Chapter IV: The Shadow of Nemesis (1)

In the insane asylums of the United States there are, at this hour, hundreds of persons who are no more mad than are men and women who, having witnessed one of the entertainments of some modern exponent of the art of legerdemain, soberly describe to their friends the acts that have excited their wonder.

No man who describes the impressions made upon him by Hermann or Kellar is suspected of lunacy. But when such impressions are produced by some event or events in everyday life, the minds which receive them are thought to be abnormal.

It was in consequence of an experience of this sort that, several months ago, I became an inmate of a sanitarium for the insane. In that institution I doubtless should have been to-day had it not been for the fact that its superintendent suddenly discovered that he, too, was being threatened by the same mysterious force which, tightening its grip on me, had caused me to be regarded as a madman. This discovery resulted in my release from the asylum; but since I left its walls my peril has been doubly great--so great, indeed, that the final catastrophe may confront me at any moment.

Though my hair is white, and my hands are as palsied as those of a nonogenarian, I am entering only my forty-third year. Two years ago my hair was as black as it had been during the period of my youth, and, as a result of several extended periods of travel, on foot and horseback, in different parts of the world, I was the possessor of an excellent physique.

My fondness for travel was developed at an early age, and shortly after taking my degree at a well-known university I became a member of the Geographical Society. I inherited a small fortune from an uncle and, in a modest way, made a cruise among the South Sea Islands, and to the East coast of Africa. There I joined a French exploring expedition, with which I went through the territory lying between Zanzibar and Victoria Nyanza. For the next ten years I found employment with expeditions sent to remote sections of the world by universities and learned societies in search of ethnological, zoological, archeological, and botanical information.

In this manner I was able to indulge my taste for travel without drawing to any great extent on my private income. The credit of all my work has gone to those who employed me, and there are at least half a score of authors of popular books of travel who are indebted to me for much of the data which they profess to have collected themselves. But, loving travel for its own sake, and craving neither fame nor fortune, I was well content.

Shortly after my return to New York from an expedition to the sites of some old Inca towns in South America, I was sitting in my room when my servant brought to me a card which bore the name “Alfred Ferguson,” who, I was informed, was waiting to see me. The name was unknown to me, but I bade the servant bring the visitor to my room.

A few moments later my caller entered. He was a tall, long-limbed man, of about twenty-eight years of age. His long face was almost as bronzed as my own. He stooped slightly, and there was a slouchiness about his clothes and gait that gave to him a “devil-may-care” appearance that did not impress me favorably. His blue eyes were shrewd enough, however, and as, throwing aside the newspaper I had been reading, I met his gaze, I saw that he was looking at me with an expression that was frankly earnest and critical.

“Mr. Ferguson?” I asked as I rose.

“Yes, yes, I’m Ferguson,” he replied, half-absently. “You are Forsythe, the traveler, I believe.”

His accent was unmistakably that of an Englishman. I nodded and moved a chair toward him. He seated himself deliberately and began to fumble in one of the pockets of his coat. From this he drew a cigar-case, which, when he had opened it, he offered to me. The cigars were large and as black as the skin of an Ethiopian. Selecting one, I thanked him and offered him matches.

Neither of us spoke again until our cigars were lighted.

“Well, now, Mr. Ferguson, what can I do for you?” I asked, pleasantly.

He did not answer at once. The expression of abstraction was still on his face and, as I puffed on the strong cigar he had given me, I watched him curiously. At length, in a voice that was so sullen that the words seemed to be uttered against his will, he said:

“I want you to go with me to India.”

“To India!” I exclaimed.

“Yes. We’ll start to-morrow--on the _Camperdonia_. If we leave the ship at Queenstown and cut across by the mail route to London, we will be able to get the P. & O. liner that sails to-morrow week.”

“Indeed!” I murmured, coldly.

My visitor, apparently discomfited by my tone, looked at me anxiously.

“You have nothing else on, I hope,” he said, shortly.

“Why, no--nothing in the way of a business engagement,” I replied. “But, before I take under consideration the proposition you have just made, I must, of course, know something of the purpose of the journey.”

“I will explain it,” he replied, promptly. “You have been in India, I believe.”

“Yes,” said I.

“While there did you visit the district of Nauwar?” he asked.

I told him I had not done so.

“In that district is a village named Rajiid,” he went on.

“I have heard of it,” I said. “It is there, I believe, that the statue known as the Eyeless Buddha is to be found.”

My visitor looked at me coldly for several moments.

“True,” he replied. “It is in the temple of Rajiid that the Eyeless Buddha is to be seen. The village is so remote from the routes of the average traveler, however, that I was not aware that anyone outside India knew of its existence.”

“The little knowledge I have of the place was obtained from an old English colonel I met at Simla one Summer,” I explained.

“What did he tell you of the Eyeless Buddha?” asked my visitor, carelessly.

“Why, as I remember it, he told me that the statue was of bronze and about a thousand years old,” I answered. “It is said that the eye-sockets, which are empty now, at one time held diamonds of great value.”

“Did this Colonel tell you how they came to be lost?” asked Ferguson.

“They disappeared at the time of the Indian Mutiny,” I replied. “This, I think, constitutes all the information which I have concerning Rajiid and the Eyeless Buddha.”

