THE SECRET
Considering that Marie was inexperienced in worldly matters, she acted
with extraordinary foresight and determination. Few girls would have
risked that journey to the Rotherhithe slum, or would have conducted
the interview with Mother Slaig so discreetly. Certainly her lucky star
was in the ascendant when she plunged into those malodorous depths, as
she had been guarded from all peril by the various policemen; but her
own diplomatic behavior had accomplished the impossible with the old
harridan. Marie returned home with the full belief that Morad-Bakche
was the guilty person, since he desired to obtain possession of the
peacock, and he had been haunting the house wherein Baldwin Grison
resided. That Sorley had held the bird—a fact vouched for by Alan—she
believed was due to the machinations of Miss Grison, who evidently was
working in concert with the Indian to ruin the man. And Bakche’s reward
would be possession of the jewels, since Marie fancied the dead man’s
sister had possibly guessed the riddle of the ornament. If this was so,
there was no need for either of the conspirators to retain possession
of the peacock, since it had yielded up its secret.
With this idea Marie came back to Lewes, and there she sent a telegram
to Alan asking him to come down the next day. She was anxious to impart
her discovery to her lover, and to show him that she also was able to
help in the matter of tracing Grison’s assassin, and obtaining the
treasure. On the evidence she had discovered concerning Bakche’s
presence at Rotherhithe, a new departure might be taken relative to the
conduct of the case. But Marie felt that she could venture no further
along the dark path unassisted, and therefore wished for Alan’s
co-operation. She knew that the telegram would bring him to her at
once, and retired to bed with the conviction that he would lose no time
in coming to Belstone. Of course on her return, she had to answer
numerous inquiries from granny and the maids as to what she had been
doing, but managed to answer without stating too plainly what her
errand had been. She was very weary when she placed her head on the
pillow, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Fuller duly arrived by an early morning train, and it was ten o’clock
when Marie—who was watching for him like a veritable Sister Anne—saw
him walk up the avenue. She rushed out of the house and led him into
it, hanging fondly on his arm, while asking innumerable questions.
“Oh, darling, I am so glad to see you. And how are you? and when did
you arrive? and how long are you going to stay? and will we go into the
library? and what have you in that black bag?”
The young man laughed at her eagerness, and was surprised to see how
gay and happy she looked, which was indeed remarkable, seeing that
Sorley was in such straits. He replied to her questions in sequence. “I
am quite well, dearest; I arrived an hour ago, and walked direct from
Lewes to you, not even troubling to go to the vicarage; I shall stay
for the whole day, as I want to be with you, and have much to tell you;
we may as well go into the library for a purpose which I shall explain
soon; and in this bag I have the peacock of jewels.”
“Oh,” cried Miss Inderwick greatly astonished, “how did you get it?”
“Mr. Sorley left it in my chambers last night.”
“Then you have seen Uncle Ran?”
“Yes; and so has Latimer.”
Marie looked nervous. “Mr. Latimer doesn’t like Uncle Ran,” she said
thoughtfully, “but I hope he has not given him up to the police.”
“Your Uncle Ran gave himself up of his own accord,” said Alan grimly,
“but repented at the eleventh hour and made his escape.”
“I’m glad of that,” remarked the girl thankfully, “as I believe Uncle
Ran is quite innocent. But why did he give himself up at all?”
“I don’t know, no more than I can say why he changed his mind and
bolted, my dear. However, I can tell you the whole story if you will
listen.” And when Miss Inderwick signified by a gesture that she was
all ears, Fuller detailed all that had taken place on the previous
night. By this time they were in the library with the door closed, and
Alan related his story seated in a deep armchair with Marie balancing
herself on the table.
“Poor dear Uncle Ran,” she said when Fuller ended; “he wished to give
that horrid Miss Grison a chance of confessing her guilt.”
“Confessing her guilt! What do you mean, Marie?”
“I mean that she knows more about the murder than she admits, and that
she is in league with that nasty Indian to ruin Uncle Ran.”
