CHAPTER V

THE EYES OF RAJIID

Though, for reasons which you will soon understand, I have been known recently by the name of Alfred Ferguson, I am no other than Cecil, Lord Galonfield, and am the possessor of one of the most venerable titles and one of the most debt-encumbered estates in the United Kingdom.

I am now thirty years of age. Of the incidents of my early life there were few that bore any relation to the adventures which have befallen me in the last two years. I went through Harrow, and from thence to Cambridge, where I took my degree when I was twenty-two. Until this time I believed myself to be heir to a valuable and well-ordered estate. I was soon undeceived, for only a few days after I bade farewell to my student life, I was summoned to the presence of my father, who informed me that, owing to the reckless expenditure made by the last two holders of the title, a period of strict retrenchment was necessary, and that for ten years, at least, it would be necessary to rent our family seat in Yorkshire and our house in London.

My father, who never had made a secret of his desire to have me prepare for a political career, was especially outspoken now on this subject.

“Young as you are, this period of retirement from the fashionable world may be employed to much advantage,” he said. “If you will go to Paris or Berlin, where you are unknown, you will be spared the humiliation of being compelled to expose your poverty. There you can address yourself to the study of political affairs, and thus acquire a fund of knowledge which will be invaluable to you when the time comes for you to enter into your own.”

Believing myself to be ill-fitted temperamentally for such a career, I had little liking for the prospect which my father, formerly so indulgent, thus pointed out to me. In his younger days he had served in the army, eventually rising to a colonelcy, and I long had cherished the hope that I might do likewise.

“There is no chance for me in the army, then?” I asked sullenly.

“No,” he answered promptly. “Your income, which, for some time, will be limited to three hundred a year, would prove insufficient to support a commission. Besides, as an officer, you might be ordered to India.”

There was something in his tone that caused me to look at him with surprise.

“Why should that possibility be regarded as an objection?” I asked, wonderingly.

Removing the eyeglasses he was wearing at the time, he turned to me gravely, and, for several moments, he gazed at me thoughtfully.

“My son,” he said, at length, “I was well advanced in the period of middle age when you were born, and, inasmuch as more than fourscore years are behind me, I have not much longer to live. If you go to the Continent, as I have suggested, I may not see you for several months, and in that time much may happen. It is best, therefore, that I should speak with you on a certain serious matter before you go.”

As, leaning forward, I watched him earnestly, I saw a strange, far-away expression come into his eyes, and the hand that was toying with his watch-charm began to tremble. After pausing for several moments, he went on:

“In my breast there is a secret which I had hoped to be able to take with me to the grave. But I shall not succeed in doing this, for during the last ten years I have been aware of the fact that strange influences are at work around me. It is a secret that has to do with India, and which has caused me to view with suspicion every man who has come to me from that awful country.”

Pausing again, he looked abstractedly at the wall; then, rousing himself suddenly, he continued:

“Were I to go into all details, the story would be a long one, but I will tell it as briefly as I may.

“As you know, my father had two sons, and of these I was the younger. My brother, Robert--who, by the way, you resemble greatly in more ways than one--entered the army shortly after he obtained his degree. He soon became popular with his brother officers, and, as he displayed considerable military ability, his advancement, due partly to his father’s influence, was singularly rapid. At the age of thirty he held a major’s commission.

“It was about this time that the Indian Mutiny began, and Robert’s regiment was ordered to India, whither I--a twenty-two-year-old lieutenant--already had gone with another regiment. Despite the fact that on several occasions our respective regiments were only a few miles apart, Robert and I did not meet.

“Having received, at the battle of Mungulwar, a wound that incapacitated me for further service, I returned home. Six months later Robert caused to be sent to this country the body of Lieutenant Wortley, who had only a small income, and was almost friendless in England. At Robert’s request, my father made arrangements for the unfortunate young man’s burial in the parish church at Hetley, in Northumberland, where his parents and sister were entombed.

“I had been in England only nine months when, upon entering my father’s study one morning, I found him stretched lifeless on the floor. He had lived an unbridled sort of life, and for several years he had suffered greatly with the gout. His heart had been weak, and as, spellbound with horror, I bent over his body, I doubted not that heart disease was responsible for his sudden death.

“Quickly recovering my presence of mind, I summoned the servants and directed one to go for a village doctor. As I became more calm, I picked up from the floor two sheets of paper which appeared to have been dropped by my father as he fell. One of these sheets contained two verses of doggerel, in the handwriting of my brother, Robert. Without reading the verses, I glanced at the second sheet. This I found to be a letter addressed by Robert to our father. It was as follows:

MY DEAR FATHER: Within an hour after this is despatched to you, a ball from my own pistol will have ended my life. Two days ago I fell into the hands of a band of native fanatics, who, subjecting me to a series of the most terrible tortures, mutilated me in such a manner that I have resolved never to permit myself to be seen by those who knew me before.

And so, farewell--to you, to my brother, to dear old England and all I have loved. Distant as you are from where I will die to-day, you will be the first to know that your oldest son is dead.

I enclose herewith some verses entitled “Stars of Destiny.” As they represent the only literary effort I have ever made, it is my wish that they be pasted on the back of the frame that holds our genealogical chart. It is an absurd request, perhaps, but it is the last that you may have from

Your unfortunate son,

(signed) ROBERT.”

Tears filled my father’s eyes as, in a broken voice, he added:

“And thus did I become the twentieth Earl of Galonfield.”

“My Uncle Robert’s body was never identified?” I asked.

“No,” my father said. “His colonel reported him missing. I never heard of him again. The verses were only doggerel, written, I suppose, after the poor fellow’s mind had been weakened by the tortures to which he was subjected, but, with reverent hands, I pasted them on the back of the frame, as he requested, and only once since then have I seen them. This was on the day when, imbued with a spirit of heartfelt thankfulness, I took down the chart to inscribe upon it the name of him who was destined to be my only son.

“My father had died in 1859, and having inherited the Galonfield title and estates, I found the latter heavily encumbered by debts contracted by my father and grandfather. Your mother, however, brought me a large fortune, and I was in a fair way to establish my affairs on a financial basis when a series of strange adventures began to befall me. Since then I have lived the life of a haunted man.

“The first of these incidents was my receipt of a letter from the London branch of the Calcutta banking firm of Golphin & Faley. This letter informed me that the firm had been authorized by the Rajah of Nauwar to receive from me two diamonds that had been entrusted to the keeping of my brother Robert during the Indian Mutiny, and which, the bankers said, were then known to be in my possession. Naturally, and truthfully, I asserted that I never had seen or heard of them.

“The bankers were insistent, and, finally, the Rajah brought suit against me for the restitution of the diamonds. He attempted to prove the delivery of the stones to my brother, but my attorneys soon showed that his witnesses were perjuring themselves. Shortly after this the Rajah died, and for several months I heard no more of the matter.

“At length, however, the affair assumed a far more extraordinary phase, and you may easily imagine my astonishment when I began to receive from India letters written, as were the addresses on the envelopes that enclosed them, in the handwriting of--my brother!

“In each case the fluid used was India ink, and each letter consisted of only a few lines--begging me--commanding me--to deliver the two diamonds to Golphin & Faley without delay.

“In all, I have received no less than thirty of these letters during a period that has extended over thirty years. The last came to my hands three weeks ago.

“As I have said, your mother brought to me a large fortune. When she died, four years after your birth, this was left to me unconditionally, and most of it has been used in attempts to find my brother.

“The letters bearing Robert’s signatures were dated in various towns in India--Calcutta, Oodeypoor, Allanhabad, Saugor, and Madras, and the postmarks indicated that they were, in fact, sent from those places. Some of these cities were so distant from one another, however, that the territory which my agents found it necessary to search comprised more than half of the Indian Empire. It is not surprising, therefore, that the search was vain.

“That many persons, other than residents of India, believe that I have these mysterious stones in my possession, is indicated by the fact that, from time to time, dealers in precious stones have visited me and have offered to purchase them at enormous sums. Scarcely a month has gone by that has not found on my desk some letter threatening me with death or financial ruin if I do not relinquish the gems.

“No house in England has been so frequently entered by burglars as has mine, and I have been obliged to discharge scores of servants whom I have found to be guilty of tampering with my private letter boxes.”

“Do you believe my Uncle Robert is still alive?” I asked.

“No,” replied my father with decision. “I do not doubt, for a moment, that he died in the course of the few days following the despatch of that last letter to my father. The letters I have been receiving, and which purport to be from him, either are exceedingly clever forgeries, or were written by him, while under duress, after writing to my father.”

“Well, it is plain that the Rajah and the others would not have made such determined and costly efforts to get the stones from you had they not an excellent reason for believing that, having come into the possession of my Uncle Robert, they had been forwarded by him to you,” I said thoughtfully.

My father nodded.

“That is unquestionably true,” he said. “But, despite all the inquiries I have made, I have failed to discover why the stones were given to my brother, or the identity of the person from whose hands he received them. The Rajah asserted that the stones had been stolen from him, and that the thief--a native--entrusted to my brother a commission to take them to England, where they were to be offered for sale. The native is dead, and, while the Rajah pretended to have documentary evidence of the understanding which existed between my brother and the thief, he failed to produce it.”

For several minutes we sat in silence; then, rising, my father laid a hand on my shoulder.

“This, my son, is the secret that I have never, until now, asked you to share. I hope and pray that the persecutions to which I have been subjected may not pass to you with the title which you will inherit on my death. If Robert still lives, I hope that he and I may meet again. If he is dead, may his poor spirit rest in Heaven.”

The following week I bade farewell to my father, and set off for Paris. I remained in the French capital for four years, and during that time I succeeded in supplementing the three hundred pounds which I had received annually from my father with a couple of hundred pounds for services as Paris correspondent for a London weekly newspaper.

I regret to say, however, that, despite my profound regard for my father, I devoted comparatively little time to the course of study which he had suggested. Living in modest quarters, I found my income sufficient to enable me to mingle with the laughter-loving denizens of the Latin Quarter, and, devoid of all serious ambition, I was well content.

