Caravans By Night Part 4

"Grease and dirt usually, in India," he interpolated with a smile, taking the box. "But let's forget Chavigny and the round dozen Rajahs that are wailing over their stolen jewels. I promised Gerrish--he's an old friend--we'd dine with him this evening. Eight o'clock."

A few minutes later Dana unpacked her grips. Dear Alan! Her brother.

After all those years. She wondered if it were not a dream, if presently she wouldn't wake up back at Bayou Latouche, or in Tante Lucie's court, down in New Orleans, with Tante Lucie talking of foreign lands....

2

Night settled over Delhi. From the River Jumna to the Ridge, and beyond, tiny lights blinked at the shadows, and like a huge spirit-eye in the dusk the moon looked down upon the domes and minarets of the old Mogul capital. At the clubs electric punkahs fanned the air, ice clinked in frosted gla.s.ses and home-sick young officers read news-sheets from Britain. The network of narrow, constricted highways between Burra Bazaar and the Delhi Gate steamed and stewed, and heat and stench crawled beneath dirty eaves and balconies. South of the modern city, on the dead plain of Firozabad, thornbush and acacia rustled mournfully and ruined ramparts yielded up their nightly squadron of bats.

In his residence beyond the Civil Lines, Colonel Sir Francis Duncraigie, Director of Central Intelligence, C. S. I., and probably one of the most important men in the empire, sat alone in his writing-room beneath a mildly whirring fan, and sweltered and swore.

As a house-boy appeared like a white wraith from the dusk of the hall, he looked up.

"Well?"

"Did you call, O Presence?"

Sir Francis glared. "No!" Then, "But wait!"

A pattering noise sounded from the driveway, and he rose and strode to the window, parting the draperies. What he saw, fantastic in the hazy moonlight, was a palanquin with drawn curtains, borne on the shoulders of four coolies.

"What 'n Tophet!" he exclaimed, for palanquins are rare in the present-day Delhi of cabs and motorcars, nor is it the custom of Mohammedan ladies, who ride in these picturesque conveyances, to call upon officers of the empire.

"If it's anybody to see me, tell 'em I have an appointment and they'll have to wait," he instructed briefly, turning back.

The house-boy disappeared, and Sir Francis resumed his seat. After a moment the boy returned.

"She says you have an appointment with her, O Presence!"

The colonel stared. "What!" Pause. "By George! Perhaps you'd better show her in!"

He watched the doorway, and presently a white figure materialized. He rose. The woman wore a _bhourka_--the long cotton garment that Mohammedan ladies affect in public, and which leaves only the eyes visible.

"You wish to see me?" asked the Director of Central Intelligence.

The hood of the _bhourka_ was thrown back ... and the colonel, who while on duty hibernated under the armor of official dignity, came out of his sh.e.l.l. No man would question her beauty, many her type. The features were long and narrow, and a warm gold, suggesting an Aryan strain, underlay her clear skin. The eyes, rather heavy-lidded, were baffling, and of a deep violet shade--like the peaks of the Khyber after the sunset gun at Jamrud Fort. Black hair clouded her face.

"You are surprised to see me--like this?" she enquired, indicating the _bhourka_.

Her voice was low and rich, and marked by a huskiness that was rare in that it was musical. Her English was flawless.

"Well, rather!" confessed the colonel.

"Am I late?"--as he drew up a chair for her.

"On the minute," he lied.

She smiled tolerantly. "Will you close the door, please?"

With a speed that would have made his subalterns gasp, he hastened to obey.

"Since I received your telephone call," he told her, settling himself behind the desk, "I have been all interest. What is it this time--more plots against the Sirkar?"

She made a grimace. "Plots spring up and die overnight! If I concerned myself with such minor occurrences, I should be eternally occupied. I told you I wished to see you regarding a matter of _importance_."

She paused and he said: "Well?"

"What happened on the night of June fourteenth?"

He stared at her. "You don't mean--"

"But I _do_."

He drummed upon the desk.

"You have not answered me," she reminded, after a moment. "What _did_ happen on that night? Why not read me your files?"

He unlocked a drawer of his desk and removed a file cabinet. From the latter he took a sheaf of papers.

"The Treasure House at Alwar was robbed," he said, his eyes upon the papers in his hand. "The diamonds alone are worth ten thousand pounds, and--but you don't want me to go into detail, do you? Well, gems valued at three hundred thousand pounds, sterling, were spirited away from the Nazarbagh Palace at Baroda. Tukaji Rao of Indore lost his Pearl Scarf and the Peac.o.c.k Turban. The treasury at Jodpur was looted. Scindia of Gwalior's pearls were stolen. Others who were robbed are: your cousin, the Nawab of Jehelumpore, the Nawab of Bahawalpur, the Rajah of Mysore and the Rajah of Tanjore." He halted, raising his eyes. "In other words, on the night of June fourteenth jewels worth millions of pounds were s.n.a.t.c.hed away under the very nose of the Government, without leaving one single thread to grasp! If anyone had even suggested such a preposterous thing before, I'd have laughed!"

"Then the 'Delhi Post' did not tell the truth this morning," ventured the woman, "when it said, 'the Intelligence Department has a valuable clue'?"

"Well, so we have," he admitted.

"Chavigny?"

He gave her a swift glance. "How did you know?"

She dismissed the question with a shrug and said:

"You agree with me, I am sure, Sir Francis, that these robberies are connected; that it is highly improbable to think for an instant that in nine cities thefts of famous jewels merely occurred simultaneously. As for this Chavigny--judging from his reputation he is clever enough to have done it. However, reflect upon the difficulties he would encounter.

India is not like Europe. There is caste to consider. He is a white man.

Furthermore, the jewels were stolen from state treasuries; from buildings, in some instances vaults, that are not easily accessible."

"Then you think it the work of some sort of organized band?"

"I think exactly as you do," she replied cryptically, "only I have foundation for my belief, while you are--rather, your department, is--well, romancing."

Silence fell. The man was the first to speak.

"I'm to infer, then, that in your opinion Chavigny had nothing whatever to do with the robberies?"

She smiled. "Did I say that?"

"At least, you hinted that there is something rather big behind the thefts."

She continued to smile and leaned upon the desk, facing him.