MYSTERY OF THE AMBUSH IN INDIA

I

A Mysterious Message

It was sunset along the Calcutta waterfront. The reflection of the vivid

tropical sky turned the murky water of the Hooghly River into a rippling

rainbow. The river was alive with a variety of craft, including native

sailboats, side-wheel steamers that plied up and down the Hooghly

between Calcutta and the Bay of Bengal, eighty miles south, as well as

sturdy tugs, launches, and lighters that served the ocean-going ships

moored in midstream along the strand.

Biff Brewster was standing at the bow of a big freighter, the 10,000-ton

_Northern Star_, which only that afternoon had cast anchor in the Port

of Calcutta. Biff was a blond-haired youth of sixteen, with broad,

square shoulders and blue-gray eyes that were as keen and expressive as

his strong, well-formed features. With Biff were two other boys, his

companions in previous adventures.

One was Kamuka, a Brazilian boy of Biff’s own size and age. They had met

at the headwaters of the Amazon, where Biff had accompanied his father,

Thomas Brewster, in an adventurous search for a fabulous gold mine.

Kamuka, who had spent most of his life on jungle rivers, was keenly

interested in the scenes he now was viewing along the Hooghly.

The other boy was slightly younger and smaller of build, but quite as

wiry and athletic as his two companions. He was Likake Mahenili, a

Hawaiian youth known as “Li” to his friends. Li, a skilled diver, had

helped Biff crack the riddle of a vanished sloop when they had teamed in

a thrilling sea hunt off the Hawaiian shores.

Now, all three were newly arrived in India, the land of mystery. But

there was no mystery as to why and how they happened to be together.

That was due to a simple turn of events.

Months ago, Biff’s father had gone to India to open long-neglected gold

mines in some of the former princely states that had been absorbed by

the Indian Republic. It had taken much longer than Mr. Brewster

expected—as many of his jobs did—so he had arranged for the family to

come by air to India and join him there.

Meanwhile, Biff had invited Kamuka to come from Brazil and spend his

vacation in the United States. By a quick switch of plans, Biff and

Kamuka had flown to San Francisco just in time to take last-minute

passage on the _Northern Star_, which cost less for both than Biff’s

trip would have by air.

The freighter had been scheduled to call at Honolulu, so Biff had

written ahead to Li, who had not only met the ship there, but had

decided to come along on his own. They had broken the monotony of the

long voyage with brief stops at ports on the way, but so far, it had

been more of a sightseeing tour than an adventure. They still had one

more night to spend on shipboard as the _Northern Star_ had reached

Calcutta a day ahead of schedule.

“Tomorrow,” Biff declared, “Dad will be here to meet us. By now, my

mother and the twins should have reached Darjeeling, so he may be

bringing them along to visit the gold fields.”

“I hope that Mr. Brewster shows us the Kolar Mines at Mysore,” declared

Li enthusiastically. “They have shafts that go down two miles, the

deepest in the world.”

“Except for those in South America,” put in Kamuka stoutly. “They are

the world’s deepest. I learned that at technical school in Brasilia.”

“And I suppose they taught you that South America has the biggest

mountains, too,” returned Li. “Just wait until we see Mt. Everest. Those

Himalayas will make your Andes look like a lot of ant hills.”

“I shall wait until I see them before I judge,” said Kamuka

complacently. “But since you speak of ant hills, the ones we have in

Brazil are bigger than anywhere else.”

“You can’t win, Li,” laughed Biff. “Kamuka has an answer for

everything.”

“You’re telling me?” returned Li, with a grin. “He even answers

questions before I ask them.”

This good-natured banter had been going on all across the Pacific. In

the friendly disputes between Kamuka and Li, Biff had been called upon

to act as judge. So now he gestured toward the river, with the comment:

“Let’s keep our minds on what we’re watching for—the tidal bore coming

up the river. I’d say it’s due any moment now, the way those boats are

getting ready for it.”

Tugs and side-wheelers were bracing to buck the incoming tide, while the

native boats were hoisting colorful sails and poising in midstream,

ready to take off up the river. Biff had his movie camera with him and

he began taking color pictures of the scene, including activity along

the shore, where tiny craft were hastily shoving off.

“They’ll have to clear those piers,” Biff commented, “or they may be

smashed like eggshells when the bore hits.”

The other boys nodded as they scanned the deepening purple of the river.

But even their keen eyes failed to detect a motion on the darkened steps

of an old pier. There, a slim, furtive figure was crouched close to the

water, looking out toward mid-channel.

Carefully, the huddled watcher fingered a watertight packet attached to

a thin chain around his neck; then, satisfied that it was safe, he slid

his sleek, brown form into the river and began swimming smoothly,

swiftly toward the _Northern Star_. He might have been mistaken for a

snout-nosed crocodile from the delta of the Hooghly, or a floating log

swirling in the eddies of the changing tide. But no one noticed him,

least of all the boys high on the big freighter’s bow, for their

attention now was fully gripped by what was happening downstream.

Distant whistles blared; their deep-throated signal was relayed by other

ships closer by. Tugs added shrill blasts as a great crest of water came

rushing upstream, churning the muddy Hooghly into a whitish foam. Tiny

boats were tossed like match boxes by the six-foot wave that swept from

shore to shore. Launches rocked, tugs jounced, and the sailing craft

caught the stiff wind that accompanied the tidal bore, letting its

billows carry them along.

While Biff and his companions were watching the wave surge toward them,

the sleek, brown swimmer reached the bow of the _Northern Star_. If the

arriving wall of water didn’t overwhelm him, it seemed sure to crush him

against the side of the big ship. But as it was almost upon him, his

quick hands came up and grabbed the freighter’s anchor chain. An instant

later, he was out of the water and while scrambling upward like a monkey

the white foam churned just beneath him.

Clinging there, he waited while the freighter strained at its moorings,

because of the sudden lift. Then, satisfied that the chain would not

swing him against the ship, he continued his climb, his dripping figure

scarcely visible.

On the deck above, the boys had gone to the starboard side, where Biff

was taking pictures of the boats that were riding upstream. None of them

noticed the head and shoulders that appeared over the port rail. A sleek

figure followed, slid behind a row of crates, and worked along to a

companionway. There it darted swiftly up the steps to the cabin deck

above.

Biff had been following the bore with his camera, until it faded, tiny

sailing ships and all, beneath the towering bulk of the Howrah Bridge,

which spanned the quarter-mile width of the Hooghly River.

“Well, what did you think of it?” Biff asked.

“We have bigger bores on the Amazon,” replied Kamuka nonchalantly. “This

was only six feet. Ours are as high as sixteen.”

“And the way those sailboats took off was nothing,” put in Li. “Not

compared with the way we ride the rollers with our surfboards at

Waikiki.”

“It’s nice to hear you fellows agree on something,” laughed Biff. As he

spoke, a gong sounded from amidships. “And there is something else you

both like, the first call to dinner. Wait while I put my camera in the

cabin; then I’ll join you.”

Biff had left the door of his cabin unlocked. When he opened the door,

he was conscious of a slight stir within. Biff looked toward the

porthole that served as a window. Momentarily, it blacked out, then

showed plainly against the dimming sunset, as though a figure had

squirmed through. Biff stepped out, closing the door, and called down to

Li and Kamuka:

“Take a look over the port side and see if someone is hanging on outside

my cabin!”

A figure had been hanging on, but no longer. Pushing off from the side

of the ship, it straightened in mid-air and plummeted down the side of

the freighter, punching the water with scarcely a splash. By the time Li

and Kamuka looked over the rail and Biff was gazing from the porthole of

the cabin, the lithe brown swimmer was heading shoreward, unseen on the

now darkened surface of the river.

The cabin itself was empty. Of that, Biff felt sure as he turned on the

light, until a familiar voice spoke almost at his elbow.

“Listen carefully, Biff,” the voice announced. “I have something

important to tell you—”

The effect was electric on Biff. “It’s Dad’s voice!” he exclaimed. By

then, the door of the cabin had opened again, and Li and Kamuka were

staring in, both bewildered as the voice continued:

“I cannot meet you as I planned, so follow these instructions exactly.

Tomorrow morning, at ten o’clock, be at the New India Bazaar in

Calcutta—”

At this, Li exclaimed excitedly, “It’s Mr. Brewster’s voice!” and Kamuka

added, “But where is he? I don’t see him?” Then, Biff was pointing,

showing them the answer. The voice was coming from a tape recorder that

was on a table in the corner, and was connected with a lamp socket in

the cabin wall.

“And there you will receive another message,” Mr. Brewster’s voice

declared. “Follow it exactly, and you will meet a man we both can trust.

He will have more to tell you, so obey his orders to the letter, as if

they came from me.”

The tape ran on silently from that point. Biff stopped the recorder as

Li asked, in a puzzled tone, “Is this a joke, Biff?” Kamuka, his eyes

wide, was silently asking the same question, but Biff shook his head.

“Far from it,” said Biff. “I never heard this tape before, but it’s

Dad’s voice, as you both know. He has a recorder just like mine; in

fact, I brought this one along because Dad told me that if he had a

special message, he would put it on tape for me—just as he has!”

With that, Biff strode to the porthole and looked out over the black

river, toward the thousands of lights that were now gleaming from the

vastness of Calcutta, largest city in India, and the second greatest

metropolis of what had once been the British Empire.

“But who brought the message?” queried Li.

“And why?” added Kamuka.

“Those questions,” returned Biff, “will be answered tomorrow, at the New

India Bazaar!”

II

The Boy and the Basket

The last call for dinner interrupted any further comments on the

mysterious message. Tonight was a big event, for the chief steward of

the _Northern Star_ had gone the limit to please the three youthful

passengers on the freighter. The meal consisted of specialties in

Brazilian, Hawaiian, and American dishes, with little speeches in

between.

But the boys found it difficult to share the spirit of the other

passengers and ship’s officers, who were doing their best to entertain

them on this last evening together. Biff was sure that morning would

bring some confirmation of his father’s message, while Li and Kamuka

were wondering whether or not he had sufficient reason to be that

confident.

Early the next morning, the three boys were up and on deck when a mail

boat came to the _Northern Star_. A uniformed Hindu handed a telegram to

Captain Peterson, the skipper of the freighter, who passed it on to Biff

with the comment:

“This is for you rather than for me.”

Li and Kamuka were peering over Biff’s shoulders as he read the message

aloud:

“NOTIFY BIFF BREWSTER HIS FATHER CANNOT MEET HIM IN CALCUTTA. HE AND

FRIENDS ARE TO PICK UP PLANE RESERVATIONS FOR DARJEELING AND JOIN HIS

FAMILY THERE.”

The message was signed by the New Delhi representative of the Ajax

Mining Company, for which Biff’s father worked. Captain Peterson told

the boys to let him know if they had any trouble finding their plane

reservations at the Grand Hotel, where the bus left for the Calcutta

Airport at Dum Dum. Biff and his two companions said good-by and packed

themselves ashore.

They took a taxicab past the Maidan, the huge park where hundreds of

Hindus were asleep on the grassy expanse. Still more were sprawled along

the sidewalk of Chowringhi Road, which brought them to the Grand Hotel.

There, they found that plane reservations had been made for Darjeeling,

but instead of picking them up immediately, Biff inquired the way to the

New India Bazaar and found that it was a short rickshaw ride from the

hotel.

Soon the boys were riding swiftly through the native quarter of

Calcutta, in a two-wheeled, man-hauled carriage that followed narrow

streets flanked by rows of old tenement houses and other crude

structures filled with the city’s teeming population.

At the New India Bazaar, they found rows of small shops surrounding a

busy square where shoppers in Hindu attire carefully side-stepped a

sacred cow that was sprawled complacently on the sidewalk. Barkers were

babbling in Hindustani, trying to attract trade and one youth, attired

in shorts and loose white jacket, was drumming up business by beating

the ends of a wooden keg, tom-tom style, drawing a crowd along with him.

The Indian boy looked tall because he was thin, even to his smiling

face. He eyed Biff and the other boys closely as he passed them, giving

the drum a few quick, extra beats as an invitation to come along. Biff

turned to his companions and ran his hand through his shock of blond

hair.

“Dad must have given his friend a good description of me,” Biff told the

others, “so I am sure to be spotted soon. The more we circulate, the

easier it will be to find me, so we may as well see where this drummer

boy is leading us.”

They wound up at an open corner where some buildings had been demolished

to make way for one of the wide new streets that were being cut through

the city’s congested areas. Temporarily, at least, it had been turned

into an outdoor theater, for a man in baggy white clothes and a huge

turban was beckoning the crowd his way as he announced:

“I, Jinnah Jad, greatest _jadoo wallah_ in Bengal. I make _jadoo_ with

duck. You see.”

