The Gate of Ringing Sands E-Book

Ottwell Binns

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

"COLONEL Cavenagh."
As Louis Claverdon spoke the name he gave a sign. The chuprassi salaamed profoundly, and, without a word, threw open the door by which he stood, salaaming again as the caller passed to the room beyond. The door clicked . behind him, shutting out the prying world; and the grey-haired, ruddy-faced man of the temple of secrets, which that room represented, swung round , in his chair and nodded cheerfully to his visitor.
"Glad to see you, Claverdon. You're on time. Take a chair.... The cigars are there on the table at your elbow. 'Scuse me one minute."
He turned to the desk again, scrawled a short note, and sealed it; whilst, with a deliberation that evidenced character, Claverdon selected and lit a cigar. Then the man at the desk touched a bell-push, and when it was answered by a subordinate, who appeared through a second door, handed to him the sealed note with curt instruction to despatch it immediately. When the door had clicked behind the subordinate, Colonel Cavenagh turned and faced his visitor, who sat waiting for him to begin. There was a moment's silence, then the colonel smiled.
"No curiosity, Louis?"

Leseprobe

THE GATE OF

RINGING SANDS

Ottwell Binns

1927

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383838791

Contents

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

______________________

Chapter 1

"COLONEL Cavenagh."

As Louis Claverdon spoke the name he gave a sign. The chuprassi salaamed profoundly, and, without a word, threw open the door by which he stood, salaaming again as the caller passed to the room beyond. The door clicked . behind him, shutting out the prying world; and the grey-haired, ruddy-faced man of the temple of secrets, which that room represented, swung round , in his chair and nodded cheerfully to his visitor.

"Glad to see you, Claverdon. You're on time. Take a chair.... The cigars are there on the table at your elbow. 'Scuse me one minute."

He turned to the desk again, scrawled a short note, and sealed it; whilst, with a deliberation that evidenced character, Claverdon selected and lit a cigar. Then the man at the desk touched a bell-push, and when it was answered by a subordinate, who appeared through a second door, handed to him the sealed note with curt instruction to despatch it immediately. When the door had clicked behind the subordinate, Colonel Cavenagh turned and faced his visitor, who sat waiting for him to begin. There was a moment's silence, then the colonel smiled.

"No curiosity, Louis?"

"Heaps!" replied the younger man. "But questions uninvited are a vice."

Colonel Cavenagh laughed. "That's rough on me. I was just going to ask you one."

"Permission accorded, sir," answered Claverdon, laughing back.

Then Cavenagh asked his question.

"Ever hear of The Gate of Ringing Sands?"

A quick light of interest leaped in Claverdon's steel-blue eyes at the words, then he nodded:

"Once."

"Ah!" Colonel Cavenagh, in whose hands the threads of India's secret service met, leaned forward a little, and he asked laconically, "When? Where?"

"Six weeks back, in a caravanserai at Leh... Speaker was an Afghan horse-coper. I was interested— naturally; the more so as in the night someone knifed the man."

"You learned nothing?"

"Nothing, sir. You can't talk to the dead; and I guess this is why the horse-coper died."

Colonel Cavenagh nodded, and sat for a moment or two lost in thought. Claverdon waited, staring out of the window, apparently absorbed In. the kaleidoscopic life of Delhi, until a movement on the part of the other drew his eyes from the street. Cavenagh had turned to his desk; and was opening a drawer. A second later he handed something to his visitor, something that flashed in the strong light.

"Know anything of that?"

Claverdon looked at it, and the; interest in his eyes quickened. The thing he looked at was a small piece of green jade, translucent as water, roughly carved into the semblance of a natural gateway or entrance to a cave in a jagged hill, and above the gateway was Mahomet's crescent moon and single star. He stared at it for quite a long time, and at last replied briefly:— "Nothing. It is new to me."

"And to me — until yesterday. That's why I sent for you, because, unless I am mistaken, that is a picture of The Gate of Ringing Sands."

Claverdon looked at the jade again without offering comment, and after a pause the other proceeded.

"That was sent by Waldron, who is on special service up in Russian Turkestan. For seven whole months there has been no word from him, and I was thinking that he had slipped off the pay-roll for good; when yesterday there came a big Tibetan caravan master, name of Nima Tashi―"

"I know him. A jovial heathen — with a laugh like rolling thunder. Knows the Pamirs and all the passes as I know the Chandni Chowk. He was my shikari when I got that Ovis Poli head."

"You'd say he was honest?"

"To his salt," answered Claverdon. "He's of the adventurer breed — once a red lama, later a bandit, and latterly, trader; but a jewel of a man in a tight corner."

