“A very sound philosophy, Roger. But——”
“Now he’s going to give himself away,” decided Roger.
“But—where have you put The Eye of Om?”
Roger, petrified by amazement, could only stare, in the dim, ruby dark-room light. “I?——”
“Yes. Eye of Om. You really took it, of course.”
“Mr. Clark!” Roger drew himself to his full height in sudden anger at the challenge, the accusation.
“Well, how else could it have happened? You know, for you saw, when the prongs in the Buddha’s forehead socket were loosened, I took out the old gem and put in a new one—the one we had brought. And when you sent Potts back, do you imagine I am idiot enough to believe that he knew one stone from another, or that he found the one I chucked away into a regular abyss, there in the Himalayas?”
He scowled.
“You went there. You saw the real stone put in. You sent Potts to—shall I say the real word? No—to bring it—that’s close and not quite so evil-sounding as the fact. Anyway, Roger, do you think we don’t how loyal Potts is to you? He would tell any sort of story, just to protect you.”
“Say, you go and tell Grover that.”