By “jadoo” Jinnah Jad meant “magic,” and the term “wallah” signified

that he performed it. The jadoo wallah filled a small tub with water

from a big jar, then placed a miniature imitation duck in the tiny pond

thus formed. As Jinnah Jad made mystic passes over the toy duck, it

dived into the water, only to come popping up again at his command.

As the boys moved closer with the interested crowd, Jinnah Jad gestured

them into a semicircle and announced:

“I show you magic with mango. First I make tent where it can grow—”

As he spoke, he set three sticks in the ground so they formed a tripod

about four feet high. He took a cloth from a big heap and wrapped it

around the sticks, making a little tepee. He held up a mango seed, about

the size of a large pear, then pushed it in through the opening of the

tent, as though planting it.

Soon Jinnah Jad pulled away the cloth and showed a little sprout instead

of just a seed. He formed the tent again, using a larger cloth. He piped

a tune on a hollow gourd that he used as a flute and pulled away the

cloth. There, spreading out from the tent, was a small mango tree, with

fruit on its branches!

As the crowd buzzed its admiration, Jinnah Jad turned to the slender boy

with the drum and said, “Chandra, you bring me rupees, so I make more

jadoo.” The boy promptly picked up a wooden bowl and started through the

crowd, taking up a collection, nudging people with the bowl and

gesturing to their pockets whenever they hesitated at contributing a few

coins.

Biff, meanwhile, was speaking in a low voice to his companions. “Let’s

spread out, so you two can watch to see if anyone is watching me,” he

suggested. “Then no one will know that we are together.” To that, Li and

Kamuka agreed. As they moved away, they each passed Chandra and added

coins to the collection at the Hindu boy’s urging. Then Chandra reached

Biff and asked politely, “You have rupees, maybe, sahib?”

Biff pulled two rupee notes from his pocket and dropped them in the

bowl. Chandra bowed and brushed past, taking the bowl to Jinnah Jad, who

picked out the rupee notes and glowered his dissatisfaction at the rest.

Two men were passing by, carrying a heavy basket that dangled by its

handles from a long pole. Jinnah Jad told them to set down their burden

and remove the bundles that it contained. Then:

“This boy is good for nothing,” declared Jinnah Jad, indicating Chandra.

“So I make him go for good. You watch.”

Before Chandra could dart away, Jinnah Jad grabbed him and thrust him

into the basket, which was roundish and bulging at the sides. Jinnah Jad

threw a cloth over the boy’s head and shoulders and suddenly, Chandra’s

form collapsed beneath it. Triumphantly, Jinnah Jad jumped into the

basket and trampled the cloth there.

Chandra had vanished from the basket, and to prove it, Jinnah Jad not

only stamped his feet all around, he squatted down in the basket,

filling it with his fat form, while he clucked like a happy hen seated

on a nest. Then, emerging from the basket, Jinnah Jad snatched up a long

sword, shouting, “I show you boy is really gone!” With that, he stabbed

the sword through one side of the basket and out the other side.

While the crowd gasped, Jinnah Jad repeated the thrust again and again,

one direction, then another. The jadoo wallah had worked himself into a

frenzy when the men who owned the basket stopped him and babbled in a

native dialect.

“They know the boy is gone,” translated Jinnah Jad, for the benefit of

the crowd. “They do not want me to spoil their basket.” He waved to the

basket and told the two bearers, “All right, take it.”

Eagerly, the two natives piled their bundles into the basket, thrust the

pole through its handles and hoisted it on their shoulders. By then,

Jinnah Jad was in the midst of another miracle. He was pouring rice from

a bowl into a square teakwood box that had a glass front, while he

stated:

“One time, in India, there was great famine, with people everywhere

needing rice. So a great yogi in the Himalayas fill a box with rice like

this—”

The throng was hushed, for Calcutta itself had suffered from great

famines, even in comparatively recent years.

“So by magic, he sent rice everywhere, to everybody!” Jinnah Jad gave

the box a flip. Instantly, the rice was gone from behind the glass and

he was opening the box wide, showing it to be totally empty. “Yes, to

everybody! To you—to you—to you.” Jinnah Jad was jabbing his finger from

person to person. “So look in your pockets and find it! You, sahib—you,

babu—find rice!”

People were bringing fistfuls of rice from their pockets. Biff smiled,

thinking these were friends of the jadoo wallah, until he saw total

astonishment on faces close by. Those included Li’s, for a dozen feet

away, the Hawaiian youth was bringing out two handfuls of the tiny

grains from each coat pocket. Still skeptical, Biff thrust his hands

into his own pockets and brought them out—containing rice!

The deeper he dug, the more he found. Biff was almost ready to accept

the jadoo of Jinnah Jad as real indeed, when he brought out something

else, a crinkly wad of paper, with more rice inside it. Puzzled, Biff

pulled it open and found it to be a penciled note that stated:

_Follow men who go with basket. Go alone. Tell no one where you go.

Important._

None of the other spectators had found a note like that, for they were

simply staring at the rice, while Jinnah Jad moved through the crowd,

taking up a new collection in person. Biff looked for the basket bearers

and saw them starting slowly away, as if they had waited just long

enough for Biff to find the note.

So Biff started after them, working his way through the crowd so that he

went past Li. Quickly, Biff muttered:

“Don’t look now. Just find Kamuka and wait for me here. I’ll be

back—soon.”

III

The Rajah’s Ruby

By the time the basket carriers had turned a few corners, Biff was not

so sure that he would rejoin his companions as soon as he expected. The

lazily moving pair suddenly stepped up their pace and the narrow, poorly

paved streets looked so much alike that Biff had no idea where they were

leading him.

The streets were flanked by _chawls_ or native houses that were scarcely

more than hovels. From the suspicious glances that Biff received, and

from the way the buildings encroached upon the narrow alleys, he felt as

though a whole sea of humanity was closing in upon him. He realized that

he would need a compass to find his way back. There was no telling by

the sun, which was out of sight even over the low roofs, although the

day was becoming so hot that Biff wished he were back in a rickshaw

instead of footing it through these dismal, dirty streets.

Then they reached a better section, where the buildings were higher,

with occasional shop fronts. There, the basket bearers slackened pace

and turned into a passage beneath an archway that bore the sign:

D. CHAND & BROS.

_Import—Export_

Warehouse

Biff followed cautiously and saw the two men cross a little courtyard

and continue through another archway well beyond. There they disappeared

from view but only long enough to set down the basket, because one of

them returned to the inner arch and closed a big metal gate behind him.

He then went to rejoin his companion.

By then, Biff was moving into the courtyard himself. He edged over to

one side and gained a look through the inner arch. Beyond the closed

gate he saw what appeared to be a large storeroom, for there were many

crates, boxes, and other bulky objects stacked there. From his angle,

Biff could see nothing of the two men, so he moved cautiously toward the

inner arch, hoping to get a closer and more direct view.

At that moment, a clang sounded behind him, and Biff turned to see that

another gate had closed in the outer arch. A tall man in baggy white

clothes had stepped in from the street and was now locking the gate

behind him. Biff was trapped in the open space between the archways. He

looked quickly for an outlet, and saw one on the other side of the

courtyard, in the form of an open doorway.

Biff hurried in that direction, only to stop short as a man appeared in

the doorway to meet him with a polite, welcoming bow. The man was

dressed in European clothes, but his broad, bland face, with fixed smile

and bushy eyebrows above his large-rimmed glasses, was definitely

Asiatic. So was his cool, even-toned pronouncement:

“I am Diwan Chand. I have been expecting you. Come in.”

Then, as Biff hesitated, glancing back at the white-garbed Hindu, who

was coming from the outer gate, Diwan Chand added a further

introduction:

“This is Nathu, my special watchman. I thought it best to have him lock

the gate, so we cannot be disturbed. He will wait here until we return.”

Chand said nothing about the pair who had gone through the inner archway

with the basket. Biff followed the bland merchant through a room

equipped with a long row of vacant desks, like an old-fashioned counting

house.

“Our clerks work here,” explained Chand, “but they have all gone out to

lunch, so no one will know of your visit.”

Whether that was good or bad, Biff wasn’t sure. He felt a nervous

tingling that seemed an instinctive warning of some close danger; yet it

might be that all these precautions were for his benefit.

This seemed doubly so when they reached Chand’s quiet private office at

the rear of the long counting room. There, the merchant closed the door,

gestured Biff to a chair, and opened a small safe that was cunningly

concealed in the elaborately carved woodwork of the wall.

“You received your father’s message,” commented Mr. Chand, “and now I

have something for you to take to him. This.”

Biff gasped at the object Mr. Chand placed on the table before him.

There, in a small case lined with white velvet, gleamed the largest and

most magnificent gem that Biff had ever seen. It was a blood-red ruby,

with a touch of purple that gave it a glow like living fire, even in the

subdued light of the office. In his study of mineralogy, Biff had viewed

many fine stones, but never one that even approached this ruby.

“A _padmaraga_,” Mr. Chand said. “A true Brahmin ruby, not to be

confused with those of lesser caste. Whoever carries such a gem as this

one can live in perfect safety in the midst of many enemies, totally

without fear.”

At first, Biff thought that Mr. Chand was simply repeating some Hindu

legend concerning rubies, but he soon saw that the merchant’s steady

smile had become very serious.

“For this I can vouch,” Mr. Chand continued. “The Light of the Lama, as

this ruby is known, brought good fortune to the descendants of the rajah

who originally owned it. While I have been its custodian, I, too, have

prospered. There has been no trouble here, despite riots and

disturbances in other parts of Calcutta, in fact, throughout India.”

Mr. Chand picked up the squarish jewel case and started to place it in a

chamois bag, as he added:

“And now good fortune goes with you. They say that even the power of

invisibility is granted to those who hold this gem. Perhaps that is why

danger has passed me by.”

“But in that case,” Biff asked frankly, “why are you giving it to me?

Shouldn’t you keep it for yourself?”

“It is my duty to pass it along,” replied Mr. Chand solemnly, “and

besides, I have noticed that the Light is losing some of its fire, which

is a bad sign. See for yourself!”

He moved the ruby closer to Biff, who saw now that the gem was in a

simple golden setting; but more important, just as Mr. Chand said, its

sparkle had dwindled. Then, as Biff himself held the jewel, its wine-red

depth kindled with new flame, so suddenly that Biff caught his breath.

“A good sign!” exclaimed Mr. Chand, closing the little case and

thrusting it into the bag. “That proves it is in the hands where it

belongs!” He pressed it into Biff’s hands as he spoke. “So guard it

well”—he paused and his fixed smile became whimsical for once—“or I

should say, it will guard you well. We have just seen proof of that.”

Evidently, Mr. Chand referred to the ruby’s sudden glow, which was quite

puzzling to Biff. But something else puzzled him still more.

“Why must I take this ruby to my father?”

“He will tell you when you see him,” replied Mr. Chand. “The less I say,

the better, now that I no longer have the ruby to protect me.”

“And where will I find my father now?”

“In New Delhi. Go there, but do not contact his company except to ask

for him by telephone. If he is not there, go to the United States

Embassy, but be careful even then, as spies are watching everywhere.

Trust only your father’s voice as you did when you received the taped

message that I sent you.”

Biff nodded, recognizing the wisdom of all that. Then, thoughtfully, he

remarked:

“In that message, my father said I would meet a man that he and I could

both trust. I am sure he meant you, Mr. Chand.”

If the merchant had beamed at the compliment, Biff might have been

suspicious, for he still felt the odd sensation of some impending

danger. But Mr. Chand was modest.

“You can trust me,” he said simply, “but your father meant another man,

Barma Shah. He was the contact who brought us together. I had hoped that

he would be here to meet you and go with you now, but he is probably

being watched.”

“By the same spies you mentioned, Mr. Chand?” Biff inquired.

“Yes. Barma Shah told me he would stay away if danger threatened here.

That was a month ago and shortly afterward, new riots broke out in

Calcutta. Some were rather close by, the nearest that they have been.

Naturally, Barma Shah did not come that day. He has stayed away

since—and wisely—so I sent word to you myself, as was arranged for such

a situation.”

Above Mr. Chand’s quiet voice, Biff thought he heard a rising murmur,

much like the approach of the tidal bore along the Hooghly. Whether or

not it was his imagination, he felt more closed in than ever.

“The day of the riots,” Mr. Chand went on, “I looked at the Light of the

Lama and saw it had clouded. I was afraid, not for myself, but for Barma

Shah. I was glad when he did not come here—”

The murmur was louder now, no longer like wave beats, but more a human

babble, with occasional muffled shouts. Mr. Chand heard them, too, for

he raised his hand and exclaimed: “Listen!” Timed to the action came a

sudden pounding at the office door and the excited voice of Nathu, the

watchman:

“Master! There is danger! Another riot has started, outside our very

gate!”

As Chand unlocked the office door and opened it, the babble rose to a

bedlam of howls, shrieks, and the clang of metal as the mob battered at

the big gate. At Chand’s mention of the ruby, Biff had thrust his hand

into his pocket to see if he still had the chamois bag that he had

placed there. It was safe, and as Biff clenched it tensely, his palm

seemed to burn as though the gem were actually glowing through its

wrappings.

There was a huge crash as the metal gate collapsed and now, through the

barred windows of the counting room, Biff could see the milling figures

of the native rioters as they flooded the courtyard, swinging clubs,

slashing with knives, and hurling rocks at one another. Some of those

missiles smashed the glass in the barred windows, adding to the crowd’s

glee, for they were eager to destroy property along with lives.

Mr. Chand showed surprising speed as he whisked Biff back into the

little office and through a door in the opposite wall, at the same time

saying excitedly, “Go through the _godown_! It is your only way!”

Biff thought “godown” meant some steps, but instead, Mr. Chand was

referring to the storeroom. As Biff started off among the crates, there

was another clang from the courtyard, where the rioters were smashing at

the inner gate leading into the storage room itself.

“Not that way!” called Mr. Chand. “At the back, you will find another

_darwaza_—another gate! Turn left on the back street until you reach the

_chowk_—the market place! You will be safe there.”

Mr. Chand turned back into his office to help Nathu try to stem the

attack, and Biff shoved his way among the crates, clambering over boxes,

until he reached the rear exit that Mr. Chand had mentioned, but too

late. Already, the back street teemed with rioters. Leering faces turned

Biff’s way, and eager fingers pointed at him through the bars of the

rear gate.

Then hands were bashing the gate itself as others threw stones through

the grillwork. Biff dodged back among the crates, realizing hopelessly

that he was caught between two fires. A great crash told that the gate

from the courtyard had given way; and an echoing clang from the other

direction signified that the rear gate had met the same fate.

What Biff’s own fate would be, the next few moments would tell. Grimly,

he found himself gripping the chamois bag in his pocket, wondering if

the Light of the Lama could save him now. As if in answer, something

plucked his shoulder and Biff turned quickly, bringing both fists up to

fight off the first of a hundred enemies.

Instead, he found himself looking into the face of Chandra, the Indian

boy who had vanished from the basket back at the New India Bazaar. Above

the babble of the rioters came Chandra’s words:

“Quick! Come with me—this way!”

IV

Biff Vanishes

Escape from the frenzied mob seemed impossible, but at least Chandra was

making a try as he pushed Biff toward a deep corner of the big

storeroom, the only direction in which the invaders had not yet spread.

But there was no door, no outlet, nothing except a solid stone wall

beyond the last lot of crates.

Those offered no good hiding place, because the rioters already were

overturning or yanking open chests and boxes which blocked them, while

they kept up an excited shout, “_Farangi! Farangi!_”

That was one word that Biff knew. It meant “European”—which in his case

could be translated as “American”—and it signified that they were

definitely after Biff, though probably they would attack any Farangi

that they encountered. And now, Biff and Chandra were practically in the

corner, with no way to turn, except one, which looked like the worst

trap of all.

Just ahead stood a tall, rather bulky cabinet shaped in the form of a

pagoda, with half a dozen sides and a pair of front doors that were

partly open. Quickly, Chandra thrust Biff inside and pushed him to the

back, saying, “In there—keep quiet—do not move!” Then he pressed an

inner door shut, and Biff found himself alone in pitch darkness, clamped

in a space so tight that Chandra’s admonition not to move was quite

unnecessary.

Chandra was gone by then, dodging off among the crates, perhaps to save

his own sleek hide at the expense of Biff’s. For Biff, realizing now

that he was really boxed, was beginning to regret that he had trusted

the Indian youth so completely. Chandra, a native himself, probably had

friends among the mob. Maybe he had even told them that he would lure

Biff here.

Until now, Biff had had a chance either for fight or flight. Those were

both gone, and if he didn’t suffocate in this bandbox, he would probably

be yanked out and torn apart before he could even make a move. He was so

tightly jammed, he couldn’t even reach into his pocket and find the

ruby, which he felt was the real cause of his misfortune, despite the

soft talk Diwan Chand had given him.

Even now, Biff heard voices: “Farangi—we find him—look there....” And he

could hear crates being turned over close by. Next, the shouters were

clambering in and out of the cabinet itself, for Biff could feel it

shake and the hoarse, snarly voices were almost at his elbow. They were

even pulling the pagoda out from the wall, for its platform was set on

wheels; and they were literally spinning it about, with Biff still

inside it, yet for some reason, they passed by him in the blackness.

More shouts, louder crashes were suddenly punctuated by pistol shots,

leading to a last round of tumult that soon died. Biff heard receding

footsteps; then came a deadly silence, which was even worse. Biff felt

totally helpless and abandoned, unable to move, afraid even to call for

help. He was drenched in perspiration, and why he hadn’t suffocated or

been found he couldn’t understand, until a sharp click interrupted his

numbed thoughts.

Biff lurched forward, found the front doors and stepped shakily from the

pagoda cabinet to find one person in the dim light of the warehouse

waiting, grinning, to receive him. That was Chandra.

Briefly, the Indian boy explained things.

“They took a good look for you, all right,” he said. “Some of them did,

anyway, while the rest kept fighting each other. They looked a lot, but

they didn’t find you—or me.”

“But where did you go, Chandra?”

“Back in basket that brought me here,” replied Chandra, widening his

grin. He reached past a crate, pulled out the basket, squatted in it and

suddenly squirmed from sight, as if the basket were bottomless. Biff

looked in and was amazed to see nothing except a heap of old cloth.

Then, the heap stirred, and Chandra twisted into view from the basket’s

bulging sides where he had artfully coiled his thin, agile body.

“So that’s how you vanished!” exclaimed Biff. “Why, you were still in

the basket when the two men took it away!”

“How else could I get here so quick?” retorted Chandra. “They are

friends of Jinnah Jad, who show up with basket at the right time. This

godown is where Jinnah Jad keeps all his tricks, like the new pagoda he

built to make people vanish. So I put you there.”

“And I was thinking—”

Biff cut himself short, but Chandra picked him up.

“You think maybe the big ruby made you invisible,” declared Chandra, “as

it is supposed to do. But no, it was the pagoda trick. It hid you, the

basket hid me.”

Biff was cooler now, and he felt an actual shudder as he looked around

at the wreckage and saw some silent human figures lying near the gate to

the courtyard. Otherwise, the warehouse was deserted, except for Biff

and Chandra.

“But where did they all go, Chandra?” Biff asked.

“You heard shooting?” returned Chandra. “That was the police. They came

to help Diwan Chand. Lucky they didn’t use tear gas, which they do a

lot. We would have gotten it, too.”

Chandra was looking around at the broken boxes. He saw one that

interested him and beckoned Biff that way.

“We must get out before police come back and ask us to be witnesses,”

declared Chandra. “But the people who are after the ruby will be

watching for you. So you must wear other clothes—like these.”

Chandra was picking some native garments from those that had been dumped

from an overturned chest. Studying Biff, Chandra noted the deep tan that

Biff had acquired during his long voyage on the _Northern Star_.

“Your face is dark enough,” decided Chandra, “but your light hair will

have to be hidden. So we will make you into a Sikh. A Sikh always wears

a turban. That will fool everyone.”

Soon, Biff was attired in a costume that made him feel top-heavy. It

consisted of shorts, shirt, and jacket, and a huge turban, which

completely covered Biff’s ears as well as his head, after Chandra helped

him wrap it. They bundled up Biff’s clothes along with some other

garments and went out by the rear gate.

It was fortunate that both were in native garb, because Biff could sense

that eyes were watching them as they followed the street to the market

place. Chandra knew it too, for he said, “Don’t look around. They will

suspect us if you do.”

There were natives in the market place, gathered in little clusters,

discussing the recent riot. They glanced at the boys as they passed, but

that was all. Chandra gave a pleased chuckle, then added cautiously, “It

looks good now, but still we play it safe. We go the long way, past the

_thana_.”

By _thana_, Chandra meant police headquarters, a place that suspicious

characters would avoid. After passing it, the boys were satisfied that

they were not being followed, so they doubled back to the New India

Bazaar, where they saw Li and Kamuka studying the passersby from the

doorway of a sporting goods shop.

It was Biff’s move now. He eased up to Li, tapped him on the shoulder,

and said, “Salaam, Sahib.” Li turned and blinked puzzled at the face

beneath the turban until Biff could no longer restrain a grin.

“Biff!” exclaimed Li. “But where—and why—”

“We can’t talk here,” interposed Biff. “Meet me around the corner and

bring Kamuka.”

Chandra was with Biff when the other boys arrived. After introducing the

Indian youth, Biff said:

“I must go to New Delhi. If Chandra can go with me, it is up to him to

decide who can accompany us.”

“I can go,” Chandra assured him, “and Kamuka, too. But not Li.” He

turned to the Hawaiian youth. “Too many people saw you with Biff while

you were watching Jinnah Jad make jadoo. You might be recognized, one

because of the other.”

Before Li could even show the disappointment that he felt, Biff softened

the situation.

“Somebody will have to go up to Darjeeling,” he reminded his friend, “to

tell the family where I’ve gone. Canceling those extra plane

reservations and handling our luggage is a tough job, too. It looks like

you’re elected, Li.”

Li not only was elected; he did his job well. He went to the Grand Hotel

and returned by taxi, rejoining the group at a restaurant that Chandra

had specified. Li had canceled the air reservations without difficulty;

he had brought hiking packs for Biff and Kamuka, and he had arranged for

shipment of the excess baggage.

After a substantial meal, Li returned to the hotel by cab, to catch the

Darjeeling plane. The other boys boarded a big bus for Howrah, across

the river. Biff and Kamuka looked down from the tremendous cantilever

span and viewed the muddy Hooghly, hoping to spot the _Northern Star_

moored in the dim distance. They were talking about it—in English,

unfortunately—when Chandra hissed for silence.

They realized then that they were an odd group as it was—too odd to be

using English as a common language. Biff, whose features didn’t properly

match his Sikh’s costume; Kamuka, who might have come from an upcountry

tribe, but was wearing European clothes; Chandra, who with his _dhoti_

and jacket, looked like a jadoo wallah’s boy, which was exactly what he

was, and therefore the most outlandish of the trio.

In short, they were attracting too much attention. Biff and Kamuka

promptly subsided. Biff, particularly, felt that he should show some

dignity, so he did, by looking squarely at the other passengers, until

he caught the eye of a distinguished-looking man across the aisle.

The man had a large beard and a huge turban, which marked him as a Sikh,

and a genuine one. He was studying Biff with sharp eyes that continued

their piercing probe until the bus reached Howrah Station. Then, as they

were stepping from the bus, the bearded Sikh suddenly spoke to Biff in

what was their own common language, except that Biff couldn’t understand

a word of it.

All that saved Biff was a surge of the crowd, with people pushing one

way, then another, cutting him off from the bearded Sikh. Next, Biff was

on the outskirts of the milling throng, and Chandra was yanking him

away, along with Kamuka.

“Thanks, Chandra!” Biff gasped. “If you hadn’t dragged me out of that

jam, the Sikh would have known I was a fake—”

“That wasn’t why!” returned Chandra. “That wouldn’t have bothered us.

Maybe you’re a fake, but he’s a bigger one. I saw his beard close enough

to know.”

Biff looked back and saw that Chandra was right. Caught in the crowd,

the man with the big turban wasn’t trying to follow the three boys; in

fact, he couldn’t even see them. The reason was that his false beard had

been pulled up over his eyes, and he was madly trying to straighten it.

Hand in his pocket, Biff was gripping the packet that he had transferred

from his own clothes, wondering if the Light of the Lama again had saved

him from an enemy!

V

Danger at Dawn

Right then, Biff’s one hope was that he and his two companions could

lose themselves in another and bigger crowd and thus dodge the disguised

stranger who was so intent upon following them.

