Part 2

His lordship sighed. The west end of his cathedral was sinking below the surface. At the present rate of subsidence the Dean had calculated that only the gargoyles would be above ground in the year 3000. This had to be stopped. There was a matter of underpinning for a start, but it costs money to underpin the west end of a cathedral. And all the while the usual subscription lists had to be headed from the Palace, and there was more than the usual depression in agriculture. The Bishop felt that it was a singularly inappropriate moment to contribute to a church in Khurdistan, yet it would not do to discount his own fair fame in that far distant land. He must think the matter over. Meantime he would offer his guest such hospitality as would compensate for the smallness of his contribution.

"My friend," he said, "your Patriarch shall not appeal to me in vain, although, as you may well believe, I have many calls upon my purse. But we will speak again of this. You will, of course, spend the night under my roof, and now, if you will join us at dinner I shall be very pleased."

The priest's face broke into smiles. "You are most kind," he replied. "I shall be glad." Then he glanced doubtfully from the Bishop's evening dress to his own raiment.

"Tut, tut," said his lordship pleasantly. "'A wash and a brush up,' as our saying is, and you'll be all right. Come along."

It was 8.15 when they entered the drawing-room. "My dear," said the Bishop appeasingly to his hungry wife, "I have brought a visitor from Mush, in Asia Minor. Mr.--er--Kassala--Mrs. Dacre--my daughters."

The visitor bowed low before the ladies. The Bishop thought he was going to kneel, so restrained him with a gentle hand. "Here," he went on, "is my chaplain, Mr. Jones, who will be greatly interested to hear of your work at home. And this," he concluded, "is our friend, Mr. Marmaduke Percy."

Then they moved to the dining-room.

At dinner Mr. Kassala conducted himself with ease, and spoke with great fluency on many matters; so much so that Mr. Marmaduke Percy, no doubt feeling that the Asiatic was monopolizing too much attention, asked him somewhat abruptly where he had acquired his excellent English.

"I had it from one of your countrymen, sir," replied Mr. Kassala pleasantly. "He was engaged in the smuggling of aniline dyes into Persia. Of course, I did not know his real occupation, or I should have had nothing to do with him. He pretended to import chocolates and acid drops and--barley-sugar, I think he called it--and such-like things; but they were all filled with aniline colours. In return for language lessons he got me to introduce him to the chief of the Persian frontier Customs, whom he bribed for his purposes. He made a large fortune before the Shah discovered that the colours of the Palace carpets were fading. My friend, the chief of the frontier Customs, was beheaded, and three dyers were put into plaster of Paris; but the Englishman escaped. His name was Benjamin Watts. Do you happen to know him, sir?"

The episcopal circle was justly shocked at this recital of their countryman's perfidy, and Mr. Percy warmly repudiated any knowledge of Mr. Watts.

The Bishop found his guest profoundly interesting, and he twice made notes in his pocket-book about Asiatic matters. The ladies left the room regretfully.

The chaplain, who was of an extremely bashful temperament, now put a question that had been trembling on his tongue all the dinner hour.

"Is not your village somewhere near Mount Ararat?"

"Certainly. We can see its snow-capped summit quite plainly from Mush. With a telescope we can even discern where the Ark rested after the Flood."

The Bishop looked at his guest reprovingly, for jokes on such matters grieved him deeply.

"I mean it, your Grace," said Kassala. "Surely you heard that the Ark itself was discovered about three months ago?"

"What?" exclaimed the Bishop and the chaplain together. "The Ark discovered?"

"Certainly," Kassala replied. "My venerable Patriarch had long suspected that remnants might be found preserved in the perpetual ice, so he sought the assistance of Professor Papineau, of Prague, who was travelling in the East. After months of--what do you call it?--pro--yes--prospecting--this gentleman discovered an enormous chunk of ice bearing some resemblance in outline to the object of their search. The only possible way to remove the ice was by blasting, and Professor Papineau inserted a charge of dynamite. A fatal mistake was made in the size of the charge, with the result that the whole enormous chunk was blown to atoms. Embedded in the fragments were found what were apparently portions of a leviathan ship, which my Patriarch and Professor Papineau regard as being the veritable vessel built by Noah. In no other way but by a universal deluge could it have got on Mount Ararat. But for the mistake made in the size of the charge the structure of the Ark might have been at any rate partially preserved. It was a terrible misfortune, only to be compared to the destruction of the Parthenon by the Venetians. Professor Papineau was for a long fortnight ill in bed with remorse. He reads a paper on the whole incident at the forthcoming Oriental Congress at Prague.