But this irresponsible mode of life was brought to a sudden close when I received from my father the following telegram:

In Heaven’s name come to me at once at Wercliffe. My life is no longer my own. Insist on seeing me. Take no refusal.

(signed) GALONFIELD.

An hour later I was on my way to England. Arriving there, I hastened to Wercliffe Hall, our country seat, where I was greeted by strange servants. This fact caused me little surprise, for the Hall had been rented to an American for a couple of years, and, naturally, our old servants had dispersed.

When, however, a stranger, introducing himself as Dr. Tully, told me that, as my father’s physician, he was compelled to ask me to delay my visit to his bedside, my spirit was roused.

“I will go to him at once, even if it is necessary for me to knock down a dozen men who bar my way,” I retorted, angrily.

His face grew livid, but whether this was the result of fear or anger I could not tell. He stepped back, however, and, as I passed on, I heard him mutter, sullenly:

“Well, the devil take you, then. I’ll not be responsible for the consequences.”

Turning quickly, I addressed him again:

“What is the matter with my father?”

“He was stricken with heart trouble, ten days ago,” the man replied. “Any excitement, however slight, is likely to prove fatal to him now.”

I hesitated, but it was only for a moment. The words of the message flashed into my mind, and I knew that, in the circumstances, it was more probable that my father would be more excited by my tardiness than by my appearance. Accordingly, passing on, with Dr. Tully close at my heels, I came at last to my father’s bedchamber.

As I opened the door quietly, I saw my father, wrapped in a dressing-gown, seated in a chair near one of the windows. His face was like a death-mask, and I shrank in horror from the change that had been wrought in his appearance since I had seen him last, six months before.

But for only a moment did my gaze rest on the face and figure of the invalid. Standing beside him, and bending over his chair, was a tall, lanky, clean-shaven man whose features, it seemed to me, I had seen somewhere before. This man was speaking, in a calm, low voice, but I heard his words distinctly.

“So--so!” he was saying, musingly. “He was preparing to die. And his last request had to do with some verses he had written. You read these verses? Yes--ah, yes--they were sad things--about two stars--two stars of destiny, and you pasted them on the back of a frame that held----”

A low cough behind me caused me to turn sharply. The sound had been made by Dr. Tully.

But the cough had been heard by other ears than mine. The tall man beside my father turned abruptly, and as, with kindling eyes and rising color, he confronted me, I knew him in a moment.

It was Simon Glyncamp, an American, who, two years before, had created a sort of furor in Paris by his mind-reading exhibitions.

“Why are you here?” I demanded--half in anger--half in wonder.

“As an assistant of Dr. Tully’s, I might, with more propriety, ask that question of you,” he said, and he flashed an ugly look towards the physician.

I was about to speak when a low, shrill cry interrupted me, and, with outstretched arms, my father, trembling violently, rose from his chair.

“Cecil--Cecil, my son!” he cried in accents so pitifully weak that they smote my heart. “Cecil, they are killing me--they have me in their power. I am dying, and this man is robbing me of my soul. Fear him--fear him--Cecil--I----”

He tottered toward me, then, as he fell in my arms, his figure became inert. I bore him to a chair, and, as I laid him down, I looked into his eyes. The lids were raised, but I knew that he never would see me more.

Maddened by rage and horror, I seized Glyncamp by the throat and hurled him toward the door. His head struck the wall and he fell like a bent poker to the floor. I rang for a servant, and when the man appeared, I bade him bring the old village doctor.

An hour later I had driven from the house Glyncamp, Tully, and every servant who had been employed about the place. Among them there was not one who did not know that I had murder in my heart. They went quickly.

The places of the servants were taken temporarily by some of the villagers. That night two strangers, who were found loitering in the park, were stoned from the grounds.

When I became more calm, I secured the services of two detectives, who I directed to obtain evidence showing that Glyncamp and Tully were responsible for my father’s death. A few hours later I learned that the villains had crossed the channel.

For the two weeks following the funeral of my father, my attention was absorbed by matters relative to the estate. These I found to be far less serious than I had expected. The frugality of my father and the excellence of his judgment were not without effect. Some debts were still unpaid and there were several mortgages to be lifted, but it was apparent that the financial crisis of the Galonfield affairs had been passed successfully. I did not doubt that two more years would find the estate, not only free from debt, but in such shape as to yield an income of twenty thousand pounds a year. Having reached this gratifying conclusion, I next addressed myself to a solution of the mystery which enveloped the closing days of my poor father.

That a desperate attempt had been made to wring from my father some sort of secret which his tormentors had believed him to possess was, of course, perfectly apparent. What was it that this American mind-reader had been trying to learn at the moment that my appearance had interrupted his efforts?

I distinctly remembered the words I had heard on that occasion, and I tried to understand their significance. It was plain that the American was leading my father’s mind back to the time when he had read the papers that had fallen from my dying grandfather’s hand. Why did Glyncamp desire to know what disposition he had made of the verses he found?

Then I suddenly remembered that, despite the fact that my father had told me what he had done with these verses, I had not had sufficient curiosity to look at them. Rising now, I left the study, in which I had been seated, and, entering the library, I took down from the wall the framed genealogical chart of the Galonfield family. Returning with this to the study, I laid it on the desk.

The sheet containing the verses met my glance at once. It was yellow, and covered with dust, but the India ink with which the lines had been written had lost none of its blackness. The paste had dried, however, and, as I touched the paper, it came off the wood to which it was attached. The handwriting was small and almost femininely dainty, and I read:

STARS OF DESTINY.

Rare as two angel-tears congealed Are those that flashed their light Just as great Buddha’s gaze revealed Its splendors to men’s sight. Immured within a human breast, Down Tyneside one shall go. ’Tis only when the truth is guessed Shall men behold its glow.

Let him who hath less haste than I, Or deems himself less rich, Seek that from which in fear I fly-- The treasure in the niche. Encompassed by the very walls Your temple-builders made, Ere death unto the finder calls, Seize fast the long-tongued jade.

I always have been a lover of poetry, but in this I found nothing that appealed to me. The verses left the writer’s meaning so obscure that, believing, as my father had done, they amounted to no more than mere doggerel, I dropped them into one of the drawers of my desk. A few moments later my solicitor entered the room to discuss with me some matters that had to do with the settlement of the estate, and the verses ceased to have a place in my thoughts. The chart was returned to its place on the wall without the verses which, in accordance with the writer’s wish, had been pasted on the back of the frame before my birth.

Five weeks after my father’s death, I received from another American an offer for a lease on Wercliffe Hall, and, having decided to continue, for two or three years at least, my father’s policy of retrenchment, I promptly accepted it. A month later I established myself in an apartment in London.

While arranging my papers in the desk in my new quarters, I found that among them were the verses from the chart.

Despite my resolution to curtail my expenses as much as possible, I yielded to the solicitation of an old family friend and joined a couple of clubs which had had the names of Earls of Galonfield on their rolls from the time of their foundation. It was at one of these clubs that I first met Meschid Pasha who, little as I suspected it at the time, was destined to play an important part in the history of my life.

Meschid Pasha, who had attained considerable prominence as an officer in the Turkish army, was a man about fifty-five years of age, with a pleasing address, thoughtful face and the physique of a man of thirty. I was introduced to him by an old friend of my father’s, with whom, however, I had only a slight acquaintance.

The Pasha explained that he had been in London only a few days, and that twenty years had passed since his last visit. Courteously he asked me for certain information concerning the town, and, as I was able to give him this, we soon found ourselves conversing together in terms of easy familiarity. There was something in the man that interested me, and when he invited me to take dinner with him on the following evening, I promised to do so.

He had told me that, designing to spend several months in London, he had rented a furnished house in the West End. Thither I went, at the time appointed, expecting to find a modest town house fitted up in conventional British style. The house itself was modest enough, being in the middle of a dingy brick block, but scarcely had I been admitted to the hall when I became aware of the fact that the fastidious Pasha had established in the heart of London a residence which, by reason of its interior appointments, might have been transported from Constantinople or Damascus.

In the dimly lighted hall I saw a Nubian, clad in Oriental costume, steal like a shadow from a deep niche and noiselessly ascend the stairs. The room to which I was conducted had the aspect of the corner of a Turkish bazaar. The walls were hung with rich Oriental draperies, and were further decorated with shields, simitars, yataghans and spears.

Meschid received me with marked cordiality, and, after a short conversation, led me to an adjoining room where dinner was served. Everything was cooked and served in Oriental fashion.

When dinner was finished we smoked, and, as we smoked, our talk was of the collapse of Russia, the wrangles among Christian sects in Jerusalem, the influence of sea power on history, and Parisian opera. This brought us to a discussion of the relative merits of French, German, Italian, and American singers, and so we talked of women. Then, half-absently, Meschid said:

“My wife was an Englishwoman.”

I started, for I knew that among Mohammedans it is regarded as an almost unpardonable breach of etiquette for men to speak of the female members of their families.

“Indeed!” I murmured, faintly.

“My daughter, whose education was entrusted to an English governess, has so long felt a desire to see her mother’s native country, that, yielding to her wish, I brought her with me,” the Pasha went on gravely. “I regret having done so, however, for her incessant questioning almost drives me mad. I shall try to have her visited each day by some discreet London woman, but your ladies’ ideas of a woman’s life are so vastly different from ours that I am inclined to fear the result.”

“Is your daughter’s English governess not with her?” I asked.

“No, my friend, her governess died last year.”

“Well, surely, among the wives of your English friends----”

“I have no English friends,” he interrupted. “To be perfectly frank with you, I will confess that among my English acquaintances there is none who is so well qualified to win my friendship as is the Earl of Galonfield.”

“In view of what you have said concerning your daughter, that is most unfortunate,” I said, laughingly. “The Earl of Galonfield has no wife, mother, or sister.”

Smiling thoughtfully, Meschid nodded.

“It is most unfortunate,” he replied with a sigh. “But what would you advise me to do? Is there any cultured and thoroughly responsible woman you would recommend who----”

He stopped suddenly, and, glancing at me sharply, he slowly twisted one of the ends of his black mustache. For the first time since I had met him I was conscious now of a sense of embarrassment.