They couldn’t have chosen a better place than the Howrah Station. It

seemed five times bigger than any other railway station Biff had ever

seen, and it contained ten times as many people. The afternoon had

reached its peak of stifling heat, so they had come in here and sprawled

over the acres of cool marble floors in preference to the Calcutta

sidewalks.

The boys had to step around prostrate bodies or clamber over them, as

did hundreds of other travelers who were thronging the great depot.

Practically all of those travelers were natives, and many of them were

carrying huge bundles that contained most of their worldly possessions.

Chandra explained that many of Calcutta’s three million citizens were

constantly on the move, due to lack of food or jobs; but that as fast as

they left town, others poured in to replace them. He added that the

population was still shifting between India and Pakistan, which

accounted for more travel, particularly since the East Pakistan border

was so near Calcutta. He also mentioned that many were pilgrims bound

for Benares and other places holy to Hindu cults.

While the boys picked their way through the immense station, Chandra

pointed out examples of each group. He also called attention to

occasional Europeans and well-dressed Indians, including Hindus of high

caste.

“Those few,” declared Chandra, “go first- or second-class. Always, some

talk English and ask too much about everybody’s business. I know,

because I have gone second-class with Jinnah Jad. So we will go

third-class and talk just to each other.”

That satisfied Biff and Kamuka. It wasn’t a matter of saving money, for

they had pooled their cash and had more than enough to travel in luxury,

with Chandra included. But getting to New Delhi unnoticed was essential,

and the train trip, which required more than twenty-four hours, was the

sort that promised complications, so the more they avoided, the better.

Chandra had a bright idea on that score, too. Biff gave him enough money

to buy three third-class tickets, but when Chandra rejoined the other

boys, he returned half the cash.

“I only buy tickets halfway,” he stated, “so nobody will know we are

going to New Delhi. They will think maybe we are going to Benares or

Allahabad, but instead we will go on to a little village where my uncle

lives and start again from there.”

“You’re the boss of this expedition, Chandra,” Biff assured him.

“Anything that will cover our trail is a good idea.”

Breaking the trip also seemed a good idea when Biff saw the

accommodations that the third-class carriages offered. Biff had been

afraid that he might be noticed on the station platform, the way he had

been on the bus, but that worry soon was over. The platform was thicker

with milling humanity than the station itself. People would have been

pushed onto the track, if the train hadn’t been there to receive them.

Many were crowding into first- and second-class compartments, only to be

pushed out and ordered back to where they belonged, in third class. Amid

the commotion, Chandra found one third-class compartment that looked

full, but wasn’t, because the occupants had simply spread their luggage

in a haphazard way. Chandra began piling them together like so many

bundles of wash, until he had made room for all three boys, including

their own luggage.

The seats in the compartment were little better than benches, but Biff

gladly drew himself into the deepest and most uncomfortable corner,

rather than be observed too closely when members of the train crew

closed the doors, for some of them were genuine Sikhs who might have

seen through his thin disguise.

The platforms were still crowded when the train pulled out—as many

people had come to the station simply to see the others off. Then the

train was rolling into the open country, what little Biff could see of

it. The rattle of wheels mixed with swirls of dust and blended with the

smell of garlic and spices, for everyone was bringing out native food,

bowls of rice, bananas, and other fruit. Biff’s appetite was suddenly

roused.

“Think of all that rice Jinnah Jad wasted,” Biff said to Kamuka, “when

he did that trick! I could eat some of it now.”

“He didn’t waste it,” reminded Kamuka. “He put it in our pockets,

remember? We should have kept it.”

“Say, that was a neat trick.” Biff turned to Chandra. “How did Jinnah

Jad work that part of it? Or don’t you know?”

Chandra grinned broadly.

“That is one trick I do know,” he declared. “Remember when I went

through the crowd, tapping people’s pockets, asking for rupees, like

this?” He tapped Biff’s pocket, then Kamuka’s, and they both nodded.

“While I do that,” Chandra went on, “I use my other hand to put rice in

other pockets. So later, the people find it there.”

“So that was it!” Almost instinctively, Biff thrust his hand in his

other pocket, then brought it out in amazement, with a pair of candy

bars. Kamuka, reaching into his own pocket, found himself staring at a

handful of loose peanuts.

“You must have bought these when you went for the tickets,” said Biff to

Chandra, “and then you slipped them into our pockets while you were

telling us how you did it! Candy for me—peanuts for Kamuka—”

“And now you have peanuts, too,” put in Chandra, “in the pocket where

you keep the big ruby.”

Again Chandra was right, and Biff’s amazement at the Indian boy’s skill

was complete. They ate their chocolate bars and peanuts along with some

fruit that Chandra had also brought them. Then, when the other

passengers were no longer noticing them, Chandra remarked:

“Remember how the big man with the fake beard got tangled in the crowd,

when we were leaving the bus?”

Biff and Kamuka nodded.

“I do that too,” declared Chandra proudly. “I push one person like

this”—he nudged Biff forward—“and another like that”—he gave Kamuka a

backward push—“and pretty soon all are in each other’s way.”

Biff smiled at that, too; then he turned solemn.

“We’ve been watched,” he declared, “and that’s for sure. So let’s be

still more careful from now on.”

At various stops, the train disgorged many passengers who filled up

water jars that they had brought along and returned to the train before

it started. Biff and Kamuka let Chandra handle that job for their party,

rather than show themselves on station platforms.

Occasionally, though, Kamuka waved from the compartment window to fruit

sellers who also supplied milk and soft drinks. At such stops, first-

and second-class passengers went ahead to the dining car or had

attendants bring choice dishes to their compartments; but third-class

travelers didn’t rate such service.

It was turning dark when the train reached the great coal fields in

western Bengal. That part of the trip interested Biff most, because of

the mining activity. But there was little to be seen, and soon, despite

the rattle and jouncing of the train and the discomfort of the stuffy

corner, Biff began dozing off.

Once, Chandra nudged him and whispered, “Watch your turban! Keep it on

straight!” and Biff woke sufficiently to realize that he had one ear out

of the cumbersome headgear. He worked it into place, saw Chandra nod

approval, and then went back to sleep.

Again, Chandra woke both Biff and Kamuka, who was sleeping, too, telling

them, “Watch out, now! New passengers coming on board. Don’t let them

look at you too close.”

So Biff and Kamuka kept their heads together and engaged in low

conversation until the new passengers gave up looking at them and fell

asleep themselves. That gave Biff and Kamuka the right to do the same.

This time, Biff’s sleep was sound, undisturbed by the joltings of the

train or the blare of the locomotive whistle as it rushed on through the

thick night.

It was a dream that wakened Biff. He imagined that he was clutching the

big ruby, while hands were trying to snatch it from him. He was

confronted by bearded Sikhs and as he clawed wildly at their faces,

their beards came away, until he saw only one smooth face and opened his

eyes to find that the dream, in a sense, was real.

Biff was clutching the bag that contained the ruby, but his hand was

deep in his jacket pocket. The hands that were clutching him were

Chandra’s, shaking him awake; and the smooth face, too, was Chandra’s.

Quickly, the Indian boy put his finger to his lips for silence.

The train was standing still. All was silent in the compartment except

for the snores of other passengers. The lights looked dimmer than

before, because it was no longer pitch dark outside. Faint streaks of

dawn were reddening the sky beyond low-lying hills. The compartment at

last seemed slightly cool.

Biff risked a whisper. “Where are we?”

“At an engine-changing station,” Chandra whispered back. “Our own is

farther on, but we cannot wait until then.”

He gestured toward Kamuka, who was still asleep. Between them, Biff and

Chandra shook Kamuka and roused him instantly. Like a team, the three

boys gathered their packs and stepped carefully past the knees and over

the legs of sleeping passengers. Moments later, they were on a

weather-beaten platform alongside the long, silent train. A few dozen

human figures were stretched on the station platform, with white sheets

of cloth drawn completely over their motionless forms, like shrouds.

“Railroad workers, mostly,” whispered Chandra, “waiting for the next

shift. No one else gets on or off here, at least, not often.”

“But why are they covered over?” asked Biff, impressed by the weird

appearance of the figures.

“Because the night was cool for them,” replied Chandra, “but not too

cool for the insects. Soon, now, the covering over their heads will keep

the sun from waking them.”

The boys stole across the platform past a square-shaped station where

more such figures lay asleep. Kamuka, looking back at the train, put the

next query:

“But why did we get off here?”

“Too many passengers changed places in the night,” replied Chandra. “I

saw new faces; then later, I recognized some of the old again. If we had

gotten off at a crowded station, we could easily have been followed.

Here, no one else can leave the train without our seeing them.”

Chandra was right. The boys had reached a road that led at an angle from

the tracks. Looking back, they could see the full length of the brightly

colored train, as they continued on their way. In the gathering

daylight, their keen eyes would surely note any motion on the steps of

any of the cars. Ahead, the road led through a grove of trees. Once

there, the boys themselves would be out of sight.

There was just one spot the boys’ roving eyes did not cover; that was

the portion of the platform obscured by the squatty station. There,

three white-shrouded shapes were rising like ghosts in the gray dawn.

They dropped away their sleeping sacks, revealing limber figures clad in

dark clothes that blended with the background of the station wall, as

well as the trees beyond.

One man gave an order in a native dialect and like human bloodhounds,

the stealthy trio stalked off along the very road that the three boys

had taken!

VI

The Cry of Death

When the dawn had broadened into full daylight, the change was not too

noticeable, for by now the boys were trudging along a narrow, winding

road that was flanked by vivid tropical foliage and thick, overhanging

tree boughs that cut off much of the sunlight.

To Kamuka, this was intriguing indeed, for it carried him back to his

own jungle life in Brazil, especially when he caught the chatter of the

monkeys from the higher branches. But to Chandra, who was familiar with

it all, such sounds were an annoyance as he tried to explain his plans

to Biff.

“This road will take us to the Grand Trunk Road,” stated Chandra, “which

we will follow until nightfall to reach the village of Supari, where my

uncle is _patwari_—”

“Patwari?” interposed Biff. “What is that?”

“The same as _karnam_ or _kulkarni_ or _talati_—I have heard it called

by all those names—but it means in English, the man who keeps the

village accounts.”

“That would be the town clerk in America.” Biff nodded. “So your uncle

is an important man. Go on.”

“On the Grand Trunk Road,” continued Chandra, “we will look like

everybody else, because all India is there. You will see _hathi_,

_oont_, _ekka_—”

“Wait now, Chandra,” put in Biff. “Hathis are elephants, that I know.

And oonts are camels. But I never heard of ekkas. What are they?”

“Pony carts,” returned Chandra seriously, “and you will also see

bicycles and jeeps.”

“It sounds good,” decided Biff. “But what if we were being watched on

the train. Do you think they will catch up with us?”

“They cannot catch up,” returned Chandra, “because they have gone ahead.

If they talked to ticket agent or to the man who took our tickets, they

know where we should get off and will look for us there.”

“When does the train reach our station?” Kamuka asked.

“Not for about an hour,” calculated Chandra, “counting change of

engines. Before they come back to look for us, we will be on the Grand

Trunk Road.”

Despite his assurance, Chandra was moving rather cautiously, but for

another reason. He was looking from side to side, for they were in the

jungle now and there was no telling what night creatures might still be

on the prowl. Chandra knew this from occasional experience in such a

setting, as any Indian boy would who had lived in a native village like

Supari. But Kamuka, the boy from Brazil, recognized it instinctively,

for he was jungle born and bred, though in the opposite hemisphere.

“Remember, Biff?” queried Kamuka. “The time the big jaguar jumped at

you?”

“I remember,” replied Biff, “because it was you who stopped it, Kamuka.”

“I just helped,” said Kamuka. “But this jungle reminds me of jaguars. Do

they have them here?”

“They have cheetahs, leopards, and tigers. Those should be enough—and

more.”

“And big _sucuria_, too?”

“Yes, they have those.” Biff turned to Chandra. “He means a boa

constrictor. We ran into a big one up the Amazon, a snake the size of

your python.”

“What about _Macu_?” demanded Kamuka.

“Head hunters,” translated Biff to Chandra. “He wants to know if you

have them, too.”

“We have something much worse,” declared Chandra solemnly. “We have

thugs, or stranglers, who ride on trains with us. They are after your

ruby, Biff, if you still have it.”

Anxiously, Biff brought the bag from his pocket, opened it and held the

Light of the Lama in his palm, where it caught the glint of the sunlight

and reflected it with a vivid crimson sparkle that seemed to dye Biff’s

entire hand. The great ruby was larger than the biggest walnut, and as

Biff turned it in the light, its flattened surfaces, or facets, rivaled

one another with their fiery glow.

Chandra, who had been around the gem markets of Calcutta and other

Indian cities, and Kamuka, who had seen the finest of South American

stones during his studies in Brazil—both were swept with awe.

“Never have I seen such fire!” exclaimed Chandra. “The red ruby, like

the blue sapphire, is often beautiful in color, yet very dull.”

“This one loses its sparkle sometimes,” Biff declared. “And according to

Mr. Chand, it’s a bad sign when it does.”

“It gives us a good sign now,” observed Kamuka. “In South America, we

have the finest of all gems, the green emerald from Colombia. They say

it glows brighter than any red ruby, but now I am not so sure.”

Biff smiled, as he recalled Kamuka’s debates with Li while they were on

the freighter voyage. For Kamuka to admit that a product of South

America could be matched by those of any other continent, was a

concession indeed.

“That ruby,” calculated Chandra, “must be worth ten _lakhs_ at least,

ten times a hundred thousand rupees. But that is not why your father

wants it. He needs it for some special purpose; that was why he went to

New Delhi. That much I have heard Mr. Chand tell Jinnah Jad.”

“So it was through Jinnah Jad,” inquired Biff, “that my father’s message

reached me?”

“It was more through me,” returned Chandra proudly. “I swam out to the

ship, carrying the tape in this.” He produced a watertight bag on a neck

chain. “I looked for the cabin with the tape recorder. I put on the

tape, the way Mr. Chand showed me. Then I heard you coming, so I went

out through porthole quick, and dropped straight down.”

“A neat trick,” complimented Biff. “I’d like to see you do it some time.

Tell me, Chandra, did you ever meet my father?”

“Yes, I see Sahib Brewster twice, when I was there at Chand and

Brothers, with Jinnah Jad.”

“And did you meet his friend, Barma Shah?”

“No, never. He came only to see Mr. Chand in secret. He is what you call

undercover. He stayed away on purpose, when others began to find out

that the ruby was there. Like thugs I speak about.”

They were trudging along the road again, and now Biff recalled that it

was Chandra’s mention of thugs, or stranglers, that had caused him to

stop and make sure that he still had the priceless ruby safely tucked

away.

“These thugs,” questioned Biff, “do they want the ruby because of its

value?”

“They want it because of the goddess Kali,” replied Chandra. “That is

why they started riot outside of Chand and Brothers. They would have

strangled Mr. Chand, but they found the ruby gone—”

“So they were looking for me because I had it, and they would have

killed me for it!” Biff explained.

“That is right. But thugs will strangle almost anybody if they find

suitable time and place, because they believe in Kali.”

Biff was putting the ruby back into its bag. Chandra paused to hand him

the chain with the waterproof bag, suggesting that he put the packet in

that, which Biff decided was a good idea. As they started on again, Biff

urged:

“Tell us more about this Kali business, Chandra.”

“People say Kali was a great goddess who killed a huge monster that

wanted to destroy the world,” Chandra related. “But each drop of monster

blood sprang up into a new monster. So Kali taught men to strangle

monsters with a special cloth called _rumal_, about this long”—Chandra

spread his hands approximately a yard apart—“and after monsters were all

gone, men began to strangle men in the same way, never shedding any

blood. And so they do today.”

“But all that was stopped a hundred years ago—”

“You mean the time when British Raj said there should be no more

_thugee_? Look there”—Chandra stopped abruptly and pointed to an anthill

at the side of the road—“and you see white ants. They are dangerous,

like thugs, so I stamp them out.” Roughly, Chandra trampled the anthill

and the insects teeming around it. “But are they all stamped out? No,

some have gone under—how do you say it?”

“Underground,” returned Biff.

“That is it,” nodded Chandra. “That is the way the thugs went.

Underground. Now they have come up again.”

“But why do they want the ruby for Kali?”

“Because they think that rubies are drops of demon blood that will

become new demons unless Kali stops them. Your ruby would make biggest

demon of all, so they want it most. So Jinnah Jad tells me.”

“How many thugs do you think were on the train with us, Chandra?” Biff

asked.

“There always must be three,” declared Chandra. “Two to use the _rumal_

while the third holds the person they strangle. Always, they pick some

quiet place. Often they work in many secret bands, so they have a

special call, which Jinnah Jad has heard and warned me against. It goes

like this—”

Stopping short, Chandra tilted his head back and gave a long, weird

howl, “_Hyyyyaaaaahhhh!_” that sent shivers up Biff’s spine, despite the

increasing warmth of the morning. Biff pulled off his big turban and

mopped his forehead.

Kamuka, too, was impressed. Never in the jungle of his own native Amazon

had the Brazilian boy heard a cry as strange as that. It was a curious

cross between a human shriek for help and an animal’s anguished wail. In

jungle or village, it would strike a familiar, yet fearful note.

But as Biff and Kamuka stared in silence, Chandra’s own face turned

suddenly tense. From beyond the bend in the narrow road behind them came

a distant, echoing answer:

“_Hyyyyaaaaahhhh!_”

It was Biff who broke the grim hush.

“Try it again, Chandra. Let’s see how close they are.”

Chandra repeated the call in a louder wail that must have carried

farther, for now the answer came, not from behind them, but from the

jungle reaches up ahead. To the startled boys, their plight was all too

grimly plain.

On a forgotten road, walled on both sides by solid jungle, they were

trapped between two murderous bands of approaching thugs!

VII

The Temple of Kali

As the boys stood rooted, the strange cries came again; first from one

direction, then the other. But now there was a change in their weird

tones. They trailed longer, as though the thugs were telling each other

something, perhaps that they had helpless victims caught between.

Both Kamuka and Chandra sensed it. Kamuka was for taking to the jungle,

a setting that he knew so well, even though it meant facing creatures

different from those in Brazil. Chandra was willing to go along with

that, but Biff overruled them with a single vote.

“They’d start beating the brush for us,” he argued, “and that would only

drive us deeper. It’s not going into the jungle that I mind; it’s our

chance of ever coming out.”

He was beckoning the other boys along the road as he added: “We must

keep ahead of that bunch behind us, because they are really hot on our

trail. Those up front are farther away, even though they are coming

toward us. We may still have time to find a clearing where we can hide,

or better still, some jungle path.”

Tensely, the boys quickened their pace. The road here was winding more

sharply, for it was veering in among the low-lying hills. As they passed

a turn in the road, Biff pointed ahead to a gap in the thick jungle,

exclaiming, “That may be it!”

Again, long trailing cries came from both directions as though taunting

Biff’s hopes. The call from in back was still as far behind, but the one

ahead was much closer. Gritting his teeth, Biff muttered for his own

benefit, “This will have to be a path—or else!”

It was a path, but a rocky one, leading up a steep slope that flanked

the road. But the boys took to it eagerly, climbing rapidly despite

their packs, so as to reach the first spot where the path itself made a

sharp turn amid the thick foliage.

Once there, they were out of sight from the road below, so they paused

for a breather while they dipped water from a little stream that tumbled

down among the rocks beside the zigzag path.

Biff asked Chandra, “Any idea where this path may take us?”

“Maybe nowhere,” responded Chandra glumly. “It may just be an old stream

gone dry.”

“I don’t think so.” Kamuka studied the course of the stream with a

practiced eye. “Look at the smooth rocks here in the stream, yet all

those on the path are rough. If water came up there a lot, they would be

smooth, too.”

Chandra still was doubtful until Kamuka pointed far up the path.

“See where the path takes a short cut over the little hump of ground?”

he said. “The stream would go around that, even in the wet season. This

is a path, all right.”

“And we’d better be using it,” Biff put in, “before those thugs get the

same idea.”

Low calls of “_Hyyaahh_” from both directions down on the road below

indicated that the pursuing groups were close together, probably closing

what they thought were the jaws of a trap. Now that they had regained

their wind, the boys lost no time in resuming their climb, this time at

a steady, even speed that they were sure would keep them well ahead.

Kamuka was correct about the path. It was a real one, for soon it veered

away from the stream entirely and brought the boys to a jutting

promontory that gave them a good view over the green wave of the jungle

slope below. There they rested again, while Biff traced the course of

the road that they had left.

“If we could only cut across and strike the road a few miles up the

line,” he said, “we would really shake off those thugs. But no such

luck, I guess. We’d never hack our way through all that growth. Let’s

stick to the path.”

Sticking to the path meant further climbing, but it proved short, as the

top of the hill was only a little way above. As they reached the final

hump and emerged from the thick foliage, the boys stopped in surprise.

Perched on the summit was a ruined temple, its white marble steps

showing through the tangled underbrush, which was climbing up the

battered pillars and weather-worn walls.

[Illustration: _Perched on the summit was a ruined temple_]

A corner of the tiled roof had fallen in and a tree projected there

instead of a small dome, one of a group surrounding a larger central

dome, which was also in a battered state. As the boys reached the steps,

there was a sudden chatter from within the ruined temple, and troupes of

monkeys scampered out through the holes in the roof and the long window

slits in the walls.

“A good hiding place,” decided Chandra, “if the monkeys have been using

it as their home.”

“Then we can lie low here,” Biff said, “until after the thugs have

gone.”

They were entering through a fancifully tiled archway as Biff spoke.

Chandra extended a restraining hand as Biff turned toward an inner

corner, where a battered stone railing marked a stairway leading to a

floor below.

“Be careful where you lie low,” warned Chandra. “These old places are

alive with deadly cobras.”

“But how can the monkeys live with the snakes?”

“They don’t. Monkeys stay up there”—Chandra pointed to a balcony where

tiny faces and quick little eyes were peering through what was left of a

once ornamental railing—“and the cobras live in the pits below.”

Biff saw that the stairway was blocked by broken chunks from the floor,

but he eased away on the chance that a poisonous snake might be lurking

in the rubble. Kamuka, meanwhile, had crossed the floor to a small domed

platform that was reached by steps leading up from three sides. Kamuka

called:

“Biff,” he called. “Come look! See who is here!”

Biff joined Kamuka and stared up at the most hideous idol he had ever

seen. It was carved from a dark wood and had white, glaring eyes formed

of tiny pearls with a jet-black stone in the center. Larger pearls

formed the teeth of an open mouth, from which a carved, red-painted

tongue extended.

The ferocious image had four arms extended from its body. One hand held

an actual knife with jeweled handle and long curved blade, as though

ready for a downward stroke. Another hand was raised in a warning

gesture. The third dangled a carved human head. The fourth hand was

thrust slightly forward and was cupped, but empty.

From the idol’s neck hung a chain of human skulls, forming a huge,

grotesque necklace. Biff had already guessed the identity of the carved

horror, when Chandra arrived and gasped the name: “Kali!”

Biff stared at Chandra, wondering why he was so shaken. In a frightened

tone, Chandra exclaimed:

“This temple is old and broken, but the idol is a new one! We can’t hide

here! This is where the thugs themselves meet to worship Kali. They have

driven us up into their trap, and they will come here to hunt us down.

See that hand, Biff, the one like a cup? It is supposed to hold blood,

so it is waiting for the big ruby that you carry!”

An odd fascination had gripped Biff as he studied the hideous figure of

Kali. He snapped out of it now.

“What are we waiting for?” he demanded. “Let’s get out of here!”

They couldn’t go out the way they had come in. Already, a long-drawn cry

was sounding from the path leading up to the temple. It was answered

almost from the doorway, and the boys realized now that other members of

the Kali cult must have been lurking in the fringes of the jungle,

watching their arrival.

Kamuka, quick as ever, pointed out a corner stairway leading up to a

stone balcony in the rear wall, just above the Kali statue. Sunlight

shone through a slitted window that was located there. Grabbing their

belongings, the boys raced up the steps, then along the balcony, where

they jumped its broken gaps. They reached the window slit and squeezed

themselves through to a narrow outer ledge, where they pressed their

backs against the wall and stared downward hopelessly.

They were high up in the temple now, the equivalent of about three

floors in an ordinary building. There, a full thirty feet below, was a

stone court at the rear of the temple wall. The paving was cracked, but

as hard as ever—anything but a happy landing.

Close to the wall was the circular rim of a stone well, but it was built

up only a few feet from the courtyard. Not a slit, not an opening showed

in the wall itself, as the boys studied it cautiously, except for a few

irregular cracks that would afford no hold whatever.

If they had arrived here sooner, they could have planned some way to

lower themselves to the courtyard, but that was too late for Biff and

his companions now.

Already, high-pitched cries of glee were sounding from within the very

walls of the crumbling temple that the thugs had turned into a trap

baited with their idol, Kali.

