Prince Ananda had welcomed Lord Victor and Captain Swinton on a wide,
black-marble verandah from which two marvellously carved doors gave them
entrance through a lordly hall to a majestic reception chamber.
"This is the 'Cavern of Lies,'" Ananda said, with a smile, "for here
come all who wish to do up the governor--and he's pliant. That, for
instance"--he pointed to a billowy sea of glass prisms which hid the
ceiling--countless chandeliers jostling each other like huge snowflakes.
"No end of an idea, I call it--fetching!" Lord Victor acclaimed.
Prince Ananda laughed. "The governor went into a big china shop in
Calcutta one day when Maharajah Jobungha was there. The two maharajahs
are not any too friendly, I may say, and when the governor was told
Jobungha had already bought something he took a fancy to, he pointed to
the other side of the store, which happened to be the lot of glass junk
you see above, and told the shop manager to send the whole thing to
Darpore. Ah, here comes the maharajah!" the prince added.
At the far end of the reception room heavy silk curtains had been parted
by a gold-and-crimson uniformed servant, who announced in a rich, full
voice: "His highness, the Maharajah of Darpore! Salaam, all who are in
his noble presence!"
A king had stepped into the room; a reawakened, bronze-skinned Roman
gladiator was coming down the centre of the room, his head thrown up
like some lordly animal. He was regal in the splendour of his robes.
Above the massive torso of the king, with its velvet jacket buttoned by
emeralds, the glossy black beard, luxuriantly full, as fine as a woman's
hair, was drawn up over the ears, its Rembrandt black throwing into
relief a rose tint that flushed the olive-skinned cheek. Deep in the
shadow of a massive brow were brilliant, fearless eyes that softened as
they fell on Ananda's face. In the gold-edged head-dress a clasp of gold
held blue-white diamonds that gleamed like a cascade of falling water. A
short sword was thrust in a silk sash, its ruby-studded hilt glinting
like red wine.
When Prince Ananda presented Swinton and Lord Gilfain, the latter as the
son of Earl Craig, the maharajah's face lighted up; he held out his hand
impulsively with simple dignity, saying in Hindustani: "Sit down,
sahibs. The young lord's father was my brother; at court his ear heard
my heartbeat."
A turmoil of vocal strife fell upon their ears from without. The baboo
had arrived.
"Oh, murder!" Swinton groaned, recognising the Dass voice demanding
admittance.
The rabble sound was coming down the hall as ineffectually two
attendants clung to the ponderous Bengali, mad with his affliction. The
words: "The maharajah's jewel is stolen!" caused Prince Ananda to dart
to the door. Seeing him, the servants released their grasp of Baboo
Dass, and the prince, not daring to leave the king's presence, allowed
the half-crazed man to enter the room, where he groveled before the
maharajah, bumping his forehead to the marble floor and clawing at the
royal feet.
When, at the king's command, the baboo rose, Lord Victor clapped his
hand over his mouth to smother his mirth, gasping: "Oh, my aunt! That
head!"
Like the rattle of a machine gun, Baboo Dass poured out his tale of wo.
When he had finished, the maharajah said calmly: "It doesn't matter,"
and with a graceful sweep of his hand suggested that Baboo Dass might
retire.
Once more the baboo's voice bubbled forth.
"Begone!" And the handsome face of the maharajah took on a tigerish
look. For a second it was terrifying; the change was electric. Baboo
Dass recoiled and fled.
Then the maharajah's voice was soft, like a rich-toned organ, as he said
in Hindustani: "India has two afflictions--famine and the Bengali."
Beside the rajah was a magnificently carved teakwood chair, a padlocked
gold chain across the arms indicating that it was not to be used. The
carving was marvellous, each side representing a combat between a tiger
and a huge python, the graceful curve of whose form constituted the arm.
At a question of interest from Gilfain, Prince Ananda spoke in Urdu to
his father. The latter nodded, and Ananda, crossing to a silver cabinet,
unlocked it and returned bearing a gold casket, upon the top of which
was inset a large pearl. Within the casket was a half-smoked cigarette.
As if carried away by the sight of this the maharajah, speaking in
Hindustani, which he saw Swinton understood, said: "That cigarette was
smoked by the Prince of Wales sitting in this chair which has since been
locked. He shook hands with me, sahib; we were friends; he, the son of
the empress, and I a king, who was also a son to the empress."
His voice had grown rich and soft and full; the fierce, black, warlike
rajput eyes were luminous as though tears lay behind. The maharajah
remained silent while Swinton translated this to Lord Victor. "Ah,
sahibs, if kings could sit down together and explain, there would not be
war nor distrust nor oppression. When your father"--he turned his face
toward Gilfain--"was a councillor in Calcutta, close to the viceroy, I
had honour; when I crossed the bridge from Howra as many guns would
speak welcome from Fort William as did for Maharajah Jobungha. But now I
go no more to Calcutta."
If Swinton had been troubled in his analysis of the prince's motives and
character, he now swam in a sea of similar tribulation. The maharajah
was big. Was he capable of gigantic subtlety, such as his words would
veil? He could see that Prince Ananda was abstracted; his face had lost
its jaunty, debonair look; worry lines mapped its surface. The loss of
the sapphire had hit Ananda hard, but if the robbery had affected the
king, he was subtle in a remarkable sense, for he gave no sign.
The maharajah now rose, clapped his hands, and when a servant appeared
gave a rapid order. The servant disappeared, and almost immediately
returned with a silver salver upon which were two long gold chains of
delicate workmanship and an open bottle of attar of rose. The maharajah
placed a chain about the neck of each sahib, and sprinkled them with the
attar, saying, with a trace of a smile curving his handsome lips:
"Sometimes, sahibs, this ceremony is just etiquette, but to-day my heart
pains with pleasure because the son of my friend is here." He held out
his hand, adding: "Prince Ananda must see that you have the best our
land affords."