A look of real interest began to illuminate Mr. Early’s face. “Well?” he said sharply.
“I have rubies—rubies to lure the heart of a woman from her bosom. Madame, the young wife would give her soul—if she but had one. That is too hard. Let her give her note.” The Swami laughed gently. “You would lend her five thousand dollars, my friend, to buy rubies from me. That is an empty show. She gives you the note. I give her the necklace that she must have. That is all. There is no need to give me money. I return your hospitality thus.”
“Well, suppose I did all this. Dick Percival could easily discharge his wife’s debt.”
“Not so fast. Not so fast. The young wife is a fool as well as a knave. To the note she shall sign her husband’s name. That I will bring to pass. But you know nothing of this. Of course not. You suppose that the signature is genuine. You are unaware that Percival is out of town. And I—if I am guilty—I am with my guilty knowledge in the hut in the mountains of India. Do you not think that while you hold that note young Percival will gladly serve you in any fashion that you may choose, rather than that so foolish a piece of wife’s knavery should come abroad?”
“Gee whizz!” exclaimed Mr. Early, gazing at the simple seeker after truth, whose face shone with a radiant smile. “Gee whizz! Ram Juna, but you are a business man! But she won’t sign her husband’s name.”
Ram Juna’s smile expanded cheerfully.
“Let that remain to me. You have but to play your part,” he said.
Mr. Early thought hard for a moment.
“There is need to haste,” said the Swami gently. “She is now in the garden where access is easy. Make the note. I will take it to her to sign. Hasten, my friend.”
Mr. Early drew toward him pen and ink.