The only unsatisfactory item in past or present was the memory of the man who juggled with other men's eyes and ears. Who and what was he? A friend to Akbar at any rate, and for the time being, that was enough.
The wide roof of the Hall of Labour lay ablaze with afternoon sunshine as they entered it, and as they passed along the arcades, the workmen looked up and salaamed. The door of Diswunt's studio was locked and barred, and a sentry paced across that of the jeweller. Known though they were, it required the password ere William Leedes could produce his key, unlock the door, enter, then close and lock it again behind them.
Birbal gave a sigh of relief as he drew out his waistband-purse. "At last!" he said holding out the diamond. "Replace it on the lathe, sir jeweller, and once I see it there--lo! I will vow pilgrimage if needs be. Yea! I will cry 'Hari Ganga' like any drunk man in a puddle!"
He turned aside, out of sheer lightheartedness, humming a ghazal from Hâfiz.
Make fast a wine cup to my shroud
That at the latter day
My soul a good drink be allowed
To nerve it for the fray.
Meanwhile the jeweller's deft hands were busy. A few turns, a click or two, and William Leedes bent over the treasure joyfully.
"There it is, my master; with naught but a few days' delay in the cutting thereof! I must be all the quicker now, else the King will wonder. Yet have I lost as little time as may be, since the next facet is assured--it will run so."
The delicate steel point he held just touched the surface. Then it fell away from it, as the hand holding the instrument seemed to shrink back. The foot, too, left the treadle, and the spinning pivots slackened speed and sank to rest.
"What is't?" asked Birbal, turning hastily.
The jeweller's face was white, his very jaw had fallen.