Alan shook his head gravely. “You can’t be sure of that, Marie.”
“But I am,” she insisted positively. “Mr. Bakche knew that Mr. Grison
was at Mother Slaig’s and went there heaps of times. She saw him.”
“How do you know?” asked Alan, surprised by her decided tone.
“Because she told me herself. Of course she didn’t know his name, but
her description is exactly the same as yours—haughty, dark and——”
“Marie! Marie! How do you know this?”
“Because I visited Mother Slaig yesterday.”
Fuller looked startled. “Darling you never went by yourself to see that
dreadful old hag?”
“Yes, I did, and I don’t think she’s so very dreadful. She was very
nice to me in every way, and what she told me only cost a sovereign.”
“Marie, you shouldn’t have gone to Rotherhithe without telling me.”
“If I had you would have stopped me,” pouted Miss Inderwick; “and I did
so want to do something to help Uncle Ran.”
“But has your visit helped him? Mother Slaig may be wrong about Bakche,
and may have mistaken a lascar for him.”
“There was no question of mistaking anyone,” retorted Marie quickly,
“for Mother Slaig did not know the name. I described Mr. Bakche as you
did, and she said that she had seen a man of that description—the snake
man she called him.”
“The snake man,” repeated Alan swiftly. “Why?”
“On his right arm from the wrist to the elbow he had a snake tattooed
in spirals.”
Fuller slapped his knee, and spoke excitedly. “Mother Slaig is right,
dear, and so are you. Miss Grison told me that Bakche had such a mark.”
“Then he must have been at Rotherhithe and known Mr. Grison,” said Miss
Inderwick.
“Certainly; since Mother Slaig would otherwise have known nothing about
the tattooed snake. Tell me exactly what she said, Marie.”
Miss Inderwick did so, omitting nothing, and shortly Fuller was in
possession of all that had taken place at Rotherhithe. The recital so
excited him that he rose to his feet and began to pace the room. “And
Bakche denied that he visited Rotherhithe, or knew Grison,” he cried.
“Marie you have undoubtedly found valuable evidence which may help to
clear your uncle’s character, I admit that.”
“I am quite sure that Uncle Ran is innocent, and that Miss Grison is
conspiring with Mr. Bakche to ruin him,” said Marie firmly.
Alan shook his head. “No, dear, I don’t think that there is any
conspiracy between them. If Bakche gained the peacock by murder, he
certainly would not have sent it to your uncle. And if Miss Grison knew
that he had the bird, she must have guessed that he stabbed her
dearly-beloved brother. In that case she would have denounced him. Of
course, she denies having brought the peacock down here; but if she
did, Baldwin gave it to her before his death.”
“And if she did not, Mr. Bakche must have sent it.”
“Why should he do that?”
“To get Uncle Ran into trouble.”
“My dear, Bakche did not wish to get Mr. Sorley into trouble. All he
desired, and still desires, is to obtain the peacock.”
“Then why did he haunt Rotherhithe?”
“To get the peacock,” repeated Alan; “and if he did get it, he
certainly would not have given it to your uncle. No, Marie.” Fuller
shrugged his shoulders. “What you have discovered implicates Bakche
plainly enough, but it does not solve the mystery of the death. That is
as great a riddle as ever.”
“What is to be done now, then?” asked the girl, fuming at the judicious
way in which her lover talked.
“We must tell Inspector Moon about Bakche’s visits to Rotherhithe, and
then the Indian can be questioned. I shall do that to-morrow.
Meanwhile—” Alan opened the black bag——“look at this.”
Marie greatly admired the peacock, as it was the first time she had set
eyes on the beautiful object. The glitter of the gold, the radiance of
the many gems appealed to her feminine love of color, and she clapped
her hands with delight when the gorgeous ornament glowed like a
rainbow-hued star in the sunlight. The lovers sat down and admired the
luck of the Inderwicks, which held a secret hard to solve, a secret
which would, if guessed, bring a fortune to the last member of the
family and restore the faded splendors of the line. The girl with her
eyes fixed on the treasure, murmured words from the ancient prophecy:—
“Jewels and gold from over-seas
Will bring them peace and joy and ease.”
Alan nodded. “If that is applied to this bird,” he said slowly, “it is
perfectly true, since the riddle, when guessed, means a gigantic
fortune. You will be a wealthy woman, Marie, and then I shall have some
hesitation in keeping you to your engagement.”
“Oh, Alan, darling, why?” asked the girl jumping up in dismay.
“People might call me a fortune-hunter.”
“I don’t see how they could, seeing that you love me now when I have
next to nothing. And if the fortune is found it will be through you,
dearest, so you will have a right to share it. And after all,” ended
Marie earnestly and inconsequently, “what does it matter what people
say seeing that we love one another?”
Alan kissed her. “That being the case, Marie, I promise you that no
wealth shall part us. But had we not better put the peacock away?”
“Won’t we try and solve the riddle?”
“It’s impossible. I’ve tried in every way to do so, and am still quite
in the dark as to how that jewelled bird can indicate the
hiding-place.”
Marie took up the luck of her family and turned it round upside down,
and looked at it from every side. “It does seem impossible,” she
confessed with a reluctant sigh. “I suppose we must give up trying to
guess its riddle for the present. Where shall we put it, Alan?”
“In the cupboard, I suppose,” said the lawyer carelessly, and pointing
to the dark oak press, out of which Sorley had produced the peacock
when it first appeared on the scene; “it has always been there.”
“If so,” said Marie shrewdly, “someone—Miss Grison for one—may know
where to find it, and she is quite capable of telling Mr. Bakche who is
in league with her, I am sure. No, Alan, I shall put it along with
Uncle Ran’s private collection of gems,” and she moved towards the
panel marked with a cross, which Fuller remembered very well.
“Can you open it, Marie?” he asked, walking beside her to the place.
“Yes! See!” She touched the hidden spring, and the panel slid aside
into its groove. “Uncle Ran showed me how to work this before he left,
in case—as he said—he should never come back.”
“Hum!” muttered Alan, staring into the dark recess with its many
shelves, “he seems to have his doubts as to whether his innocence will
ever be clearly proved. Put the peacock back on the table, Marie, and
let us look at the gems. If your uncle does not return they belong to
you.”
“Yes, he said that,” replied Miss Inderwick, putting down the peacock
near the black bag. “Many of the gems are bought with my money. I
always thought that you were hard on Uncle Ran, dear; he saved money
for me.”
“Marie, I have every wish to think well of your uncle,” confessed Alan,
“but it seems to me that he does not act quite straightly. For one
thing he undoubtedly treated Miss Grison very badly, and——” Fuller
checked himself, as it did not seem necessary at the moment to reveal
the strange truth regarding the woman’s claim to be Mrs. Sorley.
“And what, dear?” asked the girl innocently.
“Nothing. I shall tell you later. Let us think the best we can of your
uncle, and examine his gems. I have seen them before, but I should like
to admire them again. Bring the trays to the table, Marie.”
The girl did so, and tray after tray of jewels was placed in the flood
of sunshine which streamed through the windows of the room, until the
whole table glittered with rainbow fires. When the shelves were empty,
Marie put her hand in and groped round to see if she had missed any
gem. Suddenly she uttered an exclamation, and brought out a long steel
instrument, with a silver handle set with rough turquoise stones. “Oh,
Alan, look at this, dear,” she said, bringing it to her lover.
Fuller started and frowned, remembering how Grison had been stabbed
with a slender instrument, a stiletto for choice. And here was a
stiletto in the secret hiding-place of Sorley’s jewels. There was blood
on the handle, and the young man looked at it with a shudder. Was
Sorley guilty after all, and were these stains the life blood of
Baldwin Grison? It would seem so, he thought, and his thoughts showed
themselves in his face, for Marie uttered an exclamation and grew pale.
“Oh Alan, dear, you don’t think that, do you?” she asked piteously.
“Think what, dear,” he asked in his turn, and evasively.
“That Uncle Ran murdered Mr. Grison with that stiletto.”
She had made use of the very word mentioned at the inquest. “It looks
like it, dear,” said Fuller sadly. “The evidence showed that Grison was
murdered with a weapon of this sort, and now that we find it in a
secret place known only to your uncle——”
“Miss Grison knows it also,” cried Marie, determined to believe nothing
against her relative.
“We can’t be sure of that, dear. And if she did, she would not have
placed the weapon there. You surely don’t think she killed her
brother?”
“Oh no; oh no. Still, if only to revenge herself on Uncle Ran because
he—as she says—ruined Mr. Grison, she may have——”
“Marie, it is no use building up theories,” interrupted Alan firmly;
“the presence of this stiletto looks bad, I don’t deny. Still Mr.
Sorley may have some explanation to make of its presence.”
“I am sure he is innocent, and will return to explain everything,” said
Marie obstinately. “Nothing will ever make me believe that Uncle Ran
killed the poor thing. We won’t think anything more about the matter
until he comes back,” she ended, and returned the stiletto to the
hiding-place.
“If he ever does come back,” murmured Alan under his breath, for he
looked on the presence of the weapon—and stained with blood as it
was—as a very good proof of the man’s guilt. However, so as not to vex
Marie, and because he could not, in legal words, prove his case, he
made no remark. For the next quarter of an hour they examined the gems,
and, becoming absorbed in this one and that, (so beautiful were the
objects), both quite forgot the discovery of the stiletto which seemed
to incriminate the collector.
Marie tried the effect of several jewels against her fair skin and
admired herself in the mirror over the fireplace. Amongst the loose
ornaments—for some of the gems were set in gold—she found a curious
ring of silver entirely circled by precious stones. “Isn’t that odd,
Alan,” she asked, slipping it on her finger, “and how uncomfortable to
wear, dear. The stones go right round and hurt one so between the
fingers. Oh!” she pulled it off, “I could never wear that with
pleasure. Perhaps it is a nose ring—one of the Begum’s treasures.”
Fuller examined the object, which was a broad band of silver set with
gems at various intervals, entirely round its circle. “It’s not of
Indian workmanship, Marie,” he said, after a pause; “there’s an English
look about it. I wonder why the stones are set all round it, though?”
Marie peering over his shoulder pointed out a point that had escaped
Alan’s attention. “See, there is a letter,” she observed, “it’s a ‘K.’
Look, Alan, between that bit of coral and that pearl.”
“So there is. I wonder what ‘K’ means,” Alan mused, then threw back his
head trying to remember something. “I have heard of a ring set round
with stones before,” he said thoughtfully, “and it was explained to me
why the gems were all over it. Who has that ring? Oh!”—a memory
suddenly came into his mind——“it was my grandmother who showed it to me
when I was a tiny boy. It was a golden ring with six stones, and each
meant a letter.”
“How do you mean meant a letter, dear?” asked Marie, greatly puzzled,
“and what word did it make?”
“Regard,” answered Alan carelessly, “the first word of each stone-name
gave the meaning: Ruby, emerald, garnet, amethyst, ruby again, and
diamond.”
“Regard,” repeated Marie, clapping her hands. “Oh, how clever. You must
give me a ring like that some day, Alan. Only we’ll have love on it.
Lapis lazuli, opal, and—and—what precious stone begins with ‘V,’ Alan?”
“There is none,” he said smiling at her earnestness, and glancing at
the silver ring he still toyed with, “no more than there is a gem
beginning with ‘K.’ I expect the maker of this ring chose a word which
contained that letter, and as he could not suggest a stone, engraved
the word on the silver in this fashion. Strange that he had not more
foresight.”
