gave all that
was its due. Every screw that we returned to its place was well driven,
and when the big box had been thrust back into the niche, we replaced
the stones as well as we were able. I resolved, however, that more
expert hands than ours soon should be entrusted with this task.
It was after nine o’clock when, after thanking the rector, we returned
to the railway station, just in time to catch a train for London. It
was six in the morning when, sitting at my desk, with Blakeslee at my
side, I severed the threads that had closed the little silken bag.
Within the bag I found a roll of chamois-skin, and in this a roll--a
diamond.
Not until I shall lie in that deep sleep that sealed the eyes of the
red-jacketed hero I saw at Hetley shall I cease to feel a thrill of
fear and wonder as I recall the effect produced by the object that the
unfolding chamois-skin disclosed to my view.
Catching, holding and multiplying the rays of the lamplight that fell
upon it, the marvelous gem suddenly seemed to become the focal point of
ten thousand dazzling beams--a whiteheated thing that was being slowly
consumed in its own blaze of glory--a self-damned soul on which Heaven
and hell had heaped their fires.
As I tottered backward, Blakeslee grasped my arm. Looking at him then,
I knew that his long face mirrored the lividness and horror of my own.
“Cecil, we must stop it!” he gasped, faintly. “If it is seen----! Come,
come, man--we must put it out!”
We glanced around us with apprehensive, searching eyes. The shades
were lowered and the doors were closed, but we asked ourselves whether
it was possible that no eyes other than our own should have seen this
outburst of supernatural radiance.
For several moments my courage seemed to fail, and I could not bring
myself to the point of touching the dazzling stone. At length, however,
I reached for the chamois-skin, and, after dropping this over the gem,
I placed the diamond in a drawer of my desk.
“You can’t keep it there,” said Blakeslee in a hoarse whisper.
“No,” I said. “To-morrow--to-day----”
“If spies are hovering around you the way they hovered around your
father, England is too small a place for that. You must get it
somewhere----”
“I’ve thought all that out, old man,” I answered, firmly.
“What are you going to do with it?” my friend demanded, curiously.
“I won’t tell you that,” I replied.
An expression of wonder leaped into Blakeslee’s eyes.
“You--you mean you dare not trust me!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” I answered, promptly. “I do not trust myself. If it is known
that you and I possess this secret, there is one who may have it in his
power to get it from us. When we find the other stone we will see them
together. Meantime, both you and I must be ignorant of the hiding-place
of these.”
Blakeslee nodded.
“You’re afraid of Glyncamp, then,” he said, meditatively. “Well, you
are right. It is best that neither of us should know. But how are you
going to manage it?”
“I’ll be out of England within the next twenty hours.”
Blakeslee frowned.
“You are going to the Continent?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, shortly. “But if you are willing to join me in my
search for the other stone, we will set out five months from to-day.
Until that day we must not meet.”
“How long will we be gone?” Blakeslee asked.
“Three months.”
“I can get a furlough for that period, I suppose,” he murmured,
musingly. He paused; then, with a little shrug of the shoulders,
he held out both hands to me, as he added: “All right, then,
Cecil--furlough or no furlough, you can count on me.”
I grasped his hands.
“And you are going to give the gems to the Pasha for the girl?” he
murmured, dubiously.
I nodded.
“Well, Cecil, either the girl is indeed an houri, or you’re a fool,”
Blakeslee muttered as he turned away.
Ten hours later I boarded a west-bound Cunarder at Queenstown. In a
belt I carried one of the lost eyes of the Rajiid Buddha.
During the six days occupied by the voyage, I formulated my plans for
the quest of the second diamond and the protection of the first.
Several days before Blakeslee and I had gone to Hetley, I had seen
in an English newspaper an account of some of the adventures of an
American traveler named Forsythe. This man had made travel a vocation,
and, in the employ of scientists and institutions of learning, he
had brought from various parts of the world objects of interest that
now formed parts of famous collections. He was described as a man of
fertile resource and unimpeachable integrity. I had heard of him
before, and there was something in his personal characteristics and
mode of life that had appealed to my imagination, and sometimes I had
even gone so far as to envy him his experiences.