“Stop!” he exclaimed, as he saw that I was about to speak. “There is an old adage that directs those who are in Rome to do as the Romans do. We are in England, and, relying on your discretion, I will do as the English do. My daughter shall be present at our council.”

He smote his sinewy hands together with a force that startled me, and, responding to this sound, a corpulent negro, wearing a red fez and a long black coat, entered the apartment. To this man Meschid addressed several quickly spoken sentences in a language that I did not understand. The negro bowed profoundly and left the room.

Meschid and I smoked in silence.

Strange as it may seem, I was not agreeably impressed by these manifestations of extraordinary friendliness, and from the moment that my host had first spoken of his daughter, I was conscious of a rapidly increasing feeling of distrust. I was never known as a “woman’s man,” and all my life I have been peculiarly insensible to flattery. Why had this distinguished foreigner sought my acquaintance? Why was he now manifesting toward me such startling evidence of his confidence?

My discomfiting reflections were dissipated, however, by the parting of the curtains at the door, and the appearance of one of the most remarkable figures on which I ever had gazed.

Clad in a long-sleeved, silken caftan of purple silk, the open folds of which revealed a low, white, gold-embroidered vest, an orange-colored sash and pale-green trousers, it was the figure of a woman. Her head, however, was enveloped in a snowy _yashmak_, and through the slit of this I saw a pair of dark eyes lighted with what appeared to be curiosity and amusement. Her bare feet were thrust into dainty, jeweled slippers of crimson leather, and the light from the diamonds set in her rings and bracelets almost dazzled me.

Utterly bewildered by the suddenness with which I had been confronted with this pearl of an Oriental harem, as well as by my ignorance of the conventionalities which should be observed on such occasions, I started to rise. A moment later, with a fluttering heart and trembling limbs, I sank helplessly back on the ottoman on which I had been seated.

At a word from the Pasha, the young woman had raised her jeweled hands, and, by two or three deft movements, freed her head from the veil.

I was face to face with a beautiful creature that might have been one of those houris who, according to the promise made by Mohammed, await the faithful within the gates of Paradise!

I am not a poet, so I will not attempt to describe the face I saw. It was unnaturally beautiful. Nature had been lavish in her gifts, but these were so supplemented by the work of human hands that the general effect bewildered me. It was plain that nature had not given to this fair woman’s lips all their redness, nor had it invested her lashes and eyebrows with such blackness. Diamonds were shimmering in her hair, many of the stones being so concealed by the dark tresses that I could see only their light.

Without rising, Meschid said quietly:

“This is my daughter, and, with the exception of the members of my family, your lordship is the first man before whom she has unveiled her face.”

Rising clumsily, I took in mine the dainty, gem-covered hand the young woman held out to me.

“I am glad that one of my mother’s countrymen is the first of your sex that I am permitted to meet,” the young woman said, smiling graciously and speaking in faultless English.

She glanced half-timorously toward the Pasha, as if to assure herself that her words had met with his approval.

Meschid smiled grimly, but said nothing.

I stammered a few conventional sentences, then we sat down. As I did so, I observed that a second person had entered the room. This was a tall woman clad in a black gown and a _yashmak_ of the same color. She seated herself in one of the corners of the room, and, with her head slightly bowed, remained motionless for the rest of the evening. This, I doubted not, was some withered Turkish duenna to whose care the young woman had been consigned.

In a surprisingly short time I was again at ease. Had it not been for her Oriental costume and cosmetics, this fair stranger easily might have passed for a charming, vivacious young Englishwoman. As it was, there were moments when I felt as if, as a guest at a fancy-dress ball, I was sitting in a corner of an Englishman’s home, talking with a couple of English friends.

In the course of the two hours that followed my introduction to this beautiful young woman, we conversed on many subjects, and, incidentally, I learned that her name was Pauline.

“It is not a Turkish name, you know,” she explained laughingly. “I was named after a relative of my mother’s.”

It was ten o’clock when I took leave of my host and his charming daughter. They invited me to visit them again on the second evening following, and at the appointed time I was there.

For more than a month I made a practice of visiting Meschid’s house twice each week, and on most of these occasions I was afforded an opportunity to pass an hour in the company of Pauline and the sombre, featureless duenna, who followed her like a shadow, but whose voice I never had heard. And there were times when, as the duenna appeared to be absorbed in memories of distant lands and days, Pauline and I drew so near together on one of the large ottomans that our hands were wont to meet, and I saw in her eyes those wondrous lights that the old Persian poets, looking into others, had seen and sung about.

How much of this the old duenna saw, we never knew.

At length, however, there came a sudden awakening, and I visited Meschid’s house no more.

Pauline and I were sitting on the ottoman together, about nine o’clock one night, and talking in whispers that could not have reached the duenna’s ears, when I, raising my eyes, saw Meschid, who was scowling darkly, standing in the doorway. Pauline, following the direction of my glance, saw him, too, and, with a little cry, raised her head from my shoulder, on which it had been lying.

For several moments the silence that followed the discovery of Meschid’s presence was unbroken. The Pasha was the first to speak.

“Well, your lordship, you see I trusted you,” he said bitterly.

“Nor have I betrayed your confidence,” I said calmly, as I rose. “Before introducing me to your daughter, you told me that, being in England, you were prepared to do as the English do. I have taken you at your word, and, having obtained your permission to visit your daughter, I have acted as almost any Englishman who loves a woman would act in similar circumstances. In the English manner I have wooed her, and, as an Englishman who is able to offer her both social position and fortune, I now ask your permission to make her my wife.”

Meschid’s face was less clouded now. His gaze wandered from me to the duenna at the farther end of the room, and then I saw that the somber figure had risen as if prepared to receive the expected rebuke. This was not forthcoming, however. Walking deliberately toward the center of the room, Meschid addressed his daughter, whose colorless face and frightened eyes were turned toward him.

“Leave us,” Meschid said with an imperious wave of the arm.

Pauline, hesitating, turned to me. Taking her hands I pressed them to my lips.

“Whatever happens now, we shall meet again,” I murmured. “No earthly power except your own can prevent me from making you my wife.”

With a little sigh, she turned to the door. Then, followed closely by the duenna, she left the room.

“Let us smoke,” the Pasha said, and, taking a cigar-case from his pocket, he opened it and held it toward me.

I took one of the cigars and we sat down together on one of the ottomans.

“And so you want to marry her,” Meschid said, gravely.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You are asking me to yield to you the most beautiful woman in the world,” he went on, thoughtfully.

“I am well aware of that,” I said.

“And you know that every pearl has its price,” he added.

A sudden chillness crept over me, and my heart sank. For the first time in my life I knew the sensation of fear. I realized, too, that I was dealing now with a true son of the Orient--a part of the world where women are bought and sold for harems.

“Well, what is the price of this?” I asked him, sullenly.

“The most valuable pair of diamonds known to man,” replied the Pasha gravely.

I started, and looked at him sharply.

All was clear to me now. This man had come all the way to London to tempt me. So far as Pauline and I were concerned, he had left nothing to chance. This house, with its Oriental furnishings, had been fitted up for no purpose other than that to which I had seen it applied. It was a trap set for me alone, and baited with--Pauline!

Almost unconscious of the Pasha’s presence, I rose and began to pace the floor. In my brain was raging a fire that seemed to be consuming all the respect for man and love for woman that I ever had felt. Was it possible that this splendid woman--the fairest I ever had seen--had been only playing a part? Was she nothing more than a blind, unreasoning puppet that moved in obedience to this jewel-seeker’s will? Or, ignorant of her father’s base designs, had she really learned to love me?

While I still was tortured by these conflicting thoughts, it suddenly occurred to me that my position was presenting a second, and no less serious, phase. The shadow of the curse that had blighted my father’s life now had fallen upon me! I was in the presence of one of the men who, it was apparent, thoroughly believed that the mysterious diamonds were in the possession of my family. How did he come by this belief?

Glancing toward Meschid, I saw he was watching me stolidly.

“The most valuable pair of diamonds known to man might not be too precious to offer in exchange for such a gift,” I said. “But where am I to get them?”

The Pasha shrugged his shoulders.

“Your lordship must find the way,” he answered, shortly.

“Do you believe they are already in my possession?” I asked.

“No,” Meschid replied. “But I have reason to believe your father knew where they might be found. I doubt not that he communicated the secret to you.”

“Have you reason to believe that they are in England?”

“No,” said the Pasha, smiling slightly. “If I knew the secret of the hiding-place, it is probable that I would not find it necessary to come to you.”

“How were you led to suspect that the secret was in the possession of my family?” I asked.

“That is my affair,” he retorted.

For several moments both of us were silent. Then, having thought calmly on the matter, I addressed him.

“For many years men have suspected that two valuable diamonds either were in my father’s possession or that he had the secret of their hiding-place,” I said. “Why they should think this always constituted a mystery that he never was able to fathom. Independent of my interest in your daughter, it is desirable that I find the gems. If they come into my possession I gladly will relinquish them to you in exchange for the gift that it is in your power to bestow on me. I would require as a further condition, however, that publicity be given to the fact that you have become the owner of the stones.”

“That responsibility I would assume most cheerfully,” Meschid replied with a smile.

“I am perfectly willing,” I said, “to undertake the quest, provided it is possible for me to find the clue which, though unknown to me, appears to be identified with the property that I have inherited. If you have any suggestion to offer that is likely to put me on the right track, I beg of you to let me have it.”

Meschid shrugged his shoulders.

“I can give you no advice,” he said, half-contemptuously. “I have told you on what terms I will grant you my consent to marry my daughter. The rest is your affair.”

“How much time may I have in which to attain my object?” I asked.

Again the Pasha shrugged his shoulders.

“My daughter is twenty now, and a woman’s beauty does not last forever,” he answered, sharply. “If, within two years from to-day you deliver these stones to me, Pauline shall be your wife. If you fail to do this within the period I have named--why, then she will become the bride of a more determined suitor.”

“What is the history of these stones?” I asked him desperately. “Who was supposed to have had them before they were delivered to my uncle? All large diamonds have distinctive names. By what names are these known? How am I to learn who had them last, and how they may be identified?”

The Pasha shook his head.

“I have no information concerning these details,” he said. “As I have said, it is your affair.”

Meschid moved toward the door suggestively as he spoke, but I, standing in the middle of the room, still hesitated.

“Will I not be permitted to see your daughter again before she leaves London?” I asked.

“No,” he answered with decision. “I will start for Constantinople to-morrow, and she will go with me.”

I bowed and left the room. Meschid, contrary to my expectation, did not accompany me. As I passed through the dimly lighted hall, however, a strange thing happened. A shapeless figure suddenly appeared, then flitted to a doorway. On the wall opposite this doorway was an oval mirror in a massive gold frame, and as I passed it, something in the glass attracted, then riveted, my attention.

It was a human face from which had fallen the folds of the yashmak that had concealed from my view the features of the duenna, and, as I looked, I recognized the long, angular face of Glyncamp, the American mind-reader!

Involuntarily I stopped. For several moments the mirrored eyes gazed steadily into mine, then the face disappeared, and I passed on.

A black-garmented negro, gliding from a niche, met me as, descending the stairs, I made my way to the lower hall. He opened the street door for me, and, stepping out, I found that the city was enveloped in a fog as thick, murky and gloomy as my thoughts.

On the following day I learned that Meschid, Glyncamp, and most of the members of the Pasha’s household had left London for Dover. The servants who remained behind were engaged in the task of packing furniture.

The next week I gave much time to the examination of my father’s correspondence, hoping to find therein a clue to the identity and whereabouts of some person who might know something more of the mysterious gems than I had been able to learn. My search was vain, however, and, brooding over my failure, late one night, my thoughts were diverted by the entrance of a servant who gave to me the card of a visitor.

As I glanced at the card, an exclamation of pleased surprise came to my lips. I pushed back my chair and hurried to the hall to welcome the one man in all the world for whom, since my father’s death, I had entertained feelings of real affection--Frank Blakeslee, an old classmate, who, having obtained a commission in the army, had been serving in India, Africa and Malta, and whom I had not seen for more than four years.

I am not an emotional man, but now my heart seemed to rise to my throat. Since Blakeslee and I had parted last, I had seemed to be living a life of isolation, and during this period there was none I regarded as a confidant. Now, when I saw the smiling bronzed face of my old friend in the hallway, I gave no heed to the hand that he held out to me, but, grasping him by the shoulders, I shook him violently--insanely, like a very fool. My words of welcome fell incoherently from trembling lips, but he read their meaning in my eyes.

Startled by the strangeness of my greeting, my friend looked a little alarmed at first, then, smiling, he said, in his brusque, English way:

“Well, Cecil, how are things with you? I was sorry to hear of your governor’s death. I knew it must have cut you up a bit.”

We talked for a while on various subjects of interest to us both. Then, coming back to my affairs, I told him all that had befallen me since my father had revealed to me the strange secret of his life.

Blakeslee watched me intently as I proceeded with my narrative, and, from time to time, the shrewd questions he put to me showed that the last few years had not clouded the keen perceptions that had inspired me with admiration in our college days. I brought the narrative down to the very moment that the servant had placed my friend’s card in my hands.

When I finished, Blakeslee slowly settled back in his chair and puffed vigorously at his pipe. I watched him curiously, anxious to learn what effect my recital had upon his mind. At length he spoke.

“How’s Cummings?” he asked, absently.

Cummings, an inconsequential fellow, was an old classmate of ours, of whom I had lost sight. His life had never interested me.

“I don’t know anything about him,” I replied, shortly, and a feeling of resentment sent the blood to my face as I realized that my friend’s thoughts already had wandered from the subject I had found so vital.

“A helpless sort of duffer, wasn’t he?” said Blakeslee, meditatively. For several moments he smoked silently, then he went on: “But, I say, old man, you haven’t showed me that doggerel--those verses, you know--that your uncle wrote.”

I hesitated. Blakeslee had disappointed me. As he sat now, thumbing tobacco deeper into the bowl of his pipe, there seemed to be something impertinent in his complacency. Dominated by a spirit of irritation, I made no reply to his suggestion. He flashed toward me a look of earnest inquiry.

“If you happen to have them anywhere about you, Cecil, I’d sort of like to have a look at them,” he persisted.

Half-reluctantly, I opened a drawer of my desk, and, after a little fumbling, found the sheet and handed it to him. He read the verses deliberately.

“Humph--not bad!” he muttered, as he finished reading; then, laying the sheet on one of his crossed knees, he lighted his pipe. “What have you made of them?”

“Nothing,” I answered, sullenly.

“But the possibility that they might afford some sort of a clue to the mystery of the diamonds naturally occurred to you,” my friend said thoughtfully, as again picking up the sheet he looked at the back of it.

“The idea did occur to me, but there seemed to be nothing in the character of the lines to encourage it. Accordingly, I dismissed it.”

“And you didn’t look for an acrostic or cryptogram or--or anything of that sort?” he went on musingly, as, with his elbows on his knees, he studied more carefully the lines on the sheet.

“No,” I replied.

For nearly five minutes the silence was unbroken. Puffing deliberately at his pipe, Blakeslee kept his gaze on the sheet he was holding before him.

“Well, Cecil, there’s something here,” he drawled, at last.

I stiffened suddenly. All my resentment left me now.

“Do you know, Cecil, I always had a fancy for this sort of thing,” said Blakeslee, with a chuckle. He paused, then added: “He’s talking about gems--two of them--that’s plain enough.”

“He calls them stars--stars of destiny,” I protested.

“Figuratively--figuratively, I suppose they are,” he said, abstractedly. “But they are gems, for the writer plainly indicates that the objects were capable of being handled--and one does not handle stars, you know. Now, let us see. Listen to this: ‘Rare as two angel-tears congealed--’ There were two of them, you see. ‘Are those that flashed their light--’ Diamonds are the only gems that really flash. But now let’s see what he means by ‘just as great Buddha’s gaze revealed--’ That ‘just’ signifies the time the stones were there--that they were--well, some place, I suppose. ‘Its splendors to men’s sight.’ Now it’s clear that the ‘its’ refers to the gaze and not the flashing of the diamonds. In short, then, the diamonds flashed when Buddha gazed.”

I rose irritably.

“Oh, that’s all nonsense!” I exclaimed. “If you are going to undertake the thing at all, you’d better get on another track.”

“Nonsense!” Blakeslee repeated, in an injured tone. “There’s nothing nonsensical about it, old top. I’ve been in India, and I’ve seen images of Buddha that used to have necklaces of precious stones around their necks. Sometimes the images were veiled. The withdrawal of the veil would reveal the gems and the face of the image at the same time, wouldn’t it?”

I went back to my chair. There seemed to be some method in the madness of my friend, after all.

“Well,” Blakeslee went on, “let us see how this first verse goes when the lines are taken together.

“‘Rare as two angel-tears congealed Are those that flashed their light Just as great Buddha’s gaze revealed Its splendors to men’s sight. Immured within a human breast, Down Tyneside one shall go. ’Tis only when the truth is guessed Shall men behold its glow.’

That’s clear enough, too--in a way.”

“Clear enough!” I exclaimed in disgust. “It seems to me that it makes everything more obscure than it was before.”

“Not at all,” replied Blakeslee, calmly. “It plainly indicates that one of the stones was to be taken from the land of Buddha to England. That’s all.”

“Come, come, Blakeslee, you are letting your imagination carry you too far from the field,” I said. “The last four lines of the stanza, more than all the others, have convinced me that my poor uncle really was in a sentimental mood when he wrote of the ‘Stars of Destiny.’ They refer to the death of a comrade--Lieutenant Wortley, who, while serving with my uncle in India, was killed in a skirmish with natives. Wortley belonged to a comparatively humble family in Northumberland. The family and its fortune were about extinct at the time of his death. My uncle’s affection for the poor devil was so strong, however, that he had the body embalmed and sent to England, paying all the expenses of the funeral himself.”

“From what part of Northumberland did Wortley come?” Blakeslee asked sharply.

“From a little village named Hetley,” I replied.

“And he was buried at Hetley?”

“Yes--in the family vault in Hetley churchyard. The town is on the river Tyne, and the lines in the ‘Stars of Destiny’ that read ‘Down Tyneside one shall go’ doubtless refer to this circumstance.”

There was a pause, then Blakeslee said musingly:

“I have heard of men swallowing diamonds in order to hide them--though the act nearly always proved fatal, but stars--never, Cecil--never!”

For several moments I was speechless, and I felt drops of perspiration gathering on my forehead.

“Great Heavens, Blakeslee, you don’t think--” I began.

“I’m only guessing, Cecil,” he answered gravely. “Listen:

“‘Immured within a human breast, Down Tyneside one shall go. ’Tis only when the truth is guessed Shall men behold its glow.’

I’m only guessing, boy--I’m only guessing.”

“But--if these diamonds are all that the Pasha believes them to be, each must be almost as large as the Kohinoor. No man would attempt to swallow such a stone.”

“Perhaps he didn’t swallow it,” said Blakeslee. “It may be that he died before the idea of ‘immuring’ it occurred to your ingenious uncle.”

With an exclamation of horror and impatience I rose.

“The very idea is atrocious!” I said.

“Not at all,” Blakeslee protested, complacently. “If men go through life with gold teeth and aluminum jaws in their heads, and silver pipes in their chests, what is there revolting in the idea of a man going to the grave with a diamond in the place formerly occupied by his heart? It was a good thing for the Lieutenant, I should say. Had it not been for that diamond his bones would now be lying in an Indian trench. As it is, he has found burial among his forefathers. There will be no difficulty in getting permission to open the tomb, I suppose.”

“No,” I murmured. “In view of the fact that members of my family had the body brought from India, I dare say the matter readily may be arranged.”

Blakeslee nodded.

“Well, there’s one of the gems accounted for,” he said. “Now let’s see to the other one.”

He again picked up the sheet containing the verses, and began to study the lines attentively. I gave him little attention. Trembling with excitement, I paced the floor with nervous steps. At length a little chuckle from Blakeslee caused me to halt abruptly.

“As an exponent of practical expression, this old chap was a veritable Wordsworth, Alfred Austin, or Walt Whitman--too simple to become great,” he said. “We don’t require any of the literary acumen of a woman’s Browning club to decipher his meaning. Listen to this:

‘Let him who hath less haste than I, Or deems himself less rich, Seek that from which in fear I fly-- The treasure in the niche. Encompassed by the very walls Your temple-builders made, Ere death unto the finder calls, Seize fast the long-tongued jade.’

All that’s plain enough, isn’t it?”

“Now that the mystery of the first verse has been cleared away, I confess that the lines of the second become more significant,” I replied. “The lines, ‘The treasure in the niche’ have, from the first, encouraged in me the suspicion that the writer might, indeed, be referring to the hiding-place of precious stones. But, while a certain temple undoubtedly is referred to, the lines, ‘Your temple-builders made,’ and ‘Seize fast the long-tongued jade’ have baffled me. There is nothing to indicate where the temple may be found, and, as ‘jade’ undoubtedly signifies a woman, it is scarcely probable that she has been living all these years. These reflections have led me to believe that the language was only figurative, after all--that ‘The treasure in the niche’ was Truth, and that the ‘long-tongued jade’ who must be seized before Death calls to the ‘finder,’ was Opportunity.”

Throwing back his head, Blakeslee laughed loud and boyishly.

“And so they are--so they are,” he said pacifically, as he saw the anger in my eyes. “But let us look at the thing from a distinctively material viewpoint. Briefly, then, the writer tells us that having discovered the hiding-place of the stones, and succeeded in getting away with one, he finds himself compelled to seek safety in flight. Others, less fortunate than he has been, may return for the treasure in the niche, if they will, but, so far as he is concerned, the game isn’t worth the candle. Besides telling us that the treasure is in the niche, he also says that the seeker will find it within ‘the very walls your temple-builders made.’ The ‘very’ indicates that the walls are the same that had been reared by the builders of the temple in which the stones were at the time of their disappearance, ‘your temple-builders’ undoubtedly being the builders of the temple in which you are especially interested--in short, the temple originally associated with the gems.”

Fairly gasping for breath as the force of this interpretation became impressed upon me, I voiced my last protest.

“But the jade--the jade--” I began.

“That line is at once the most important and intelligible of all,” he said. “The word has, of course, several meanings--a tired horse, a woman, and a certain kind of stone that is plentiful enough in India. Many jars, idols, and other ornaments are made of this stone, and the line in the verse apparently refers to a piece of jade carved in some form that shows a long tongue. In this stone you doubtless will find Diamond Number Two. But the writer warns us that the possession of this is likely to prove fatal to the finder, for he says: ‘Ere Death unto the finder calls’!”

“That is all very well,” I muttered moodily, “but how are we to know where to look for this temple?”

“My dear fellow, this sagacious, plainly spoken uncle of yours had so little confidence in the perception of his prospective nephew that he left nothing to chance,” replied Blakeslee laughingly. “He has told you.”

“Told me!” I exclaimed as I took the sheet that Blakeslee held out to me.

“You said, I believe, that you tried to find an acrostic in the lines,” Blakeslee went on.

“I tried the first verse only, but I failed. The first letters of the lines are ‘R-a-j-i-i-d-t-s’--a combination that is devoid of sense.”

“There is no ‘t,’” protested Blakeslee. “The seventh line begins with an apostrophe. The word, therefore, is Rajiid’s. In the second verse the acrostic is plain--‘Lost eyes.’ Thus we have ‘Rajiid’s Lost Eyes.’ Taking these words in conjunction with the idea expressed in the first four lines of the poem--namely, that the diamonds flashed ‘just’ as Buddha gazed--it is easy to infer that the diamonds served as the eyes themselves. Therefore, the diamonds are the lost eyes. Now, as temples often are designated by the names of the towns in which they stand, it is reasonable to assume that the Rajiid mentioned is the name of the town in which we are to find our temple. Have you an Indian Gazetteer among your books?”

I had one, and quickly placed it in his hands. Blakeslee turned the pages deliberately. At length he stopped and, taking his pipe from his mouth, read aloud:

“‘Rajiid, Nauwar: population, three hundred and twenty-five. Shoorgai, forty miles.’”

As he passed the open book to me, he added:

“Well, there’s your temple, laddie. And now give me a place to turn in, won’t you? When I got to London it was too late for me to get a train out to the mater’s place, so I thought I would come up and smoke a pipe with you. I won’t be up to town again for a week or so--unless--well, I’ll see that thing through with you at Hetley, if you like.”

That night Blakeslee shared my bed with me. He was soon asleep, and it was not long before he had the bed to himself; for, after tossing restlessly for a couple of hours, I rose and, donning my bathrobe, paced the floor of the library until after daybreak. At breakfast it was arranged that I should communicate with the rector of Hetley Church, and that, as soon thereafter as might be practicable, Blakeslee should go with me to the vault where our gruesome task was to be performed.

When Blakeslee left me, I at once proceeded to formulate a general plan for the intended undertaking.

All his life my father had been watched by spies. In Glyncamp, who had so nearly succeeded in obtaining from him the secret of the mysterious verses, I recognized a powerful enemy. Was he working in the interest of Meschid or in his own? Were his interests or those of Meschid allied with interests of the native Indians who had attempted to get the stones from my father? If not, how many independent jewel-seekers were to be numbered among my persecutors?

I saw at once that it was all-important that I should move with secrecy. Glyncamp was the man I most dreaded, and I shuddered when I reflected what might happen to me, now that the mystery lay open in my mind, if Glyncamp should succeed in getting me in his power. How easily this might be effected was shown by my experience in that dimly lighted house of the Pasha’s, when, in the guise of a veiled Turkish woman, he had sat, unrecognized, in the room with me for hours.

In less than an hour I had decided to abandon the policy of retrenchment that had been inaugurated by my father. All my energies, financial and otherwise, now would be directed to the task of obtaining these diamonds. I would win Pauline, and, by publicly transferring the gems to other ownership, I would remove the curse that had pursued my father to his grave and now was casting its shadow over me.

Sending for the head of one of the most prominent private detective agencies in London, I directed him to secure all possible information relative to Glyncamp’s past life, and to locate him and keep him under surveillance. Some of this information reached me quickly.

I learned that the man was a native of Ohio, and that, having won considerable celebrity as a mind-reader in the United States, he had gone to Paris, where his performances had excited extraordinary interest. Impressed by his singular ability, the Russian government had offered him a large sum to go to that country and give his services to the secret police. He had about decided to accept this offer when a proposition coming to him from Turkey caused him to change his plans. He went to Constantinople, and his arrival in the Turkish capital was followed quickly by the discovery of the secret plans of a revolutionary society. This resulted in more than a score of executions. Then Glyncamp’s trail was lost, only to be found again when he appeared in England with Meschid Pasha. Upon leaving London with the Pasha, the mind-reader again had disappeared.

Convinced of the correctness of Blakeslee’s interpretation of the mysterious verses, I decided that the sooner the tomb in Hetley churchyard was opened the better would be my chance of keeping the proceeding secret. I saw that I must do one of two things. Either I would have to write to the rector, or I would have to see him personally. I realized that writing on such a subject would be unwise in the circumstances, but I reflected that, if I made two visits to Hetley, I would take a double chance of exciting the suspicion of spies.

In the end, I came to the conclusion that the better plan would be to summon Blakeslee, and, accompanied by him, get to Hetley about the middle of some afternoon, and, after obtaining the rector’s consent to the proceeding, go to the churchyard at night and perform the necessary task.

I selected as the date of our visit to Hetley the second day of the new moon, hoping that in the darkness our visit to the churchyard would be unobserved by villagers.

Fortunately, all weather conditions were in our favor. Blakeslee and I arrived at Hetley in a driving rain. We found our way to the rectory without trouble, and were there greeted by the Rev. John Wivering, the rector. To him I explained who I was, and I told him that the purpose of my visit was to obtain from the inside lining of Lieutenant Wortley’s coat a paper of the greatest importance which had been placed there by my uncle. The fact that this was there, I said, had been revealed by a document which I found among the papers of my father.

Though a little startled at first by the nature of my purpose, the rector assented readily enough to my request. The key to the vault was in the sexton’s room in the church, but the sexton himself was confined to his bed by an attack of quinsy. The rector offered to summon a couple of villagers to give us any assistance that we might require, but we assured him that the task was so comparatively simple we needed no aid.

Convinced that I was the person I represented myself to be, and that my purpose was perfectly legitimate, the rector readily promised to maintain the strictest secrecy concerning the proceeding. We had tea with the good man and his wife; and, soon after darkness fell, Blakeslee and I, carrying a satchel that we had brought with us, repaired to the churchyard.

The task of conquering the rusty lock occupied more than ten minutes, but it yielded at last. The rust-encrusted iron door moved inward, and a rush of damp air passed our faces.

Stepping quickly inside the vault, I drew a dark lantern from the satchel and bade Blakeslee close the door. A few moments later the lantern’s fan-like ray was sweeping the floor, roof, and walls.

In the general aspect of the vault there was nothing to inspire an average man with a sense of morbidness. The open space was about ten feet square. The walls were of sandstone, and in these were set slabs of yellowish marble on which were inscribed in black letters the epitaphs of the persons entombed behind them. The slab bearing the name of Lieutenant Wortley was almost level with the floor.

From the satchel we took chisels and mallets. The plaster surrounding the slab was easily crumbled, and, working quietly and quickly, we succeeded in releasing the slab in about twenty minutes. Behind this we encountered a row of bricks. These were soon removed, and, at last, we beheld the side of the box we sought.

Without pausing, we addressed ourselves to the most formidable part of our task--that of withdrawing the box from the niche into which it had been thrust. But the efforts of our perspiring, muscle-strained bodies told at last. Then, with fingers quivering as a result of the violence of our efforts, we produced a couple of screw-drivers and began to remove the screws from the cover of the box. The raising of this disclosed the top of a casket covered with black cloth.

Once more we returned to work with our screw-drivers, and the second lid soon was lifted. Beneath this was a coffin, crudely fashioned of lead. Fearing that this was sealed with metal, we examined it carefully, and were relieved to find that, like the others, the cover was only screwed down.

At length, Blakeslee and I, having worked our way around the gruesome box, came together. My companion was withdrawing the last screw. In a few moments the result of our quest would be known to us.

“Well, Cecil, let’s have it off,” said Blakeslee after a brief period of hesitation, during which each of us looked at the pale face and questioning eyes of the other.

Bending, Blakeslee grasped one end of the lid and I took the other. As we lifted this, I kept my gaze on the metal cover until we laid it on the floor. Then, for the first time, I turned my eyes to that which its removal revealed.

“By Jove!” Blakeslee gasped, and stopped.

Well might we have been astonished at the object that now presented itself to our view--the body of a soldier, clad in a scarlet jacket and blue trousers. The head was large, and on the young, handsome features there was an expression of dignified serenity that one might have expected to find on the face of a sleeping Charlemagne.

“Why, the man looks as if he might have been alive this morning!” I gasped.

Kneeling beside the still figure, Blakeslee began to unbutton the jacket with such gentleness that one would have thought he was afraid of waking the sleeper.

“They cut his head a bit,” mused Blakeslee, as he glanced at the dark hair critically.

He had scarcely spoken, when, throwing back the folds of the jacket, he exposed the bare torso of the still figure.

“That’s what did it, though,” whispered my soldier friend, pointing to a round, bluish hole in the middle of the chest. “He was facing the brown devils when he fell--one of the Queen’s own lads was this one, Cecil.”

But my gaze had wandered lower. There I saw two lines--one perpendicular, the other horizontal--that formed a cross, made, as I knew by the embalmers. These lines had been roughly stitched, but some of the catgut threads had been torn away.

Blakeslee gave utterance to a little exclamation of dismay.

“Some one has been here before us,” I muttered between chattering teeth.

“Give me the scissors,” directed Blakeslee grimly.

I passed them to him, then, with trembling limbs, I, too, knelt beside the box.

A few moments later, when my friend again closed the scarlet jacket over the cold breast, I, sitting limply on the floor, thrust into the inner pocket of my coat a hard, oblong object that was sewed in a little bag of oiled silk which exhaled the odor of fragrant spices--a bag that I did not attempt to open then.

I tottered to my feet, and, as Blakeslee took one of the dead man’s hands, I grasped the other.

“Good-night, old chap,” Blakeslee murmured, addressing the dead soldier. “Perhaps, some morning, the same bugle music will wake us both.”

As carefully as we had opened the three boxes, we closed them again. We made no undue haste to leave the place. To the dead we gave all that was its due. Every screw that we returned to its place was well driven, and when the big box had been thrust back into the niche, we replaced the stones as well as we were able. I resolved, however, that more expert hands than ours soon should be entrusted with this task.

It was after nine o’clock when, after thanking the rector, we returned to the railway station, just in time to catch a train for London. It was six in the morning when, sitting at my desk, with Blakeslee at my side, I severed the threads that had closed the little silken bag.

Within the bag I found a roll of chamois-skin, and in this a roll--a diamond.

Not until I shall lie in that deep sleep that sealed the eyes of the red-jacketed hero I saw at Hetley shall I cease to feel a thrill of fear and wonder as I recall the effect produced by the object that the unfolding chamois-skin disclosed to my view.

Catching, holding and multiplying the rays of the lamplight that fell upon it, the marvelous gem suddenly seemed to become the focal point of ten thousand dazzling beams--a whiteheated thing that was being slowly consumed in its own blaze of glory--a self-damned soul on which Heaven and hell had heaped their fires.

As I tottered backward, Blakeslee grasped my arm. Looking at him then, I knew that his long face mirrored the lividness and horror of my own.

“Cecil, we must stop it!” he gasped, faintly. “If it is seen----! Come, come, man--we must put it out!”

We glanced around us with apprehensive, searching eyes. The shades were lowered and the doors were closed, but we asked ourselves whether it was possible that no eyes other than our own should have seen this outburst of supernatural radiance.

For several moments my courage seemed to fail, and I could not bring myself to the point of touching the dazzling stone. At length, however, I reached for the chamois-skin, and, after dropping this over the gem, I placed the diamond in a drawer of my desk.

“You can’t keep it there,” said Blakeslee in a hoarse whisper.

“No,” I said. “To-morrow--to-day----”

“If spies are hovering around you the way they hovered around your father, England is too small a place for that. You must get it somewhere----”

“I’ve thought all that out, old man,” I answered, firmly.

“What are you going to do with it?” my friend demanded, curiously.

“I won’t tell you that,” I replied.

An expression of wonder leaped into Blakeslee’s eyes.

“You--you mean you dare not trust me!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” I answered, promptly. “I do not trust myself. If it is known that you and I possess this secret, there is one who may have it in his power to get it from us. When we find the other stone we will see them together. Meantime, both you and I must be ignorant of the hiding-place of these.”

Blakeslee nodded.

“You’re afraid of Glyncamp, then,” he said, meditatively. “Well, you are right. It is best that neither of us should know. But how are you going to manage it?”

“I’ll be out of England within the next twenty hours.”

Blakeslee frowned.

“You are going to the Continent?” he asked.

“No,” I answered, shortly. “But if you are willing to join me in my search for the other stone, we will set out five months from to-day. Until that day we must not meet.”

“How long will we be gone?” Blakeslee asked.

“Three months.”

“I can get a furlough for that period, I suppose,” he murmured, musingly. He paused; then, with a little shrug of the shoulders, he held out both hands to me, as he added: “All right, then, Cecil--furlough or no furlough, you can count on me.”

I grasped his hands.

“And you are going to give the gems to the Pasha for the girl?” he murmured, dubiously.

I nodded.

“Well, Cecil, either the girl is indeed an houri, or you’re a fool,” Blakeslee muttered as he turned away.

Ten hours later I boarded a west-bound Cunarder at Queenstown. In a belt I carried one of the lost eyes of the Rajiid Buddha.

During the six days occupied by the voyage, I formulated my plans for the quest of the second diamond and the protection of the first.

Several days before Blakeslee and I had gone to Hetley, I had seen in an English newspaper an account of some of the adventures of an American traveler named Forsythe. This man had made travel a vocation, and, in the employ of scientists and institutions of learning, he had brought from various parts of the world objects of interest that now formed parts of famous collections. He was described as a man of fertile resource and unimpeachable integrity. I had heard of him before, and there was something in his personal characteristics and mode of life that had appealed to my imagination, and sometimes I had even gone so far as to envy him his experiences.

I now reasoned that, taking advantage of this man’s resourcefulness and reputation, I might cause the diamond to be removed from India in a manner that would prevent anyone from suspecting the real purpose of a visit to Rajiid. More than this, I also conceived the idea, not only of keeping Forsythe in ignorance of the fact that he was to have the second diamond in his possession, but compelling him to be the temporary, and unsuspecting, custodian of the stone I had found at Hetley. After having Forsythe conceal the Hetley stone, I would arrange with Dulmer, my solicitor, to have an agent remove the sealed package containing it from the place in which it might be kept by the absent Forsythe. Not even should Dulmer know the nature of the packet’s contents.

My instructions to Dulmer also bade him be prepared to have in the United States a man who, as soon as he should receive the word to do so, might take forcible possession of all objects that I might cause Forsythe to take to that country. The signal for these double thefts of my own property would be a report of my death to Dulmer. Each detail of the plan was thought out carefully.

To most persons this plan, with all its elaboration of details, might have appeared not only unnecessary, but altogether absurd. But the strange power of Glyncamp had impressed me with so much respect and alarm that, with so much at stake, I resolved to leave nothing to chance. I was resolved that no man in the world should fall into Glyncamp’s power, who in sickness or in health, would be able to form a mental picture of the true custodian of the Hetley stone or the place in which it might be concealed.

Upon arriving in New York, I engaged a room in a house occupied by a family that was in reduced circumstances. Assuming the name of Alfred Ferguson, I allowed my beard to grow, and, dressing only in cheap garments, I kept out of the streets as much as possible. Inquiries which I made concerning Forsythe revealed that he still was in South America, and probably would not return to the United States for two months.

I next proceeded to address myself to a task which I had set for myself while I still was on the steamer. Obtaining some plaster of paris I made a cast of the Hetley diamond. Then, taking this cast to a Maiden Lane lapidary, I directed him to supply me with two paste counterfeits. I had thought that this was a comparatively simple undertaking, but I was soon undeceived. The lapidary told me that the work would have to be done in Switzerland, and that it would be impossible for me to have the imitation stones in less than two months. I gave the order, left a deposit on it, and went out of the shop.

I had been in New York only ten days when I received from Blakeslee, the only man who knew my address, a cipher despatch that read as follows:

Parson says Glyn knows Hetley affair. Burglars have ransacked your London apartments and spies are watching the house. Keep close where you are, and look sharp. I am not suspected.

(Signed) B

The three weeks that followed were uneventful, and I spent most of my time in my room. I heard that Forsythe was on his way to New York, and I wrote to my solicitors to arrange to have fifty thousand dollars placed to my credit in a Philadelphia bank. Two weeks later this sum was at my disposal.

At last my patience was rewarded. The daily newspapers reported Forsythe’s arrival, and from the Maiden Lane lapidary I received the two paste stones that had been cut for me in Switzerland.

The lapidary appeared to be enthusiastic over the merits of the imitations when he greeted me.

“Were there two such real diamonds in existence, they would be worth millions, sir,” he said.

To give the lapidary his due, I must confess that the paste gems were so excellently wrought that they filled me with astonishment, for I never had suspected that the art of counterfeiting precious stones could attain such wonderful results. A man would, of course, have been little better than a fool to have been deceived by these paste baubles, but I scarcely had expected to see any brilliancy at all. The forms of the stones and a superior quality of material were sufficient to meet all my requirements.

I expressed thorough satisfaction with the manner in which the work had been done, and willingly paid the price that had been agreed upon.

I next had a tinsmith make for me a cylinder six inches long and three inches in diameter. In this I placed the Hetley diamond, carefully packed; then, in accordance with my instructions, the tinsmith sealed both ends. This done, I shaved off the beard I had been wearing, provided myself with twenty-five thousand dollars, and called upon Forsythe.

The incidents connected with that interview, as well as those that had to do with Forsythe’s journey to and from Rajiid, have been related by that gentleman himself. I, therefore, will restrict myself to a relation of my own experiences subsequent to that interview.

Upon receiving from Forsythe’s messenger the key to the unknown safe-deposit box, I delivered it to a New York lawyer who had been named by Dulmer as his representative. Meantime, however, a detective, who was unknown to this lawyer, in accordance with my London solicitor’s directions, had kept a careful watch on Forsythe and had followed him to the office of the safe-deposit company. This detective then sent the name and address of the company to Dulmer, who, it will be remembered, knew nothing whatever of any diamond in which either my father or I had been interested.

Embarking on the same vessel that took Forsythe to Europe, I spent nearly all my days and nights in my stateroom in the second cabin. I was in my stateroom on the _Arran_ when Forsythe boarded that steamer.

Blakeslee, having obtained his furlough, secured a stateroom near the second cabin quarters on the _Arran_. For weeks he had been indefatigably working in my interests, without causing any of the spies who were following me to suspect that he was in any way interested in my movements. To him three detectives, in his employ, had described the appearance of several of the spies who had been seen lurking around my former haunts.

On the _Arran_ were several Hindus. One of these conformed with the description of a Hindu to whom certain spies had reported. Apparently this man, having failed in his mission to London, was returning to India without the knowledge of the fact that I was on the same vessel. Chance, however, led me in his way one night when I had determined to have a few words with Blakeslee.

My friend saw that I was recognized, and in obedience to a warning signal from him, I retreated. That night the Hindu died under mysterious circumstances. He was only an unknown Hindu, so the officers of the _Arran_ made no investigation. All happened very conveniently.

The discovery of this spy caused me to change my plans. Despite what I had told Forsythe--and I must confess that my representations to that gentleman were sometimes rather far from the truth--I had intended to let him go to Rajiid alone, while Blakeslee and I took another route. I now decided, however, to have Blakeslee and Forsythe follow me.

At Arungabad I found two brothers--Parsees--who, like other members of their sect, had little respect for Buddhism or its disciples. The elder of these brothers was named Ahmed-Kal. The younger was Bunda. I had six servants, but of these the two Parsees were the only ones whom I felt I could trust.

I felt reasonably certain, until I drew near Rajiid, that I was successful in keeping clear of spies. Upon my arrival at Rajiid, I visited the holy well and its temple, as any other traveler might have done. I watched a jaboowallah perform his tricks, and then passed on my way. While in the temple I was careful not to display any undue interest, but I had little difficulty in marking the jade idol in a niche near the ceiling.

After leaving Rajiid, I proceeded to a village about ten or twelve miles beyond. Here, pretending to be ill, I halted to await the arrival of Forsythe and Blakeslee at Rajiid. In due time this was reported to me.

Thus far I had believed myself to be free from suspicion, and already I had begun to laugh at the fears which had caused me to make such elaborate preparations for my quest for the hidden gem. I had little difficulty in convincing myself that, without Forsythe and Blakeslee, I might have purchased the jade idol and made my way out of India.

Satisfied, then, that my purpose was not suspected, I despatched Ahmed-Kal to Forsythe with a note directing him to purchase certain articles and return home by way of Calcutta. By the time Ahmed-Kal returned, however, I was undeceived. Scores of native, cat-like eyes had been watching me for hours.

It was Bunda who first told me this--Bunda, the brother of Ahmed-Kal. From one of my alarmed native attendants he had learned that I had come to Rajiid to take from their place of concealment the lost eyes of the bronze Buddha.

When Bunda told me this, I laughed at his fears, but I put in his hands a little parcel wrapped in khaki-cloth, and bade him take my horse and set out for Bombay. I told him that fortune awaited him there if he delivered to a certain man, whose name I gave, the parcel that I entrusted to his keeping. I explained also that if he betrayed his trust the soldiers of the White King would flay him, for that which I had given to him was the White King’s own. The parcel contained the imitation gems.

When I saw that the man believed me, I provided him with funds for his long journey, for as fast as one horse succumbed to speed he was to purchase another--the fleetest he could obtain. When Bunda left me I awaited, with all the calmness I could command, the hour that would bring to me the report of Forsythe’s departure from Rajiid.

But, before that hour came, the blow which I dreaded had fallen, and it had come from an unexpected source. Bunda was scarcely more than a dozen miles from Rajiid when I was suddenly set upon, beaten insensible, and bound by my own attendants. It was in vain that Ahmed-Kal tried to defend me, and even he suspected for a time that his brother, knowing of the danger, had sought safety in flight.

When I recovered consciousness I was bruised and bleeding, and was in the temple grounds where Forsythe found me. Before me stood the jaboowallah who had exhibited his skill as a wonder-worker when I was leaving the Rajiid temple. Addressing me in excellent English, he questioned me shrewdly concerning the object of my journey to India, and my reasons for visiting Rajiid. I told him I was a traveler, bound for the military station at Shoorgai. His eyes flashed ominously while I was speaking. When I finished he said:

“The sahib lies. He is Lord Galonfield, and he has come to us to profane and rob our shrines. Unless he tells us where we may find the sacred gems that were once the eyes in Buddha’s image, he will speak no more.”

I shrugged my shoulders as I answered:

“I have told you that my name is Ferguson. The hiding-place of the lost eyes is unknown to me. But if, doubting what I say to you, you find courage to shed my blood, there will come to Rajiid men with coats as red as the blood you now design to spill.”

“The White King’s soldiers will come in vain,” the jaboowallah answered, calmly. “Though I shall cleave the sahib’s head from his shoulders, yet shall he not die except by his own act, nor shall the soldiers find him. Has the sahib any wish to express before he dies?”

I hesitated.

“Yes,” I said. “I am informed that, since I left your temple, another traveler has come to Rajiid--Forsythe Sahib. Let him see my body, that he may report my death to my friends in England. It is better that they should know that I am dead than that they should spend their fortunes seeking me.”

I saw the light of craftiness playing in the jaboowallah’s eyes. I knew his thought, and that Forsythe would be brought to me before I died. I knew, too, that I would not be allowed to die till they had the secret from me.

“It shall be as the sahib has said,” the jaboowallah replied, but, as he spoke, my heart grew still, for he unsheathed a sword.

At the feet of the jaboowallah several natives now spread a square piece of white cloth, and eight or ten brown, sinewy hands forced me to sit on it in a cross-legged position. This done, the natives, retreating, left me sitting alone, at the jaboowallah’s feet.

“If the sahib wants to count the minutes and hours that precede the coming of his friends let him sit still as the great Buddha on his throne,” the jaboowallah said.

His eyes now gleamed like fiery coals, and, as they bent their gaze upon me, I felt my will go out. The jaboowallah raised his arm, and thrice in the moonlight I saw the flashing of his swift-circling blade. A keen pain quivered in my neck and set every nerve in my body tingling.

“And so shall the sahib await the coming of his friends,” said the jaboowallah as, sheathing his sword, he turned from me.

A few minutes later the sound of retreating feet died away. I was alone.

I was not deceived. The wound I had received was nothing more than a mere scratch, however, which this strange man’s art had caused to completely encircle my neck. It marked the beginning of the series of tortures to which I was to be subjected in the course of an attempt to wring my secret from me.

I saw Ahmed-Kal, trembling with fright, mount and ride away in the direction of Rajiid. For more than an hour, conscious of the fact that I was watched by scores of unseen eyes, I sat there, never stirring.

At length, from over a rise in the road, there came to my expectant ears the welcome sounds of approaching hoofbeats. Then a little cavalcade came into view. At its head rode Forsythe, Blakeslee, and Ahmed-Kal.

I heard the horses stop in the road, and a few minutes later I saw my friends approaching me.

I knew no word that might pass between us would escape the ears of spies who were concealed in the foliage around me, but I was resolved that Forsythe and Blakeslee should not be suspected of being the real custodians of the precious gem that was concealed in the jade image.

But, shrewd as my friends usually were, this mysterious situation now disconcerted them. They thought that I, believing myself to be decapitated, had lost my reason. Despite my protests, Forsythe called to his attendants, and Blakeslee drew his revolver. A score of armed natives leaped upon them. Forsythe went down, but Blakeslee, fighting like a very demon, shot four men and broke away. He got to where the horses had been left, and, mounting his own--an animal that had been carefully chosen--he made off in the direction of Shoorgai.

Ahmed-Kal, who had attempted to defend himself, was beheaded. Forsythe was borne away insensible.

An hour later, while strung up to a beam by my hands, and with heavy stones bound to my feet, I confessed--confessed that I had found the lost diamonds under the coping of a well near which I had encamped, and that Bunda, the Parsee, was bearing them to Bombay.

Further tortures were now suspended, and I was imprisoned in a dingy cave, scooped in the side of a hill. From one of my guards I learned that Forsythe had been released, and had left Rajiid. Why the jaboowallah caused his vocal cords to be cut I cannot tell. I suppose, however, it was the brown devil’s method of punishing him for calling to his attendants while he was in the sacred precincts of the temple.

I knew that, as a result of my pretended confession, riders and telegrams were being despatched to many villages in an attempt to head off the fleeing Bunda. A week passed, however, before I was summoned to the presence of the jaboowallah and there confronted with the paste stones I had obtained from Switzerland.

I was asked whether or not these were the stones I had found in the wall. I replied that they were.

Never have I beheld such a picture of chagrin as was presented by the jaboowallah at that moment. He believed that the famed eyes of the Rajiid Buddha had been nothing more than the imitation stones that now lay before him.

I was told that I was free. Two hours later I was in the act of mounting the horse which was to bear me away from Rajiid when I was again assaulted. Once more I was thrust into the foul cave, and there, deprived of food and water, my sufferings soon became almost unendurable. In a week I felt that I was on the verge of becoming a raving maniac, then they gave me water and I was led out into the light. Something--whether it was the sun or a flash of burnished copper--suddenly dazzled me, and I fell.

When I recovered consciousness, I found myself sitting on the floor of a squalid room, and muttering incoherently.

“Give the sahib food,” a voice was saying.

The speaker was the jaboowallah, and, as he passed out of the door in which he had been standing, I saw a European approach him. A moment later the stranger disappeared, but my single glance was enough.

The stranger was Glyncamp!

Had I betrayed my secret? Whimpering and laughing like a foolish child, I cried for food.

It mattered not how much the American mind-reader had learned from me, the knowledge came to him too late.

A week later, shattered in health and mind, I crawled out of the dark cave in which I had been confined. Where were my guards, and why had no one brought me food? As I stood, blinking the warm sunlight, I saw a man in khaki. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The man was still before me, sitting on a stone, with a rifle across his knees. I called to him, and he turned. He shouted and discharged his gun in the air, and then ran toward me. It was a British soldier whom I never had seen before.

“Are you Galonfield?” he asked.

“Yes--yes--I’m--” I began falteringly.

The man, bringing his heels together, saluted me as if I had been an officer.

“Your friend, Lieutenant Blakeslee, is here, sir,” he said.

Sky, trees, and distant native huts seemed to be flung together in a mighty mass, and I was dazzled by the whirling colors. I tottered forward, and, as I fell, the soldier caught me in his arms. When I came to my senses, I was lying on a camp cot, and Blakeslee was bending over me.

“What has happened?” I managed to gasp.

“I got to Shoorgai, and brought down the boys,” he said. “For two weeks we’ve combed the district in our search for you. You are twenty miles from where I saw you last. The jaboowallah fled--saw the game was up, I suppose.”

“And Glyncamp?” I asked anxiously.

“Oh, Glyncamp hasn’t been here, old man.”

“Yes,” I muttered, weakly. “Glyncamp has been here and has learned all I knew.”

As soon as I was able to make the journey, Blakeslee and I returned to England. There I learned that my plans had not miscarried. The jade image and the cylinder were safe in New York.

Meantime, Forsythe had been incarcerated in an American insane asylum. Not knowing anything of the manner in which he had been persecuted, I did not suspect that he was at that moment perfectly sane and the victim of the jaboowallah’s spies.

The very thought of the gems themselves was hateful to me, and I resolved to get rid of them at the earliest possible opportunity. To this end I sent to Meschid a letter that read as follows:

YOUR EXCELLENCY: Having succeeded in performing the task which you set for me when we last met in London, I am now prepared to deliver to you the articles which you demanded in exchange for the honor I then sought at your hands. If, therefore, you will meet me in London or Paris with the person who constitutes the third party to our understanding, all the conditions of our compact will be promptly executed.

Three weeks passed before I received a reply. The Pasha said that, in order to fulfil the conditions we had agreed upon, it would be necessary for me to present myself at his residence in Constantinople and there deliver to him the articles which, as had been stipulated, he should receive.

But I was still a marked man, and there were strong reasons for my hesitation to go beyond the pale of English law and the protection which it affords even to the humblest of England’s sons and daughters.

I now sent to an attaché of the British embassy at Constantinople a letter in which I explained that I was betrothed to Meschid’s daughter, Pauline. I also said that, owing to my failure to get in communication with her, I desired to have agents employed to discover her present whereabouts. The answer I received to this was a telegram that read:

Pauline is Meschid’s stepdaughter. He married her mother, the widow of the late Prince Maranotti, of Basselanto, Italy. The mother died two years ago. Pauline fled to her stepbrother, the present Prince Maranotti. Her whereabouts are unknown to us.

At the end of a fortnight I was in Italy. Leaving Naples, I started for Basselanto. I had covered only a portion of the journey, however, when, in a newspaper that came to my hands, I saw a startling piece of intelligence.

Prince Maranotti had been murdered at Basselanto only a few hours before!

The dead man’s body, bruised and scratched, apparently by human hands, had been found at the foot of a cliff over which, it was thought, it had been hurled by the murderer.

Two men were suspected of having committed the crime. Of these one was a man with a singularly grotesque face, whom no one in the vicinity of Basselanto remembered having seen before the day on which the Prince had met his death. A few hours before the body was found, however, he had been seen hurrying to the station, apparently in a great state of agitation.

The second person under suspicion was an American college professor--Pietro Maranotti--a cousin to the man who had been slain.

Arriving at Basselanto, I made inquiries concerning Pauline. From servants I learned that she had not been seen at Basselanto since, as an infant, she had been taken away by her mother, an Englishwoman, who, having been married to the former Prince, had fled from his cruelty.

Despite all the privations to which I had been subjected since I had undertaken the quest of the Rajiid diamonds, my love for the beautiful young woman to whom Meschid had introduced me, had been strengthened rather than diminished. I asked myself why, if she was in trouble, she had made no attempt to communicate with me. I resolved that to the solution of this mystery I would address myself with even more energy than I had displayed in my search for the gems which, as it had been arranged, were to constitute the price of Meschid Pasha’s consent to our marriage. I was determined to employ all my time and whatever fortune I could command in finding the woman I loved.

Once more I had recourse to detectives. These I directed to trace the movements of Pauline from the time she escaped from Meschid’s harem. It was not long before these men reported that they were crossing the trails of other detectives who were engaged in a similar search. Then I learned that the employer of these was no other than the mysterious Glyncamp, of whom I had seen or heard nothing since I saw him in India.

My available funds were growing low, and I decided to sell the diamonds for which I had risked so much and for which Meschid Pasha had nothing to offer now. By doing this I would attain two objects. First, they would yield to me a sum sufficient to enable me to liquidate all the debts I had contracted, and, secondly, I would cease to be an object of the persecution of the unseen enemies who still threatened me. Having arrived at this determination, I sailed for the United States.

Upon my arrival in New York I went to the best-known jeweler in that city. To this man I told the history of the Rajiid stones, and offered them for sale. He replied that he was unwilling to buy such costly gems as a matter of speculation, but that he would try to find a purchaser. A few days later he wrote to me, requesting me to call on Hewitt Westfall.

It was with Mr. Westfall that I went to the vault in which the cylinder and the jade image were deposited, and it was in his study that the cylinder was opened and the jade image broken. There, for the first time since the Indian Mutiny, the wonderful gems flashed together, and it is to Mr. Westfall that they now belong.

To the purchaser of the lost eyes of Rajiid’s Buddha I told the story of my quest for them. Strangely enough, he appeared to have heard something of one or two of the persons I had mentioned, and he offered to cooperate with me in my search for Pauline if I would consent to submit to him certain reports that I had received from my agents. This I did not hesitate to do.

Two weeks ago Mr. Westfall invited me to this dinner, and at that time he expressed the belief that he would be able to number among his guests the young woman whom I had known as Meschid’s daughter. He has kept his word, and now, in the presence of those who have heard the story of my adventures, I offer to her who inspired me with the determination to undertake them the love, name, and fortune which, many months ago, I offered to her in the London house of Meschid Pasha.

As the Decapitated Man finished speaking, he rose from his chair and gazed earnestly toward where the Veiled Aeronaut sat with bowed head, at the foot of the table. But from the unseen lips of the heroine of his romantic tale there came no sound.

The silence was broken at length by Hewitt Westfall, who, rising, said:

“It is unfortunate that the endings of many true love stories should be so uncertain that we have to guess at them, but in this so much yet remains to be told that the story may be said to be scarcely more than begun. Even the lady to whom his lordship just has addressed himself has much to learn from others before she will be able to tell him whether or not joy or sorrow will crown the efforts he has made to win her.”

The Fugitive Bridegroom, whose face now wore a grayish pallor, half rose from his seat. Glaring at the Decapitated Man, he asked, in a voice that trembled with emotion:

“Do I understand, sir, that the lady to whom you have referred as ‘Pauline’ is--is my wife?”

“Your wife!” exclaimed the Decapitated Man, looking wonderingly at the Veiled Aeronaut.

“No,” said the Sentimental Gargoyle, in a tone of decision. “Though the lady may have given our friend, the Fugitive Bridegroom, some reason to believe that he was her husband, I protest that she is not his wife.”

“And I maintain, sir----” began the Fugitive Bridegroom, impatiently.

“Well, well, let the lady tell her own story,” interrupted the Nervous Physician, pettishly. “Until then----”

“Stop, gentlemen,” said Westfall, calmly. “All of you shall be heard in good time, and it will be from the Veiled Aeronaut that we will hear next. But, as it is now well after midnight, we shall be compelled to wait until we reassemble in the evening. Meantime, according to our arrangement, there must be no discussion of the subjects that are reserved for after dinner.”

The guests thereupon rose, and, with bewildered faces, made their way to their respective staterooms.

Breakfast was not served until nine o’clock. The One-eyed Duckhunter, accompanied by the Decapitated Man, went out after ducks, while the Whispering Gentleman, the Homicidal Professor and the Hypochondriacal Painter sat down with Westfall to a game of bridge. The Fugitive Bridegroom and the Veiled Aeronaut remained in their staterooms, and the Sentimental Gargoyle found employment in writing verses on a little table that was placed for him near the sarcophagus containing the mummy of the Princess Tushepu, of the Twentieth Dynasty.

At three o’clock all except the Veiled Aeronaut sat down to luncheon. Dinner was served at half past seven, and, when this was finished, Westfall announced that the Veiled Aeronaut was prepared to relate the story of her adventures.

The guests then seated themselves in comfortable attitudes and the Veiled Aeronaut began her story.