“Let us see what the word is, Alan,” cried Marie much excited, “begin
with the letter ‘K.’ That’s a start. Next is a piece of coral—that’s
‘C.’
“Then an opal standing for ‘O,’ another piece of coral——”
“C,” said Marie anxiously, “an amethyst for ‘A,’ an emerald for ‘E’——”
“And a pearl for ‘P.’ The word therefore reads K. C. O. C. A. E. P. And
that, my dear, makes nonsense,” finished Fuller with disgust.
“Spell it backwards,” suggested the girl, “we may as well try all
ways.”
Almost before she ended, Alan, following her advice, had arrived at the
truth swiftly. “Peacock!” he shouted, “Marie, this ring was made by
Simon Ferrier.”
“But it isn’t of Indian workmanship,” she protested.
“No; but Ferrier, although he learned from Indian jewellers, was an
English workman first of all. Peacock”—he twirled the ring——“Darling, I
really and truly believe that we have discovered the secret.”
“Oh Alan! oh Alan!” the girl shrieked in her excitement and ran to the
table quickly, “I see your meaning. We take these stones in the tail
and—”
“And read them as we have done those of the ring, making the first
letter of each stone stand to spell the word.
“Yes! yes! yes!” Marie clapped her hands. “But there is more than one
word in that tail, Alan. Oh—perhaps it indicates the hiding-place?”
“I’m sure it does,” cried Fuller, taking out a pencil. “Marie, read out
the stones in order, beginning at the top, and I’ll set them down.”
Almost too excited to speak, the girl did so with sparkling eyes, and
the result when finished was as follows, with the three lines and the
triangle of rubies, indicated plainly:
triangle
Sapphire, Turquoise, Pearl, Emerald, Turquoise, Emerald, Ruby,
Sapphire, Pearl, Opal, Onyx, Lapis lazuli.
Ruby, Emerald, Diamond.
Alan rapidly set down in order the first letter of each stone, and
Marie, looking over his shoulder saw that they read thus:—
“ST PETER’S POOL
triangle
RED”
“Oh,” she cried with a grasp.
“St. Peter’s Pool, the triangle, red,” murmured Alan, still perplexed,
till the feminine intuition of the girl came to his aid.
“It’s the well,” she cried, “St. Peter’s Well in St. Peter’s Dell,
can’t you see. The jewels are hidden in some place marked with a red
triangle. Oh I am sure of it, because the word is ‘red,’ and the stones
of the triangle are rubies.”
“By heaven, Marie! I believe you are right.”
“Of course I am. Simon Ferrier came back to England to hide the
jewels.”
“No Marie, he returned to give them to Julian Inderwick. But since that
man was a profligate and would have squandered them, Ferrier evidently
hid them somewhere about St. Peter’s Well, or pool, as he calls it on
the tail of the bird, and marked the hiding-place with a red triangle.
And of course, if George Inderwick had been able to read the riddle he
would easily have found the gems. My word!” Alan stared at the golden
bird, now reft of the secret it had held for so long, “and to think
that the solution is so easy after all. Why those rings such as I have
described my grandmother having, are by no means rare.”
“I believe Simon Ferrier did make this silver one,” said Marie,
fingering the article thoughtfully, “since it is a kind of key to the
riddle.”
Alan shrugged his shoulders. “I believe that George Inderwick found it
as hard to guess as the mystery of the peacock. At all events he never
arrived at the solution of the thing. And so easy, so easy after all.”
“Perhaps the very ease made it difficult to guess,” suggested Marie.
“Like Columbus and the egg,” laughed Fuller, taking back a tray of gems
to the hiding-place. “Let us put these away, Marie, and then go down to
the well. We must close the panel in case that man Moon left behind
should come in and learn too much.” He was thinking of the stiletto as
he spoke.
“Oh, that is all right,” said Miss Inderwick, assisting to replace the
jewels; “he went away this morning. Inspector Moon sent him a wire
saying he was to go back to town.”
