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Roy Glashan's Library
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Adventure, October 1913, with "The Brass Idol"
THE Rajah of Kalapani rose from his seat.
"Give the gentlemen my salaam," he ordered, and stood nervously rubbing his hands, while a fat smile spread over his countenance, in readiness to receive his visitors.
The Rajah by no means conformed to the popular idea of an Oriental potentate. He wore no brilliant-hued garments thick with gold embroidery and incrusted with jewels. On the contrary, he affected European clothes, and the only jewelry he displayed was an overload of diamonds on his pudgy fingers, noticeable rather for their showy size than for their purity and luster.
The door swung open, and a tawdry retainer entered backward, salaaming to the ground.
"The heaven-born will condescend to enter?"
The Rajah came forward effusively. No sonorous phrases of punctilious welcome rolled from his lips. This was an "enlightened" Rajah. He had been educated at St. Xavier's College in Calcutta, and spoke a fluent chee-chee, which is the language of the Indian-born white man.
"Gentlemen, I am veree pleased to perceive you, especial' pleased. You will take a seat? You will have a drink, yes?"
Experience had taught him that this was the first ceremony to be observed in dealing with white men.
"No thank you, Rajah sahib; not so early in the day," said the shorter of the two men, and "Same here," chimed in the other.
"Ah, I momentarily forgot that you did not imbibe according to custom. So much the better. We can now proceed to the business. This is a matter, gentlemen, of much secrecy, requiring also circumspection and valor."
"I know, Rajah sahib," said the broad-built man wearily. "It's the usual thing, I suppose; when you can't get any one else who's fool enough, you send for us."
"You always discuss matters in such unpleasant nakedness, Mr. O'Shane," protested the Rajah. "But it is nevertheless truth. This is an affair demanding secrecy, and knowing you, and Mr. Dickinson also, to be gentlemen of integrity and honor—"
"Huh!" broke in Dickinson. "That means you want us to do something particular low-down-mean."
The Rajah squirmed and smiled weakly. He hated this unequivocal directness. His Oriental mind liked to approach a matter by circuitous routes, with many compliments and vague hints before coming to the point. But these men had dealt with him before, and understood the tortuous windings of his intellect thoroughly. He gave up, with a despairing motion of the hands and, rising, crept stealthily to each door, listening.
Then, apparently satisfied, he unlocked a cabinet and took from it a package wrapped in dirty cloth. After listening at the doors once more, he returned to his seat and unwound several feet of unclean wrapping, finally placing on the table before his guests a swag-bellied little idol of brass about four inches high.
"This is veree holy thing, gentlemen," he commenced.
O'Shane took it up and examined it, then he grunted contemptuously.
"Holy be hanged. It's a fake! Artificially stained to look old."
The Rajah wriggled on his seat again and his hands shot forward in desperation.
"Mr. O'Shane, you are too much clever," he complained. "Rightly are you named Snake. Therefore will I tell the truth, with all brevity. This is counterpart, accurate copy. Original is now in possession of a man living in mountain fastnesses of Sikhim, beyond Santakpho, and I have sent for you to obtain it for me secretly."
O'Shane turned to his partner.
"You hear that, Dick? He wants us to go and swipe the thing for him."
"He can go straight to —!" came the uncompromising answer.
The Rajah held up his hands in eager protestation.
"Gentlemen, my friends, you are under misapprehension. I would not ask you to do such thing!" He was interrupted by a scornful grunt from Dickinson. "I am telling the true story, as a Brahmin, gentlemen!" He laid his palm across his forehead in solemn affirmation. "The thing is property of the temple, and it was stolen by a man committing worst sacrilege. The anger of the God pursued him and brought him to doom, but on his death-bed he made it over to present owner, who, however, is not aware of real value."
"Hm! Sounds very theatrical," commented O'Shane. "Why don't you buy it from him, then?"
