"Nay," smiled Umballa, "not there. Think; did not something unusual happen here five years ago?"
The chief smoothed the tip of his nose. "My father died and I became head man of the village."
"Would you call that unusual?" ironically.
"No. Ha!" suddenly. "Five years ago; yes, yes, I remember now. Soldiers, who made us lock ourselves in our huts, not to stir forth on the pain of death till ordered. My father alone was permitted outside. He was compelled to row out to the island. There he was blindfolded. Only two men accompanied him. They carried something that was very heavy. My father never knew what the strange shining basket held. Then the soldiers went away and we came out. No one was allowed on the island till my father died."
"Did he tell you what it was he helped bury yonder?"
"No, holy one. He was an honorable man. Whatever the secret was, it passed with him. We were not curious."
"It was the private treasure of the king of Allaha, and the man was the king himself."
The fisherman salaamed.
"And I am sent, because I am holy, to recover this treasure, which was willed to the temple of Juggernaut."
"And, holy one, I know not where it is hidden!"