Ferguson nodded, compressed his lips slightly, then rose and crossed to one of the windows. As he looked out, I watched him curiously.

There was something in the aspect of my visitor that impressed me more and more unfavorably, and I was attempting to formulate some excuse for my inability to undertake the journey he had proposed when he turned to me suddenly.

“Well, Mr. Forsythe, the situation is this,” he began. “In Rajiid there are certain articles of exceptional archeological interest that I want to acquire. I doubt not that these may be purchased readily and removed from India by a man who already is known as a collector of such objects for institutions of learning. In India there is no law prohibiting the removal of art objects from the country, as there is in Italy, but in order to acquire certain of these it is often essential first to obtain the approval of the proper authorities. These authorities, in India, are known to you, and, in view of the distinction which you have won as a collector, they doubtless would grant to you privileges which it would be idle for me to seek.”

“You have been in Rajiid?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “Not only have I not been in Rajiid, but I have never set foot in India.”

“And yet you have reason to believe that this obscure village possesses objects of exceptional interest,” I said.

He shrugged his shoulders, and, for the first time since he had entered the apartment, I saw him smile.

“Yes,” he answered. “If you will aid me in getting possession of these objects, you will be well paid for your trouble.”

“Ah, it is a speculative enterprise, then!” I murmured.

“So far as I am concerned, perhaps it is,” he answered quickly. “You, however, will be sure of your reward. The task will occupy less than three months. If you will give me your services for that period, I will pay you ten thousand dollars to-day. Besides this I will place a like amount in a package which I will deliver to you with the understanding that you put it in a safe-deposit vault to which I am to have a duplicate key. You will not tell me, however, where this vault is to be found.”

“Why, then, do you require the key?” I asked suspiciously.

My visitor shrugged his shoulders.

“It may be that you will lose yours,” he replied, with a little laugh. “It is not well to carry all one’s eggs in the same basket, you know.”

“What is your purpose in leaving the ten thousand dollars with me?” I inquired.

“It will be yours when our work is done,” he answered.

“You are willing to leave it in my care with nothing more than a verbal understanding?” I asked wonderingly.

“I trust you implicitly,” said he. “Your reputation is well-known to me. I require no better evidence of your good faith than that. Are the terms I propose satisfactory?”

I was thoroughly interested now. The enterprise promised to be more remunerative than any in which I had engaged, but it was not this fact that appealed to me so much as the nature of the adventure itself. There was something in the personality of my visitor, too, that now excited my curiosity.

“Well, Forsythe, what do you say?” he asked, as I hesitated.

I rose and for several moments I thoughtfully paced to and fro.

“In short, then, it is your design to try and recover the gems which formerly constituted the eyes of the Rajiid Buddha,” I muttered.

“I have not said so,” he answered, coldly. “My object in seeking your services has been pretty clearly stated, I think. Your purpose will be to secure and bring out of India certain articles, possessing archeological interest, which, from time to time, I will indicate.”

“I see,” I answered shortly.

“You will accompany me, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

“And you will be prepared to sail on the _Camperdonia_ to-morrow?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“The vessel sails at noon,” he said.

Then, thrusting a hand into an inside pocket of his coat, he drew out a package and continued:

“In this package you will find banknotes amounting to fifteen thousand dollars. Of this sum, ten thousand belongs to you. The other five thousand will defray the cost of your trip from New York to Bombay, Rajiid and thence to Bombay again.”

Placing this on the table, he drew from his pocket a second package.

This, he explained, contained the second ten thousand dollars which were to be mine on my return from India. He made me count the banknotes, and, as these were of large denominations, the task soon was completed. They amounted to the sum he had named.

In accordance with his instructions, I was about to put the package in a box, which I took from my desk, when he asked me to slip into the box a little cylindrical parcel, about six inches long and three inches in diameter. Without questioning him as to the nature of the contents of the parcel, I did as he requested. The box containing the second ten thousand dollars and the parcel was then wrapped in a heavy piece of brown paper. When this had been securely tied, Ferguson produced a stick of sealing-wax and, sealing the knot and the sides of the little bundle, he pressed a seal-ring to the soft wax. When he had finished, he smiled gravely and placed the bundle in my hand.

“Upon our return I will ask you to deliver to me, unopened, the parcel I have enclosed with the money,” he said. “It is only a trifle, but, as it is all I am leaving behind, I will be extremely obliged if you will see that it is cared for.”

I told him that I would place the bundle in a safe-deposit vault, and would let him have a duplicate key on the following day.

“No, you will not do that,” he replied with a little laugh. “We will not meet again until we are in India. Put the key in an envelope and address it to me at my hotel--the Claymore. A district messenger will deliver it.”

“But are we not to sail together on the _Camperdonia_ to-morrow?” I asked with some surprise.

“Both of us will sail on the _Camperdonia_; but, in order that even chance may not bring us together, you will go in the first cabin, and I will go in the second. It is scarcely likely that you will see me during the voyage. When you disembark at Queenstown, do not try to assure yourself that I am among those who, like you, will take the train and boat to Holyhead. Your movements must be entirely independent of mine. When you get to London, secure first-class passage by the P. and O. liner _Arran_ for Bombay. Though I will also be on the vessel, it is altogether probable that you will not see me. Before we arrive at our destination, however, we will be in communication.”

