“There's been nothing like it known on the grounds for years!” cried Don excitedly. “Any more, Jack?”
“No more,” said Jack, and was about to throw the shell away, when Puggles caught his arm.
“Stop, sar, stop! Me see something yellow in shell. Stick knife in the meat, sar, that side.”
With the point of the blade Jack prodded the substance of the oyster at the point indicated, and presently laid bare the queen of the royal family of pearls on which they had stumbled. Larger by far than any of the twenty-five already taken from the shell, this latest addition to the number was in shape like a pear, in lustre of the purest pale yellow.
“Him gold pearl, sa'b!” cried Puggles gleefully, grinning from ear to ear. “Other only silver. Gold pearl plenty price fetching.”
“Jack, old fellow,” cried Don, thumping his companion on the back, “Puggles is right; we're in luck. I've heard the guv say that a golden pearl isn't found once in twenty years. The priests are ready to give simply any sum you like for a really fine specimen.”
The native who had concealed himself behind the trunk of the banyan tree, leaned eagerly forward. So close was he to the absorbed group that he could distinctly hear every word of their conversation. As he listened, an avaricious glitter shone in his crafty eyes, and he rubbed his hands unctuously together, as though he were rubbing pearls between them.
“How much do you suppose the lot is worth; Don?” Jack inquired.
“Some thousands of pounds, I should say. But the guv will be able to tell us. Say, I'd better put them in this.”
Taking out his watch, he drew off the soft chamois leather case, and carefully transferred the output of the mammoth oyster from Pugs palm to this temporary receptacle.