"But perhaps I have been indiscreet. Evidently the news has not reached your country, and the Professor may wish to be the first to give it to the world. He might resent my telling you, and my Patriarch would be grieved. I beg you to keep the information inviolate until you read of Professor Papineau's paper at Prague."

The Bishop and the chaplain nodded their assent. They seemed to have no words left in them. After breathing-space they both pulled out their pocket-books, and made some memoranda.

Later the conversation turned on vestments, and such matters. "Do you know, your Grace," said Mr. Kassala, "I have heard that you are the only bishop with a pastoral staff. Is that so?"

"No. It's the other way about. I'm the only bishop who hasn't one. I alone share with the archbishops the dignity of a crozier. The old crozier of the see is now kept in our chapter house. It was too old for use, so last year the ladies of the county presented me with a new one. If you like, I will show it you. Mr. Jones, I wonder if you would mind bringing my crozier from the library?"

Five minutes later the chaplain re-appeared, bringing a long case with him. This was duly opened, and Mr. Kassala had then the pleasure of inspecting the crozier presented by the ladies of the county. It was of ebony and gold, and was richly jewelled. It was a work of art well worth the encomiums bestowed upon it by the Asiatic.

"With your permission, your Grace," he said, "I should very much like to make a water-colour sketch of it in order to show to my Patriarch, who is deeply interested in such matters. He has a very fine crozier himself. Would you allow me?"

"By all means," said the Bishop.

"Thank you. I will do it before breakfast in the morning. I am an early riser. I suppose I may find it in this room?"

The Bishop nodded, but Mr. Percy intervened. "Allow me to take care of it over-night, Bishop. I don't think you ought to leave such a valuable article about. There is always the possibility of burglars. I am told there is a gang in the district just now."

The Bishop smiled good-humouredly. "I don't think we need consider that eventuality," he said. "But as you like. Now shall we join the ladies?"

Perhaps Mr. Kassala was hardly as entertaining in the drawing-room as he had previously been. He seemed a little preoccupied. At eleven the house party retired to rest, Mr. Percy carefully carrying to his room the case containing the crozier.

The Reverend Arthur Jones, his lordship's chaplain, was a light sleeper at best, and to-night the excitement of Mr. Kassala's visit kept him particularly wide-awake. His thoughts were with the unhappy Professor Papineau. He was wondering whether it would not be kind to send him a letter of sympathy, when his attention was attracted by a noise outside his room. He jumped out of bed and opened his door quietly. Someone was stealthily walking along the corridor. He saw the figure pass a window, and the moonlight fell upon Mr. Kassala. In great wonderment Mr. Jones followed. A turn of the passage brought the Asiatic to the head of the great staircase, and here he stopped so suddenly that the chaplain almost ran into him. For two minutes Mr. Kassala paused in a state of indecision. Then he advanced to a door, and gently opened it. Mr. Jones was paralysed with horror. It was the Bishop's bedroom. What could Mr. Kassala want there? Determined to save his beloved chief, Mr. Jones followed. As he entered the room there was an exclamation from the Bishop. Mr. Jones turned involuntarily. As he did so, Mr. Kassala collided with him. The Bishop sprang out of bed, and switched on the electric light. "Mr. Kassala!" he exclaimed. "And Mr. Jones! Pray, what is the meaning of this?"

"A thousand pardons, your Grace," said the Asiatic. "I have mistaken the room. I wanted Mr. Percy."

At this moment the next door opened, and Mr. Percy appeared.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"That's what I should like to know," said the prelate. "Mr. Kassala says he is looking for you."

"Indeed! What for?"

"I--er--was wondering if you had a camel-hair paint brush?" said Mr. Kassala.

"Well, you needn't wonder any longer. I haven't," Mr. Percy replied.

"And what do you want, Mr. Jones?" asked the Bishop sternly.

"Nothing, my lord, nothing," said the unhappy Jones. "I was only following Mr. Kassala."

"Then perhaps you'll follow him to bed," remarked the Bishop drily. "I hope I shall have a more satisfactory explanation in the morning."

Here, no doubt feeling that the situation was hardly in keeping with his dignity, the Bishop closed his door. Mr. Percy did the same, while Mr. Kassala and the shivering Jones returned to their corridor.

Mr. Kassala seemed rather amused than otherwise at the situation, but Mr. Jones was permeated with distress. "Cheer up," said the Asiatic, as he turned into his room. "If you will meddle in other people's business you're bound to suffer for it."

There was no sleep for the unhappy chaplain that night. He was in love with the eldest Miss Dacre, who, he had reason to believe, returned his affection, and he had determined to see her father on the subject on the morrow. But after the events of that night such an interview was highly inadvisable. Yet he had acted from the best and most creditable of motives. Only by hearsay was he acquainted with the habits and customs of the East, but he felt sure that honest Asiatics would not be found prowling about a palace in the midnight hours. What did Mr. Kassala want in the Bishop's room? Was it theft or--something worse? Was this self-styled priest the emissary of some Eastern organization bent upon destroying the flower of the Western hierarchy? Was he a Thug? Mr. Jones shuddered at the possibilities of the situation.

Ha! What was that? Again a creak outside. For a moment he listened breathlessly. Then he opened his door again. Good gracious! there was Mr. Kassala once more slinking down the corridor.

Hastily putting on his dressing-gown, Mr. Jones followed, with nerves strung to their highest tension. This time the Asiatic walked with no uncertain step. As he passed the Bishop's door the chaplain's heart gave a bound of relief. He stopped at Mr. Percy's door, and tapped gently. The light in the room was turned on, and the door opened by Mr. Percy himself. Mr. Kassala entered, and the door closed noiselessly behind him.

For some minutes Mr. Jones stared at the door in blank amazement. Then he turned round, and walked slowly back to his own room. In times of great perplexity he was accustomed to look for guidance to Mr. Paley's "Evidences." Mechanically he now took down the well-thumbed volume from its shelf, and opened it. He sat for many hours staring at the print without ever turning the page.

"Where is Mr. Kassala?" were the Bishop's first words on entering the breakfast-room the next morning. Although his lordship had betrayed no consciousness of his existence Mr. Jones felt that the inquiry was levelled at him.

"I do not know, my lord," he answered.

"John," said the Bishop to his butler, "will you inform Mr. Kassala that breakfast is on the table?"

In a few minutes John returned with the information that Mr. Kassala's room was empty, that his bed had not been slept in, and that nobody had seen him that morning.

"This is very singular," said his lordship. Then, after a pause, "One hardly likes to say so, but I must confess my confidence in the _bona fides_ of Mr. Kassala has been shaken. You spoke about burglars last night, Marmaduke, in reference to my crozier, which seemed to have a peculiar attraction for Mr. Kassala. I hope it is safe."

"I put the case on the top of my wardrobe last night, and it was there five minutes ago," said Mr. Percy.

"I wonder what his object could be in coming here, and then leaving us in this extraordinary manner. Perhaps you can throw some light on that very peculiar incident in the middle of the night, Mr. Jones?"

"I heard a noise, my lord, and followed Mr. Kassala to see what he was doing. I haven't the faintest idea why he went into your room, unless it really was, as he said, that he had mistaken it for Mr. Percy's."

"But what should he want with Mr. Percy?" asked Mrs. Dacre.

"Perhaps Mr. Percy will answer that?" said the chaplain, with much meaning in his voice.

Mr. Percy fixed the eyeglass and looked coolly at the chaplain. "How on earth should I know, Jones?" he said. With this oracular remark he returned to his egg.

The chaplain was bursting with indignation at Mr. Percy's concealment of his midnight interview with Mr. Kassala. He longed to expose him, but shrank from the necessity of a painful scene.

"Mildred," said Mrs. Dacre suddenly, "let us look through the drawing-room silver at once. I hope the equestrian statuette of your father is safe."

While the ladies were ticking off their household gods, Mr. Percy went to his room to pack, and Mr. Jones followed.

