“I’ll explain later,” replied Anthony; “please proceed.”
“Marvellous—marvellous—now let me see again—where was I?” He frowned in his attempts at recollection. “I know Lal Singh’s father was in some way connected with the actual administration of this temple and as a result Lal Singh himself was able to put a lot of information in Delaney’s way. To cut a long story short the three of us got away one night and got clean inside—penetrated in fact to the proper holy of holies—the inmost shrine. There we found what the natives called the ‘Sacred Peacock.’ Its body was of pure gold and the ‘eyes’ of its train feathers consisted of a number of blue-tinted emeralds. I can’t tell you how marvellous it was. I regret to say that Delaney wrenched away the biggest of these and we were about to add to our spoils when Lal Singh rushed in with the news that in a few minutes we should be surrounded—the news of our entry had leaked out somehow. We got away by the skin of our teeth. Lal Singh was scared to death and warned us with all sorts of fantastic tales that the outraged gods would punish us though the punishment took years to materialise. Gad! What a lovely scrap it was, getting away that night.”
Anthony broke in. “Delaney, I presume, regarded the ‘Peacock’s Eye’ as his own personal spoils?”
“Not at all,” replied Sir Matthew stiffly and with a distinct touch of frigidity. “We were brother-officers—it was a case of share and share alike—not only the ‘spoils’ as you call it, but the ‘bright eyes of danger,’ too. We drew lots for the stone. Strangely enough, Delaney was the winner. As far as I know he kept the stone till his death. It was a gorgeous gem—exactly similar in shape to the ‘eye’ of a peacock’s tail. Worth thousands—but Dan never realised on it. He kept it for its dazzling beauty—he was Irish—an idealist.” He glared at Anthony. “That’s all. Now it’s your turn. Tell me what you know about Lal Singh! You staggered me just now. You knocked me all of a heap.”
“I am quite prepared to believe that, Sir Matthew—but there is no magic about it. The explanation, like most explanations, is perfectly simple. Have you ever met Miss Kerr—Miss Delaney’s old nurse?”
“Many a time,” chuckled Sir Matthew; “you mean ‘Pinkie’?”
“I believe that is the nickname by which she is, perhaps, even better known. I met her at ‘Rest Harrow’ the other day, when we were first investigating the circumstances of Miss Delaney’s death. She told rather an extraordinary story. I should like your considered opinion on it. She states that about a month ago an Indian called upon Miss Delaney, at her home in Tranfield—calling himself Lal Singh. He asked for Colonel Delaney and informed her that he was the Colonel’s old servant. He was unaware of the Colonel’s death. Or said he was—that possibly is a more accurate version!”
“What?” roared Sir Matthew. “Lal Singh here in Westhamptonshire. That tale won’t hold water. It’s incredible—it’s amazing——” He spluttered in his attempt to find suitable words to express his rejection.
“I can take it then,” intervened Anthony, “that Lal Singh did not extend his visit to you?”
“To me? Good gracious, Mr. Bathurst—of course not! Lal Singh indeed! I haven’t set eyes on Lal Singh for over thirty years, as I told you. What on earth gives you that extraordinary idea?”