I now reasoned that, taking advantage of this man’s resourcefulness
and reputation, I might cause the diamond to be removed from India in
a manner that would prevent anyone from suspecting the real purpose
of a visit to Rajiid. More than this, I also conceived the idea, not
only of keeping Forsythe in ignorance of the fact that he was to
have the second diamond in his possession, but compelling him to be
the temporary, and unsuspecting, custodian of the stone I had found
at Hetley. After having Forsythe conceal the Hetley stone, I would
arrange with Dulmer, my solicitor, to have an agent remove the sealed
package containing it from the place in which it might be kept by the
absent Forsythe. Not even should Dulmer know the nature of the packet’s
contents.
My instructions to Dulmer also bade him be prepared to have in the
United States a man who, as soon as he should receive the word to do
so, might take forcible possession of all objects that I might cause
Forsythe to take to that country. The signal for these double thefts of
my own property would be a report of my death to Dulmer. Each detail of
the plan was thought out carefully.
To most persons this plan, with all its elaboration of details, might
have appeared not only unnecessary, but altogether absurd. But the
strange power of Glyncamp had impressed me with so much respect and
alarm that, with so much at stake, I resolved to leave nothing to
chance. I was resolved that no man in the world should fall into
Glyncamp’s power, who in sickness or in health, would be able to form a
mental picture of the true custodian of the Hetley stone or the place
in which it might be concealed.
Upon arriving in New York, I engaged a room in a house occupied by a
family that was in reduced circumstances. Assuming the name of Alfred
Ferguson, I allowed my beard to grow, and, dressing only in cheap
garments, I kept out of the streets as much as possible. Inquiries
which I made concerning Forsythe revealed that he still was in South
America, and probably would not return to the United States for two
months.
I next proceeded to address myself to a task which I had set for myself
while I still was on the steamer. Obtaining some plaster of paris I
made a cast of the Hetley diamond. Then, taking this cast to a Maiden
Lane lapidary, I directed him to supply me with two paste counterfeits.
I had thought that this was a comparatively simple undertaking, but I
was soon undeceived. The lapidary told me that the work would have to
be done in Switzerland, and that it would be impossible for me to have
the imitation stones in less than two months. I gave the order, left a
deposit on it, and went out of the shop.
I had been in New York only ten days when I received from Blakeslee,
the only man who knew my address, a cipher despatch that read as
follows:
Parson says Glyn knows Hetley affair. Burglars have ransacked your
London apartments and spies are watching the house. Keep close where
you are, and look sharp. I am not suspected.
(Signed) B
The three weeks that followed were uneventful, and I spent most of my
time in my room. I heard that Forsythe was on his way to New York, and
I wrote to my solicitors to arrange to have fifty thousand dollars
placed to my credit in a Philadelphia bank. Two weeks later this sum
was at my disposal.
At last my patience was rewarded. The daily newspapers reported
Forsythe’s arrival, and from the Maiden Lane lapidary I received the
two paste stones that had been cut for me in Switzerland.
The lapidary appeared to be enthusiastic over the merits of the
imitations when he greeted me.
“Were there two such real diamonds in existence, they would be worth
millions, sir,” he said.
To give the lapidary his due, I must confess that the paste gems were
so excellently wrought that they filled me with astonishment, for I
never had suspected that the art of counterfeiting precious stones
could attain such wonderful results. A man would, of course, have been
little better than a fool to have been deceived by these paste baubles,
but I scarcely had expected to see any brilliancy at all. The forms of
the stones and a superior quality of material were sufficient to meet
all my requirements.
I expressed thorough satisfaction with the manner in which the work had
been done, and willingly paid the price that had been agreed upon.
I next had a tinsmith make for me a cylinder six inches long and three
inches in diameter. In this I placed the Hetley diamond, carefully
packed; then, in accordance with my instructions, the tinsmith sealed
both ends. This done, I shaved off the beard I had been wearing,
provided myself with twenty-five thousand dollars, and called upon
Forsythe.