"He is fanatic and will not sell. I will confess that I have once attempted force, with unsuccessful disaster, and the man has now in some measure acquired reputation as a holy man, and none of my people will approach him. Therefore I appeal to you gentlemen, and for this service I will pay three thousand rupees cash. This is large amount for so small labor," he concluded.
"And that means," added Dickinson, "that there's some darn big risk tied up with it what you ain't told us."
O'Shane nodded agreement.
"That's right," he said; "but go ahead, Rajah sahib. What's the copy for?"
The Rajah grinned cunningly.
"That is for, when you have taken original, to replace with this, in order that the man may not know until at least I have regained my own dominions. You see, I will follow you as far as Kurseong and there wait for your return."
"An' that," interrupted Dickinson again, "means that you're dead scared of the holy man yourself for one thing, an' for another that if we bring it to your own nest of robbers, some one else will likely grab the loot."
The Rajah acquiesced with another weak smile.
"That is possibility, gentlemen, and you see, being Brahmin, and spiritual head of temple, I am naturally desirous of returning the god myself. Three thousand rupees, gentlemen, and I will further provide horses and guide," he added persuasively.
O'Shane thought for a while, looking reflectively into space.
"Well," he announced at length, "we don't want your horses. We can travel quicker on foot in the mountains, though we can use the guide. But there's something back of all this, and the money isn't enough. We'll take a chance for five thousand."
The Rajah protested vigorously, whining that his domains were small and that his revenues were by no means large.
"I know all about your revenues, Rajah sahib," laughed O'Shane. "Only a couple of hundred villages; but what about that opium-factory hidden away in the cellars of your palace—with opium at eighty rupees a pound?"
The Rajah's face went yellow with sudden fear, and he collapsed in his seat.
"Bub-but," he stammered, "that is falsehood, Mr. O'Shane. When did you hear such wicked story? If the Government of India should hear such base slander—Are bapre! I have always been a friend to you, Mr. O'Shane, haven't I?"
He was altogether a pitiable sight.
O'Shane laughed again.
"That's all right, Rajah sahib. I'm no Government agent, and I'm not going to give your little gold-mine away. But you see I know that you can well afford to pay five thousand for your job."
The Rajah recovered slowly from his shock, all the while volubly protesting his innocence of any illicit dealings in the Government monopoly, and at the same time beseeching his "veree dear friend" never to mention such a pernicious rumor to anybody outside. Finally he agreed to the enhanced price with a truly Oriental readiness to pay what he obviously considered hush-money.
The matter being satisfactorily settled, the Rajah was all smiles again.
"Veree good, gentlemen," he concluded. "That is all right then. You will now take a drink? No? Veree good. I will now give final instructions. This man lives in territory of Urjun Kazi. Now the Kazi is well known to both of you, and my plan is that you go to Kurseong and send him a gift asking leave to hunt game in his country—the gift I will also supply, in place of horses which you refuse. At Kurseong my guide will come to you with a token from me. This is satisfactory? Veree well then, that is all. Khoda hafiz—good-by; or I should say rather Au revoir."
AT KURSEONG a telegram from the Rajah was waiting for the two partners, enjoining them on no account to set out with anybody but his accredited guide. O'Shane handed it across the table.
"What do you think of it, Dick?" he asked.
"Don't like it one little bit, Snake. It smells kinder suspicious. Why's he so blamed anxious for us to take his man along?
If this bug has gotten up a reputation as a wonder-worker, anybody we meet'll be able to direct us right to his front door."
"That's what I think," agreed O'Shane. "I've got a darned good mind to go without him, except that we could make him do the cooking, and it may be that the old thief, just like a native, is suspicious of everybody, and wants this bloke to keep tab on us for fear we should keep the thing when we get it."
When the guide eventually arrived, bringing a letter with the royal seal stating that he was Ram Dass and that the Rajah placed implicit reliance in him, his appearance was by no means calculated to inspire confidence. He was a long, lean mountaineer from the Western Himalayas with a fiercely upturned beard and a saturnine cast of countenance enhanced by an abnormal development of his left canine, winch projected over his lower lip like a great yellow fang. However, he showed himself to be very humble, and constituted himself the white men's servant, relieving them of so much trouble over minor details that they were forced to admit his appearance belied him.