“Oh!” said Alan thoughtfully, as he closed the panel, and it resumed
its innocent look. “I expect Moon has given up all hope of Sorley
returning to this place. Well, I expect he is right. It would be
foolish of your uncle, dear, to thrust his head into the lion’s jaws.”
“I am sure he will return and prove his innocence,” cried Marie
resolutely; “and won’t he be pleased when he learns that we have found
the Begum’s jewels, Alan?”
“We haven’t found them yet,” answered Fuller, determined in his own
mind that whether innocent or guilty the man should not meddle with the
girl’s property. “Let us go and look, Marie. Ask Henny or Jenny for a
crowbar.”
“What for?”
“We must pry up the stone under which the treasure is hidden. I expect,
as you suggest, that it is marked with a red triangle.”
“I don’t expect we have a crowbar,” said Miss Inderwick dubiously, but
went into the back part of the house on her errand, nevertheless, while
Alan took his way to St. Peter’s dell. He surveyed what Ferrier had
called “The Pool” in his cryptogram, and expected that he had done so,
since there was no gem’s name beginning with “W” which he could have
placed in the peacock’s tail. The man had engraved the letter “K” on
the ring as a hint to his master, as was evident, but had not taken the
same liberty with the peacock, since it might solve the riddle too
easily.
“And hang it, how easy it was after all,” said Alan, who could not get
over this point. Then, while awaiting the coming of Marie, he surveyed
the well.
There it was, standing amongst the still leafless trees, and amidst the
rank slushy grasses, a circle of stone, surmounted by the wooden canopy
with its mellow red roof. The windlass was rotten with age, and the
rope, formerly used to wind up the bucket, was conspicuous by its
absence, as was the bucket itself. Fuller peered into the depths and
saw the water far down twinkling like a star in the uncertain light,
which filtered to the depths. The sides of the well were of massive
masonry, green with moss and slime, while the circle above ground was
overgrown with herbage. In the hope of finding the marked stone, he
began to tear away the grasses and briars and ivy, scratching his hands
considerably as he did so. To save these he put on his stout deerskin
gloves, which he fortunately had slipped into his pocket. Marie found
him thus occupied.
“We have a crowbar after all,” she cried, bending under the article she
mentioned, along with a spade and a coil of rope. “One of the workmen
who was building a new wall at the back of the house, left it a year
ago.”
“Why have you brought the rope, Marie?”
“I thought you might have to go down the well,” she said quickly, “we
can fasten it to the windlass.”
Alan eyed the same dubiously. “I fear it’s too rotten to support us, or
rather to support me,” he remarked; “and we may not have to explore the
depths of the well.”
“The pool, the pool,” cried Marie, throwing down her load; “why do you
drag away those grasses, Alan?”
He explained, and she saw the necessity of helping, although to save
her tender hands he transferred his gloves to her. The two, buoyed up
with the hope of treasure went to work with a will and soon the
cemented circle of gray stones round the well was quite bare. Alan
searched, as did Marie, but on no stone, could they find the desired
red triangle.
“It must be down the well,” said Fuller with a shrug; “but I’m not
going to trust that rotten windlass.
“Tie the rope to this tree,” said Marie pointing to a young beech which
was growing close to the opening, and, as Alan thought this was an
excellent idea—he gave her a kiss for the suggestion—he fastened the
rope to its trunk and then made a slipknot, which he bound under his
arms. “Now dear take a turn on the rope round the tree and lower me
gently, that will prevent the strain being too great.”
“I hope so,” said Miss Inderwick, doing as she was told. “I don’t want
you to be drowned.”
Alan slipped over the edge of the well, and the rope grew taunt from
himself to the beech, where the several twists round the trunk stopped
the drag being too great on Marie. Nevertheless she felt anxious when
she saw her lover disappear into the dark depths.
“Oh do take care, darling,” she cried holding on to the rope at the
part beyond the twists round the beech-tree trunk, “do take care.”