The colonel nodded.

"Waldron trusted him, and that speaks volumes. It seems they were old acquaintances, and Waldron, who is living in some flea-bitten hole up Hissar way, took a chance to pass word of himself and to send that bauble along. He doesn't say how he came by it, but thinks the thing is tremendously important. His note says that several times he has heard The Gate of Ringing Sands mentioned; and he seems to think there's some tremendous devilry brewing up on the Pamirs with Russian influence for the pot-stick to stir it."

"That's likely enough; sir. The Bolsheviks are the bête noire of High Asia just now."

"Yes, and of Europe, too!" Cavenagh was silent a moment, biting his bristling moustache, then he grunted. "Waldron isn't far from the truth. I have reports from three other sources, all mentioning that confounded gate. 888 has noted it twice from Bokhara; C.25 in Khotan has a cryptic note about it; and a man at Tashkent asks if there is any news of such gateway."

"And my Afghan—"

"Yes! That's a red seal on The Gate. A man isn't knifed for nothing, even in a lice-infested serai in Leh. And there's where we are. Five references to The Gate; and that piece of jade, which is plainly a symbol. It is the mystery of the thing that is the trouble."

"Maybe Dick Waldron―"

"Waldron is on a special line. He―" Cavenagh broke off sharply, and his grey eyes kindled with a sudden light of excitement. "By all the gods of Asia!" he said half-whisperingly.

Claverdon watched him as he jumped to his feet, and began to pace the room, a perturbed look, on his face. Then, quite suddenly, he ejaculated:

"The two things may be two sides of the same thing!" He stopped and turned to the younger man. "You know about that affair at Baltaz?"

"Meaning the abduction and return of Miss Wargrave?"

"Yes... but the girl was not returned!"

Claverdon whistled sharply. "Phew!" ."That was an official lie for special purposes, to help us to get at the bottom of the business."

"I never heard the details."

"They're pretty bad! The girl, who was the resident's niece, on a visit, was riding with her aunt and a syce. Less than a mile from the Residency they were attacked in broad daylight. The resident's wife was knocked senseless, the syce had his throat cut, and the girl, utterly disappeared— abducted, of course. That's all that is known— except a line from Waldron, who was put on the job of finding her, saying he believed he was on the track at last."

Claverdon whistled again softly, then remarked: "The connection between that affair and this"— he thrust the jade bauble forward— "isn't absolutely pellucid."

"No. And it mayn't exist. But there is the possibility. The man whom I suspect of being at the bottom of that affair up at Baltaz is Rahman Ali―"

"The son of the reigning Khan?"

"Yes. He tried to scupper the old man in the usual border way of the too-enterprising aspirant for a throne; but was prevented. He fled the district, breathing threatenings and slaughter against the Khan and the Resident— and he's a popular figure to the Baltazians. That's why no word of what happened when Miss Wargrave was kidnapped can be heard in Baltaz. It isn't that the tribesmen don't know— it is just that they won't speak."

"And Ringing Sands, sir? What's the link between Miss Wargrave and―"

"Rahman Ali— for a blind shot! I never thought of it until a moment ago. But if there's trouble brewing behind the passes you can count him in. He is ambitious, popular with his own folk, and revengeful — just the tool for the Asiatic Reds to handle against us. But it is no more than a guess; and until we know what The Gate of Ringing Sands stands for we can't be sure, I want you to take up that particular thread. It will be difficult... risky "

Claverdon gave a grunting laugh, and the Colonel smiled.

"That's beside the mark, I know... Well, you must get on the business at once. Here are copies of all references to this place of mystery, and you had better hang on to that piece of jade for the present... There's the fellow who brought it— Nima-Tashi! I kept him, thinking he might be of use. You would like to see him?"

"I'd like to see few men more, sir."

"He is up at Chutter Ghose's shop, where I sent him out of harm's way."

"You mean out of the way of observation and temptation, sir?"

"Same thing. For a man of the Hills Delhi might prove the devil of a place."

"I'll go and talk with him."

"Do! When you came in I sent a note to Ghose to say you would be along within half an hour, so you'll be expected."

Colonel Cavenagh thrust the clipped papers towards him. Claverdon took them without comment; bestowed them and the carved jade safely, then looked at the door.

"I'll report again before I jump off, sir."

"Do!"

The younger man nodded and passed from the office by the door which he had entered, acknowledged the chuprassi's salaam, and made his way into the street, and without hurry began to walk in the direction of the Chandni Chowk. When he arrived at that Silver Street, which of old had the reputation of being the richest street in the world, odorous of mingled incense and garbage, he picked his way-through the chattering variegated crush of natives, garlanded bulls, wandering donkeys, and thieving goats until he came to the tawdrily painted booth that was his destination.

Chutter Ghose called himself a jeweller; but his shop was a museum. There were jewels there that were worth the lives of many men; but there were other things also. Devil mask's from Tibet, rare armour from Japan, brazen images of Buddha, priceless vases, jewelled tulwars, Chinese ivories, silken hangings— all the rich clutter of things that may be found in the store of one who is jeweller, antiquary, and moneylender in one.

A double curtain hung in the doorway, and, pushing it aside, Claverdon stepped from the hot brightness of the street into the shaded light within. At the glass counter-case which split the store in half he found the proprietor— a withered, brown man, grey with age, in semi-European costume who was haggling with a slim native over the price of a jewel-hilted dagger. The jeweller looked up as Claverdon entered, but gave no sign of recognition. The Englishman himself kept, a face as blank as a wall, and waited, knowing that until the haggling was done patience must be his portion.

The driving of a bargain in the Chandni Chowk is never a hurried thing, but to Claverdon waiting there it seemed that the haggling was unduly prolonged. He began to grow interested in the customer, who, as it seemed, was less interested in the jewelled dagger than in certain rather stertorous sounds which came from behind a curtain of beaded reeds that covered a doorway at the far end of the store, leading, as Claverdon knew, to Chutter Ghose's private offices.

Again and again the bargainer flashed curious glances in that direction, and once Claverdon himself looked towards the curtain as he caught a rumbling voice speaking in unmistakable Tibetan, though the words did not reach him clearly. It seemed to him that the slim native was cocking his ears to listen; and, looking round, he espied a mirror, which, as he thought, would give him a reflection of the man's face.

He moved a little, and, instead of staring at the native's back, watched his imaged face in the glass. The man's eyes were turned downward towards the dagger which he held in his hands; but his face had a tense, strained, expectant look, and once the eyes were lifted to stare into the mirror, which reflected also the curtained doorway whence the sounds came.

The rumbling Tibetan voice grew louder, an answering voice was raised in protest; there was a movement of the curtain, reflected in the mirror, and, with the light clattering sound of the beads in his ears, Claverdon saw the curtain parted, and a burly-figured, broad faced man half emerge— his friend, Nima-Tashi. The Englishman was about to speak, when Chutter Ghose's withered eyes flashed him a warning, whilst almost in the same second he looked frowningly at the Tibetan.

Whether the latter saw the look or not Claverdon never knew, for in that instant he caught a flash, and saw the customer swing round,. his hand with the blade of the dagger between finger and thumb back over his shoulder. He had seen similar attitudes more than once, and, knowing what it portended, had cried out in swift warning:— "Look out, Nima!" At the same time, he leaped towards the man who held the dagger.

He was a second too late. Like a streak of light, the knife flashed past his eyes, and the would-be assassin ran for the outer door swiftly as a greyhound.

Claverdon caught Nima-Tashi's rumbling laughter, and, as he started to follow the aggressor, flung a glance over his shoulder, and saw the big Tibetan in the act of lifting himself from the floor, where, as it appeared, he had dropped before the flying death could reach him. Re-assured, the Englishman followed the fleeing native. But the latter reached the street whilst Claverdon had still four strides to make, and when he reached the open the fugitive was already swallowed up in the thronging native life of the Chandni Chowk. He knew that pursuit would be utterly vain. As well seek one particular leaf in a forest as seek a particular native whose face he had seen only in a glass, in that welter of natives in the street. Halting, he swung on his heel and re-entered the shop.

"Sahib," began Chutter Ghose apologetically, through chattering teeth, "I did not dream that murderer would use the knife, and how should I guess that Tibetan yak would display―"

"Ho-o-o! Chutter Ghose, if the yak had thee beyond the passes, it is not thus that thou wouldst crow."

There was an edge to the laughter which accompanied the words, and the Englishman, knowing his friend, made haste to intervene.

"Nima―"

"Have no fear, my friend-of-old. What is done in the Hills is not law in the Plains, and this seller of trinkets I shall not shake lest his teeth fall out. But it is good to see one who knows the snows in this cooking-oven where one sweats like a loaded camel under the sun. Why I am kept here when I might be on my way to the Hills "

"It is that you should see me, Nima; and when we have talked, maybe we shall go beyond the passes together on the track of something with longer horns than your yaks. And there will be many rupees "

"Rupees are good, but the company of a man is better, my friend. Let us get the talk done that we may begin the march."