In their long journey into the mountains, when their calves ached from the stiff ascent and their toes were jammed in a blistering pulp against their boot-caps on the steep down-grades, he insisted on carrying more than his share of the pack, and strode easily along with the graceful hip-swing of the true hillman.
But "Too darn obliging!" was Dickinson's comment, though he could not help feeling grateful as he looked at the man stalking ahead with all the cooking-outfit on his shoulders in addition to his own kit, and an apparently useless little box.
"Say, Beelzebub," he asked, as they halted once for a rest, "what's that box of yourn for? You ain't never used it any that I seen."
"This, sahib," returned the other, in his own dialect, as he opened the lid and showed it full of cotton wool, "is for the holy image when the heaven-born have procured it... That is to say, if indeed they can prevail against the wizard's magic," he added doubtfully.
"Magic, my eye!" snorted Dickinson. "I'll bet it ain't no more than the usual bull-con that these beggars always throw."
"Nay, sahib," insisted the guide earnestly. "I myself have seen. Did not his Highness, whom the Lord preserve, tell you that once before I came with one other to get this same image? No? Listen then; it was thus: We came by stealth and by careful inquiry found the place where the holy one lives—a great hole in the mountainside. Now the jungle path to Rangpo passes along a ridge across the ravine, whence from afar off occasional passers-by may view the wizard as he sits in contemplation on a platform before his dwelling, and here the devout leave offerings, not daring to approach nearer, for the place is guarded by many devils.
"Here we lay up for two days, watching his comings and going, and at last one evening, finding our opportunity, we crossed the river and climbed by a most evil path to his abode. Now we cast lots, and it fell that my companion should enter and search for the image while I stayed without to watch for the wizard's return. At this falling of the lot I rejoiced greatly, for I was in truth afraid. And it happened that as I stood on this platform looking down the pathway, I heard a cry of mortal terror from that other, and turning my head I beheld that he stood as one paralyzed. And, as I looked, out of the inner darkness there sprang upon him a great devil, black and with eyes of green flame, and rent him with roarings. At that my liver was turned to water, and I fled as a mountain goat flees, coming at last to the valley, I know not how. This is a true tale, sahibs, by my father's beard."
THE third evening found them far up on the higher slopes, where rocky peaks stood out like islands from a sea of cotton-woolly clouds hanging low in the valleys. They had left the stunted oak and lean birch far behind, and were out on a long ridge among the wintry pines. Here lay the bleak road to Rangpo.
The guide led them to a point from where, looking across the ravine, they could see an outjutting ledge of rock, behind which, he averred, was the wizard's cave.
"At sunset, sahibs," he stated, "it is his custom to come out on that platform and make incantation. If it is the heaven-born's will to encamp here, the holy one may be observed unseen."
It was the heaven-born's will and, finding a little hollow where their fire would not be seen, they sent the guide out to watch for the fanatic's appearance.
It was considerably after sunset when they were called, and both jumped up, eager to get their first view of this mysterious personage who inspired such fear among the natives.
"Bring along the glasses, Snake," suggested Dickinson. "We might want to look at him closer."
The ledge on the opposite side presented an uncanny sight in the chilly moonlight. On it stood a veritable skeleton of a man, tall and angular, with a mat of tousled hair over his face and a thin beard streaming well below his waist; naked, except for a wisp of rag about his loins, in spite of the chill in the air.
As they watched, this fearsome creature threw up its arms and began to caper about like a giant stork, leaping and twisting till the watchers almost imagined they could hear the cracking of the desiccated joints. The figure loomed distorted through the night-mist and accompanied its antics with a shrill whistling and chuckling noise. The dark ravine took up the sound and threw it back and forth in mysterious echoes which crept up to where they crouched, whispering and sighing all about them.
