"Ah!" This from the white man. "Do you have pearls, too—imitation pearls?"
Muhafiz Ali, somewhat disappointed, produced a necklace of his finest false pearls, and the sahib examined it with the air of one who knew the difference between the nacreous sea-jewel and blown spheres of essence d' Orient.
"Are you alone?" was his next question.
"Alone?" echoed Muhafiz Ali. "Alas, O worthy lordship, my son, my only—"
"No, no!"—with that quick gesture and a significant look toward the rear door. "I mean, is there any one in the back of the shop?"
"Nay, Sahib!"
A germ of suspicion took birth in Muhafiz Ali's brain. What did this foreigner want?
"You have done work for his Highness the Maharajah, I understand," said the sahib, his eyes glittering like black chalcedony. "You re-set several necklaces, and ... you made a copy of the Pearl Scarf ... for, well, for state purposes—didn't you?"
Muhafiz Ali answered in the affirmative, still suspicious. The sahib glanced over his shoulder into the swiftly gathering dusk.
"Could you make another copy, using stones like this?"