Claverdon looked at Chutter Ghose, who promptly led the way to the door of his office. A young native who might have been the jeweller's grandson was within, and at a nod from Ghose he passed to the outer store. Claverdon took a stool that offered; the Tibetan seated himself on the floor, and the owner of the shop, after thoughtfully closing a door behind the curtains, remained standing with his shoulder against it. Without preliminary Claverdon began:

"You know the man who threw the knife, Nima?"

"Nay, my friend, how should I? These brown monkeys have the look of new-littered whelps to me."

"Then you have never seen him before?" asked the Englishman, with a frown at Chutter Ghose, whose dark eyes flashed resentment at the comparison.

"Never! And if I saw him again I should not remember. Have I not said―"

"And you, Chutter Ghose— have you seen him?"

The jeweller nodded. "Yesterday... when the Colonel Sahib sent me this man to lodge. He had not been here an hour when that knife-thrower came in to sell me a pearl. Never was such a slow chafferer, and as he stared about him all the time I had a thought that maybe he was a looter of stores. When he departed, after a last inspection of my shop, I followed him to the door, and beheld him speak to a man who sits to sell vegetables in the street, and whose face is strange. The dealer in green things is there still, but he sells nothing, and as I have seen keeps observation on my door, noting who comes, and goes on watching maybe few the departure of this man of Tibet, which— I know not. But if is not comforting, For if they should a riot provoke, that they may find this man, my store would be looted―"

"That man who sold the pearl, and who came again to purchase the knife," intervened Claverdon — "he was a stranger?"

"Beyond question. I had not seen him before. He was new to me, as also was the jade ornament in his turban—"

"Ah!" Claverdon produced the carved jade which Cavenagh had given him.

"Was it like that?"

Chutter Ghose's withered face lit up with recognition.

"The very fellow," he said, with a touch of excitement. "Whence came that, sahib?"

"From the North―"

"Aye, from Waldron Sahib," broke in Nima-Tashi. "It is the Gate of Ringing Sands, which for aught I know may be The Gate of Hell and ten thousand devils."

"The Gate of Ringing Sands!" The dark eyes of the seller of jewels flashed with interest. "I have heard that name "

"Where?"

"On the lips of the woman Narani— but yesterday; when I waited on her with a string of pearls that, one is to buy for her. She named the place carelessly, but her eyes were watching, and I knew that she had spoken it to learn if I had knowledge of it."

Claverdon considered a moment, a clouded look in his eyes, then he said:

"I have heard of the woman."

As have I," laughed Nima-Tashi. "She is a woman of wit. Once I took a load of rifles for a man of hers through the passes to Termez—"

Claverdon whistled sharply. "You are sure she was behind the man, Nima? That is serious—"

"Nay, wait! The tale is not ended." His rolling laugh filled the room. "There was money to be paid for them, much money; and she had sent the without the breech-bolts, lest it should not be paid and the rifles stolen."

"But the money was paid."

"Aye!" The Tibetan rocked with mirth. "But the breech-bolts have not been sent.... which is a woman's trick— or a Jew's."

Claverdon turned abruptly to Chutter Ghose. "You said you knew Narami."

"Who is there in Delhi that does not? She is a jewel of a woman the most beautiful―"

"Worn smooth with much traffic, hey?"

"No, sahib. She is like a flower lustrous as the lotus and not of the blood of Hind."

"A white woman?"— the Englishman was startled.

"I said not that. I do not know her race, though I have heard she was of the Russians. Every princeling and hill-rajah is her friend, and there was one of Baltaz whose flesh wasted for her."

"Rahman Ali?"

"That was the man! And never a ruffian comes wandering south from the Hills but is welcome—"

"And she spoke of The Gate of Ringing Sands?"

"In my hearing, sahib."

Claverdon considered a moment, a very thoughtful look in his eyes. Then he asked sharply: "Narani is well known to you, Chutter Ghose?"

"A customer only. I am the dust on which she sets her jewelled feet. !

If you desire to see her I cannot help—"

"But help is with me," boomed Nima-Tashi cheerfully. "There is the matter of these breech-bolts to talk over, and also, as this seller of trinkets says, a hill-man is ever welcome to her."

"That is most true," agreed Chutter softly.

Again Claverdon gave himself to thought. The watch kept on the jeweller's shop, the attack made on the Tibetan were significant things. They proved not merely that Nima-Tashi's presence there was known, but also that there was real need for the precaution which Cavenagh had taken. Unless events lied, the reason for the Tibetan's presence in Delhi was known to someone who feared what he might reveal; and so long as he was in the city there was risk for the man of the hills. A visit to the house of the mysterious Narani might involve graver risk, but there was the possibility of new knowledge to be won; and Nima-Tashi was a man to whom risk was the salt of life. He spoke abruptly.