Ram Dass fell flat on his face, fingering the iron amulet which hung from his neck.
"Heaven protect us!" he moaned. "He talks with the devils!"
O'Shane watched the whole performance critically.
"The man's either a plain maniac or else he's very clever," he decided at length. "I fancy the latter, and this is just to impress any chance passers-by."
"Yep, guess you're right, Snake," assented Dickinson. "What's the program now? Here, Ram Dass, you fool, get up. The devils ain't goin' to eat you. Listen now. Does this bug go out after his song and dance, or does he stay right home?"
"Nay, I know not, sahib," came the tremulous reply. "But even if the sahibs would face the evil spirits no attempt can be made now, for the path is impassable by night."
"Much safer by day, too," agreed O'Shane briefly. "Let's turn in, and we can go devil-hunting to-morrow."
IT WAS early dawn when the watchful guide awoke them and announced that the old man was making preparations for departure. They hurried to their vantage-point. Presently the tall figure appeared from behind the jutting rock and peered up the ravine, evidently sniffing the air like an animal. The daylight made him seem more frightful, if possible, than before, accentuating the gaunt un-couthness of his shape. After sniffing for some minutes he suddenly dived into his cave and reappeared with a net and two long poles on his shoulder.
"Looks like he's goin' fishin'," muttered Dickinson. "But what's he up to now, Snake, fumblin' about that rock?"
O'Shane brought the glasses to bear.
"I can't quite make out. He seems to be undoing a rope from a staple or something. Yes, now he's letting out several feet of it. Now he's tied it again. Wonder what that's for."
"Shuttin' a door inside, p'raps," Dickinson guessed.
The grotesque figure gave a final look round and scrambled off up the ravine. Soon he was lost to sight.
"Now's our chance, Snake," exulted Dickinson. "If the old geezer's gone fishin' he won't be back for hours. Hey, Ram Dass, where are you off to? Gettin' cold feet?"
"I do but hasten to get the box, excellency, for surely the sahib's wisdom and valor will prevail."
The way down to the river-bed was comparatively easy, and Ram Dass showed them a natural bridge formed by a fallen tree at a point where the stream shot with an oily swirl between steep banks after roaring down a magnificent cataract above. But the opposite side was a very different matter. The path was a mere goat-track winding in and out on the face of the almost perpendicular cliff.
"Good places here to fall off," observed Dickinson cheerfully, standing with his toes projecting over an overhanging ledge, while he gazed unconcernedly down on the frothing river more than a hundred feet below.
"Yes," assented O'Shane, joining him, "or for our over-solicitous friend to push us off. Our danger with him commences after we've got the thing, and we'll have to watch him all the time."
A little farther up the pathway Ram Dass stopped and announced with great embarrassment that he dared not go any farther, for fear of the devils, against which his amulet was powerless. They threatened him, but nothing that they said would induce him to go a step nearer that fearsome cavern.
"Aw, let him stay!" muttered Dickinson at last. "He won't be any use to us anyhow, an' we can't waste time talkin' here. How much farther is it, you skunk-meat?"
"Nay, sahibs, it is but half a mile. The sahibs can not miss it; and I will stay here and pray for their protection."
They hurried up the steep path, which now grew barely perceptible in parts, and they were wondering whether they had not indeed missed the place when they suddenly found themselves on the rock platform. The unexpected nearness of the unknown danger brought them up with a start.
"Look to your gun, Dick," cautioned O'Shane. "This devil thing of his is mostly imagination, but it's clear that something killed the other fellow, even if it was sheer fright."
They peered carefully round the corner. Before them yawned the mouth of the cave, dark and empty. Dickinson sniffed.
"Phew, stinks like jackal. Unclean sort of old crab our magician must be. Wonder if devils smell like a hyena-den? Well, stinks alone don't hurt any. Let's—"
O'Shane grabbed him by the arm and swung him sprawling on the ground, rolling over with him, just as a dark shape hurled itself at them out of the blackness and was pulled up spitting and clawing the air within a foot of their faces. A wild scramble for safety almost rolled them over the edge of the platform, but the beast was held by a stout collar and a rope leading back into the cave.
They rose shakily. A black panther was snarling before them.
"——!" muttered Dickinson, "that was a close call! If he'd 'a' got us, he'd 'a' chawed us up awful. Gosh, what a big brute! I never seen a bigger, nor never at all at this elevation."
O'Shane hazarded that the man must have got it as a cub and acclimatized it.
"But why don't it claw him up once in a while?" persisted Dickinson. "You can't tame them things."
"That's what I was wondering," replied O'Shane. Then, as a thought struck him, "Hold on, I've got it! That's what he was doing with the rope this morning—letting it out. Come on."
He ran to the clumsy staple in the rock-front and hauled on the rope. Sure enough, the animal was drawn back, struggling and choking, into a regular den hewn out at one side of the entrance, where it crouched and spat, glaring green hate out of its luminous eyes.
"Cunning old scoundrel," muttered O'Shane, as he tied a good knot and tested it carefully. "So that's all his magic and his devils! Well, I guess it's the lot. Come along in, Dick, and scout for the god now."
The cave was a dark, evil-smelling hole, bare enough and filthy enough to suit any medieval hermit. A crude fireplace on the floor, with a few cooking-utensils and a pile of furs in one corner, completed the furniture; but of the idol not a sign was to be seen.
"Suppose he ain't got it after all!" blurted Dickinson, after a hasty look round.
"We must just look," said O'Shane. "Anyhow he can't have buried it in this floor. Hunt around the crevices; got matches?"
Fortune favored them. In a few minutes O'Shane gave an exclamation which brought Dickinson running. In his hand he held a little figure, the exact counterpart of the one they had brought with them.
"Here's five thousand shiny rupees, right here," he jubilated. "Fifteen hundred good hard iron dollars! Dick, shake hands. And now for a swift fade-away out of this smelly hole."
"Hey, ain't you goin' to put the other one in its place?"
"No, the old man's not likely to miss it at once, and he won't know any one has been here if we let his watch-dog out again. I'm going to circumvent our faithful retainer down there. He's too darn anxious to get the thing into that box, which he is to carry! Well, we'll hand him the fake and make him happy, bless his innocent heart!"
RAM DASS was loud in his praises of the heaven-born's cleverness and daring. Never were such valiant sahibs; and assuredly his prayers had prevailed. But what of the devils. How had they been vanquished?
"Of that later," interrupted O'Shane, inwardly resolving to regale the man with a wild tale of horror and mystery. "For the present, let us depart from this haunted place as rapidly as may be. Here is thy god—" he nudged Dickinson and drew his attention to the quick gleam in the Hindoo's eyes as he stowed the image in its cottonwool bed—"and do thou walk in front, Ram Dass."
The man started off without demur. In fact, so readily did he take the place assigned him that they wondered whether they had not maligned him in attributing ulterior motives to him on that path.
They had proceeded some distance when Ram Dass stopped short with an exclamation of pain.
"What's up now," demanded Dickinson.
"A thorn in my foot, sahib, mm-m-m! If the sahib will lend me his pocket-knife—a thousand thanks. But let the sahibs go on. I will come up with them in a few minutes."
They strode ahead. "He may be all right," observed O'Shane, "but we may as well shove him in front again when he catches up."
Suddenly, "Look out, Dick, the bank's loose!"
He hurled himself backward as he felt a tremor beneath his feet.
Dickinson clutched at him and leaped. But it was too late. With a grinding shiver, a large slice of the pathway lurched outward, poised a moment, and then, before they could spring clear, went down with a rush and precipitated them into the fierce current beneath, which whirled them out of sight in an instant.
O'Shane rose with a dizzy sense of pain in his head and a feeling of helplessness in his limbs. He heard a frantic splashing behind him and a far-away voice, "Hang on to this, old man," and something was thrust under his arms on which he rested.
He felt himself rushed along while a sickening recollection of the great waterfall below shot through his brain. He was aware of Dickinson panting at his side in a mad endeavor to push to the bank, and struggled feebly to help him. Then—the slow suck of an eddy contending for them against the current—a final effort from Dickinson, and they swung in under a great rock and in another moment he was scrambling unassisted to the shore.
He sat for a long time regaining his scattered senses. Dickinson also appeared to be thoughtful, and vicious grunts escaped him from time to time. Finally he waded out to where the heaven-sent log still swung round and round and, catching it as it floated past him, dragged it ashore. He examined it closely and swore aloud.
Then he turned to O'Shane seriously.
"Snake, there ain't been any heavy rainfall since we come up here an hour ago is there?"
"Of course not," replied O'Shane wonderingly.
"Nor no earthquake what might loosen a bank?" "No."
"Well, tell me this: Why didn't that dog-gone slice of road cave in when we come over it first?"
O'Shane's mind was still too dizzy to speculate on the mysterious workings of Nature.
Dickinson continued, "Now just direct them eyes of yourn at this section of young tree shaped like a Y; what's it look like? It looks like strut, don't it, what's used to shore up a weak bank?"
O'Shane nodded.
"An' it's new cut, ain't it? Quite new."
"Well?"
"Well, that's all; an' I'm goin' gunnin' for that doggasted guide an' make him eat that long tooth of hisn along with some more."
"I don't follow," said O'Shane. "Why?"
"You don't follow?" Dickinson exploded. "All right, look a-here. That strut's new cut, not more'n a hour ago—look at it. An' just about an hour back that dog-eatin' coon got a scare of devils and wouldn't go no farther. What for? An' just before we come to this place he got a thorn in his foot an' made us lead the trail. What for?"
A light commenced to dawn on O'Shane. "You mean " he began.
"I mean that it was all a fake; that he undermined the bank, an' figured on the falls below to finish the job, as they would have done if it hadn't 'a' been for that same strut what he put in to hold the bank till we come along."
It was clear to O'Shane now; the whole crafty plan as the cunning Hindoo had worked it out from the beginning. Then, as the thought, he began to laugh, softly at first, and then in a cramping paroxysm that stretched him helpless on the ground.
Dickinson gazed on him with indignation, then, as the humorous side of the question was borne in on him, he had to join.
"Oh, don't let me laugh," murmured O'Shane weakly. "It hurts the back of my head. But just think, he imagines he's got the goods and he's hugging himself with the idea that he can trade with the priests on his own account."
"The polecat!" snorted Dickinson. "Well, we'll never catch him now. But we sure will let the Rajah know what a trustworthy servant he's got."
IT WAS late afternoon two days later when they arrived at Kurseong. The first man they met was a tea-planter friend of theirs. He looked a while, and then came running with outstretched hands.
"Hello, hello! I'm glad to see you. I thought you fellows were drowned."
"Oh, you did? How so?"
"Why, I met your servant this morning and he said that you had both gone down in a landslide and been carried down the Rungeet Falls."
"Where d'you meet him? Here in Kurseong?"
"Yes, on the Lower Road."
Dickinson looked at O'Shane, then, "Say, d'you happen to know if the Rajah of Kalapani is here?"
"Yes, he's been staying at the rest-house for the last couple of days."
"Well," announced Dickinson emphatically, "we've got urgent business with him. See you later."
He turned impressively to O'Shane. "D'you hear that, Snake? He came right back to the Rajah."
O'Shane's lips had set in a hard line.
"And that means that he wasn't acting on his own account. The Rajah put him up to it! That's why he was so anxious for us to take him and no other. But why? Five thousand rupees wasn't worth it."
"Huh, that's easy," grunted Dickinson. "Dead men don't tell no tales, and you knew a heap too much about his little opium-game."
O'Shane nodded.
"Come on," he said shortly. "We've got a big account to settle."
YES, the Rajah was in; would the sahibs be pleased to give their names?
