“I won’t want to bother her, sir; and look here, if you doubt my faith you can take my pack till you’re satisfied I’m straight. Anything else?”
His voice lifted as he spoke, and Derrick knew what he meant. The sharp eyes peering from the cottage window had missed nothing. The stranger was aware that something lay hidden in that pocket, nor could all his art conceal the hunger that was growing in his soul. Derrick, his mind tense, and realizing that every step taken now must inevitably affect the last scene of the drama, gripped the image with fingers that felt suddenly cold, then drew it out and dropped it carelessly into the peddler’s hand. The man quivered at the touch.
“While we’re on the subject, there’s something that may interest you. Ever see anything like it before?”
A tremor ran through the lean form, and the bright eyes became clouded with emotion. The brown fingers closed caressingly, till, all in a breath, a look of concentrated shrewdness spread over the swarthy face. The man stared at the molded wax, then at Derrick. “You clever devil!” was what the eyes said. He grasped the meaning of this model, there could be no doubt of that, and telegraphed an unconscious admiration to the one who had fashioned it. He scanned the small square base, the cloaked shoulders, the tiny folded hands, and the hellish sneer on the pygmy features, and nodded. Yes, it was all there, and nothing was there. A great gulf yawned between wax and jade. But the peddler remained master of himself, while Martin, at his elbow, seemed rooted to the ground.
“What do you think of it?” asked Derrick smoothly.
The peddler shook his head. “Of this, sir, nothing at all; but if I could see the original it might be another matter. Do you happen to have it?”
“I do, but not here. And it doesn’t belong to me. Ever see anything like it?”
Blunt nodded. “Yes, but not often. The original of this may have come from Indo-China, up northeast of the Bay of Bengal. I reckon it would be about five hundred years old. They don’t make them often nowadays. These things sometimes drift down into the Malay country, but they’re not supposed to. Look here, sir, I’ve a leaning for carved jade, which brings a good price from the Chinese, and I’ll trade you anything in my pack for the original of this.”
“But I’ve told you it’s not mine.”
“Maybe, sir, but if you’ll put me in touch with the owner I’ll make it worth his while to sell.”