"Nima, we will go to Narani's house together, at dusk.''

"Together! Ho! Ho!" Nima laughed: "But 'tis I of the Hills whom this woman of the Plains will see, for she loves those who come with the wind in their beards."

Claverdon smiled and gave directions.

"There is the way over the roofs, Chutter Ghose. I shall be there where it opens on the street one hour after sunset. You will bring Nima to me."

"Certainly, sahib."

"Then I go now, but till the hour of meeting you must be here, Nima—"

"Like a wolf In a hole," laughed the Tibetan. "Have no fear, my friend. We will see this woman Narani together."

"Good!" Claverdon turned on his heel, and, accompanied by Chutter Ghose, made his way to the shop. There, in range of the doorway, he stood for a moment staring into the crowded street.

"The seller of vegetables―"

"Is in front, as straight as a bird flies," broke in the jeweller quickly.

Claverdon's eyes ranged to and fro without fixing themselves upon the man in question, but in their ranging noted that the man seated among a basket or two of green stuff made no attempt to attract customers; and was apparently indifferent to the fact that a wandering goat was nibbling at the contents of one of his baskets.

Unmoving, his eyes half-closed, the native sat there, seemingly lost in meditation. But when the Englishman moved forward, and for a second stood framed in the doorway, the man's eyes opened, and apparently for the first time became aware of the marauding goat. He shouted something, and from behind him a native boy appeared and drove the goat away, whilst his master continued to shout what may or may not have been objurgations, but which for Claverdon were lost in the babel of the street.

The Englishman smiled, and without so much as another glance at the vegetable-seller went on his way down the street, perfectly conscious that a dozen yards behind him the huckster's boy was following him like a shadow.

Chapter 2

THE EVENING breeze was blowing, and It was almost dark when Louis Claverdon stepped out of a gharri at a point not far from the Chandni Chowk; and, after a casual look round, plunged into a dark passage, along which he seemed for the moment to be the only pedestrian. Half-way down he halted sharply to listen, but heard nothing; and, after a moment, resumed his way. The passage turned into another, narrow and dark, which ran between high walls blind as a bat's eye, and which, unreached by the breeze of evening, kept the accumulated heat of the day, so that walking down it was like walking between the sides of some huge oven. This alley also was deserted, and, though Claverdon listened carefully, the only sound other than the hum that came from the Chandni Chowk was the echo of his own footfall; and, when he paused, as he did more than once, no sound whatever.

After the last halt, reassured, he began to walk more quickly, but when the passage made an abrupt turn he halted again, and as he did so caught the pad of naked feet coming on behind him. That he was followed he had little doubt, and, since that was altogether undesirable, he considered swiftly how to make sure. There was one way, he decided, and that was to meet the shadower in the gate.

Instantly reversing, his direction, he began to walk back along the blind-walled passage, moving quietly, and yet making sufficient noise to be heard the whole length of those echoing Walls. He had taken no more than half a dozen steps when he stopped suddenly, and as he did so distinctly heard the pad of running feet receding from him.

That he was being shadowed was now beyond question, and he began to consider how he might deal with the shadower. Listening, his ear against the stone wall, he heard the running man halt, and guessed that the trailer meant to return as soon as it was safe to do so. An idea came to him, and he himself began to run, following his original direction.

The noise of his steps filled that narrow way with echoing sound, and when he reached the turn again, swinging round, he marked time quickly, without progressing, to keep, up the volume of sound. Then, halting abruptly, he listened. As he expected, the shadower was following at a run. Crouching low, he waited, a grim smile on his lean face.

The sound of naked feet came nearer, a white-robed figure, ghastly in the dusk, came round the corner, and when it was within a yard of him Claverdon leaped and struck at the same time. Without cry or groan the shadower collapsed on the stones and lay quite still. Paying no heed to the prostrate man, the Englishman hurried forward again.

Two more turns in the tortuous passage brought him to an alley, into which he swung, and at the far end of it he rapped thrice on a door, making a distinct pause between each knock. At the third knock the door opened, and Chutter Ghose's voice addressed him.

"Sahib "

"Yes! Quick! Is Nima-Tashi there?"

"Here, my jewel," the Tibetan himself answered with a chuckle.

"Then come; we must hurry, lest we be followed."

"Ho-o!" Nima laughed to himself. "A man would, think we go to steal the woman."