VIII

“Move along, Biff—just a little—”

Chandra, crouched on the ledge, was holding a chunk of stone in his

extended hand as he pressed Biff slightly to one side. Chandra dropped

the stone, and Biff watched it plummet downward into the courtyard well,

where it struck with a splash that sent ripples spreading like a bull’s

eye.

“Now watch me,” said Chandra. He tossed his pack down into the courtyard

and stood straight up at the exact spot where he had crouched. “My feet

are here, by this mark. I step off to there”—he extended his arm

again—“and bring hands at sides, feet together....”

Chandra finished by doing just that. He stepped out into space, hands at

sides, brought his other foot forward and arrowed straight downward!

Biff and Kamuka watched amazed, expecting a crash landing. Instead,

Chandra followed the exact path of the stone that he had dropped. The

circular well seemed to spread its opening wide to receive him as he hit

the water with a sharp _plunk_ and vanished.

Then, after what seemed interminable seconds, Chandra popped up from the

surface, reached his arms wide and pulled himself out of the well, which

Biff was pleased to see was larger in diameter than it looked. That,

Biff realized, was the real mental hazard.

“Either look straight ahead, Kamuka,” he told his friend, tossing his

pack-kit and his Sikh turban down into the court, “or just shut your

eyes the way I am going to do. Anyway, stand right on Chandra’s

mark”—Biff took that position as he spoke—“step off, bring your feet

together—”

With that, Biff, too, dropped. Never before had he known a split second

to divide itself into as many moments as those. All the way down, he was

wondering if his step had been too long or too short, or whether he had

let his body waver. Thirty feet seemed like thirty years, until Biff

punched the water squarely and went deep, deep, deep, then came upward

faster, faster, and hauled himself out the way Chandra had.

Before Chandra could extend congratulations to Biff, another pack-kit

hit the paving beside them. Kamuka was ready to take off, and for the

first time, Chandra expressed the worry that he really felt.

“Climb up quick, Biff!” he said, from his side of the well. “If Kamuka

misses—if he wiggles—we must keep him from hitting stones too hard!”

Biff came up on the opposite side, ready to help break Kamuka’s fall,

but it proved unnecessary. A lithe brown form streaked feet first

between the ready hands that Biff and Chandra extended and was gone as

the water sprayed up from the well.

[Illustration: _Chandra popped up from the surface and reached his arms

wide_]

“Gone!” exclaimed Chandra. “Like Jinnah Jad says when I do basket trick.

Now watch me bring him back!”

He waved his hands above the well, and Kamuka bobbed up grinning.

Chandra and Biff grabbed his arms and hauled him out, anxious to get

started on their way. Picking up their luggage, they cut off to a far

corner of the courtyard where steps led down into another jungle path.

Minutes later, they were lost beneath a lattice of spreading green,

descending a slope that was leading them away from danger instead of

into it. Chandra began to chuckle happily and finally exploded into

mirth.

“They will never guess where we have gone,” the Indian boy said

gleefully. “They will wait, those followers of Kali, thinking that we

will come creeping back like the monkeys and the cobras. They will look

for us and will think that we are hiding, waiting, somewhere in the

ancient temple.”

“Maybe,” put in Kamuka, “they will look where we jumped.”

“What then?” rejoined Chandra. “They will find nothing. Everything will

be dry around the well by that time.”

“I’ll say it will,” agreed Biff. “Our clothes are dry already. You

certainly found the quick way out, Chandra.”

“Like I did from the porthole in your cabin,” reminded Chandra. “You

said it was a good trick, so I showed you.”

“But where did you learn it?”

“From my great-great-great-grandfather, up near Delhi. He still dropped

into an eighty-foot well when he was eighty years old.”

Biff had heard of the famous well jumpers, who for centuries had

performed their amazing feat of dropping straight down an eighty-foot

shaft that was only eight feet wide. That dated back to when the Great

Moguls had ruled India and the skill had been handed down from father to

son for generations until the British government had forbidden it as too

dangerous.

“But I thought they stopped well jumping—”

Biff caught himself, afraid that he would offend Chandra, but the Indian

boy took it in good humor.

“You mean like they stop thugee?” laughed Chandra. “They tried, but

thugs go underground so we still go under water. The big

difference”—Chandra turned serious now—“was that thugs hurt other people

and _should_ be stopped, but well jumpers hurt nobody but themselves and

even then, not very often.”

“I guess not,” agreed Biff, “or your great-great-grandfather wouldn’t

have been in the game at eighty.”

“My great-great-great-grandfather.”

“My mistake,” said Biff. “So your people still kept on jumping down

wells?”

“No, we obey the law,” returned Chandra. “We stop. But we practice in

open pools, just like other people dive. Sometimes at night, we take

full moon as target. We drop a stone from a high riverbank, where the

moon shows in the water. Then we step off like we three just did.”

“It’s lucky you showed us how, Chandra,” Biff said. “We never would have

tried it on our own. Would we, Kamuka?”

Kamuka shook his head emphatically. “I should say not!” he responded.

Fortunately, Biff, who was a good diver, had often stepped off

springboards or diving platforms as a stunt. Kamuka, too, had used the

same technique from the edge of high piers on the Amazon, when boats

were moored too close to allow a normal dive. So they had been ready and

able to copy Chandra’s well jump without hesitation, when the time had

called for instant action.

A few hours of steady plodding along the gradually descending path

brought the boys to a level clearing studded with the remains of a

long-abandoned town. Piles of ancient bricks represented the walls of

houses, though enough were still standing to mark the lines of streets

and market squares. A slightly higher clearing showed a row of

sculptured stone pillars, remains of an ancient temple. From another

such space loomed the ruins of what must have been a maharajah’s palace,

for its walls gleamed like alabaster in the sunlight.

“I have heard of this place,” nodded Chandra. “They have been making

excavations here. Down a road we will come to a waterfall, then we will

go past big quarries, then finally we will reach the Grand Trunk Road.”

Though the boys were practically sure that they had outdistanced any

pursuit, they still were taking no chances. They found the road that

Chandra mentioned, and though it was scarcely more than wheel ruts, the

hiking was good along it. After a few miles they came to the waterfall,

which tumbled from a rocky ledge amid the massed green foliage, forty

feet above. Its sheer descent ended in a rock-rimmed pool, which brought

a whimsical comment from Kamuka.

“Looks like the waterfall is trying a well jump itself. Maybe we should

go up and drop down with it, no?”

“No,” agreed Biff. “But that pool looks deep enough for a good swim.

What’s stopping us?”

Nothing was stopping them. By now, they were drenched with perspiration

after their steady hike, so a swim was in order. Soon they were

cavorting in the cool water, which was even deeper than they had

thought, and swimming close enough to the foot of the falls to catch its

spray, yet avoiding the pounding mass of falling water.

As Biff climbed out, Chandra called to him from the pool:

“Maybe you go back to your American clothes, hey? Nobody we meet will

guess who you are. You’ll find them in my pack.”

That was the best idea yet, for Biff was tired of his Sikh costume,

particularly the bothersome turban. While Chandra and Kamuka were

finishing their swim, Biff dressed in his own clothes. Then he strolled

over to look at an ancient stone platform that someone had uncovered

from the jungle roots.

The floor of burnt-clay bricks was set with colorful tiles that formed a

broken pattern and from the six-sided shape of the platform, Biff

decided it must have been a summerhouse frequented by the maharajah’s

courtiers. Some of the broken tiles had been stacked at the edge of the

platform, and Biff picked them up to examine them.

They looked like some form of terra cotta, though they showed no traces

of a glaze. Biff was stooping to replace them, when he heard a hiss

behind him. Instantly, Biff wheeled about and instinctively voiced a

sharp, warning cry, even before he saw the thing that he knew would be

there.

Swelling up from the rubble was a scaly, bulbous neck, with odd,

heart-shaped markings that gave it the look of a face with leering eyes

and grinning lips. But the creature’s own small head and beady eyes were

above that puffed-out neck that came rising higher, as token of its

deadly rage.

The hissing menace was a cobra, one of the most venomous snakes in

India. Rearing to a height of nearly two feet, the cobra was within

striking distance of Biff’s leg, and poised, ready to deliver death from

its dreaded fangs!

IX

The Man in the Jeep

Biff had given his quick cry as a warning to the other boys, though he

was the one who needed help. Fortunately, it worked both ways, for

Chandra, who had come from the pool and was putting on his clothes,

turned quickly in Biff’s direction when he heard that sharp call.

Chandra didn’t have to see the cobra to know that it was there. Often

before, he had seen and heard people react the way Biff had. In

response, Chandra automatically voiced a warning of his own:

“Don’t move, Biff! Stay right where you are!”

That was about all that Biff could do. His quick spin had brought him

back against the stack of old bricks and tile. He would trip over them,

if he tried to retreat farther.

The cobra’s mood was in a sense defensive, which made it all the more

dangerous. Biff had disturbed the snake; that was why it had risen to

action. Now it was waiting for some further motion to guide its deadly

stroke. The chance fall of a loose tile, the passing shadow of a bird in

flight might be enough. Unless something could completely divert the

snake, Biff’s chances of getting clear seemed almost nil.

Grimly, Biff wished that their equipment included a shotgun, but the

boys had no firearms among them. Chandra was approaching, but all he

held was a little stick no longer than an ordinary ruler. Biff heard him

say to Kamuka:

“Get tree branch—with lots of leaves—have it ready when I reach for it.”

Biff groaned inwardly. A tree branch to fight off a cobra! Then Chandra

had placed the stick to his lips and was piping a tune. The stick was a

little flute!

Edging Biff’s way, Chandra crouched until his shoulders were level with

Biff’s waist. Facing the cobra, Chandra swayed slowly back and forth. As

if captivated by the tune, the cobra’s hood began to bob in the same

rhythm!

Never, at the end of a swing, did Chandra give the cobra time to strike.

Playing the flute with one hand, Chandra reached over his far shoulder

with the other and gripped a leafy tree branch that Kamuka gave him.

Still swaying, Chandra carried the snake’s attention more and more

toward the extended branch.

Deftly, Chandra thrust the branch forward and downward. The cobra struck

with all its deadly purpose, but its fangs met twigs and leaves, nothing

more. Chandra had dropped the branch and flung himself in the opposite

direction, jolting Biff away from danger in case the cobra turned and

tried to strike anew.

Kamuka, by then, was peppering the snake with stones that he had

gathered while bringing the tree branch. Under that barrage, the cobra

hastily sought refuge in the rubble, where Biff, after his close shave

with death, was very glad to see it go. “Whew!” he said, wiping

perspiration from his forehead. “Thanks, fellows! You’re good men to

know! How did you learn to charm snakes, Chandra?” he asked. “Did Jinnah

Jad teach you that, too?”

“In a way, yes,” Chandra acknowledged. “Jinnah Jad and I watched snake

charmers often. He told me how they do their tricks.”

The boys gathered their packs and resumed their hike along the rutted

road.

“But how can music make snakes dance?” Kamuka asked abruptly. “In

Brazil, our snakes hear nothing except a big loud noise, when somebody

shoots a gun or whacks water with a paddle.”

“In that case,” said Biff, “it’s probably more a matter of the snake

sensing a vibration than any keen hearing. Maybe that’s why the flute

music sways them.” He turned to Chandra. “Or is it?”

Chandra grinned. “Flute music makes me sway,” he said, “so it makes the

cobra sway.”

“Because it watches you,” Biff said, “not because it hears the music? So

actually, you don’t need the flute, do you?”

“But I do need it,” insisted Chandra seriously. “Without it, I move too

slow or too fast.” He swung his head lazily, then bobbed it in jerky

fashion. “But with music, I sway just right.”

He brought out the flute and began to play it, giving his head and

shoulders the easy, rhythmic weave that they had followed before.

“You’ve convinced us, Chandra, so put it away,” Biff said. With

pretended anxiety, he looked back over his shoulder. “Next thing, you’ll

have a pack of cobras following us!”

More such banter spiced the hike until they reached the quarries, where

Biff called a halt because he wanted to study them. They were sandstone

quarries, dating back many centuries, and they were still being worked,

which interested Biff immensely. The road was much better from then on,

because it had to be kept in shape for the trucks that hauled the stone.

The boys passed a few of those trucks as they continued on their way.

It was afternoon when they reached the Grand Trunk Road, which lived up

to expectations. The hiking was pleasant and easy, for there were many

shade trees planted along the famous highway, some so tall that they

arched across the road. The boys saw elephants and camels, but ox-carts

were more common and seemed to be a highly popular mode of travel.

