The Bulldog Drummond MEGAPACK ®. Sapper
mortal eye, Protector of the Poor, though it is still there,” answered the Indian. “And that only too for a time. Then it reappears again. So runs the legend.”
“Well, stuff something in and let”s see,” cried young Laidley, starting forward, only to pause before the Indian”s outstretched arm.
“Stop, sahib,” he ordered sternly. “To you that box is nothing; to others—of whom I am one of the least—it is sacred beyond words.” He stalked away from the table, and the guests” disappointment showed on their faces.
“Oh, but Mr. Ram Dar,” pleaded the Duchess, “can’t you satisfy our curiosity after all you’ve said?”
For a moment he seemed on the point of refusing outright; then he bowed, a deep Oriental bow.
“Your Grace,” he said with dignity, “for centuries that box contained the jewels—precious beyond words—of the reigning Queens of the Chow Dynasty. They were wrapped in silver and gold tissue—of which this is a feeble, modern substitute.”
From a cummerbund under his robe he drew a piece of shining material, the appearance of which was greeted with cries of feminine delight.
“You would not ask me to commit sacrilege?” Quietly he replaced the material in his belt and turned away, and Hugh’s eyes glistened at the cleverness with which the man was acting. Whether they believed it or not, there was not a soul in the room by this time who was not consumed with eagerness to put the Chinese cabinet to the test.
“Supposing you took my pearls, Mr. Ram Dar,” said the Duchess diffidently. “I know that compared to such historic jewels they are poor, but perhaps it would not be sacrilege.”
Not a muscle on Lakington’s face twitched, though it was the thing he had been playing for. Instead he seemed to be sunk in thought, while the Duchess continued pleading, and the rest of the party added their entreaties. At length she undid the fastening and held the necklace out, but he only shook his head.
“You ask a great thing of me, your Grace,” he said. “Only by the exercise of my power can I show you this secret—even if I can show you at all. And you are unbelievers.” He paced slowly to the window, ostensibly to commune with the gods on the subject; more materially to flash once again the signal into the darkness. Then, as if he had decided suddenly, he swung round.
“I will try,” he announced briefly, and the Duchess headed the chorus of delight. “Will the Presences stand back, and you, your Grace, take that?” He handed her the piece of material. “No hand but yours must touch the pearls. Wrap them up inside the silver and gold.” Aloofly he watched the process. “Now advance alone, and open the box. Place the pearls inside. Now shut and lock it.” Obediently the Duchess did as she was bid; then she stood waiting for further instructions.
But apparently by this time the Great Brooding Spirit was beginning to take effect. Singing a monotonous, harsh chant, the Indian knelt on the floor, and poured some powder into a little’ brazier. He was still close to the open window, and finally he sat down with his elbows on his knees, and his head rocking to and fro in his hands.
“Less light—less light!” The words seemed to come from a great distance—ventriloquism in a mild way was one of Lakington’s accomplishments; and as the lights went out a greenish, spluttering flame rose from the brazier. A heavy, odorous smoke filled the room, but framed and motionless in the eerie light sat the Indian, staring fixedly in front of him. After a time the chant began again; it grew and swelled in volume till the singer grew frenzied and beat his head with his hands. Then abruptly it stopped.
“Place the box upon the floor,” he ordered, “in the light of the Sacred fire.” Hugh saw the Duchess kneel down on the opposite side of the brazier, and place the box on the floor, while the faces of the guests—strange and ghostly in the green light—peered like spectres out of the heavy smoke. This was undoubtedly a show worth watching.
“Open the box!” Harshly the words rang through the silent room, and with fingers that trembled a little the Duchess turned the key and threw back the lid.
“Why, it’s empty!” she cried in amazement, and the guests craned forward to look.
“Put not your hand inside,” cried the Indian in sudden warning, “or perchance it will remain empty.”
The Duchess rapidly withdrew her hand, and stared incredulously through the smoke at his impassive face.
“Did I not say that there was power in the box?” he said dreamily. “The power to render invisible—the power to render visible. Thus came protection to the jewels of the Chow Queens.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Ram Dar,” said the Duchess a little apprehensively. “There may be power in the box, but my pearls don’t seem to be.”
The Indian laughed.
“None but you has touched the cabinet, your Grace; none but you must touch it till the pearls return. They are there now; but not for mortal eyes to see.”
Which, incidentally, was no more than the truth.
“Look, oh! sahibs, look; but do not touch. See that to your vision the box is empty…” He waited motionless, while the guests thronged round, with expressions of amazement; and Hugh, safe from view in the thick, sweet-smelling smoke, came even nearer in his excitement.
“It is enough,” cried the Indian suddenly. “Shut the box, your Grace, and lock it as before. Now place it on the table whence it came. Is it there?”
“Yes.” The Duchess’s voice came out of the green fog.
“Go not too near,” he continued warningly. “The gods must have space—the gods must have space.”
Again the harsh chant began, at times swelling to a shout, at times dying away to a whisper. And it was during one of these latter periods that a low laugh, instantly checked, disturbed the room. It was plainly audible, and someone irritably said, “Be quiet!” It was not repeated, which afforded Hugh, at any rate, no surprise. For it had been Irma Peterson who had laughed, and it might have been hilarity, or it might have been a signal.
The chanting grew frenzied and more frenzied; more and more powder was thrown on the brazier till dense clouds of the thick vapour were rolling through the room, completely obscuring everything save the small space round the brazier, and the Indian’s tense face poised above it.
“Bring the box, your Grace,” he cried harshly, and once more the Duchess knelt in the circle of light, with a row of dimly seen faces above her.
“Open; but as you value your pearls—touch them not.” Excitedly she threw back the lid, and a chorus of cries greeted the appearance of the gold and silver tissue at the bottom of the box.
“They’re here, Mr. Ram Dar.”
In the green light the Indian’s sombre eyes stared round the group of dim faces.
“Did I not say,” he answered, “that there was power in the box? But in the name of that power—unknown to you—I warn you: do not touch those pearls till the light has burned low in the brazier. If you do they will disappear—never to return. Watch, but do not touch!”
Slowly he backed towards the window, unperceived in the general excitement; and Hugh dodged rapidly towards the car. It struck him that the séance was over, and he just had time to see Lakington snatch something which appeared to have been let down by a string from above, before turning into the bushes and racing for the car. As it was, he was only a second or two in front of the other, and the last vision he had through a break in the trees, before they were spinning smoothly down the deserted road, was an open window in Laidley Towers from which dense volumes of vapour poured steadily out. Of the house party behind, waiting for the light to burn low in the brazier, he could see no sign through the opaque wall of green fog.
It took five minutes, so he gathered afterwards from a member of the house party, before the light had burned sufficiently low for the Duchess to consider it safe