"To-morrow you leave Benares," she directed, again assured. "You will take a train in the morning for Bombay and go to an address which I shall give you; and do as I instruct." Her hand slipped under her waist and brought out a long blank envelope. "In this envelope are your instructions. I must have your promise not to read them until you are on the train to Bombay; then destroy them immediately."
He inclined his head and placed the envelope in his pocket.
"You said that when I leave this house I am no longer Major Trent," he reminded.
"You are Robert Tavernake, a jeweller, from London. All that is contained in the instructions."
"Including the name of the order?"—his curiosity escaping him.
For answer she clapped her hands and curtains parted to admit a servant with a black lacquer tray. From the tray she lifted a small box; opened it as the servant padded out.
"This is the symbol of the order"—removing a string of beads.
Had Trent felt any hesitancy about plunging into this blind mission it would have vanished at sight of the beads—reddish coral beads, with an oval-shaped pendant overlaid with the silver image of a three-eyed god! The only emotion he displayed was to moisten his lips; but it required all the force he could marshal to check the questions that flooded to his tongue, to mask his surprise and reach with a steady hand for the beads. Despite his control, it seemed for a moment that he would betray his nervousness.
"... the Order of the Falcon," he heard her say. "See—" She inserted her fingernail under the silver band that finished the coral; the pendant opened, like a locket. The interior was silver and a name was engraved upon the back—"Robert Tavernake."
She snapped the oval shut and he took the beads; twisted them carelessly around his fingers, until the deep reddish coral seemed like huge drops of blood welling from his hand. As he caught the significance of the illusion, he looked up quickly and spoke.