There were cars, too, and an occasional bus, but these modern vehicles

were badly handicapped by flocks of sheep that were in no hurry to get

off the road. There were throngs of pilgrims also, who added to the

traffic tangle. Most exasperating of all were the cows, which were held

in such high esteem that there was no rushing them at all. They just

took their own sweet time and let motorists chafe.

Biff and his companions were specially aware of this when they overtook

the same jeep no less than three times. It was driven by a man who wore

a blue beret, a pair of sunglasses, and a white shirt with short

sleeves. He first went whizzing by the boys as though he intended to

burn up the road for miles ahead, but they soon caught up with him,

following patiently behind an assortment of pilgrims, ox-carts, and

sheep. On foot, the boys could work their way through that medley, but

the jeep couldn’t.

Again, after the jeep had passed them, they came upon it parked beside a

tea stand. The boys themselves stopped later at a village inn, for by

this time they were ravenously hungry. It was there that the jeep roared

by the second time. But when they caught up with it again, stalled

behind a herd of sacred cows, the driver had taken off his beret and

glasses and was asleep behind the wheel, as if he didn’t care.

Chandra, by then, was worried over their own problems. Their long detour

by jungle paths had delayed them more than he had anticipated, and their

heavy hiking of the morning had caused them to loiter, once they were on

the Grand Trunk Road. Now, all three were tired and showing it.

“We won’t make Supari tonight,” declared Chandra. “Not at this rate.”

“Does it matter?” asked Biff. “I saw other people camping in a mango

grove, so why can’t we?”

“It would not be safe for us,” insisted Chandra. “We were marked once;

we may be marked again.”

“Maybe we can get a hitchhike—”

Biff was interrupted by the honking of horns from two cars that had come

up behind the jeep. The man behind the wheel awoke with a start, saw

that the cows were ambling off the road ahead and that the other cars

were anxious to go through. Apparently he was still sleepy, for he

pulled the jeep aside and let the traffic pass. Mopping his forehead

with a big blue handkerchief, the man looked from behind the wheel and

saw the three boys with their packs. He called in English:

“Wait, there! Can any of you chaps drive a jeep?”

“Yes,” replied Biff, stepping over to the jeep. “I can.”

“Then pile your packs on board,” the man invited, “and take the wheel.

I’m dog-tired and I need some sleep, but I still have to get somewhere

tonight.”

Despite the man’s English speech and manner, he had something of an

Oriental look, and when Biff met his gaze, he felt a fleeting

recollection of having seen the man before. Then Biff was smiling at the

way he had let his own memory trick him. Naturally, he’d seen the man

before—twice when they’d caught up with the jeep—three times when it had

gone by Biff and his companions.

The man was already moving from behind the wheel, so Biff took over and

waved for Chandra and Kamuka to get in back, which they did, packs and

all. Neatly, Biff zigzagged the jeep in among the dispersing cows and

stepped up to a twenty-mile-an-hour rate that seemed a break-neck speed

after a day of plodding on foot. The owner of the jeep evidently

approved of Biff’s driving, for he promptly drifted into a satisfied

doze.

Slowdowns and halts were frequent, of course, and during those

intervals, Biff took a closer look at the sleeping man. He noted that

the man’s hair was dark and shocky, his complexion tawny, his features

broad but smooth, except when he let his chin slump down too far; then,

his jowls looked heavy. Most noticeable were his ears, which spread out

quite widely from his head. Otherwise, he was handsome, in a rugged way,

and he looked vigorous for his age, which Biff placed somewhere in the

forties.

Before an hour was up, Chandra spoke from the back seat. “We are getting

near Supari now!” he said. At the sound of the strange voice, the

broad-faced man woke up and was immediately alert. Only for an instant

did he appear puzzled at seeing Biff at the wheel of the jeep. Then,

with a broad smile, he said. “Supari. That is not far from Keewal, the

place where I am going.”

“You are going to the old game preserve?” inquired Chandra politely.

“Yes,” the man replied. “The head _shikari_ has invited me to a tiger

hunt there.” He turned to Biff. “Take the next side road, and I will

drop you off near Supari. I can then go on to Keewal.”

It was more than a mile to the side road, and Biff would have missed it

if Chandra hadn’t pointed it out, for it was merely ruts, like the road

they had followed earlier in the day. And such ruts! At times they

disappeared in grass so thick that Biff had to guide the jeep by the

clearing in the low, scrubby trees ahead.

All the while, the broad-faced man smiled approvingly at the way Biff

handled the jeep, while Biff himself was glad that he was not driving a

more conventional type of car. At one place, the ruts reappeared, to

turn themselves into a bridge consisting of two tree trunks, smoothed to

form treadways only about a foot in width. But Biff rode over them

perfectly, although the slightest sideslip would have dumped the jeep

and its occupants into a ten-foot gully.

Then the ruts became an actual road, which was alternately a series of

rocky ledges which made the jeep jump, or dust so deep that the car

wallowed to its axles. Yet the man with the broad, rugged face never

spoke a word, but left the driving up to Biff, as did the boys in back.

It was only when Biff made a sharp turn into a slightly smoother but

still dusty stretch that Chandra spoke up:

“We get off here to go to Supari.”

It wasn’t yet sunset, and they had made it! The huts of the village

showed across the open fields, a mile away, with clumps of thick woods

forming a colorful background. As Biff stepped from the jeep, the

broad-faced man moved over behind the wheel and clapped his hand on

Biff’s shoulder in approval.

“Look me up at Keewal,” the stranger said. “I can use you as an

alternate driver on my next trip. The head shikari will tell you where

to find me.”

He was sliding the jeep into gear as Biff and the other boys stood

there, shouldering their packs.

“May I ask your name, sir?” Biff inquired.

The rugged man smiled broadly, as he gave it:

“Just ask for Barma Shah.”

With that, the jeep was off in a cloud of its own dust and Biff was

echoing in amazement: “Barma Shah!”

X

The Tiger Hunt

All the way across the fields to the village, Biff was brimming with

excitement because they had met Barma Shah, the secret agent mentioned

by Diwan Chand, and the all-important contact to Biff’s father. But

Biff’s enthusiasm was marred by disappointment.

“If I’d only told him who I was!” he exclaimed. “All the while I was

driving the jeep, I was holding back on that, thinking that to say

anything to anybody might be giving ourselves away.”

“Barma Shah is very smart,” reminded Chandra. “Perhaps he knew who you

were.”

“What makes you think that, Chandra?”

“We kept seeing jeep over and over. It went past us—we went past it—as

if it was keeping watch on us.”

“But that was due to all the traffic—”

“Traffic did not hold us up after Sahib Shah let you drive his jeep.

Next thing, we were practically here at Supari.”

“You may be right, Chandra,” Biff agreed.

They had reached the actual village now, a mass of closely built huts

with mud walls and tiled roofs, surrounded by yapping, nondescript dogs.

It was almost sundown, and from this central point, the fields and trees

looked dark and gaunt against the spreading purple of the sky. Now

people, mostly in native costumes, were flocking out, first in alarm,

then in a wild welcome when they recognized Chandra.

Biff and Kamuka were included in the villagers’ enthusiasm, and then

Chandra’s uncle, the _patwari_, was greeting them and introducing them,

in turn, to the _patel_, or head man of the village. The boys were

supplied with cups of rich, delicious milk, and later they were taken to

a modern building that served as school and community house, a symbol of

the new India.

There, they feasted on tasty curry and rice, followed by fruits and

cakes. Chandra, meanwhile, kept up a running chatter with his uncle and

other villagers, mixing English with Hindi and the local native dialect.

From the tone of the talk, Biff and Kamuka gathered that something quite

serious was afoot. Chandra finally supplied the details.

“You will meet Barma Shah very soon,” Chandra told Biff, “because my

uncle tells me that the head shikari at Keewal has asked the village

people to help trap a tiger tomorrow night.”

“Aren’t tigers usually hunted in the daytime?”

“Not this kind,” declared Chandra. “This tiger is a cattle stealer, and

lately he has prowled near the village, killing people after dark. That

is why there was so much excitement when we arrived close to nightfall.”

As they left the community house, Biff heard the incessant barking of

the dogs on the fringe of the town. Watchmen with big spears were on

patrol. Many lanterns were aglow, showing that the village was tense and

alert. Wisps of grayish smoke coiled from the chimneys and wavered, like

fading ghosts, against the vast blackness of the starlit sky.

But when they entered the snug hut which Chandra smilingly termed their

_daulat-khana_, or “palace,” Biff felt that the outside world was far

away. His bed was a simple _charpoy_—tapes strung to its frame instead

of springs or mattress—but Biff was so tired that nothing could have

been more comfortable. The calls of the patrolling watchmen, the distant

barking of the dogs, simply lulled him off to solid sleep.

It was nearly noon when Biff awoke. He and Kamuka followed Chandra

around the village, where they saw weavers, shoemakers, carpenters, and

blacksmiths at work. Chandra explained that they were paid off in crops

raised by the farmers who made up most of the community. But today, the

carpenters and metal workers were combining their efforts in

constructing huge wooden frames that were set with heavy bars of iron.

“Why, that looks like a big portable cage!” Biff exclaimed.

Chandra’s uncle, the patwari, was standing by. He smiled and responded,

“It is exactly that. Tonight, we use it to trap the killer tiger.”

“You mean he may walk right into it?”

“No, no!” The patwari shook his head. “The bars are to keep the tiger

out, so the living bait will be safe inside the cage.”

“But don’t you just stake out some animal?” asked Biff. “So the tiger

will think it is loose?”

“Usually we do that with a pig or buffalo,” replied Chandra’s uncle,

“but this tiger has tasted human blood. So tonight we will try human

bait. That is the purpose of the cage.”

“And the bait,” put in Chandra proudly, “will be Kamuka and myself. We

are going in with Thakur, the head watchman and chief hunter of the

village.”

“We are sorry to leave you out, Biff,” added Kamuka in explanation. “You

were still asleep when they asked us, and it was only after we said,

‘Yes,’ that we found they only had room for two.”

Biff thought at first that his friends were joking, but it turned out

they were quite in earnest. The cage had been specially designed for

Thakur and two lookouts, preferably boys. But the village youths had

become so tiger-conscious that they were seeing jungle cats every time a

leaf stirred in the underbrush. So Chandra and Kamuka had been recruited

for the job instead.

Biff put on a show of disappointment, if only to impress Chandra’s uncle

and the other villagers.

“Maybe Barma Shah, the man with the jeep, will want me to help him,”

Biff said. “I’ll ask him when I see him.”

Late in the afternoon, the barred frames were ready, and they were

hauled by ox-cart to a _shola_, or patch of jungle not far from the

town. That was where the tiger had attacked and slain its victims, so

the villagers had shunned the place for the past few days.

During that period, Matapar, the head Shikari from Keewal, had put up

platforms in surrounding trees, covering the open area where the tiger

liked to prowl. By now, he hoped the tiger would be used to it, but the

cage idea did not appeal to Matapar. That had been thought up by Thakur,

the village huntsman.

So Matapar and the other shikaris watched silently, almost glumly, while

Thakur and his helpers set up the cage close to a thicket that they

thought would be inviting to the tiger. They were fixing the frames

together with crude bolts when Barma Shah drove up in his jeep, wearing

his pulled-down beret and dark sun glasses.

Biff walked over to meet him and as Barma Shah nodded a greeting, Biff

announced, “I am Biff Brewster.”

“I was sure of that,” rejoined Barma Shah, extending his hand in

greeting, “but because of your mission I thought it best to introduce

myself first and let you make the next move.”

“I’m doing that now,” stated Biff. “Sir—what have you heard from my

father? Where is he?”

Despite himself, Biff betrayed anxiety in his tone. Barma Shah noticed

it and put reassurance into his reply.

“I haven’t heard from him,” he said, “but I know that he went to Kashmir

and that he has probably—gone on from there. His mission was there, mine

was in Calcutta.”

Barma Shah paused and glanced about to make sure that no one was close

enough to hear. Then he inquired:

“You have the ruby Diwan Chand gave you?”

Biff fingered the bag beneath his shirt collar and nodded. “Right here,”

he said.

“Good. Your father will be needing it. We can talk more of this

tomorrow.”

Barma Shah was carrying a modern rifle with what appeared to be a large

telescopic sight mounted on top of the barrel. That reminded Biff of an

important request.

“The other boys are going into the cage with Thakur,” he stated. “Could

you post me on a platform or somewhere, sir?”

Barma Shah paused a moment, then nodded. “I have the perfect job for

you. I need a driver for the jeep, which I am keeping in reserve with

two shikaris, in case anything goes wrong. By turning it over to you, I

can post myself on one of the platforms.”

