"Had he brought back the Sapphire he might have gained mercy," said the Rajah, with more anger, Bertram thought, than he had ever seen him display. "Take away the knave out of my sight, and despatch a horseman at once to the Palace with command that four hundred men forthwith search all this plain, with every tree on it and every stream that crosses it, until they find the jewel."
Lal Singh since his angry outburst had stood aside, his narrow face contracted, and had not ceased to watch Atmâ from the moment when he seized the falcon. His cunning eyes followed the young Sikh as he bowed before the Ruler of Kashmir, and now gliding forward he cringed before Golab Singh, as he hissed in a voice nearly inarticulate with triumph and hate, "Maharajah, the plain is wide; before entering on so extensive an undertaking, order someone more trusty than Atmâ Singh to recover the stone by searching the leal descendant of the holy Nanuk! I, though less lofty of sentiment and aspiration, am filled with horror and grief, because I have perceived him to take the Sapphire from the bird the moment it touched ground."
The effect of this charge can hardly be described: indignation on the part of some, among whom were Atmâ's British friends, at what they felt assured must be a groundless accusation; suspicion and anger on the part of others. "Let him immediately be seized and searched," commanded the Rajah.
The first part of his command was already obeyed, and almost before a protest could be uttered, Atmâ's arms were bound behind him and Golab Singh's servants proceeded zealously to search his person. In silence and with lips compressed, Bertram and his brother officers looked on whilst he submitted to this indignity, no syllable escaping him from the moment when he fixed his accusing gaze on his foe. But when a tiny onyx-box of curious workmanship was produced from the folds of his girdle, and laid before the Rajah of Kashmir, he did not repeat the look, although on its appearance Lal uttered an exulting exclamation.
The onyx-box was all that rewarded the scrutiny of the Rajah's servants. "Open it!" he commanded, and forthwith the fatal casket was unclosed. Golab Singh, bending over it, inhaled the strong and subtle odour that had nearly overcome Atmâ the morning he received the box from the hands of Nama at the sacred shrine. The Maharajah turned pale, and with difficulty recovered his breath. "Miscreant!" cried the courtiers.
Now a paper was unfolded bearing the seal and superscription of the Maharanee Junda Kowr, the dangerous foe of the British to whom Golab Singh owed his throne.
"An emissary of the Ranee," cried some.
"A spy," shouted others, while Golab Singh had thoughts which it would not have been prudent to utter aloud in that mixed assemblage.
"A despatch from the Ranee withheld by this traitor for who knows what villainous purpose!"
"He shall pay the penalty," he thundered, "before the sun rise to-morrow. Carry him bound to a dungeon!"