Travers started. "The hiding-place of the jewel!"
"Yes," said the gloomy Hindoo; "I know it. But Krishna Bürkut knew it twenty-five years ago, and the Swâmi Râm Nâth knew it fifty years ago, and yet another Swâmi seventy-five years ago, but none of these restored it to the Temple of Agni. All failed in their quest, and never regained their caste. I too shall fail."
"Allow me to have the felicity of indicating at least one point of difference between your honour and gentlemen mentioned," replied the Baboo. "Your honour has intelligent assistant, while enumerated catalogue had not. Have the kindness to point out fly in our ointment. It is distinguished by its absence. The jewel is yours."
"Perish the jewel!" cried the other Hindoo in a sudden outburst of fury. "Why couldn't the Huzoor have left it alone, or have taken another jewel? Why should he have singled out the one above all others necessary to the happiness of Agni? And why should I, of all the priests of the Temple, be chosen to restore the sacred stone? Here, with five thousand miles of space between us, I declare to you, Ramma Lal, I do not fear the wrath of Agni. I call him humbug. I read Shakespeare. I write him an ass. I am doubtful even of Vishnu and Siva."
Travers paid no attention to Ramma Lal's reproachful reply. He was lost in amazement. Here, on the very night he had chosen for purloining the jewel, two other men were on the same errand. Stop. There was a reason for their date. They had mentioned twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five years. It was evidently an anniversary. Every twenty-five years an attempt had to be made to restore the jewel to the Temple of Agni. Three attempts had already been made in vain, and now, on the hundredth anniversary of the theft by Major Illingworth, another attempt was in progress.
At any rate, he was forewarned. The house was a mile and a half away from the station by the main road on which the Hindoos were going. He knew a cut across the fields which shortened the distance by half a mile. He would gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes he had to obtain the Pearl.
The train pulled up at Knowlesworth station. The two Hindoos stepped out. Travers followed. He watched them start along the road; then he briskly cut across country.
The church clock struck eight as he reached the terrace in front of the hall. From the beginning he had matured only one plan of campaign. He knew the rules of the house, and he would take advantage of them. From eight to nine the men-servants were busy in the dining-room. Anyone could open the main outer door and enter. He might, of course, be seen, and in this eventuality Travers relied upon his being known to allay suspicion. He was in evening dress, and temporarily, at any rate, would strike a servant as being one of the guests.
The nominal dinner-hour was eight. It had been his intention to enter at 8.20 in order to allow for any delay either on the part of the kitchen or the guests. Dinners at Knowlesworth were notoriously unpunctual, and if he entered now he might run into the house party or meet stragglers on the stairs. He must wait. But the Hindoos were marching down the road. Each instant brought them nearer. In ten—no, in eight minutes—they would be in the garden. Yet he dare not enter.