A laugh came up which sounded very clearly, for Alan was only a few
feet below the surface. He looked round and round, twisting himself
with his hands, and thrusting his toes into the crevices of the stones
to gain foothold, and not to strain either the beech-tree’s strength or
that of the girl. But the moss and the lichens grew so thickly that he
could not see the surface of the stonework, and therefore could espy no
triangle. And small wonder, since it was over one hundred years since
the treasure had been stowed away by Inderwick’s faithful servant. “I
wish I had a knife,” muttered Alan, and Marie heard him.
“Get out of the well, and I’ll fetch one,” she said fastening the rope
to the tree trunk firmly; “I sha’n’t be a minute,” and she flew up the
path.
“Bring a carving-knife,” Alan shouted after her, getting his head above
the surface circle of stones, and Marie waved her hand to show that she
heard him. But he did not get out of the well, as she advised, but
braced his feet and shoulders against the masonry and continued his
examination. But when she returned with the knife he was still at
fault.
“Clever darling,” he said, taking the carving-knife and dropping down
again. Then he went to work, while Marie called out every now and then
from the beech-tree to know if he was safe. Everywhere he scraped the
moss off the stones and laid bare one row after the other, but for at
least one hour he failed to find what he sought. He was just thinking
that it would be as well to get out and have a rest, particularly as
Marie was imploring him to do so, when suddenly she heard him shout.
“Dear, have you found it?” she cried, not daring to leave the rope or
the tree, lest the first might slip from the last.
“Yes! yes. Here is the red triangle marked on the fourth row of
stones—on one big one, that is. Tie up the rope, Marie and give me the
crowbar. I won’t need to descend further.”
The girl did as she was told, and leaning over the edge of the well,
handed her lover the crowbar. Already Alan had worked away at the
interstices of the marked stone with the knife point. He deepened these
sufficiently to slip in the point of the crowbar, which was rather
blunt, and then began to strain in his effort to loosen the block.
Marie anxiously looking down, heard him breathing hard with the effort,
and implored him to take a rest. But Fuller was too anxious to find the
treasure to do so, and with aching arms and legs—for he was resting his
weight on them with his toes in a crevice—worked away desperately.
Little by little, the mortar in the interstices of the block crumbled,
as he drove in the crowbar, and finally the stone became so loose that
he could ease it with his fingers. Again he shouted, and this time with
relief, as the big stone splashed down into the dark waters below.
“Have you got it, Alan?” cried Marie, quite sick with excitement.
“Yes, I think so.” He was feeling in the dark hole which the displaced
stone had revealed; “but it doesn’t seem to be very much. Only a small
box. Oh Marie, there can’t be many jewels in this.” He handed up as he
spoke a tin box of no great size, which Marie received with manifest
disappointment, and went on groping. However he found nothing else, so
emerged from the well, with his clothes considerably damaged, and with
a red perspiring face, for the task had made him quite hot.
“How can we open the thing?” asked Marie, when they sat on the edge of
the well to examine the box, “It’s locked.”
“Pooh! it’s only tin,” said Alan, and looked rather annoyed. “What a
sell if this little thing contains the whole treasure.”
“Perhaps it’s a big diamond,” said Marie, watching her lover pry open
the locked lid with the edge of the spade.
“Perhaps,” assented Alan dubiously, and worked away hard. It was not an
easy job, in spite of the box being merely tin, but in the end he
managed to get the lid off. “Huh! it’s only papers.”
And that was all. Papers wrapped up in linen to preserve them from
damp, though the box was dry enough, since it had been hermetically
sealed by the stone block. One paper, on examination, proved to be a
statement signed by the Begum and Rajah of Kam and their vizier, saying
that the jewels, which were enumerated, had been given to George
Inderwick because he had saved the life of the royal woman and her son.
Then there was a letter to Inderwick written by Ferrier, which stated
that he had placed the jewels in Yarbury’s Bank, Monks Lane, Cheapside,
London. “To be given up to you when you produce to Mr. Yarbury the
peacock of jewels,” ended the instructions.