“The weak child!” he exclaimed angrily. “That is the way with these Eastern princes—they are always swayed by the one who has the last word.”
“You seem to think as we do, then?” said Wyatt. “Of course. That woman is hand and glove with the other party still, and working with them. The Rajah, after all, has an intense affection for his mother, and looks upon all those ancient jewels as something sacred. It was like a blow at him for them to be stolen, and to his eyes the case looked black against Darrell here.”
“You think he believes it still then?” said Dick.
“Without doubt. They are all mixed up in it—Wazir, Brahmins, and the rest of the party—I feel sure, and they have schemed so that you have not cleared yourself, Darrell.”
“But I tell you I saw the Wazir, with the light shining on his face, come down those steps, pick up the bag of jewels after he had dropped it, and go into the cell I pointed out, come back, and fasten it up again.”
“Yes, yes, yes—of course you did, Dicky,” cried Wyatt impatiently; “and I wish you had gone in and got them afterwards, so as to have brought them out and shown the Rajah you spoke the truth.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Dick. “Why, that would have made the case look worse.”
“Humph! so it would,” said Wyatt. “I give it up. I’m better at fighting than scheming, and I feel now just as if I should like to have the guns out and a regular go-in at somebody.”
“Oh, we can’t fight,” said Hulton. “I must see the Rajah and prove to him that it was all a trick. He’ll lean to the last man.”
“Send the doctor in to him to make him believe he’s worse, and then he’ll be ready to hang over to our side again.”