"Yes," said the gloomy Hindoo; "I know it. But Krishna Bürkut knew it
twenty-five years ago, and the Swâmi Râm Nâth knew it fifty years ago,
and yet another Swâmi seventy-five years ago, but none of these restored
it to the Temple of Agni. All failed in their quest, and never regained
their caste. I too shall fail."
"Allow me to have the felicity of indicating at least one point of
difference between your honour and gentlemen mentioned," replied the
Baboo. "Your honour has intelligent assistant, while enumerated
catalogue had not. Have the kindness to point out fly in our ointment.
It is distinguished by its absence. The jewel is yours."
"Perish the jewel!" cried the other Hindoo in a sudden outburst of fury.
"Why couldn't the _Huzoor_ have left it alone, or have taken another
jewel? Why should he have singled out the one above all others necessary
to the happiness of Agni? And why should I, of all the priests of the
Temple, be chosen to restore the sacred stone? Here, with five thousand
miles of space between us, I declare to you, Ramma Lal, I do not fear
the wrath of Agni. I call him humbug. I read Shakespeare. I write him an
ass. I am doubtful even of Vishnu and Siva."
Travers paid no attention to Ramma Lal's reproachful reply. He was lost
in amazement. Here, on the very night he had chosen for purloining the
jewel, two other men were on the same errand. Stop. There was a reason
for their date. They had mentioned twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five
years. It was evidently an anniversary. Every twenty-five years an
attempt had to be made to restore the jewel to the Temple of Agni. Three
attempts had already been made in vain, and now, on the hundredth
anniversary of the theft by Major Illingworth, another attempt was in
progress.
At any rate, he was forewarned. The house was a mile and a half away
from the station by the main road on which the Hindoos were going. He
knew a cut across the fields which shortened the distance by half a
mile. He would gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes he had to obtain
the Pearl.
The train pulled up at Knowlesworth station. The two Hindoos stepped
out. Travers followed. He watched them start along the road; then he
briskly cut across country.
The church clock struck eight as he reached the terrace in front of the
hall. From the beginning he had matured only one plan of campaign. He
knew the rules of the house, and he would take advantage of them. From
eight to nine the men-servants were busy in the dining-room. Anyone
could open the main outer door and enter. He might, of course, be seen,
and in this eventuality Travers relied upon his being known to allay
suspicion. He was in evening dress, and temporarily, at any rate, would
strike a servant as being one of the guests.
The nominal dinner-hour was eight. It had been his intention to enter at
8.20 in order to allow for any delay either on the part of the kitchen
or the guests. Dinners at Knowlesworth were notoriously unpunctual, and
if he entered now he might run into the house party or meet stragglers
on the stairs. He must wait. But the Hindoos were marching down the
road. Each instant brought them nearer. In ten--no, in eight
minutes--they would be in the garden. Yet he dare not enter.
He waited impatiently in the shadow of the great portico. It was now
8.10. He would make an attempt.
He slowly pushed back the heavy door, and entered the vestibule. This
was cut off from the hall by big glass doors, and then by heavy
curtains. Still more carefully he opened the inner door, and then
quickly closed it again. Through the opening had come the sound of
voices and laughter. They were gathered in the hall before the fire,
waiting for the summons to dinner. So there he stayed, cursing the
unpunctuality of the house, and unquietly reflecting that a casual
remark as to the present state of the weather might lead to the glass
door being opened and himself ignominiously disclosed.
And Mary would witness his humiliation. Nay, she might even be the
innocent cause of it. She was within half a dozen yards of him now,
separated only by some glass and a curtain. Yet he could not speak to
her--could not even see her. Ah! that was her laugh. And that
Strathpeffer's raucous voice. Hang Strathpeffer!
It was now 8.15. The Hindoos were in the garden. The situation was
distracting. At any moment they might enter the Temple room.
Ah! there was the sound of movement within. The guests trooped past the
door. Their voices died away. All was still.
It was nineteen minutes past eight. Travers hesitated no longer. He
unbuttoned his top-coat, and, with cap in hand as though he were a guest
just come in from a stroll before dinner, he opened the hall door.
No one was in sight. He crossed the hall, and stepped lightly up the
stairs. At their head he passed a maid. She certainly took him for a
guest.
He went straight down the great corridor, and then branched to the left.
It was the third door ahead. He pulled back the panel as Mary had shown
him, undid the bolt from within, and entered. The room was in darkness.
He struck a light, half expecting to find the Hindoo disclosed. No, he
was alone, and the Pearl still there.
It was a room without furniture. In the centre was a replica of the
great idol of Agni at the temple from which the Pearl had been looted.
The god sat there, smug, cross-legged, and hideous. The eyes fascinated
the beholder. The left one was of marble; the right made of a stone
worth a prince's ransom--the one known throughout the world as the Black
Pearl of Agni. At the god's knees, their holders resting on the floor,
were two gigantic candles. Travers lit them.
[Illustration: "A CRY OF DESPAIR ESCAPED HIM."
(_p. 51._)]
Then he stepped quickly to the idol, and sought the left hand of the
god. He pressed the nail of the fourth finger. The god's right eyelid
lifted, and the complete stone was disclosed. Travers quickly abstracted
it, released the lid, and put the Pearl in his pocket.
His object was accomplished. But what was that? Listen.
There was a sound at the window. The Hindoo was there--beaten by half a
minute.
Travers turned to the door. Then, impelled by an overpowering curiosity
to see the end of the drama, he slipped to another window, and got
behind the curtain.
There was a faint whistle from below. Hang it, what a fool he'd been!