"Never mind the names," growled O'Shane and, brushing the man aside, he strode into the vestibule.
O'Shane swung the door open and stood on the threshold, with Dickinson looking over his shoulder.
The Rajah half rose from his chair. His mouth opened to speak, but no sound issued from his throat, and he sank back, moistening his dry lips, while his eyes goggled from his head.
O'Shane affected not to notice his confusion, and stepped briskly in.
"My dear Rajah sahib," he burst out with effusion, "I see you're delighted to set eyes on us again. Returned from the dead, eh?"
He took the flabby hand in his grip and ground the obtrusive rings into the fingers till the Rajah winced.
His quick eye spied the image lying in a corner of the room, where it had evidently been hurled in a rage. He went and picked it up.
"And I see that your faithful servant brought you the idol safely. I must confess that we did him the injustice to think he intended to steal it after our mishap. And, if I am not mistaken, you have the money all ready and waiting for us in that bag."
The Rajah made a heroic effort. "No, Mr. O'Shane, you are mistaken; that is not money," he mumbled. "Besides, I do not owe you anything, not one piece; that thing is false, 'fake,' as you say."
The voice rose to an angry whine.
"What?" cried O'Shane. "A fake? Surely your faithful servant brought it to you direct after receiving it from me just before our accident. But I see you're joking; that's a bank-bag all right."
"It is not, I tell you."
"Ah, now, Rajah sahib, don't tell lies," purred O'Shane. "You wouldn't break your agreement with us, would you?" His voice took on the smoothness of silk. "Not while I possess such dangerous information about your palace-cellars."
The Rajah quailed at the reminder, and his eyes glared baffled hate. He made two or three attempts at speech, then,
"Take it and go," he snarled in a choking voice.
"Good!" said O'Shane in a businesslike tone, taking possession of the bag. "So much for the original agreement. And now, after the whip, corn. Listen, Rajah sahib. I've got another of these things for sale. D'you care to buy?"
He carelessly produced the original from his pocket.
The Rajah leaped up with a glad cry.
"My dear Mr. O'Shane, why did you not say you were joking? Give to me."
"Nay now, Rajah sahib, you haven't said whether you will buy it."
"Bub-but I have just paid; five thousand rupees are in that "bag."
"Ah, that, as I just said, was the original agreement. But this thing has gone up in value, and there has been added the price of two lives very nearly lost through an—accident. We reckon them at another five thousand each."
The voice, in spite of its bantering tone, was hard and level, and when the Rajah looked into the steely eyes he knew that here was no room for haggling. But instinctively he broke into the true native whine.
"Gentlemen, I am a poor man. I can not afford to pay so much price for brass image."
"Yes, yes, we know about that, I don't have to remind you. But if you're not anxious, I'd just as lief keep it. I've an idea that I could find out something about its real value."
The Rajah's anxiety was patent.
"No, no, gentlemen. I will pay. Only let me examine once just to see if it is real thing."
"Nay, Rajah sahib, you're a slippery customer. Your check first for ten thousand rupees."
"But if I don't examine, how I can tell if thing is genuine?"
"You've got to take your chance now. Surely there aren't more than two of the things extant. Sign, and you get it."
The Rajah squirmed in a frenzy of doubt and eagerness. Finally he hurriedly made out a check and handed it to O'Shane, who scrutinized it critically, and then passed over the idol.
The Rajah pounced on it with a cry of delight and,taking it to the light, exarnined it closely. He gave an exclamation of satisfaction, and fumbled with his fingers at a certain point. He pressed. It seemed stiff. In a fever of impatience he rapped it against the window-ledge. With a click the little figure hinged forward on its pedestal and a blaze of scintillating red fire flashed out in the sunlight streaming through the window.
The idol was filled with rubies.
O'Shane finally broke the long silence.
"Ungh—can you beat it!" was all he said.
"What do we care?" jubilated Dickinson. "We make forty-five hundred dollars out of the deal!"
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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