He opened the door. Diana glanced angrily at a long, narrow, white envelope that lay on the porch floor under the electric light, and resumed her furious salvoes at the gate.
“So-ho, old lady—some one you knew brought a letter, eh? You weren’t indignant till he threw it down and retreated. You never said a word while he was coming up the path.” He wetted his finger and tested the hot night air. “Uh-huh—wind’s toward you—recognized his smell—that’s clear enough. All right—good dog—on guard again.”
He picked up the envelope and walked into the house.
“Did you tell the Lama where you were coming to-night?” he asked, standing over Dawa Tsering, looking down at him.
“Aye. I did. Why not? How should I know, Ommonee, that this was not a trap—and I with no knife to hack my way out of it! Suppose that you had thrown me in the jail—who should then have helped me unless the Lama knew? I am no fool.”
“Did you tell him I said he shall have the green stone?”
“Nay! How often must I say I am no fool! Would he buy the stone from me, after I had told him you said he shall have it?”
“The letter! The letter!” exclaimed Mrs. Cornock-Campbell. “Are you made of iron, Cottswold? How can you hold a mysterious letter in your hand without dying to know what is in it? Give it to me! Let me open it, if you won’t!”
Ommony passed it to her. John McGregor lit another cigarette.