"To a reasonable extent," she repeated, and nodded. "And if you do not understand a thing, you will trust to my judgment that it is better you do not understand it."
"Then I'm to deliver myself blindfolded?" he put in, remembering Kerth's words of the early evening and glancing involuntarily toward the drugged figure.
"You will be told all that it is consistent to tell." She took a sip of wine and surveyed him. "What is your first question?"
He thrust back the query that came to his tongue and reverted to his conservative tactics. He sat as mute and expressionless as the Buddha at Sarnath. When a moment had passed, she announced:
"You would like to know how I know what I know about the jewels; is it not so?"
"I would like to know what you know first," he corrected.
She laughed—that laugh that rippled low in her throat.
"What I know is locked away safely until the time is ripe to bring it forth. Meanwhile, I will say this much: the jewels have not left India."
"Then they will?"
He flashed out the question with the air of a fencer thrusting at a weak point in his opponent's guard. But foil met foil. She replied: