At any rate, he was forewarned. The house was a mile and a half away from the station by the main road on which the Hindoos were going. He knew a cut across the fields which shortened the distance by half a mile. He would gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes he had to obtain the Pearl.

The train pulled up at Knowlesworth station. The two Hindoos stepped out. Travers followed. He watched them start along the road; then he briskly cut across country.

The church clock struck eight as he reached the terrace in front of the hall. From the beginning he had matured only one plan of campaign. He knew the rules of the house, and he would take advantage of them. From eight to nine the men-servants were busy in the dining-room. Anyone could open the main outer door and enter. He might, of course, be seen, and in this eventuality Travers relied upon his being known to allay suspicion. He was in evening dress, and temporarily, at any rate, would strike a servant as being one of the guests.

The nominal dinner-hour was eight. It had been his intention to enter at 8.20 in order to allow for any delay either on the part of the kitchen or the guests. Dinners at Knowlesworth were notoriously unpunctual, and if he entered now he might run into the house party or meet stragglers on the stairs. He must wait. But the Hindoos were marching down the road. Each instant brought them nearer. In ten--no, in eight minutes--they would be in the garden. Yet he dare not enter.

He waited impatiently in the shadow of the great portico. It was now 8.10. He would make an attempt.

He slowly pushed back the heavy door, and entered the vestibule. This was cut off from the hall by big gla.s.s doors, and then by heavy curtains. Still more carefully he opened the inner door, and then quickly closed it again. Through the opening had come the sound of voices and laughter. They were gathered in the hall before the fire, waiting for the summons to dinner. So there he stayed, cursing the unpunctuality of the house, and unquietly reflecting that a casual remark as to the present state of the weather might lead to the gla.s.s door being opened and himself ignominiously disclosed.

And Mary would witness his humiliation. Nay, she might even be the innocent cause of it. She was within half a dozen yards of him now, separated only by some gla.s.s and a curtain. Yet he could not speak to her--could not even see her. Ah! that was her laugh. And that Strathpeffer's raucous voice. Hang Strathpeffer!

It was now 8.15. The Hindoos were in the garden. The situation was distracting. At any moment they might enter the Temple room.

Ah! there was the sound of movement within. The guests trooped past the door. Their voices died away. All was still.

It was nineteen minutes past eight. Travers hesitated no longer. He unb.u.t.toned his top-coat, and, with cap in hand as though he were a guest just come in from a stroll before dinner, he opened the hall door.

No one was in sight. He crossed the hall, and stepped lightly up the stairs. At their head he pa.s.sed a maid. She certainly took him for a guest.

He went straight down the great corridor, and then branched to the left.

It was the third door ahead. He pulled back the panel as Mary had shown him, undid the bolt from within, and entered. The room was in darkness.

He struck a light, half expecting to find the Hindoo disclosed. No, he was alone, and the Pearl still there.

It was a room without furniture. In the centre was a replica of the great idol of Agni at the temple from which the Pearl had been looted.

The G.o.d sat there, smug, cross-legged, and hideous. The eyes fascinated the beholder. The left one was of marble; the right made of a stone worth a prince's ransom--the one known throughout the world as the Black Pearl of Agni. At the G.o.d's knees, their holders resting on the floor, were two gigantic candles. Travers lit them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A CRY OF DESPAIR ESCAPED HIM."

(_p. 51._)]

Then he stepped quickly to the idol, and sought the left hand of the G.o.d. He pressed the nail of the fourth finger. The G.o.d's right eyelid lifted, and the complete stone was disclosed. Travers quickly abstracted it, released the lid, and put the Pearl in his pocket.

His object was accomplished. But what was that? Listen.

There was a sound at the window. The Hindoo was there--beaten by half a minute.

Travers turned to the door. Then, impelled by an overpowering curiosity to see the end of the drama, he slipped to another window, and got behind the curtain.

There was a faint whistle from below. Hang it, what a fool he'd been!

The Baboo had seen the momentary disarrangement of the curtain, and had observed his figure against the light, and now he was alarming his friend. But the latter heeded not. Perhaps he was too excited to understand, or even to hear him.

The sash was raised, the curtain pulled back, and the Hindoo stepped into the room. He was almost naked, and his bare limbs shone with a coating of oil. He took one step forward, and looked up eagerly into the idol's face. Then a cry of despair escaped him. The stone for which he had travelled five thousand miles was not there. He had lost his caste.

It could never be regained, since he had failed in his quest. Never again could he see his native land. Under the crushing blow he sank, a comatose heap, on the floor.

The minutes pa.s.sed, and Travers shifted uneasily behind the curtain.

There were sounds from the garden--then approaching footsteps in the corridor. The door was flung open, and Lord Illingworth burst into the room, revolver in hand. The Duke of Strathpeffer followed with other guests, and some footmen. The Hindoo stared dully at them, but did not move. He was promptly seized.

"The Pearl--where is it?" demanded Lord Illingworth.

The Hindoo did not reply.

Lord Illingworth pointed to the empty socket, and repeated the question, but the Hindoo merely shook his head.

"Search him," said Lord Illingworth.

He was searched, but, of course, nothing was found.

Lord Illingworth stood over him.

"Where is the Pearl?" he thundered, but again the Hindoo shook his head.

"Bring in the other man," said Lord Illingworth.

The Baboo entered, limp and crestfallen, in charge of two stablemen. A boy carried a silk hat and some winter clothing.

"Ask him what he has done with the Pearl," said the peer.

Ramma Lal put the question.

"I have not got it. It was not here when I came."

The Baboo repeated this to Lord Illingworth.

"It is a lie," he replied. "It was here an hour ago. I saw it myself."

"The _sahib_ knows that thou liest," said Ramma Lal to his friend. "Tell him a finer tale."

But the Hindoo only protested his innocence.

"What does he say?" demanded Lord Illingworth.

"He says," replied the facile Baboo, "that no sooner had he taken the Pearl than there was the flash of fire and much smoke. When it cleared away the stone had vanished. Doubtless Agni the G.o.d had come for his own."

Lord Illingworth blazed with fury.

"He has swallowed it," he said. "We shall have to cut him open."

Ramma Lal translated this terrific threat. The Hindoo gave a yell.

Despair lent him strength. With a serpentine twist he slid from the grasp of one of his captors and knocked up the arm of the other. The window was still open. He sprang through it into the darkness of the night.

Lord Illingworth ran to the window, fired blindly, and then rushed from the room. The others followed. Only the Baboo, his two captors, and the boy with the clothes remained.

"Come along," said one of the grooms.

"Stay for one moment, I beseech you," said Ramma Lal, "and let me worship Agni the G.o.d."