By sundown, the scene was set. Thakur was in the cage, gripping a big

shotgun and flanked by Chandra and Kamuka, each armed with a spear.

Barma Shah had picked himself a platform up in a tree. Matapar and other

shikaris were up on their platforms, all at ideal range. Biff was as far

off in the jeep as space would allow, down at the end of a long, smooth

gully that practically formed a roadway to the clearing. In the back

seat, two more shikaris sat ready with their rifles.

But as dusk gathered, tension grew. The cage was the focal spot. If the

tiger approached too close, Thakur was to drive him back with quick

shots. Then Barma Shah, Matapar, and the rest would open fire with their

rifles, covering practically the entire clearing. Biff’s job was to come

up with the jeep, only when needed—early, if anything went badly wrong;

later, if all went well.

From the way things had been planned, they seemed likely to go well, but

that depended partly on the tiger. Usually, he picked his victims just

before dark, but this evening he was wary. Chandra and Kamuka gave

occasional calls, putting a frightened tremolo into their voices, hoping

to coax the striped terror into seeking them. But the darkness thickened

and then became almost total in the clearing, before the cunning cat

decided to strike.

Then it happened, like the surge of an invisible fury. Sharp-eyed though

they were, neither Chandra nor Kamuka caught the slightest glimpse of

the five-hundred-pound tiger until its ten feet of furred lightning

landed squarely on the cage with the destructive force of a living

thunderbolt. The cage buckled, hurling the occupants on their backs.

Thakur’s shotgun spouted straight upward, missing the tiger entirely, as

the creature, somewhat jolted, recoiled to the ground in front.

Thakur, coming to his knees, aimed at the spot where the tiger crouched,

but as he fired the second barrel, the furred fury made another high,

hard spring, clearing the path of aim. Again, the cage was jarred, and

now Thakur, desperate, grabbed a spear from Chandra and jabbed wildly

through the bars, blindly trying to drive off the snarling killer that

he could not see.

Given time, Thakur might have made a telling thrust; but meanwhile, the

tiger threatened to maul the cage apart. The framework was splintering

under the fierce stroke of its claws. With each new spring, the iron

bars were loosened. Barma Shah and the others on the platforms could not

open fire with their rifles, for Thakur, so far, had failed to drive the

tiger back. In the darkness, their shots would be more likely to hit

Thakur or the boys.

The clanging echoes carried far down the gully, where Biff was puzzled

by the lack of rifle fire, but not for long. Biff realized what must be

going on, when the clashing sounds continued; and so did the men in

back. Their grunts practically said, “Get going!” as did the clicks from

their rifles, when they released the safety catches.

Biff got going, as he had been told to do in such an emergency. He

gunned the jeep into life, shot it straight up the gully, guiding by the

outline of the clearing against the starry sky. The speeding jeep

wallowed in the gully’s slopes, then reached the open ground as Biff

clicked on the lights and jammed the brakes.

The sudden glare outlined the whole front of the cage, showing the tiger

turning, snarling at the sound of the jeep’s approaching roar. Briefly,

the tiger was blinded and helpless, giving the men in the jeep their

opportunity. They sprang out, dodged over toward the brush, and opened

fire. One shot grazed the tiger; another clipped him, as he bounded away

from the cage, spun in the air and sprawled beyond the light.

The shikaris from the jeep started over to examine their prize, but

paused when warning shouts came from both the cage and the tree

platforms. Half-stunned, the tiger picked itself up, snarled at the two

shikaris as they dived away from the light. Then the tiger itself took

to the darkness on the other side, but not in flight.

It had another purpose. It wanted to claw, to rip apart its real

tormentor, the thing with the blazing eyes that had interrupted the

tiger’s efforts to reach its caged prey. That thing was the jeep. In the

darkness, the wounded tiger turned suddenly upon it.

Biff raised a shout as he heard an approaching snarl. The jeep heaved

upward, sideward as the tiger’s bulk hit it between hood and windshield.

In the dim glow from the dashlight, Biff could see the monstrous,

clawing shape of the man-killer as it gathered itself for a final spring

upon the new prey it had so unexpectedly found.

Through Biff’s stunned mind ran the freakish notion that whatever luck

the Light of the Lama had brought him, the ruby’s charm had lost its

power by now.

XI

A Thief in the Night

In their half-wrecked cage, Chandra and Kamuka realized all too

thoroughly how the prospect of sure death had switched from them to

Biff. After their experience, his frantic shout told them everything. It

was pitch dark in back of the jeep’s headlights. The marksmen in the

trees couldn’t even guess the tiger’s location, let alone stop it with a

chance shot.

But it wasn’t a chance shot that came. From one of the platforms, a

sharp beam of light cut a thin path through the blackness, turning a

brilliant spotlight on the open jaws and glittering eyes of the great

beast that was already mashing the jeep’s windshield with its mammoth

paw.

That sudden shaft of light was a bull’s-eye in itself. Now, if a rifle

muzzle could only score an identical hit! As that hope sprang to the

boys who watched from the cage, it was answered in a realistic way. A

rifle crackled. The tiger’s big head jolted back, and its snarl broke.

Biff saw that happen as he looked up from behind the wheel. Now, the

tiny circle of light was focused just behind the tiger’s ear. Again, the

rifle spoke. The tiger’s whole body came forward, but not in a lunge.

Instead, its quarter-ton of dead weight landed across the jeep’s hood,

crushing it down upon the motor. Then the striped body rolled to the

ground, where the sharp beam picked it out again, probing it from head

to tail.

No further shots were necessary. Biff came up shakily behind the wheel,

found that the jeep would still run, and backed it so the headlights

shone full on the tiger. The creature not only was motionless; its odd,

distorted pose proved that life had left it.

Barma Shah came down from his platform, bringing the rifle with the

thing that looked like a telescopic sight above the barrel. Only it

wasn’t a telescopic sight; it was a special flashlight powered by

multiple batteries and focused down to almost a needle-beam.

“I knew I might need this,” declared Barma Shah, “so I tested it last

night, at just the right range. The light is the rifle’s sight.” He

lifted the gun, pointed it up into the trees and picked out the top step

leading to the platform that he had just left. “Just spot your target,

pull the trigger, and that’s it.”

“That _was_ it,” complimented Biff, “but it took a good cool hand and

steady nerves to do it.”

Barma Shah’s ragged features spread into a broad smile. He suggested

that instead of going back to the village, the boys accompany him to the

hunting lodge at Keewal. Biff accepted the invitation, but Chandra

wanted to return to Supari to give the villagers a first-hand account of

his harrowing experience in the cage. Naturally, he needed Kamuka to

support his testimony, so Barma Shah agreed to pick them up at Supari in

the morning.

The Keewal hunting lodge impressed Biff immensely, as it was equipped

with all modern conveniences including air conditioning. It also had a

telephone, to which Barma Shah gestured, as soon as he and Biff were

alone. Then, with a broad, pleased smile, he declared:

“I talked with Calcutta by long distance this afternoon. You will be

glad to know that Diwan Chand and his gatekeeper, Nathu, came out all

right. Nobody was after them.”

Biff grinned, then became serious. “I know that,” he said. “They were

after me—and this.”

Biff brought out the watertight container. From it, he took the chamois

bag, then the jewel case, finally, the huge, glowing ruby. He handed the

jewel to Barma Shah, who studied it as though he had seen it often.

Then, as the stone’s glint suddenly became more vivid, Biff added,

“Diwan Chand said its sparkle showed that the charm was working well.

But you had a lot to do with that tonight.”

“Tonight, perhaps, yes.” Barma Shah returned the gem to Biff and shook

his head. “But the other day, if I had known you would run into that

trouble at Chand’s, I would have gone there myself, instead.”

“But Mr. Chand said that you were marked.”

“True. But so were you, as it turned out.”

“Yes,” agreed Biff, “but Chandra helped me out fast enough. Our real

trouble was with the thugs on the road.”

“Thugs? On the road? Tell me about that.”

Biff detailed the incidents of the train trip, the detour by the old

abandoned temple, and their final arrival on the Grand Trunk Road. As he

concluded the account, Barma Shah shook his head again.

“And to think that I let you go through all that,” he said, “while I was

waiting for you on the Grand Trunk Road.”

“But how,” queried Biff, “did you know that we were coming that way?”

“From your father,” explained Barma Shah. “He told me all about Chandra,

the boy who worked for Jinnah Jad. That is why I came here to Keewal, so

I would be near the village of Supari, where Chandra’s uncle lives.

Naturally, Chandra would bring you there.”

“But how did we happen to come along just when you were here for a tiger

hunt and the villagers were so terribly excited over it?”

“They are always tiger hunting here at Keewal,” replied Barma Shah with

a smile, “and the people in Supari are easily excited. If Matapar cries,

‘Tiger! Tiger!’ he knows that Thakur will bring out the villagers as

beaters by day and even as bait by night.”

“I never thought of that.”

“And I never realized that the thugs were so active again,” commented

Barma Shah. “The way the Kali cult took over that old temple is

surprising indeed. I shall notify the local authorities and have them

investigate it. Perhaps it is more widespread than it appears.”

The next day, Barma Shah and Biff drove over to the village and picked

up Chandra and Kamuka. They continued on their way, laughing over the

fact that of all the party, the one that had taken the worst beating

from the tiger hunt was the jeep. However, the staunch vehicle was in

good running order, and the boys began to enjoy their tour with Barma

Shah.

A tour it actually became, for Barma Shah decided it should be that way.

He even insisted that Chandra put on European clothes similar to what

Biff and Kamuka were wearing. So they stopped at the first important

town on the Grand Trunk Road and bought Chandra his new outfit.

Chandra was amazed when he studied himself in a big mirror at the

clothing store.

“This is better than any jadoo,” decided Chandra. “If Jinnah Jad should

put me in the basket wearing my old clothes and bring me out in new,

like these, people would think I was a different boy.”

“You’d have to make jadoo yourself,” returned Biff. “It would take real

magic for you to change clothes while you are curled around the inside

of that basket.”

Chandra laughed at that, and then the laugh was turned on Biff when

Barma Shah picked out a woven straw hat with a rounded, dome-shaped

crown and broad, sharply down-turned brim. He placed it on Biff’s head,

saying, “Try this on for size.” The hat was so big that it came clear

down over Biff’s eyes, the brim hiding his face almost to the jawline.

“Looks like Biff is trying the basket trick himself,” observed Chandra

merrily. “Where did he go, Kamuka?”

“I don’t know,” replied Kamuka. “Last I saw, he was climbing into a

basket that looked like a hat. Now he is vanished. Complete.”

Biff whipped off the hat, somewhat red-faced and flustered, only to

enjoy a laugh himself when he saw Chandra and Kamuka peering over

counters and behind racks as though they were trying to find where he

had gone. Then Barma Shah was handing Biff some smaller hats of the same

style, and among them, Biff discovered one that was just his size.

“Very good,” approved Barma Shah. “That brim still comes low enough to

hide your hair rather well, and the sun visor helps too.”

The visor was of dark, transparent plastic set in the front of the hat

brim, and it added somewhat to the depth of Biff’s tan. It proved

helpful, too, when Biff was driving the jeep, for Barma Shah decided to

travel along secondary highways that lacked the shade provided by the

Grand Trunk Road.

Traffic, too, was less, but rough stretches of road slowed their trip.

There were delays, too, at rivers where there were no bridges, only

ferries that looked like tiny floats or rafts, the sort that might tip

the jeep into the first current they encountered. But the rafts were

well balanced, and the natives were skillful with their poles and oars.

Each crossing was made without incident.

Barma Shah had brought sleeping bags and bedding so that they could stop

at _dak_ bungalows, or rest houses, along the way. To all appearances,

Barma Shah might have been a private tutor taking some privileged

scholars on an educational tour of the Indian byroads; and in fact, the

boys were learning a lot.

Biff was especially impressed by the monkeys. He thought he had already

seen a lot of them in India, but now they were boldly jumping over the

jeep whenever it stopped and ready to snatch up whatever they saw and

wanted. Chandra said there were a hundred million monkeys in India. Biff

was ready to believe it when they stopped at a dak bungalow near Agra

and had to slam doors in the faces of the creatures to keep them from

coming in the bedrooms.

That afternoon they drove into Agra to see the famed Taj Mahal on the

bank of the Jamuna River. One of the world’s most beautiful buildings,

it impressed Biff as a dream brought to reality in living marble. Later,

they went to a telegraph office where Biff sent a wire to his mother,

which simply stated: