'What then?' echoed the courtesan at last, somewhat sulkily. 'How can I tell if this be so; and if it be so, how can I tell what came? Only this I do know: the pot went to Keene sahib the day he left. He gave it to some one. Let that some one answer. I care not who 'tis, so I have my pearls that were hidden in the pot.'

'Pearls! There were no pearls in it when it came to me,' cried Rose quickly; then remembering the jagged edge of clay she had noticed inside, she turned to Gwen: 'Did you notice anything like a false bottom when you had it before?'

The face into which she looked paled. 'You don't understand!' said Gwen petulantly; 'the woman says that these pearls were put there after it was stolen, so how could I notice anything when I tell you I never saw, never heard of it again? I told the woman so just now. I will tell her again before you! then I must, I will have her sent away, she has no business here.'

But Chândni's recklessness had grown. 'I care not who has them. See! there are three of us here in this room who have handled the pot. Let her who hath it and its hoard speak truth, and save the little sahib. For he had it, sure enough; of that there is proof.'

'Three of us!' repeated Rose absently, as if struck by a thought. Then obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to a portfolio standing in one corner of the room. 'You mistake,' she continued, her eyes full on the courtesan. 'There are not three, but four of us. Look! Keene sahib painted that.'

Chândni fell back, averting her face from the portrait of Azîzan, which Rose placed against an easel on the table.

'The evil eye! the evil eye! God save us from the witch,' she muttered, thrusting out her right hand in that two-fingered gesture which is used against a baleful glance in both East and West. But Gwen pressing closer looked at the picture with a dawning light of relieved comprehension in her face.

'Did he paint that--how pretty it is! And it explains--it explains--a--a great deal. He gave her the pot, I suppose--Well! it is a pity, but one ought not to be----'

'Ought not to be what?' interrupted Rose fiercely, with a fine scorn in her face, scarcely less concealed than the contempt with which she turned to the other woman.

'You both seem to know or understand this picture better than I do,' she said superbly. 'Perhaps you can tell me whom it represents?'