The incidents connected with that interview, as well as those that had
to do with Forsythe’s journey to and from Rajiid, have been related
by that gentleman himself. I, therefore, will restrict myself to a
relation of my own experiences subsequent to that interview.
Upon receiving from Forsythe’s messenger the key to the unknown
safe-deposit box, I delivered it to a New York lawyer who had been
named by Dulmer as his representative. Meantime, however, a detective,
who was unknown to this lawyer, in accordance with my London
solicitor’s directions, had kept a careful watch on Forsythe and had
followed him to the office of the safe-deposit company. This detective
then sent the name and address of the company to Dulmer, who, it will
be remembered, knew nothing whatever of any diamond in which either my
father or I had been interested.
Embarking on the same vessel that took Forsythe to Europe, I spent
nearly all my days and nights in my stateroom in the second cabin. I
was in my stateroom on the _Arran_ when Forsythe boarded that steamer.
Blakeslee, having obtained his furlough, secured a stateroom near
the second cabin quarters on the _Arran_. For weeks he had been
indefatigably working in my interests, without causing any of the spies
who were following me to suspect that he was in any way interested in
my movements. To him three detectives, in his employ, had described the
appearance of several of the spies who had been seen lurking around my
former haunts.
On the _Arran_ were several Hindus. One of these conformed with the
description of a Hindu to whom certain spies had reported. Apparently
this man, having failed in his mission to London, was returning to
India without the knowledge of the fact that I was on the same vessel.
Chance, however, led me in his way one night when I had determined to
have a few words with Blakeslee.
My friend saw that I was recognized, and in obedience to a warning
signal from him, I retreated. That night the Hindu died under
mysterious circumstances. He was only an unknown Hindu, so the officers
of the _Arran_ made no investigation. All happened very conveniently.
The discovery of this spy caused me to change my plans. Despite what I
had told Forsythe--and I must confess that my representations to that
gentleman were sometimes rather far from the truth--I had intended to
let him go to Rajiid alone, while Blakeslee and I took another route. I
now decided, however, to have Blakeslee and Forsythe follow me.
At Arungabad I found two brothers--Parsees--who, like other members of
their sect, had little respect for Buddhism or its disciples. The elder
of these brothers was named Ahmed-Kal. The younger was Bunda. I had six
servants, but of these the two Parsees were the only ones whom I felt I
could trust.
I felt reasonably certain, until I drew near Rajiid, that I was
successful in keeping clear of spies. Upon my arrival at Rajiid, I
visited the holy well and its temple, as any other traveler might have
done. I watched a jaboowallah perform his tricks, and then passed on
my way. While in the temple I was careful not to display any undue
interest, but I had little difficulty in marking the jade idol in a
niche near the ceiling.
After leaving Rajiid, I proceeded to a village about ten or twelve
miles beyond. Here, pretending to be ill, I halted to await the arrival
of Forsythe and Blakeslee at Rajiid. In due time this was reported to
me.
Thus far I had believed myself to be free from suspicion, and already
I had begun to laugh at the fears which had caused me to make such
elaborate preparations for my quest for the hidden gem. I had little
difficulty in convincing myself that, without Forsythe and Blakeslee,
I might have purchased the jade idol and made my way out of India.
Satisfied, then, that my purpose was not suspected, I despatched
Ahmed-Kal to Forsythe with a note directing him to purchase certain
articles and return home by way of Calcutta. By the time Ahmed-Kal
returned, however, I was undeceived. Scores of native, cat-like eyes
had been watching me for hours.
It was Bunda who first told me this--Bunda, the brother of Ahmed-Kal.
From one of my alarmed native attendants he had learned that I had come
to Rajiid to take from their place of concealment the lost eyes of the
bronze Buddha.
When Bunda told me this, I laughed at his fears, but I put in his hands
a little parcel wrapped in khaki-cloth, and bade him take my horse
and set out for Bombay. I told him that fortune awaited him there if
he delivered to a certain man, whose name I gave, the parcel that I
entrusted to his keeping. I explained also that if he betrayed his
trust the soldiers of the White King would flay him, for that which I
had given to him was the White King’s own. The parcel contained the
imitation gems.
