As Ted approached the stall, the hand of the sleek Hindu shot forth across the boards on which his wares were displayed and snatched something from the front row. Not, however, before our hero had recognized the identical bangle that he had bought and paid for on the occasion of his previous visit. His face flushed.
“That is mine,” he asserted. “I bought and paid for it.”
Understanding that the bangle had been seen, and that denial was useless, the shopkeeper salaamed and unabashed replied: “Nay, sahib, the one you bought you took away, and I have never set eyes on it since.”
“But you told me it was unique—that there was not another like it in the country.”
“I am the sahib’s slave, and I spoke truth. There was not another like it in the Punjab. But since the Heaven-born’s visit a Kazilbash merchant from Kabul, with whom I deal in turquoises, has sold me this. It is indeed similar to the one I sold the sahib, but the turquoises are larger and better. Welcome is the sight of the Heaven-born in the eyes of his servant, who has suffered great anxiety.”
“What’s the row, Ted?” Paterson asked. And matters being explained, he at once enquired of the Hindu why he had been so anxious to prevent the bangle being seen if he had come by it honestly. But the “Aryan brown” was more than their match in guile.
“In truth I remembered how the former one had brought ill-luck to the young sahib, and I feared lest he might take a fancy to this one also. And I know that the sahibs are reckless in such matters, not believing in omens. Rather would I lose business than bring misfortune upon the head of the young sahib.”
Alec Paterson laughed.
“I’m afraid it’s no go, Russell,” he whispered. “The rascal is too deep for us, and we cannot prove that it really is the same article.”
“But it’s robbery pure and simple!” Ted indignantly declared. “I know it’s the same that I lost during the scuffle.”