"But the girl stole the stone and ran off with it, and Tin Lal waited for her at a narrow place where the path to the sirdar's house runs between a cliff on the one hand and a deep ravine on the other—a place where the eagles nest and there is mist ascending from the waterfall below. He pushed her into the ravine and climbed down after her, taking the stone. And then he disappeared. And Sirdar Sirohe Singh, who is a dog—whose liver is crawling lice—whose heart is a dead fish, accused me of the deed. There was talk of bringing me before the rajah, and there was other talk of driving me away.
"Nevertheless, I had promised the Lama I would wait for him in Tilgaun. I was not minded that my time had come. Moreover, I am one who keeps promises. So I slew the loudest talkers—very secretly, by night; and after that there was not so much insolence toward me when I passed up and down the village.
"Ohe—but I was weary of Tilgaun! And when the Lama came he at first believed I had slain the girl and stolen the stone. But he is not entirely a fool in all respects, and the chela Samding has more brains than a grown man with a beard down to his belly. It was the chela who said that if I had in truth stolen the stone I would certainly have run away with it and not have stayed in Tilgaun like an eagle hatching eggs. And the Lama, having listened to a million lies and discovered the truth like a bird in the mist among them, told me I might earn much merit by following the trail of Tin Lal to the southward and recovering the stone. The Lama Tsiang Samdup said to me, 'Slay not, but obtain the stone from Tin Lal and I will pay thee more for it than any other dozen men would pay.' And he named a price—a very great price, which set me to dreaming of the girls in Spiti, and of a valley where I am minded some day to build a house.
"So I, having furthermore a grudge of my own against Tin Lal, agreed, and I followed the rat Tin Lal to Delhi, where, as I have told you, I saw him, through the shop-window where the snake is, sell the stone to Chutter Chand, the jeweler.
"But the Lama and Samding had come to Delhi likewise, and to them I told what I had seen, having lost sight of Tin Lal in the crowd. And now give me back the knife, Ommonee, that I may hunt for Tin Lal. I have an extra grudge against him. Has he not robbed me of the price the Lama would have paid me for the stone? Ohe—my honor and my anger and his end are one! Give me the knife, Ommonee."
The Hillman smiled winningly, as one who has talked his way into a hard man's heart. He held his hand out, leaning forward as he squatted on the mat.
"Tin Lal is in the jail," said Ommony.
"Oh, is that so? That makes it easy. I will wait outside the jail. They will not keep him in there for ever."
"What is that house, where you tried to kill me this afternoon?" Ommony asked.
"A place kept by Tibetans, where the Lama stays when in Delhi. That is where the actor people come to see him."
"Why did you attack me?"
"Why not? You had said, the Lama shall have the stone. Therefore it was clear to me that you must have it. Therefore, if I should take it from you I could sell it to the Lama. I am no fool!"
Ommony, with something like contentment in his eye, began to translate for the benefit of the others as much as he could remember of Dawa Tsering's tale, tossing occasional questions to the Hillman to get him to repeat some detail. It was the company the Lama kept that seemed to interest him most.
"If you like," said McGregor, when the tale was finished, "I'll have those Tibetans searched."
Ommony was about to refuse that offer, but his words were cut short by an uproar on the porch. Diana—on guard and therefore unable to be tempted from her post—was barking like a battery of six-pounders. He strode into the hall and listened—heard retreating footsteps—some one in no hurry pad-pad-padding firmly on soft-soled shoes toward the garden gate.
He opened the door. Diana glanced angrily at a long, narrow, white envelope that lay on the porch floor under the electric light, and resumed her furious salvoes at the gate.
"So-ho, old lady—some one you knew brought a letter, eh? You weren't indignant till he threw it down and retreated. You never said a word while he was coming up the path." He wetted his finger and tested the hot night air. "Uh-huh—wind's toward you —recognized his smell—that's clear enough. All right—good dog —on guard again."
He picked up the envelope and walked into the house. "Did you tell the Lama where you were coming tonight?" he asked, standing over Dawa Tsering, looking down at him.
"Aye. I did. Why not? How should I know, Ommonee, that this was not a trap—and I with no knife to hack my way out of it! Suppose that you had thrown me in the jail—who should then have helped me unless the Lama knew? I am no fool."
"Did you tell him I said he shall have the green stone?"
"Nay! How often must I say I am no fool! Would he buy the stone from me, after I had told him you said he shall have it?"
"The letter! The letter!" exclaimed Mrs. Cornock-Campbell. "Are you made of iron, Cottswold? How can you hold a mysterious letter in your hand without dying to know what is in it? Give it to me! Let me open it, if you won't!"
Ommony passed it to her. John McGregor lit another cigarette.
* About one hundred dollars
* Railway station
Chapter VII
"Sarcasm? I Wonder if that ever Pays."
It is the teaching of financiers and statesmen, and of them who make laws, and of most religionists, that of all things a man should first seek safety—for his own skin—for his own money —for his own soul. Yet I find this teaching strange; because of all the dangers in the universe, the greatest lies in self-preferment.
—From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup
The letter was written on the same long, ivory-colored paper as that which had reached McGregor's office in the silver tube, but this time it was not European handwriting, although the words were English. Some one more used to a brush, such as the Chinese use, and who regarded every pen-stroke as a work of art in true relation to the whole; had taken a quill pen and almost painted what he had to say, in terse strong sentences.
"To Cottswold Ommony, Esquire, "At the house of his friend.
"May Destiny mete you full measure of mercy. The piece of jade is neither yours nor mine. By deeds in the valley of indecision a soul ascends or descends. You are one to whom reward is no inducement; to whom honor is no more than wealth a pleasing substitute for right doing. There is nothing done in this life that is not balanced by justice in the lives to come and the ultimate is peace. So do. And not by another's hand are deeds done; nor is the end accomplished without doing all that lies at the beginning. Thus the beginning is the end, and the end the beginning, as a circle having no beginning and no end, from which is no escape but by the Middle Way, which lies not yonder but at the feet of him who searches. Take the stone to Tilgaun, which is one stage of the journey to the place whence it came. From Tilgaun onward let those be responsible on whom the burden falls. There is danger in another's duty. Peace be with you. Peace give you peace that you may multiply it.
"Tsiang Samdup."
Mrs. Cornock-Campbell read the letter aloud. Not smiling, she passed it to Ommony and watched his face. He read it twice, frowning, and gave it to McGregor, who emitted his staccato, fox-bark laugh, which Diana heard and answered with one deep musical bay from the porch. "That links him technically-tight," said McGregor, folding the letter with decisive finger-strokes and stowing it into his pocket. "Where did he learn to write such English?"
"Oxford," said Ommony. "He took D.D. and LL.D. Degrees, or so Marmaduke