“But,” said he, “those two niggers’ll know that something precious is to be hidden in the place they’ve been making.”
“That’s been in my head all the morning,” said I.
“Who’s to hinder them,” said he, “from blabbing to one or more of the crew? Treachey’s cheap in this country. A rupee will buy a pile of roguery.” He looked at me expressively. “Keep a bright look-out for a brace of well-oiled stowaways,” said he.
“It’s the Major’s business,” I answered, with a shrug.
When Captain North came on board, he and I went into the Major’s berth. We scrutinized every part, but saw nothing to indicate that a tool had been used or a plank lifted. There was no sawdust, no chip of wood: everything to the eye was precisely as before. No man will say we had not a right to look: how were we to make sure, as captain and mate of the ship for whose safety we were responsible, that those blacks under the eye of the Major had not been doing something which might give us trouble by-and-by?
“Well,” said Captain North, as we stepped on deck, “if the diamond’s already hidden, which I doubt, it couldn’t be more snugly concealed if it were twenty fathoms deep in the mud here.”
The Major’s baggage came on board on the Saturday, and on the Monday we sailed. We were twenty-four of a ship’s company all told: twenty-five souls in all, with Major Hood. Our second mate was a man named Mackenzie, to whom and to the apprentices whilst we lay in the river I had given particular instructions to keep a sharp look-out on all strangers coming aboard. I had been very vigilant myself too, and altogether was quite convinced there was no stowaway below, either white or black, though under ordinary circumstances one never would think of seeking for a native in hiding for Europe.
On either hand of the Jessamy Bride’s cabin five sleeping-berths were bulkheaded off. The Major’s was right aft on the starboard side. Mine was next his. The captain occupied a berth corresponding with the Major’s, right aft on the port side. Our solitary passenger was exceedingly amiable and agreeable at the start and for days after. He professed himself delighted with the cabin fare, and said it was not to be bettered at three times the charge in the saloons of the steamers. His drink he had himself laid in: it consisted mainly of claret and soda. He had come aboard with a large cargo of Indian cigars, and was never without a long, black weed, bearing some tongue-staggering, up-country name, betwixt his lips. He was primed with professional anecdote, had a thorough knowledge of life in India, both in the towns and wilds, had seen service in Burmah and China, and was altogether one of the most conversible soldiers I ever met: a scholar, something of a wit, and all that he said and all that he did was rendered the more engaging by grace of breeding.
Captain North declared to me he had never met so delightful a man in all his life, and the pleasantest hours I ever passed on the ocean were spent in walking the deck in conversation with Major Byron Hood.
For some days after we were at sea no reference was made either by the Major or ourselves to the Maharajah of Ratnagiri’s splendid gift to Her Majesty the Queen. The captain and I and Mackenzie viewed it as tabooed matter: a thing to be locked up in memory, just as, in fact, it was hidden away in some cunningly-wrought receptacle in the Major’s cabin. One day at dinner, however, when we were about a week out from Calcutta, Major Hood spoke of the Maharajah’s gift. He talked freely about it; his face, was flushed as though the mere thought of the thing raised a passion of triumph in his spirits. His eyes shone whilst he enlarged upon the beauty and value of the stone.