When I saw that the man believed me, I provided him with funds for his
long journey, for as fast as one horse succumbed to speed he was to
purchase another--the fleetest he could obtain. When Bunda left me I
awaited, with all the calmness I could command, the hour that would
bring to me the report of Forsythe’s departure from Rajiid.
But, before that hour came, the blow which I dreaded had fallen,
and it had come from an unexpected source. Bunda was scarcely more
than a dozen miles from Rajiid when I was suddenly set upon, beaten
insensible, and bound by my own attendants. It was in vain that
Ahmed-Kal tried to defend me, and even he suspected for a time that his
brother, knowing of the danger, had sought safety in flight.
When I recovered consciousness I was bruised and bleeding, and was
in the temple grounds where Forsythe found me. Before me stood the
jaboowallah who had exhibited his skill as a wonder-worker when I was
leaving the Rajiid temple. Addressing me in excellent English, he
questioned me shrewdly concerning the object of my journey to India,
and my reasons for visiting Rajiid. I told him I was a traveler, bound
for the military station at Shoorgai. His eyes flashed ominously while
I was speaking. When I finished he said:
“The sahib lies. He is Lord Galonfield, and he has come to us to
profane and rob our shrines. Unless he tells us where we may find the
sacred gems that were once the eyes in Buddha’s image, he will speak no
more.”
I shrugged my shoulders as I answered:
“I have told you that my name is Ferguson. The hiding-place of the lost
eyes is unknown to me. But if, doubting what I say to you, you find
courage to shed my blood, there will come to Rajiid men with coats as
red as the blood you now design to spill.”
“The White King’s soldiers will come in vain,” the jaboowallah
answered, calmly. “Though I shall cleave the sahib’s head from his
shoulders, yet shall he not die except by his own act, nor shall the
soldiers find him. Has the sahib any wish to express before he dies?”
I hesitated.
“Yes,” I said. “I am informed that, since I left your temple, another
traveler has come to Rajiid--Forsythe Sahib. Let him see my body, that
he may report my death to my friends in England. It is better that they
should know that I am dead than that they should spend their fortunes
seeking me.”
I saw the light of craftiness playing in the jaboowallah’s eyes. I knew
his thought, and that Forsythe would be brought to me before I died. I
knew, too, that I would not be allowed to die till they had the secret
from me.
“It shall be as the sahib has said,” the jaboowallah replied, but, as
he spoke, my heart grew still, for he unsheathed a sword.
At the feet of the jaboowallah several natives now spread a square
piece of white cloth, and eight or ten brown, sinewy hands forced
me to sit on it in a cross-legged position. This done, the natives,
retreating, left me sitting alone, at the jaboowallah’s feet.
“If the sahib wants to count the minutes and hours that precede the
coming of his friends let him sit still as the great Buddha on his
throne,” the jaboowallah said.
His eyes now gleamed like fiery coals, and, as they bent their gaze
upon me, I felt my will go out. The jaboowallah raised his arm, and
thrice in the moonlight I saw the flashing of his swift-circling blade.
A keen pain quivered in my neck and set every nerve in my body tingling.
“And so shall the sahib await the coming of his friends,” said the
jaboowallah as, sheathing his sword, he turned from me.
A few minutes later the sound of retreating feet died away. I was alone.
I was not deceived. The wound I had received was nothing more than
a mere scratch, however, which this strange man’s art had caused to
completely encircle my neck. It marked the beginning of the series of
tortures to which I was to be subjected in the course of an attempt to
wring my secret from me.
I saw Ahmed-Kal, trembling with fright, mount and ride away in the
direction of Rajiid. For more than an hour, conscious of the fact that
I was watched by scores of unseen eyes, I sat there, never stirring.
At length, from over a rise in the road, there came to my expectant
ears the welcome sounds of approaching hoofbeats. Then a little
cavalcade came into view. At its head rode Forsythe, Blakeslee, and
Ahmed-Kal.
I heard the horses stop in the road, and a few minutes later I saw my
friends approaching me.
I knew no word that might pass between us would escape the ears of
spies who were concealed in the foliage around me, but I was resolved
that Forsythe and Blakeslee should not be suspected of being the real
custodians of the precious gem that was concealed in the jade image.
But, shrewd as my friends usually were, this mysterious situation
now disconcerted them. They thought that I, believing myself to be
decapitated, had lost my reason. Despite my protests, Forsythe called
to his attendants, and Blakeslee drew his revolver. A score of armed
natives leaped upon them. Forsythe went down, but Blakeslee, fighting
like a very demon, shot four men and broke away. He got to where the
horses had been left, and, mounting his own--an animal that had been
carefully chosen--he made off in the direction of Shoorgai.
Ahmed-Kal, who had attempted to defend himself, was beheaded. Forsythe
was borne away insensible.
An hour later, while strung up to a beam by my hands, and with heavy
stones bound to my feet, I confessed--confessed that I had found the
lost diamonds under the coping of a well near which I had encamped, and
that Bunda, the Parsee, was bearing them to Bombay.
Further tortures were now suspended, and I was imprisoned in a
dingy cave, scooped in the side of a hill. From one of my guards I
learned that Forsythe had been released, and had left Rajiid. Why the
jaboowallah caused his vocal cords to be cut I cannot tell. I suppose,
however, it was the brown devil’s method of punishing him for calling
to his attendants while he was in the sacred precincts of the temple.
I knew that, as a result of my pretended confession, riders and
telegrams were being despatched to many villages in an attempt to head
off the fleeing Bunda. A week passed, however, before I was summoned
to the presence of the jaboowallah and there confronted with the paste
stones I had obtained from Switzerland.
I was asked whether or not these were the stones I had found in the
wall. I replied that they were.
Never have I beheld such a picture of chagrin as was presented by the
jaboowallah at that moment. He believed that the famed eyes of the
Rajiid Buddha had been nothing more than the imitation stones that now
lay before him.
I was told that I was free. Two hours later I was in the act of
mounting the horse which was to bear me away from Rajiid when I was
again assaulted. Once more I was thrust into the foul cave, and
there, deprived of food and water, my sufferings soon became almost
unendurable. In a week I felt that I was on the verge of becoming a
raving maniac, then they gave me water and I was led out into the
light. Something--whether it was the sun or a flash of burnished
copper--suddenly dazzled me, and I fell.
When I recovered consciousness, I found myself sitting on the floor of
a squalid room, and muttering incoherently.
“Give the sahib food,” a voice was saying.
The speaker was the jaboowallah, and, as he passed out of the door in
which he had been standing, I saw a European approach him. A moment
later the stranger disappeared, but my single glance was enough.
The stranger was Glyncamp!
Had I betrayed my secret? Whimpering and laughing like a foolish child,
I cried for food.
It mattered not how much the American mind-reader had learned from me,
the knowledge came to him too late.
A week later, shattered in health and mind, I crawled out of the dark
cave in which I had been confined. Where were my guards, and why had
no one brought me food? As I stood, blinking the warm sunlight, I saw
a man in khaki. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The man was still
before me, sitting on a stone, with a rifle across his knees. I called
to him, and he turned. He shouted and discharged his gun in the air,
and then ran toward me. It was a British soldier whom I never had seen
before.
“Are you Galonfield?” he asked.
“Yes--yes--I’m--” I began falteringly.
The man, bringing his heels together, saluted me as if I had been an
officer.
“Your friend, Lieutenant Blakeslee, is here, sir,” he said.
Sky, trees, and distant native huts seemed to be flung together in
a mighty mass, and I was dazzled by the whirling colors. I tottered
forward, and, as I fell, the soldier caught me in his arms. When I came
to my senses, I was lying on a camp cot, and Blakeslee was bending over
me.
“What has happened?” I managed to gasp.
“I got to Shoorgai, and brought down the boys,” he said. “For two weeks
we’ve combed the district in our search for you. You are twenty miles
from where I saw you last. The jaboowallah fled--saw the game was up, I
suppose.”
“And Glyncamp?” I asked anxiously.
“Oh, Glyncamp hasn’t been here, old man.”
“Yes,” I muttered, weakly. “Glyncamp has been here and has learned all
I knew.”
As soon as I was able to make the journey, Blakeslee and I returned to
England. There I learned that my plans had not miscarried. The jade
image and the cylinder were safe in New York.
Meantime, Forsythe had been incarcerated in an American insane asylum.
Not knowing anything of the manner in which he had been persecuted,
I did not suspect that he was at that moment perfectly sane and the
victim of the jaboowallah’s spies.
The very thought of the gems themselves was hateful to me, and I
resolved to get rid of them at the earliest possible opportunity. To
this end I sent to Meschid a letter that read as follows:
YOUR EXCELLENCY: Having succeeded in performing the task which you
set for me when we last met in London, I am now prepared to deliver
to you the articles which you demanded in exchange for the honor I
then sought at your hands. If, therefore, you will meet me in London
or Paris with the person who constitutes the third party to our
understanding, all the conditions of our compact will be promptly
executed.
Three weeks passed before I received a reply. The Pasha said that,
in order to fulfil the conditions we had agreed upon, it would be
necessary for me to present myself at his residence in Constantinople
and there deliver to him the articles which, as had been stipulated, he
should receive.
But I was still a marked man, and there were strong reasons for my
hesitation to go beyond the pale of English law and the protection
which it affords even to the humblest of England’s sons and daughters.
I now sent to an attaché of the British embassy at Constantinople a
letter in which I explained that I was betrothed to Meschid’s daughter,
Pauline. I also said that, owing to my failure to get in communication
with her, I desired to have agents employed to discover her present
whereabouts. The answer I received to this was a telegram that read:
Pauline is Meschid’s stepdaughter. He married her mother, the widow
of the late Prince Maranotti, of Basselanto, Italy. The mother died
two years ago. Pauline fled to her stepbrother, the present Prince
Maranotti. Her whereabouts are unknown to us.
At the end of a fortnight I was in Italy. Leaving Naples, I started
for Basselanto. I had covered only a portion of the journey, however,
when, in a newspaper that came to my hands, I saw a startling piece of
intelligence.
Prince Maranotti had been murdered at Basselanto only a few hours
before!
The dead man’s body, bruised and scratched, apparently by human hands,
had been found at the foot of a cliff over which, it was thought, it
had been hurled by the murderer.
Two men were suspected of having committed the crime. Of these one was
a man with a singularly grotesque face, whom no one in the vicinity of
Basselanto remembered having seen before the day on which the Prince
had met his death. A few hours before the body was found, however, he
had been seen hurrying to the station, apparently in a great state of
agitation.
The second person under suspicion was an American college
professor--Pietro Maranotti--a cousin to the man who had been slain.
Arriving at Basselanto, I made inquiries concerning Pauline. From
servants I learned that she had not been seen at Basselanto since, as
an infant, she had been taken away by her mother, an Englishwoman, who,
having been married to the former Prince, had fled from his cruelty.
Despite all the privations to which I had been subjected since I had
undertaken the quest of the Rajiid diamonds, my love for the beautiful
young woman to whom Meschid had introduced me, had been strengthened
rather than diminished. I asked myself why, if she was in trouble, she
had made no attempt to communicate with me. I resolved that to the
solution of this mystery I would address myself with even more energy
than I had displayed in my search for the gems which, as it had been
arranged, were to constitute the price of Meschid Pasha’s consent to
our marriage. I was determined to employ all my time and whatever
fortune I could command in finding the woman I loved.
Once more I had recourse to detectives. These I directed to trace the
movements of Pauline from the time she escaped from Meschid’s harem.
It was not long before these men reported that they were crossing the
trails of other detectives who were engaged in a similar search. Then
I learned that the employer of these was no other than the mysterious
Glyncamp, of whom I had seen or heard nothing since I saw him in India.
My available funds were growing low, and I decided to sell the diamonds
for which I had risked so much and for which Meschid Pasha had nothing
to offer now. By doing this I would attain two objects. First, they
would yield to me a sum sufficient to enable me to liquidate all the
debts I had contracted, and, secondly, I would cease to be an object
of the persecution of the unseen enemies who still threatened me.
Having arrived at this determination, I sailed for the United States.
Upon my arrival in New York I went to the best-known jeweler in that
city. To this man I told the history of the Rajiid stones, and offered
them for sale. He replied that he was unwilling to buy such costly gems
as a matter of speculation, but that he would try to find a purchaser.
A few days later he wrote to me, requesting me to call on Hewitt
Westfall.
It was with Mr. Westfall that I went to the vault in which the cylinder
and the jade image were deposited, and it was in his study that the
cylinder was opened and the jade image broken. There, for the first
time since the Indian Mutiny, the wonderful gems flashed together, and
it is to Mr. Westfall that they now belong.
To the purchaser of the lost eyes of Rajiid’s Buddha I told the story
of my quest for them. Strangely enough, he appeared to have heard
something of one or two of the persons I had mentioned, and he offered
to cooperate with me in my search for Pauline if I would consent to
submit to him certain reports that I had received from my agents. This
I did not hesitate to do.
Two weeks ago Mr. Westfall invited me to this dinner, and at that
time he expressed the belief that he would be able to number among
his guests the young woman whom I had known as Meschid’s daughter. He
has kept his word, and now, in the presence of those who have heard
the story of my adventures, I offer to her who inspired me with the
determination to undertake them the love, name, and fortune which, many
months ago, I offered to her in the London house of Meschid Pasha.
As the Decapitated Man finished speaking, he rose from his chair and
gazed earnestly toward where the Veiled Aeronaut sat with bowed head,
at the foot of the table. But from the unseen lips of the heroine of
his romantic tale there came no sound.
The silence was broken at length by Hewitt Westfall, who, rising, said:
“It is unfortunate that the endings of many true love stories should
be so uncertain that we have to guess at them, but in this so much yet
remains to be told that the story may be said to be scarcely more than
begun. Even the lady to whom his lordship just has addressed himself
has much to learn from others before she will be able to tell him
whether or not joy or sorrow will crown the efforts he has made to win
her.”
The Fugitive Bridegroom, whose face now wore a grayish pallor, half
rose from his seat. Glaring at the Decapitated Man, he asked, in a
voice that trembled with emotion:
“Do I understand, sir, that the lady to whom you have referred as
‘Pauline’ is--is my wife?”
“Your wife!” exclaimed the Decapitated Man, looking wonderingly at the
Veiled Aeronaut.
“No,” said the Sentimental Gargoyle, in a tone of decision. “Though the
lady may have given our friend, the Fugitive Bridegroom, some reason to
believe that he was her husband, I protest that she is not his wife.”
“And I maintain, sir----” began the Fugitive Bridegroom, impatiently.
“Well, well, let the lady tell her own story,” interrupted the Nervous
Physician, pettishly. “Until then----”
“Stop, gentlemen,” said Westfall, calmly. “All of you shall be heard in
good time, and it will be from the Veiled Aeronaut that we will hear
next. But, as it is now well after midnight, we shall be compelled
to wait until we reassemble in the evening. Meantime, according to
our arrangement, there must be no discussion of the subjects that are
reserved for after dinner.”
The guests thereupon rose, and, with bewildered faces, made their way
to their respective staterooms.
Breakfast was not served until nine o’clock. The One-eyed Duckhunter,
accompanied by the Decapitated Man, went out after ducks, while the
Whispering Gentleman, the Homicidal Professor and the Hypochondriacal
Painter sat down with Westfall to a game of bridge. The Fugitive
Bridegroom and the Veiled Aeronaut remained in their staterooms, and
the Sentimental Gargoyle found employment in writing verses on a little
table that was placed for him near the sarcophagus containing the mummy
of the Princess Tushepu, of the Twentieth Dynasty.
At three o’clock all except the Veiled Aeronaut sat down to luncheon.
Dinner was served at half past seven, and, when this was finished,
Westfall announced that the Veiled Aeronaut was prepared to relate the
story of her adventures.
The guests then seated themselves in comfortable attitudes and the
Veiled Aeronaut began her story.