The Baboo had seen the momentary disarrangement of the curtain, and had
observed his figure against the light, and now he was alarming his
friend. But the latter heeded not. Perhaps he was too excited to
understand, or even to hear him.
The sash was raised, the curtain pulled back, and the Hindoo stepped
into the room. He was almost naked, and his bare limbs shone with a
coating of oil. He took one step forward, and looked up eagerly into the
idol's face. Then a cry of despair escaped him. The stone for which he
had travelled five thousand miles was not there. He had lost his caste.
It could never be regained, since he had failed in his quest. Never
again could he see his native land. Under the crushing blow he sank, a
comatose heap, on the floor.
The minutes passed, and Travers shifted uneasily behind the curtain.
There were sounds from the garden--then approaching footsteps in the
corridor. The door was flung open, and Lord Illingworth burst into the
room, revolver in hand. The Duke of Strathpeffer followed with other
guests, and some footmen. The Hindoo stared dully at them, but did not
move. He was promptly seized.
"The Pearl--where is it?" demanded Lord Illingworth.
The Hindoo did not reply.
Lord Illingworth pointed to the empty socket, and repeated the question,
but the Hindoo merely shook his head.
"Search him," said Lord Illingworth.
He was searched, but, of course, nothing was found.
Lord Illingworth stood over him.
"Where is the Pearl?" he thundered, but again the Hindoo shook his head.
"Bring in the other man," said Lord Illingworth.
The Baboo entered, limp and crestfallen, in charge of two stablemen. A
boy carried a silk hat and some winter clothing.
"Ask him what he has done with the Pearl," said the peer.
Ramma Lal put the question.
"I have not got it. It was not here when I came."
The Baboo repeated this to Lord Illingworth.
"It is a lie," he replied. "It was here an hour ago. I saw it myself."
"The _sahib_ knows that thou liest," said Ramma Lal to his friend. "Tell
him a finer tale."
But the Hindoo only protested his innocence.
"What does he say?" demanded Lord Illingworth.
"He says," replied the facile Baboo, "that no sooner had he taken the
Pearl than there was the flash of fire and much smoke. When it cleared
away the stone had vanished. Doubtless Agni the god had come for his
own."
Lord Illingworth blazed with fury.
"He has swallowed it," he said. "We shall have to cut him open."
Ramma Lal translated this terrific threat. The Hindoo gave a yell.
Despair lent him strength. With a serpentine twist he slid from the
grasp of one of his captors and knocked up the arm of the other. The
window was still open. He sprang through it into the darkness of the
night.
Lord Illingworth ran to the window, fired blindly, and then rushed from
the room. The others followed. Only the Baboo, his two captors, and the
boy with the clothes remained.
"Come along," said one of the grooms.
"Stay for one moment, I beseech you," said Ramma Lal, "and let me
worship Agni the god."
"None of yer blarney," returned the man. But the other, who was of a
romantic temperament, said, "Wot's the odds? Let the heathen do it if he
wants."
"You see, gentlemen," said the Baboo eagerly, "it is my very last
opportunity. I shall be lifelong imprisoned for the inauspicious event
of this evening. It is positively my last appearance in the open. Let me
worship Agni as I do in my own land. No Englishman has yet witnessed the
entire ceremony. It shall not take long. I will compress my
supplications. Five minutes will be ample dispensation."
The grooms looked at each other. Their curiosity settled the matter.
"We'll give you four minutes, so look sharp," said one.
"Thank you," replied Ramma Lal gratefully. "Agni will bless you for your
beneficence."
The men released their hold. One closed the window, the other shut the
door, and placed himself before it.
Ramma Lal took off his silk hat, muffler, and coat. He advanced to the
idol and salaamed low three times. Then he raised his eyes and sang.
Travers knew the song. It was a ribald ditty of the bazaars, and it had
as much to do with the worship of Agni as with the laws of gravitation.
He watched the Baboo with increasing interest. He had evidently some
ulterior object in view, but what was it? Ah!
Ramma Lal had gradually approached the idol. Still singing, he had bowed
his head till it had almost touched Agni's knees. Travers hardly saw the
movement of the hands. Only an Oriental could have done it so swiftly.
The two candles were suddenly extinguished, and the room was in absolute
darkness.
With loud imprecations the two grooms rushed to where the Baboo had
been--to collide with each other, and incidentally bring down the huge
candlesticks. Then recovering, they dashed about the room in search of
their prisoner, only to seize the boy who had the clothes. Finally one
of them struck a light.
They were alone with the boy. The window was again wide open.
The men leaned out. There was no moon. The lights of the searchers
flashed in the distance. They turned blankly to each other.
"There'll be pop to pay for this," said the boy, who was still suffering
from rough usage in the dark. "You'll both jolly well get sacked."
"All your blamed fault for lis'nin' to his tommy rot," said the one man
savagely to his companion.
"Who'd have thought he was so cunnin'?" rejoined the other. "Wot's the
good of talkin' here? Come out an' look for him. He may have broke his
neck," he added hopefully.
Again the lights flashed in the garden, and then gradually extended
beyond. Travers waited until he was sure there was no one below. Then he
emerged from his recess, and followed the Indians through the window.
Leaving the park to the searchers, he kept to the main avenue, and soon
gained the high road. A ten-mile walk brought him to Dorton junction,
where he just missed the last train to town.
The sun was high when Danby Travers reached his rooms, and it was late
in the afternoon when he awoke. The morning papers and his letters were
at his bedside. He at once opened one of the former, curious to see if
there was any reference to the events of the previous night.
Good heavens! What was this?
"BURGLARY AND FIRE AT KNOWLESWORTH.