"Silence, Nima! Walls have ears in a city—"

"Aye, and women have tongues," replied the hill-man in a laughing whisper, but promptly fell silent, as Claverdon began to lead him out of the alley.

They traversed many narrow ways, mostly deserted, crossed two larger arteries of traffic where there were natives in plenty, and presently plunged into a wider way, where tall pretentious houses lifted rickety balconies towards the sky. They followed this without haste until they came to one, which, on the street, seemed window-less, and which had a tall, narrow doorway, dark and forbidding of aspect. Before this Claverdon halted, and as he did so Nima-Tashi asked a question:—

"This is the house of the woman, Narani, my friend?"

"Yes!" answered Claverdon. "I shall give your name and my own."

"So!" the Tibetan answered. "She will see a hill-man even if she denies a sahib who—"

Claverdon's knock cut short the boast, and a moment later the door swung open revealing a chuprassi in a white uniform, with a scarlet sash. The soft light of a swing lamp in the hall fell directly on their faces, and the chuprassi scrutinised them carefully whilst he waited to hear their request.

"Your mistress, we would see her," said Claverdon crisply.

"There are many who would do , that," answered the man loftily; "but not all have the felicity. This door is not for all to pass."

"But It is open to us," answered Claverdon, thrusting a card forward with a gold mohur underneath it. The chuprassi felt the coin without looking at it, then nodded.

"It is open, but it is for my mistress to say if she receives."

"Good! Take the card. Ask her," answered Claverdon, with a hint of command, and, since a street has eyes, as well as ears, stepped into the lamp-lit hall, followed by the Tibetan.

"Close the door. We will wait Narani's pleasure here."

The chuprassi, a little impressed, salaamed, closed the door, and disappeared through a curtained doorway.

The Tibetan's eyes roamed round the carved woodwork of the hall hung with Rawalia curtains, marked a priceless vase on a pedestal with contempt, and rested on the lamp.

"Silver," he ejaculated in a loud whisper. "The chains also. Five hundred rupees did not purchase it."

Claverdon gave no heed to the remark He was watching the curtained doorway, listening intently. From somewhere, overhead, as it seemed to him, came the sound of flutes, arid the air was heavy with the perfume of burning sandalwood. Behind the curtains there were faint sounds of movement; and once a burst of feminine laughter which drew Nima-Tashi from his brigandly contemplation of the lamp and made him stare towards the curtains with rollicking eyes.

"A nest of doves," he whispered. "Heard you the cooing, my friend?"

Claverdon, sure that there were ears for every word spoken by those who waited in that hall, signalled him to be silent; and himself listened intently to the sound of approaching feet. The chuprassi appeared from behind a curtain other than that which hid the door of his departure, and salaamed.

"My mistress will receive you. This way, sahib."

He held the curtain aside, and Claverdon moved towards the doorway thus revealed, followed by his companion. A flight of dark stairs appeared, and as he began to mount them the sound of flutes which he had previously heard grew clearer. The stairs turned, and at the turn were very dark, but not too dark to hide a recess in which, alert and watchful, stood a big, bearded man whom he guessed was one of Narani's guards. The man gave no sign as they passed, but behind him Claverdon caught the Tibetan's hoarse whisper:

"A bar on the door! That man had a tulwar in his hand."

The stairs turned again, and a second man was revealed, the tulwar in his hand openly displayed, his whole aspect fierce and forbidding. Again Nima-Tashi, irrepressible, offered a comment.

"A fool hurrying down these stairs might stop most suddenly. This jewel is well guarded."

There was a third turn in the stairs, with a third watcher there, upon whom fell the soft light from a lamp on the landing above. Claverdon stared at the man closely. His head was bare, his skin the colour of copper, his eyes fierce and wild, his features were hawk-like, and he was bearded like an Afghan, whilst the light flashed on the naked blade in his hand.

"A hill-man," whispered the Tibetan. "Untamed as an eagle. I begin to breathe the mountain air. But, my friend, how shall we leave if those bar the way?... I have my knife but..."

Claverdon made a sign which silenced him, and stepped on a mirrored landing, partly covered with a priceless rug that was camel-borne from Persia. The lamp again was of silver, studded with turquoise, and drew the Tibetan's eyes.

"A lamp of price, my friend. Narani's cage is well gilded. She—"

He broke off as a pair of heavy silken curtains in front of them parted suddenly, revealing a tall serving man clothed in immaculate white with a silken sash of flaming scarlet. He signalled to them to enter, and held aside the curtain for them to pass through. The doorway opened on a short; wide corridor, from the farther end of which, through another curtained doorway, came the music of flutes which Claverdon had heard during the time of waiting downstairs.