"May I have his lordship's crozier?" asked the chaplain.

"Certainly. Here you are. But you do look unhappy, Jones! Whatever is the matter?"

Mr. Jones took the case without replying. "The key was in the lock last night," he remarked.

"Was it? Then it must have dropped out somewhere. Perhaps it's on the floor." But it did not seem to be there, although both Mr. Percy and the chaplain looked very carefully for it.

"Never mind," said the former, after five minutes' fruitless search. "It will probably turn up after I've gone. Remember, that I'll be responsible for any damage."

The chaplain was very pale. "Mr. Percy," he said, "I know of your midnight interview with Mr. Kassala."

Once more Mr. Percy fixed his monocle. "Do you, old man?" he replied. "Then I won't be the one to get you into trouble over it. You may rely on me. If you don't say anything, I shan't. Now good-bye. It'll take me all my time to get my things together. My man's ill, and I'm out of practice."

Mr. Jones left the room more bewildered than ever. His lordship, after leaving stringent instructions regarding Mr. Kassala, should he again appear, went by the noon train to town with Mr. Percy.

Mr. Jones appeared singularly distracted that day, and Miss Dacre gazed at him with much concern. He spent the evening alone with Paley, and about eleven o'clock, with firm determination on his face, he forced the lock of the crozier case. His worst fears were realised. In place of the crozier of ebony, gold, and jewels, the present of the ladies of the county, there reposed in the purple velvet lining a common bedroom poker!

At that very moment the Bishop of Bister's crozier lay on the table of a London mansion. Twelve men were gathered round it, complimenting their host upon it. Their host, by the way, was lately his Majesty's Secretary of State for Egypt. He was now attired in a long blue cassock-like garb, such as Asiatic priests may wear.

"By the burglary of the Bishop of Bister's crozier Lord Ribston's subscription has been paid for the next two years," said one of the men, making a cypher note in a book.

"Hear, hear! Bravo! Good for the Ribston Pippin!" was the general chorus.

"Gentlemen," said the man in the priestly garb, rising to his feet amidst applause, "I am proud once more to have been able to fulfil the mandate of our Club. With your permission, I will now pack up the bauble so that it may be returned by the midnight express in order to ease the mind of a most worthy man, his lordship's chaplain. But before I do so I wish to propose a new member--Mr. Marmaduke Percy. You will recollect that his name was brought forward twelve months or so ago, but he was not considered equal to the demands that are occasionally made upon the members of this honourable fraternity. I have reason to believe that we did Mr. Percy an injustice. Yesterday, at any rate, he saw through my disguise, and divined my purpose. He could easily have betrayed me. But he behaved in a sportsmanlike way, and for that reason I now propose that he should become one of us. Major Armytage is seconding. You will have an opportunity of voting for Mr. Percy at our next meeting. Is there any further business before us, Mr. Secretary?"

The Secretary consulted his book. "I note that Mr. Danby Travers' subscription is due," he said.

"Good old Danby! Pile it on! Make it thick enough!" was the varied cry.

"Gentlemen," said the Secretary, "we meet on Tuesday next, and Mr. Danby Travers will then be asked for the Black Pearl of Agni, the property of the Illingworths."

III.

THE LUCK OF THE ILLINGWORTHS.

DANBY TRAVERS was annoyed. He was one of the founders of the Burglars' Club. His entrance fee had been the temporary abstraction from the Crown Jewels of the Koh-i-noor itself. Two years ago he had kept up his membership by the burglary of the Duchess of Guiseley's emeralds; and now, by the unkindness of Fate or the simple cussedness of his committee, he could only renew his subscription by purloining the Black Pearl of Agni. It showed the folly of becoming the champion jewel burglar of the club.

Of course it was pure coincidence, for only four people knew that he was in love with Mary Illingworth. Mary knew it, because he had told her; Lord and Lady Illingworth, because they had been fatuously consulted in the matter; and he, Danby Travers, because of a stuffy, despairing feeling somewhere in his chest from the moment of awakening in the morning down to the last gleam of consciousness at night. But the Burglars' Club did not know it, nor did they know that Lord Illingworth had told him that in future he was not to cross the baronial threshold; and all because, despite his brilliant record in India and at Hurlingham, he, Danby Travers, was as poor as a chapel mouse.

Therefore he received the mandate of the club with something less than his usual urbanity. But reflection brought a Mephistophelean suggestion of comfort. He had been unable to rob Lord Illingworth of his fairest daughter. He would at any rate purloin his most valued jewel.

The Black Pearl of Agni was world-renowned. During the military operations in the Western Deccan in 1803 it had been looted by a certain Major Illingworth, of the Bengal Native Infantry, from a rich temple dedicated to the Hindoo God of Fire. From that day his fortunes had prospered amazingly. Promotion came for the asking; wealth by marriage and bequest. Influence, social and political, had followed, and a title. Succeeding generations had added to the score. Two descendants of the sepoy major had attained Cabinet rank, and the present peer had won the Derby. The Luck of the Illingworths had become proverbial.

The jewel was kept at Knowlesworth. Travers knew the place well. He had spent a fortnight there, and there he had made love to Mary Illingworth. She had shown him the Pearl; and, because he was to be her husband, had shown him the secret of its hiding-place. Little did he think at the time that the next occasion on which he entered that room would be as a burglar--an amateur one, it is true, but still a burglar.

No wonder that Danby Travers was annoyed. The only justification for his conduct that he could think of was that the temporary loss of the Pearl would probably have a beneficial effect on Lord Illingworth's character.

He had received the secretary's intimation on the Friday morning. He had to show the Pearl at the next meeting of the club--on the following Tuesday night. That gave him four days for the business.

Knowlesworth was sure to be full of visitors, for Lord Illingworth had succeeded a late Master of Balliol in entertaining the most distinguished week-end parties in the country. Travers turned to the _Post_, certain to find the list. Ah! here it was:

"Lord and Lady Illingworth are having a large party at Knowlesworth, entertaining the Bohemian Ambassador and Countess Polsky, the Duke of Strathpeffer, the Marquess and Marchioness of Bridlington, the Dean of Penzance, Professor Rawson, and others."

"What a crew!" thought Travers. "Wouldn't Strathpeffer be pleased if I came a cropper! I wonder he can go there after Mary's last refusal. I'll wait till they thin a bit. Some are sure to go on Monday, so Monday night is my best time for the job. Now for Bradshaw."

On the following Monday night, Travers took a second-class ticket at Charing Cross in order to minimise the chance of running against friends. From sheer curiosity he chose a compartment in which two singular-looking men were already seated. The weather was by no means cold, yet they were swathed in winter clothing. Thick mufflers were round their necks. Their faces were partly hidden by the wraps, and partly shaded by the broad brims of silk hats built about the time of the Crimean War. But their race was unmistakable--to Travers at least. They were Hindoos--the tall one probably a man of caste, the podgy person possibly a Baboo.

In his interest at coming across these strange people Travers forgot his ultimate objective. He settled himself in his corner, prepared either to join in conversation with, or merely to watch, his quaint fellow-travellers.

On his entrance they had turned their eyes upon him, but they had resumed their conversation. As the train got on its way they raised their voices, and, confident of not being understood, they spoke with absolute unrestraint. Travers, with knowledge derived from ten years' service in the Madras and Indian Staff Corps, was easily able to follow their talk.

"At last," said the tall man, as the train moved out of the station.

"At last," repeated the other. "Buck up. Now is the conclusion of your spacious quest."

"Say rather the beginning. So far it has been easy, despite the horror of mingling with these barbarians. To lose caste was foreseen, but now we enter upon the unknown."

"Nevertheless, I take the liberty of emphasising the necessity of bucking up. To-morrow you will be a thrice happy man, and I will weave a garland of marigolds for your honourable head. Gosh!" This as the train entered a tunnel with a hideous shriek. "It is a taste of the underworld," he added.

The tall man shuddered, and remained silent. As the train emerged his companion gave a very creditable imitation of the whistle and the tunnel.

The tall man smiled sadly.

"Ramma Lal," he said, "I envy you your merry disposition. It was in a good moment that I met thee in Bombay, _baboo-jee_. You have served me well in guiding me hither, and in enlivening me on the long journey."