“I think I understand.”
“Well, when he finished it, working with sharp sand and thousands of little wooden drills to cut the stone, he did put it in the temple. I don’t know how long the job had taken, but probably not less than thirty years. Then he sat tight, smiling to himself, till the priests found out. They knew in a minute that if the thing ever got away from them it would raise hell for whoever had it, so they guarded it day and night till a year or so later Millicent came along. He heard of it; the thought of the thing began to work in his brain; and, to make a long story short, he bribed a young priest and got away with it. The first thing that happened was that Lung Sen didn’t wake up one morning, and his face was just like the jade god’s. The priest was never seen again. Then for some reason they sent for me and told me to go in search of it; didn’t ask, but told me. And I knew enough to go. It took me years to find Martin, and if you ask why I didn’t give it up long ago, I can’t tell you, except that I knew another was coming after me, and then another, but I would only see them once. When I got here, I knew by Martin’s face that the god was not far off. So now”—here he glanced dominantly at Derrick—“this thing must go back with me. The god of all evil lives in it, and whoever keeps it will be cursed. Joy will die for him, and fear will come, and love be changed to a dream of terror. God hides in that stone, and sacrifices must be made in front of it. What becomes of me does not matter. The woman killed the man, because the image commanded her. She could not help it, her love being turned to gall. And this is only the beginning of what must come if the image stays in your keeping.”
The voice lifted with a strange domination that brooked no interruption, and the peddler’s features took on a look of exalted prophecy. “What do the children of to-day know of the wisdom that dwelt in the hills of Mong when England was peopled by half-naked savages? They are like children with toys they do not understand. Gautama opened the books of good and evil that all might read. You of the West have read not at all; Lung Sen read only the evil, and he is dead; and this man from an English village disobeyed the law and passed at the hand of one who struck when her eyes were closed. When after two years they opened, she struck again, but this time at herself. She was asleep, but the god never sleeps. So if you do not give it to me, then make an end of me quickly, and prepare for the next messenger, who is now on his way, and will not ask, but take.”
Silence descended in the cell. Burke’s eyes were half closed, as though he peered at visions hitherto unguessed. A cart creaked in the distance but did not break the spell. Derrick had an abiding sensation that from the East a hand had reached out and touched the village of Bamberley into a strange sleep. Martin sat motionless, reliving the past, while the peddler clasped his lean fingers, a look of intense abstraction on his dark smooth face. Derrick was aware that he felt amazingly impotent, and with difficulty made an indefinite gesture.
“Sergeant,” he said, after a long pause, “I make no charge against Martin and will go bail for his appearance at the inquest when wanted.”
The big man jerked himself together, stood up, groped in his pocket, and produced a key. There was a click of steel. Martin was a free man.
“You might go back to the cottage now,” said Derrick, looking him full in the eye.
The gardener nodded, shook himself like a wet dog, said one sibilant word of farewell to the peddler, and vanished. His step was still audible when Burke fastened an inquiring look on Blunt.
“What about this man, sir? Are you going to let him down as easy as that?”
“I take it that the only charge is of attempted theft?”