As they advanced the man struck a copper gong, and scarcely had the vibrating sound of it begun when the curtains in front opened; a little cloud of sandalwood smoke drifted towards them, and through it, in the frame the curtains made, the two men saw a vision which made Nima-Tashi ejaculate in a hoarse whisper— "A houri from the Prophet's Paradise. I turn Moslem this very night."

The girl, she was no more, who stood bowing between the curtains, was indeed houri-like. Gauzy silks revealed the. beauty of form and limbs, her face was like a flower, her dark eyes danced with laughter, and the hand which beckoned them forward was the smallest that Claverdon had ever seen. As they strode on, she stepped aside, laughed luringly at Claverdon, and made a little moue at the Tibetan which caused the latter to swear under his breath.

Then the flute music burst on them. In a full tide of sound, and as he halted on the farther side of the curtain, through the haze of the scented smoke, Claverdon became aware of many things at once.

The chamber on which they had entered was a large one, with hangings of marvellous richness. A silken punkah filled the place with moving air. A large window with a balcony from which the music came was almost directly opposite him, and over the heads of the women-flautists, in the dark azure of the sky, he saw a great star gleaming. In the middle of the floor half a dozen dancing women were engaged in some slow sinuous and rhythmic movement, gauzy garments floating in the air, anklets jingling, faces and forms alike expressing all the languorous abandon of the ancient Bast.

Nima-Tashi caught his breath with a grunt. "By all the gods of—"

Claverdon did not hear the rest. Beyond the dancers, through the haze, he had caught sight of two other people— the one a woman seated on a rich divan talking to the other, a dark-skinned man dressed in white silk, who lounged by the side of the divan in an attitude that expressed something warmer than mere admiration for the woman on whom his eyes were fixed in utter disregard of the dancing girls.

There were others near them— a couple of gauze-clad girls who from time to time fanned their mistress with jewelled fans; two or three more behind them who, statuesque and immobile, as plainly waited the woman's pleasure; but all Claverdon's attention was for the woman on the divan whom he guessed to be the Narani whom he had come to see.

"Behold Narani," grunted Nima behind him. "A golden wonder!"

The woman on the divan, as Claverdon was quick to own, justified the Tibetan's description. That she was tall he guessed rather than saw, and her figure was of royal mould. Her hair was a cloud of gold, her features classically regular but afire with an intelligence that none of the dancing women had; and her eyes were, as he thought, black as night, eyes that seemed to be staring straight through him, and which if they saw him gave no sign. Her dress had nothing of the gauziness of the dancers or of the houri who had opened the curtains for the visitors. Her only jewellery was a chain of gold that served for girdle about her waist, a pair of diamonds that twinkled in the lobes of her small ears; and a ring of price that shot fire in the soft lamp-light streaming down upon her.

All this Claverdon noted as he stood there waiting till the dance should end, and as he watched he decided that through the faint mist of smoke these dark eyes were evidently apprising him lazily, leisurely, as if time were not; and as if to keep him waiting there part of a studied purpose. Convinced of that deliberate appraisement, he himself turned his eyes to study the woman's companion.

The man was young, lissom as a sapling, keen-faced, hawk-eyed, with a high imperious look; and plainly of the Hills rather than of the Plains. He considered the man carefully. That white silk dress proclaimed him almost certainly of the followers of the prophet, the imperious air bespoke a regal, masterful spirit; the jewel at his throat Indicated that he was not poor. What he was doing here—

Unexpectedly Narani clapped her hands twice, breaking on his thoughts. The flute-players stopped instantly; the dancers faded away into the recesses. of the chamber, leaving, clear the floor space between the divan, and Claverdon. He saw Narani turn and speak to the man at her side, with an indolent wave of her hand indicating the waiting pair. Apparently becoming aware of them for the first time, the man flashed a sharp, resentful glance in their direction, and appeared to make some protest. Narani, however, made a gesture of dismissal, and the man bowed and began to walk towards the outlet near which the waiting pair stood.

Claverdon considered him carefully. Tall, small-hipped, with head well set on the shoulders and carrying himself with native grace, he was a handsome figure of a man. As he drew nearer he stared insolently at Claverdon, and then, with a flash of curiosity at Nima-Tashi.

The latter, standing behind Claverdon, gave a chuckle.

"An eaglet of the Hills, my friend," he whispered. "And an eater of fire."

The description was justified. The man had indeed a high, bold look. The fierceness of the North was in his sharp-cut features; its untameable spirit flashed in his eyes; its pride proclaimed itself in his carriage and bearing. His eyes leaving Nima-Tashi met Claverdon's in challenging glance, and quite suddenly, the latter had an intuition that some odd thing was in the man's mind. Scarcely had the idea come to him when the thing happened.

Two yards away the man paused in his stride; his eyes flashed hatred, and a second later, quite deliberately, he expressed his contempt by spitting on the floor almost at Claverdon's feet.

"By the Holy―" growled Nima-Tashi, but was instantly checked by Claverdon, whose eyes were fixed, not on the man's face, but on the jewel in his turban; for pale against the darker sheen of the silk, there was a jade ornament that, so far as he could see was the exact replica of the one in his own pocket.

A little touch of excitement quickened, his heart-beat as he made the discovery, then his eyes met the flashing dark ones again, and in the three seconds of time before the man passed him he strove to fix the man's face in his memory, and turned to watch him as the swung aside for his egress, for to know a man's back is sometimes almost as helpful for recognition as knowledge of his face.

The man passed on, the curtains swished back in their place, and then he caught the Tibetan's voice speaking in a stage whisper.

"The woman signals us."

At the word he began to move across the open space in the direction of Narani, conscious that she was watching him closely, and doubly conscious of his own surging curiosity. A couple of yards from the divan he halted, bowed, and then met Narani's eyes. Looking at them across the room ne had thought that they were black, but now he saw that they were blue, the darkest blue he had ever seen and of a clouded brightness like flame veiled in smoke. They were, moreover, no open book in which a man might read her thought. They saw without revealing, and not even curiosity was betrayed by them as they passed from him to Nima-Tashi standing behind him.

For a moment the silence was noticeable, broken only by the light swish of the punkah and the plash of a fountain somewhere in the darkness outside; then the woman looked at the card held in the palm of her shapely hand, and spoke:—

"Well, Mr. Claverdon, you wish to talk with me?"

The question was asked quietly, in a clear, bell-like voice, without the faintest hint of curiosity in the tones.

"Yes," answered Claverdon, with laconic directness. Then he glanced at the attendant houris about her. That Narani understood the glance was proved a moment later, for she gave a signal, and instantly the flautists and her personal attendants followed the dancers into obscurity. Then she looked at Claverdon again, and now she permitted a little wondering light to stray into the fathomless eyes.

The Englishman hesitated, a little uncertain of his ground; and she looked from him to Nima-Tashi; and again the golden voice broke the silence.

"Perhaps you, O man of the Hills, have something—?"

"Aye!" boomed the Tibetan, never at a loss for words. "There is a matter of rifles that I took to Termez for a man of thine... They were without breech-bolts, and I came near to being slain for another's fault. Maybe thou wilt give word for the breech-bolts to be sent?"

The woman laughed, and the laugh transformed her.

"Gold mohurs were paid to thee, yak-driver, were they not? What are the missing breech-bolts to thee? Maybe the lack of them has saved thy yaks and their drivers from the hasty bullet."

Her rippling laughter was infectious, and Nima-Tashi's risibility was quick to respond. His rolling laughter, filled the room, drowning the, sound of hers, as he answered mirthfully:

"Aye, as thou sayest, I had the gold mohurs!"

"And Muhammed Khan had the rifles."

"And thou the price of them— and the breech-bolts," laughed the Tibetan. "It was a good division."

"Maybe the bolts will be sent when the time is ripe for the use of the rifles," answered Narani, with careless laughter, and then her eyes, clouded once more, turned to Claverdon, and her beautiful face grew masklike.

"It was not about rifles without bolts you came, Mr. Claverdon?" she asked politely, her words, as Claverdon marked, without any noticeable accent, though he was sure she was not English.

"No!" he answered laconically, "It was about that!"

As he spoke he thrust forward the piece of carved jade which Cavenagh had given him, and had the satisfaction of seeing Narani momentarily moved out of her pose of incurious calm. A startled look came on her face, the lambent eyes glowed, her whole demeanour expressed an intense interest. A second later, the look was gone, the glow had faded, her demeanour was again impassive, and as she looked at Claverdon she appeared the most unmoved woman in the world.

"A jade trinket!" she remarked, indifferently. Then a little mocking note came in her voice.

"I did not know you were a jewel merchant, Mr. Claverdon.... You wish to sell that little ornament?"

Louis Claverdon laughed. That mocking note had told him that Narani knew very well the nature of his vocation, and the knowledge put him more at his ease.

"No, Narani," he answered carelessly. "It is not for sale; but I should like you to expound its meaning."