He held out his hand, and, as I took it, he bowed gravely.

“_Bon voyage_,” he said, with a smile. And a few minutes later I was alone, pondering over my strange commission.

I began at once to make preparations for my departure. One of my first acts was to deposit in a bank the ten thousand dollars that had been advanced to me, and to place in a safe-deposit box the package that had been sealed by my visitor. I obtained two keys to the box, and, placing one of these in a pocket-book that I intended to take with me on my trip, I sent the other by a messenger to the Claymore. My other preparations for the journey, including the purchase of my steamship ticket, were completed by nightfall.

It is unnecessary to relate any of the incidents of my voyage to England, for none of these had any bearing on the mission on which I had set out. Only once during that voyage did I find any evidence of Ferguson’s presence on the vessel. This was about ten o’clock at night, on our third day out. On this occasion I saw him standing alone on the moonlit deck, in the second cabin section. As he turned to go below our glances met for a moment, but he vouchsafed no sign of recognition.

Upon disembarking at Queenstown I saw my employer on the tender which was to take us to the shore, but he was then looking in another direction, and, in order to avoid him, I went aft. Though he doubtless was on the train that carried me through Ireland, I did not see him, and it was in vain that I looked for him on the boat that took me from Dublin to Holyhead, and on the train from Holyhead to London.

The following day found me aboard the _Arran_, bound for Bombay. On the second day out I became acquainted with Frank Blakeslee, a young Englishman. He was an affable sort of chap, and though he, rather than I, made the advances which resulted in our almost constant companionship, I soon discovered that he had little disposition to become acquainted with other passengers.

Moved by a curiosity which I found to be irresistible, I made several quiet attempts to learn whether Ferguson was on the ship. As was the case on the _Camperdonia_, his name did not appear on either the first or second cabin lists, and, despite the instructions he had given to me, I once went so far as to stroll through the second cabin saloons and smoking-room in an attempt to reassure myself concerning his presence on the vessel. All efforts to get a trace of him were vain.

It was not till we had passed through the Suez Canal that all my doubts were set at rest. Then the revelation of Ferguson’s presence came to me in a manner and from a source so wholly unexpected that the intelligence fairly staggered me.

I was walking the deck shortly before luncheon, when I saw Blakeslee approaching me. His face was grave, and I observed at once that there was a nervousness in his manner that I had not remarked before.

“What is the matter, man?” I asked. “Is this heat knocking you out?”

He muttered two or three words incoherently, and glanced quickly to right and left, as if to assure himself that we were alone. Then, pausing beside me, he said in a low voice:

“Ferguson won’t join us at Bombay. We’ll have to look for him at Aurungabad.”

I gave a start, and looked at him wonderingly.

“Then you know that----” I began.

“Yes, yes--I know everything,” he said, interrupting me impatiently.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked apprehensively.

“Yes--no,” he faltered. “Well, there’s a Hindu aboard who has just committed suicide. They’ll be dropping him overboard presently, I suppose.”

There was something in his manner--in his increasing nervousness and in his eyes, which were gleaming with excitement, that caused a feeling of foreboding to steal over me.

“Ferguson is aboard?” I muttered.

“Oh, yes--he’s aboard,” Blakeslee said, dryly, as he turned away.

When I found myself again alone I fell to wondering whether the dead Hindu had been a friend or an enemy of Ferguson’s. That he was either the one or the other I did not for a minute doubt.

I did not see Blakeslee again that day. From a steward I learned that his meals were being served to him in his room. It soon became apparent that if, indeed, a Hindu had committed suicide on the vessel, the fact was being guarded as a secret.

We were then in the Red Sea, and the day was, I think, the most sultry I had ever known. Only after nightfall did the passengers go out on deck. When I turned into my berth, about ten o’clock, I soon found the atmosphere of my stateroom so stifling that it was impossible for me to sleep.

About eleven o’clock I rose, donned a light linen suit and went out on deck. There I found scores of my fellow passengers tossing restlessly as they lay on steamer chairs, and in a few minutes I was doing likewise.

It was well after midnight when, waking from a brief and troubled sleep, I saw that many of the passengers had left the deck. I rose impatiently and, crossing to the rail, I leaned over it and gazed down at the water. I had been in this position for several minutes when I heard the sounds of low voices and shuffling feet on the deck below. Suddenly these were stilled, and I saw a dark object being thrust slowly over the rail of the deck.

In a moment the significance of the situation became clear to me. The body of the dead Hindu was about to be committed to the sea.

All was over in a few moments. The board on which lay the shotted sack, with its gruesome burden, was soon run out. There was a splash--a little trail of bubbles moving swiftly astern, to be lost in the white wake of the vessel, and the thing was done. None of the other passengers on the deck on which I stood was aware of the fact that a sea burial had now become one of the incidents of the voyage.

It was not until the following afternoon that I again met Blakeslee, who, on this occasion, greeted me with much of his former cheerfulness.

“Well, how is our friend to-day?” I asked quietly, after we had exchanged a few commonplace remarks.

An expression of sullenness crossed his face as he answered shortly:

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t seen him since yesterday?” I persisted.

“I have not seen him since we came aboard the _Arran_,” he replied.

“But--well, then, how did you know about that Hindu they buried last night?” I asked.

“Because it has been one of my tasks to watch all Hindus on this vessel, and it has been no easy matter, I assure you. There are more than thirty of them, but I think the one that died yesterday was the only one we had to fear.”

For several moments neither of us spoke. I was the first to break the silence.

“Are we likely to encounter others whom we will have to--fear?” I asked.

Blakeslee laughed unpleasantly.

“I’m afraid we won’t be altogether popular with some of the natives of the country,” he answered. “Still, I don’t think there is much that we really will have to fear. So long as we are successful in our attempts to prevent the brown men from learning the nature of our business, I daresay there will be no trouble.”

“Well, if you and Ferguson are as successful in keeping that secret from those fellows as you are in your efforts to keep it from me, there is little doubt that all trouble will be averted,” I said gravely.

Blakeslee shrugged his shoulders.

“Everything will be made clear to you soon enough,” he answered, abstractedly. “The task that confronts us is comparatively simple, and I doubt not that Ferguson has explained to you all that it will be necessary for you to know in order that you may act intelligently. He wishes you to purchase, and to get out of India, certain articles that appear to have little intrinsic value, but which natives may try to prevent us from taking away.”

“Our quest may prove hazardous, then,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” Blakeslee answered, cheerfully, “it is likely to prove quite hazardous, but, from what I have heard of you, Mr. Forsythe, I should infer that you are scarcely likely to balk at it for that reason.”

“I am not inclined to balk at it,” I retorted, “but, like most men, I prefer meeting danger in the light rather than in the dark. A man always fights better when his enemies and their methods are known to him.”

Blakeslee was silent for several moments, then, with a sigh, he said:

“Well, Forsythe, India is a remarkable country, and some of its people have peculiar mental qualities which enable them to do strange things. That there is something concerning our enterprise that Ferguson has not told you, I will not deny. Though he has implicit confidence in you, he has excellent reasons for withholding the secret from you. In your own interest, as well as his and mine, it is best that you should not know it now. Believe me, if that knowledge was yours it would be difficult for you to keep from revealing it to those persons from whom we have most to fear.”

Despite a natural feeling of resentment, I affected to treat the matter lightly, and the conversation soon turned to other subjects.

The city of Bombay was in sight before I received the promised communication from Ferguson. This came to me through Blakeslee, who, entering the stateroom in which I was packing my things, said in a low voice:

“I met Ferguson last night, and I am afraid we have plenty of trouble cut out for us. He will not accompany us to Rajiid.”

“He will not?” I exclaimed in a tone of disappointment. “The expedition is off, then?”

“Not at all,” Blakeslee replied. “In order to give him an opportunity to precede us, we will remain for three days at Bombay. This will give you time to renew your acquaintance with the Indian authorities, and to let it be known that you have come to India for the purpose of adding to some American museum a collection of Indian curiosities. Make as much stir about it as you like. The better known you are, the more likely you will be to prove successful in your quest. As I have served in the Indian army, and as I am familiar with the country’s language and modes of travel, we may cause it to be understood that you have employed me to aid you in obtaining certain data that you seek.”

To this plan I readily assented, and as soon as we were landed in Bombay I at once proceeded to put it into execution.

Except for such incidents as might have befallen other travelers, our journey to Rajiid was comparatively uneventful. It took us nine days, and when we arrived at our destination we found a miserable little town which, having been visited by a plague the year before, had been nearly depopulated by death and desertion.

The temple was easily found, and, as Blakeslee was confident that we soon would get some word from Ferguson, we established our quarters in a dak-bungalow on the outskirts of the village.

With us we had brought eight native attendants, nearly all of whom were Brahmins. We had fourteen sturdy horses, and we believed that two of these would be sufficient to bear away all the articles which we would have occasion to purchase during our sojourn in the village.

We were not long in discovering that, rapid as had been our progress, a stranger, answering Ferguson’s description, had arrived at the village two days before and, after visiting the temple, had disappeared. We also learned that he had seemed to manifest little interest in what he had seen.

Accompanied by Blakeslee, I visited the temple a few hours after our arrival in the village. It was a small, unpretentious affair, and a mere glance at the dilapidated structure was enough to convince me that it had constituted only a small part of the original building. In it, however, stood the idol known as the Eyeless Buddha.

In this figure the founder of the religion which bears his name was represented as sitting cross-legged on a rug, with his folded hands lying in his lap. The figure was of dark bronze, and measured about eight feet from the top of the head to the top of the stone pedestal on which it was resting. The heavy eyelids were partly lowered, and under each was a dark orifice which, it was apparent, at one time had contained some object that was designed to represent a human eye. These empty sockets had given to the figure the name by which it now was known--the Eyeless Buddha. The statue was more crudely molded than many other images of Buddha I had seen, but the sullen features and eyeless sockets of this gave to it a sinister expression which, for a few moments, excited within me a sensation of awe.

Like all temples in India, this had its quota of persistent beggars and fakirs. Among these we distributed a couple of handfuls of small coins, but the money, so far from granting us immunity from their importunities, caused them to thrust their disgusting hands still closer to our faces and redouble their cries.

Apprehensive lest an exhibition of violence would excite the resentment of persons whose favor it was desirable that we should win, Blakeslee and I restrained our attendants, who were preparing to use sticks in an attempt to drive off our annoyers.

Suddenly, however, the clamor of the mendicants grew still. The throng drew back, and from it issued the figure of an old native, who wore a white turban and loin-cloth. His face, almost as brown as mahogany, was partly covered by a scanty white beard. His eyes were deep-set, searching, and crafty.

I had little doubt that the man who thus challenged our attention was a jaboowallah, one of India’s miracle-working fakirs, and such he soon proved to be. He besought us to allow him to give an exhibition of his powers, and though we had seen most of the tricks practised by members of his class, we granted him the permission he sought. The tricks he showed us are common enough to all visitors to India--tricks which, though hundreds of thousands have seen them, never have been satisfactorily explained to Europeans.

This jaboowallah was neither better nor worse than a score of others we had seen before. We saw him plant a mango seed, and within six minutes it had grown, flowered, and borne fruit before our eyes. Then we beheld him seated cross-legged in the air, apparently without support, four or five feet above the surface of the ground. Later he placed a ring in Blakeslee’s hand. In a few minutes this was dust, then virgin gold again.

When all was done, we gave a few coins to the jaboowallah, and, in consideration of the fact that the payment was rather in excess of that usually given by travelers, we asked him to keep the crowd of mendicants away from us--a task which he performed to our satisfaction.

That night there came to the dak-bungalow a half-naked Parsee. This man gave to me a letter, written in English, and bearing the name of Ferguson. The letter was as follows:--

The bearer of this is Ahmed-Kal, a Parsee, the only person I have met
in this sun-baked land of snakes who can be trusted. Communicate with
me through him.

The articles I want you to purchase are the brazier and the two
green jade images in the shrine. Be sure to land the one with the
protruding tongue in the niche near the roof. This must be obtained
without fail, and, when you get it, keep a careful eye on it, but do
not let anyone suspect that you set any great value on it. Deliver
this to me outside of India, and the ten thousand dollars I left
with you are yours.

Offer only a small price at first for the brazier and images.
Brahminism has practically ousted Buddhism from this locality and one
easily could buy the Eyeless Buddha itself for little more than a
song, were it not for the fact that it is supposed that one day its
presence here will attract travelers.

I will send Ahmed-Kal to you to-morrow night to learn whether or not
you have secured the articles I have named. Be prepared to set out
for Calcutta early the following morning. I will not accompany you,
and I doubt whether I will see you in India.

Burn this note at once. Do not write to me. Ahmed-Kal will report to
me that he has seen you.

(signed) FERGUSON.

I nodded to Ahmed-Kal as I finished reading. He bowed profoundly, but made no move to go. When I asked him why he waited, he replied in a voice which, though respectful, was expressive of reproach:

“The sahib has not burned it.”

I quickly held the paper over a lighted candle, but not till the last charred corner of the letter fell from my fingers did Ferguson’s punctilious messenger withdraw from the bungalow.

On the morrow I visited the temple again, and had no difficulty in identifying the objects which Ferguson had directed me to purchase. The brazier was about three feet high, and was an admirable example of Indian art.

The two jade idols, both of which stood in niches near the dilapidated roof, were companion-pieces, about fourteen inches in height, each measuring about eight inches across the shoulders. The figures were grotesque, one being that of a big-bellied man, with a diabolical leer; while the other, somewhat similar in design, had an impudently protruding tongue. The grotesque appearance of the images was increased by a large number of cracks, which indicated that they had been shattered and their fragments cemented together.

As soon as I told the temple’s custodian that I was a collector of jade idols, he hastened to remove these from their niches and began to descant on their merits.

“But these are not for sale,” I remarked.

“The temple needs rupees, sahib,” replied the priest in a soft, insinuating voice.

When I offered twenty silver rupees for the pair he demanded forty. We finally agreed on twenty-five rupees. The brazier I obtained for thirty rupees, and to this collection I added several small bronze and jade images, which I thought might serve as paper-weights for my friends. The priest and I then parted cordially, and several of my native attendants, bearing my purchases, accompanied Blakeslee and me back to the dak-bungalow.

Thus far my enterprise had been successful, and on the way from the temple to the bungalow Blakeslee and I chatted cheerfully, but, owing to the presence of our attendants, the subject of our quest was not referred to.

As Blakeslee and I entered the bungalow, to seek protection from the heat and blinding glare of the sun, I saw a change come over the face of my companion. His features became suddenly haggard, and there was a strange glitter in his eyes.

“Well, Forsythe, for better or for worse we’re in for it now,” he said in a low voice that trembled slightly with emotion.

I looked at him wonderingly.

“What, in Heaven’s name, is depressing you now?” I asked, irritably. “Have we not succeeded, almost without making a real effort, in getting the articles we sought? As soon as we get word to Ferguson that we have carried out his instructions, we will start for home. The letters which I obtained from the government officials at Bombay will assure us safe conduct.”

Blakeslee glanced at me half-contemptuously.

“My dear fellow, our fight is just about to begin,” he said, thoughtfully. “Neither Ferguson nor I looked for trouble on the journey here, nor did Ferguson fear that you would have any difficulty in obtaining the articles which now are in your possession. To be perfectly frank with you, the value of these is as unknown to me as it is to you.”

With a glance toward the corner of the room in which lay, like a heap of junk, the articles I had purchased that morning, I went to the door and looked out. Our attendants were unsaddling and watering our horses at the foot of the hill, and the space around the bungalow was deserted. Turning back to the room in which Blakeslee, with his hands clasped over one of his knees, was sitting on a rude table, I spoke.

“Ferguson is seeking those lost eyes of the Buddha?” I said.

Blakeslee gazed at me fixedly, but did not answer.

“Has it not occurred to you that they may be concealed in the two jade images that our friend is so anxious to obtain?” I asked.

My companion’s gaze fell thoughtfully to the floor.

“It has occurred to me, of course,” he answered quietly, after a pause. “But I have rejected the idea. I am inclined to believe that Ferguson is using us simply as a blind to cover other movements that he has afoot. The images do not appear to be any more important than the brazier, which, as a mere glance at it will assure you, is not constructed in a manner that will allow it to conceal anything. Ferguson is a pretty clever strategist, and I have reasons to suspect that, before we get through with this thing, we will find that he is trying to attain his object by means of crossed trails.”

“What reason is there for crossing trails when my reputation and the arrangements I have made with the government officials appear to give us a clear course to Calcutta?” I asked.

Blakeslee shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m hanged if I know, Forsythe,” he muttered, abstractedly. “Ferguson is a queer fellow, and he’s pretty deep. The thing that puzzles me most is the fact that he is in India. For the last two years he has been watched by spies. That was one of them they dropped overboard from the _Arran_. If these two idols and the brazier were the only things he wanted here, why did he not send us to get them, and keep away himself?”

“Well,” I began, but he stopped me with a gesture.

“We’ve got to cut out this sort of talk,” he said, impatiently. “We have the stuff we sought, and now the thing is up to Ferguson. If we continue to speculate like this on the subject, some long-eared native, who may be lurking about, will overhear us and the game will be up. The fight’s on now and we must make the best of it. Open eyes and silent tongues constitute the order of the day, so we’d better bar the talking.”

At noon we had our luncheon. Then, after telling our attendants to rest for the remainder of the day, in order that they might be prepared to take the road before sunrise on the following morning, Blakeslee and I stretched ourselves on our rugs. After a brief period of restlessness I fell asleep.

It was twilight when I woke. Blakeslee was still asleep, and I glanced apprehensively towards where our morning’s purchases lay heaped carelessly in the corner, with one of our saddles resting on top of the pile. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed, but I resolved that while Blakeslee and I remained in India one should keep awake while the other slept.

An hour later we sat down to our evening meal, and then proceeded to await the arrival of Ahmed-Kal.

It was nearly midnight, and all our attendants were asleep, when Blakeslee and I, seated within the dak-bungalow, saw by the light of the moon the figure of a native, in a half-crouching attitude, dart towards the door.

“Well?” I demanded, rising quickly.

The man started at the sound of my voice, and, as he looked toward me, I saw that our visitor was Ahmed-Kal. Drawing back a couple of paces, he crossed his arms over his face.

Alarmed by the man’s strange attitude, I addressed him impatiently.

“Well, why do you not speak?” I asked.

With a low, sharp cry the Parsee, lurching forward, sank to the earth and, crawling to my feet, he scraped up a handful of sand from the ground and scattered it over his head.

Grasping him by one of his naked shoulders I shook him vigorously.

“Speak, man--your master--what has happened to him?” I demanded.

The Parsee gave utterance to a series of incoherent sentences, then he again crossed his arms over his face.

Again I seized him and shook his shoulders.

“Where is the Ferguson sahib?” I asked, in a threatening voice.

“They’ve killed him,” whimpered Ahmed-Kal.

“Killed him!” Blakeslee and I exclaimed together.

“Even so,” moaned the Parsee.

The eyes that Blakeslee turned on me were dilated with horror.

“Dead--Ferguson!” he muttered. “No, no, no! This man----”

“Not dead, sahib--not dead, for he still speaks,” Ahmed-Kal interrupted.

We looked at the Parsee with expressions of bewilderment.

“You said he was killed?” I suggested.

“Even so, sahib. They have killed him, but he still speaks, and he bade me summon you to come and see the end.”

“How the dev--” Blakeslee began.

“There’s no use standing here trying to get rational answers from the fool,” I interrupted. “Let’s mount and follow where he leads.”

Our horses soon were saddled. Preceded by Ahmed-Kal and followed by two of our servants, Blakeslee and I set out in search of Ferguson.

As we advanced in this manner, Ahmed-Kal, from time to time, manifested signs of the most abject fear. His trembling, groans and sudden starts at length had such an effect on my nerves that, like him, I fancied, at times, that I saw dark figures flitting among the thickets we passed.

Once a piercing wail, coming from a point about a hundred yards distant from the road, so startled Blakeslee and me that we drew in our bridle-reins with a force that almost caused our horses to go down on their haunches.

“It is only the cry of a jackal, sahib,” said one of our servants reassuringly.

Even as the man spoke, we saw a small, wolfish form loping from one thicket to another, but it was several minutes before the feeling of creepiness passed away and our heartbeats again became normal.

At the expiration of a half hour we came in view of a little grove of trees, among which the walls of a small temple gleamed white in the moonlight. To this temple a narrow path led from the road by which we approached the place. At the path Ahmed-Kal drew rein. Then, after dismounting, he came to me.

“This ground is sacred, sahib,” he explained. “None save uncovered feet may tread this path.”

I nodded; then Blakeslee and I alighted and, after directing our attendants to await our return, we commanded Ahmed-Kal to lead the way.

“What are we in for now, I wonder?” Blakeslee muttered. “I’ve got this trembling fool covered with my gun, and if he’s up to any of his Hindu tricks it will be his last, I promise you.”

Following our guide, we had gone about a couple of hundred paces when Blakeslee seized me by the arm.

“Look!” he cried.

We were now in a little open space in the grove that surrounded the temple, and, glancing in the direction that Blakeslee had indicated, I saw, in one of the corners of this space, a human figure seated cross-legged on a white cloth. The figure was as immovable as one of those statues of Buddha which are to be seen everywhere in India, and the shadow cast by one of the swaying branches of a tree gave to it an uncanny aspect that chilled my blood.

Blakeslee and I, followed by Ahmed-Kal, moved forward uncertainly.

“It’s Ferguson!” exclaimed Blakeslee in a hoarse whisper.

We quickened our steps, and in a few moments we halted before the motionless and silent figure of our friend.

Neither by word nor sign did Ferguson bespeak a recognition of our presence. His face was deadly pale, and there was an expression of stupor in his eyes.

“Ferguson!” I said, in a low, awed voice; and, as I spoke, I was about to lay a hand on his shoulder to rouse him from his apparent lethargy.

“Stop!” he commanded sharply. “Don’t touch me, Forsythe. Step round in front of me. I cannot turn my head.”

“What’s the matter, old man?” Blakeslee asked. “What have they done to you? That fool, Ahmed-Kal, told us that you had been murdered.”

Ferguson hesitated a few moments before he replied.

“Ahmed-Kal was right. I have been slain.”

“What madness is this?” I demanded, impatiently.

“It is not madness, but truth,” Ferguson answered, sadly. “I have been slain.”

Blakeslee and I exchanged glances of horror. It was plain that our friend had lost his reason.

“Come, come, Ferguson, you would not have us believe that we are talking with your ghost,” said Blakeslee, indulgently.

“No,” replied Ferguson, deliberately. “But, to all intents and purposes, I am a dead man. Were I to move my body, ever so slightly, the next moment would find me a corpse at your feet. The fact is, I have been decapitated. Though my head has been completely severed from my body, it has been done in such a manner that, while no human skill can save my life, I cannot die except by my own act.”

Turning his haggard face to mine, Blakeslee said, quietly:

“Come, Forsythe, we must get him out of this.”

Ferguson heard the words.

“Stop--Forsythe--Blakeslee!” he protested quickly. “Let there be no mistake. Blakeslee, strike a match; then examine my neck and tell me what you see.”

With trembling hands, Blakeslee drew out his matchbox and struck a match. By the light of this we saw a thin, dark, threadlike line that completely encircled the neck of our friend. From the line there had exuded drops of blood which had trickled down to Ferguson’s collar.

With faces as pallid as that of our friend, Blakeslee and I drew back a couple of paces. The silence that followed was broken by Ferguson.

“Well?” he asked.

“It’s bleeding a little,” Blakeslee replied, speaking thickly.

“It was good of you to answer my summons so promptly,” Ferguson went on. “Brief as our acquaintance has been, I was overjoyed to learn yesterday that chance had led you to India and that you were in this neighborhood. I had intended to seek you yesterday afternoon, but, before I could put my plan into execution, I met with the adventure which Fate had ordained should be my last.”

As he paused, Blakeslee and I gazed at him searchingly. Was the man mad, or was he playing a part? Were the words he was addressing to us now reaching ears other than our own?

“What was the nature of the adventure?” I asked.

“Having been brought to India by certain business matters,” Ferguson continued, “I was tempted to travel a bit through the country. Several years ago I heard a traveler describe the Eyeless Buddha of Rajiid, and tell its strange story. Being in this neighborhood, I decided, a few days ago, to visit the shrine. It did not interest me greatly, and I was continuing on my way when I was halted to-day by a company of natives. These took me before a jaboowallah, who, on the day before, had performed some of his tricks before me at Rajiid. This man charged me with an attempt to find and take out of the country the lost diamonds which, many years before, formed the eyes of the Buddha. I protested my innocence, but to no avail.

“Professing to believe that I already had found the hiding-place of the diamonds, and had obtained possession of the stones, several natives, in accordance with the direction of the jaboowallah, searched my garments, and then subjected me to the most excruciating tortures in an attempt to wring from me information concerning the diamonds. In this attempt they failed, of course; for, though I had heard the story of the lost gems, the idea of attempting to find them never entered my mind.

“At length my captors ceased their efforts, and, after granting me a rest of several hours, they brought me here, where I was again confronted by the jaboowallah. I was compelled to seat myself on this cloth and was told to prepare myself for death.

“Taking a sword, the jaboowallah whirled it several times through the air, and then--then I was reduced to the plight in which you find me.

“Though I felt the blade pass through my neck, I retained consciousness. My head did not fall, and my gaze was riveted on the mocking face of the jaboowallah as he drew back from me. He told me then that, though my head had been severed from my shoulders, I should not die save only by own act--that a single movement might result in the extinction of life. Then, with a devil-like laugh, he told me I might go when or where I listed.

“I replied that, since this was impossible, my only wish was that I might be able to have my friends informed of my death. To this end, I asked permission to send for you, who, as I had been informed in the morning, were in the vicinity. He hesitated, but finally granted me the favor that I asked.

“Ahmed-Kal, my Parsee servant, was standing near, and I bade him go to you, after I had received the jaboowallah’s assurance that no harm should befall you. And I thank Heaven that you and your friend Blakeslee have come at last.”

There was a pause; then I asked, nervously:

“What is it you would have us do?”

“Merely report my death to Ormond Dulmer, my solicitor, in London. You will easily find him. You will do this?”

I hesitated; then I turned to the trembling Ahmed-Kal.

“Bid our attendants come here as quickly as they can,” I said to him. “They are armed and----”

“Stop!” cried Ferguson. “Ahmed-Kal, stay here.”

The Parsee, with a little cry, sank to the ground and crawled toward Ferguson’s feet.

Drawing my revolver, I turned toward where I had left our attendants in the road. Then, raising my voice, I called one of them by name, intending to direct him to hurry to me with his companions.

“Stop--Forsythe--fool!” cried Ferguson desperately.

His words prevented me from hearing any response that might have been made to my summons. Giving no heed to his protest, I called again.

The sound had scarcely left my lips when Blakeslee’s revolver flashed. For a moment the report dazed me; then, as I saw Blakeslee being set upon and borne down by four or five dark figures, who seemed to have issued from the ground, I raised my own weapon. But it was too late. Before my finger drew the trigger, a violent blow fell on my head. A thousand glints of light flashed before my eyes; and, as I blindly turned toward my assailant, a second blow felled me to the ground and I became unconscious.

When I regained my senses, I was lying on the spot on which I had fallen. My head was throbbing slightly, and, as I opened my eyes, I saw the moon still was shining, but that the persons who had been around me when I fell were gone. As I started to rise, I was conscious of a pungent, sweet flavor in my mouth, and of a dull pain and sensation of fullness in my throat. My breathing was quick and labored.

Rising to a sitting posture, I saw, only a couple of paces away, the white cloth on which I last had seen Ferguson. He, like Blakeslee and the natives, had disappeared; but in the middle of the cloth lay something which, arresting my gaze, inspired me with fear and horror. Rising to my feet, I moved toward it.

It was the severed head of Ahmed-Kal!

Breathing heavily, I took the path leading to the road in which Blakeslee and I had left our attendants. As I walked on, the sensation of fullness in my throat became more and more distressing. My tongue was swollen, and I was tortured by thirst and hunger.

As I drew near the road, I saw our horses, with our servants beside them. A glance at the little company revealed the fact that Blakeslee was not there.

Turning to one of the natives, I attempted to ask him why he and his companions had not responded to my call, but no sound issued from my lips, and the effort to speak racked my throat.

At length I succeeded in whispering weakly:

“Blakeslee Sahib? Have you seen him?”

The native addressed shook his head negatively.

“The sahib has not returned,” he said.

As I glanced at the faces of the natives, I saw that a strange sullenness had come upon them, and instinct told me they were not to be trusted in an attempt to attack those who had obeyed the commands of the jaboowallah. Accordingly, I mounted my horse and, with my attendants, returned to the dak-bungalow.

In the bungalow I found things in the same order in which I had left them. Despite my hunger, the condition of my throat made it impossible for me to swallow anything else than biscuits soaked in beef-tea. When this meal was finished, physical and mental exhaustion compelled me to lie down before I had succeeded in formulating any definite plan for the morrow. I knew that there was no English-speaking official within forty miles of me, and it was doubtful whether, in my present condition, I could accomplish such a journey over rough Indian roads in less than a couple of days.

Scarcely had I lain down when one of my servants appeared.

“Will the sahib leave Rajiid before sunrise?” he asked.

“No,” I whispered. “We will wait.”

The man left the room, and I composed myself for sleep. I had just sunk in a troubled doze, however, when I was aroused by someone who was shaking me gently. As I opened my eyes, I saw, by candlelight, the face of the jaboowallah, who, as I had good reason to believe, was responsible for the misfortune that had befallen my friends and myself.

“The sahib need not rise,” said the jaboowallah gravely.

But, giving no heed to his words, I sat up on the blanket on which I had been lying.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded in a whisper that caused my throat to throb with pain.

“I have come to the sahib to warn him,” my visitor replied. “If he returns to his own country at once, no further evil will come to him; but if he tarries in India, or causes the white king’s soldiers to come to Rajiid, he must die; and it is as easy for the holy men to kill him in Calcutta as it is to kill him here.”

“Where is my friend--Blakeslee Sahib?” I asked.

“He attempted to slay those who had punished one who came to us to desecrate our shrines--to take from us a priceless stone which did not belong to him.”