Labertouche laughed gently. "Now to-night you will learn something from this Dhola Baksh—something important, undoubtedly. May I see this ring—this Token?"
Unbuttoning his shirt, Amber produced the Eye from the chamois bag. Labertouche studied it for a long time in silence, returning it with an air of deep perturbation.
"The thing is strange to me," he said. "For the present we may dismiss it as simply what it pretends to be—a token, a sign by which one man shall know another…. Wear it but turn the stone in; and keep your hands in your pockets when we're outside."
Amber obeyed. "We'll be going, now?"
"Yes." Labertouche rose, throwing away his cigar and stamping out its fire.
"But the Farrells?"
"Forgive me; I had forgotten. The Farrells are at Darjeeling, where the
Colonel is stationed just now—happily for him."
"Then," said Amber, with decision, "I leave for Darjeeling to-morrow morning."
"I know no reason why you shouldn't," agreed Labertouche. "If anything turns up I'll contrive to let you know." He looked Amber up and down with a glance that took in every detail. "I'm sorry," he observed, "you couldn't have managed to look a trace shabbier. Still, with a touch here and there, you'll do excellently well as a sailor on a spree."
"As bad as that?"