II
LURE OF SOULS
I
This is the story which Bernard Fane told me one afternoon as we satsipping China tea in the Heliopolis Palace Hotel, following a roundupon the neighboring links.
The life of a master at the training college (said Fane) is beastlyuneventful, taken all around; not even _your_ keen sense of theromantic could long survive it. The duties are not very exacting,certainly, and in our own way I suppose we are Empire builders of asort; but when you ask me for a true story of Egyptian life, I findmyself floored at once.
We all come out with the idea of the mystic East strong upon us, butit is an idea that rarely survives one summer in Cairo. Personally, Imade a more promising start than the average; an adventure came my wayon the very day I landed in Port Said, in fact it began on the wayout. But alas! it was not only the first, but the last adventure whichEgypt has offered me.
I have not related the story more than five hundred times, so that youwill excuse me if I foozle it in places. I will leave you to do thepolishing.
On my first trip out, then, I joined the ship at Marseilles, and sawmy cabin trunk placed in a nice deck berth, with the liveliestsatisfaction. Walking along the white promenade deck, I felt no end ofa man of the world. Every Anglo-Indian that I met seemed a figure fromthe pages of Kipling, and when I accidentally blundered into the_ayahs'_ quarters, I could almost hear the jangle of the temple bells,so primed was I with traditions of the Orient--the traditions onegathers from books of the lighter sort, I mean.
You will see that in those days I was not a bit _blase_; the glamourof the East was very real to me. For that matter, it is more real thanever, now; Near or Far, the East has a call which, once heard, cannever be forgotten, and never be unheeded. But the call it makes tothose who have never been there is out of tune, I have learned; orrather, it is not in the right key.
Well, I had a most glorious bath--I am sybarite enough to love theluxuriance of your modern liner--got into blue serge, and felt no endof an adventurer. There was a notice on the gangway that the steamerwould not leave Marseilles until ten o'clock at night, but I was fartoo young a traveller to risk missing the boat by going ashore again.You know the feeling? Consequently I took my place in the saloon fordinner, and vaguely wondered why nobody else had dressed for thefunction. I was a proper Johnny Raw, no end of a Johnny Raw, but Ienjoyed it all immensely, nevertheless. I personally superintended thedeparture of the ship, and believed that every deck-hand took me for ahardened globe-trotter; and when at last I sought my cosy cabin, allspotlessly white, with my trunk tucked under the bunk, and, drawingthe little red curtain, I sat down to sum up the sensations of theday, I was thoroughly satisfied with it all.
Gad! novelty is the keynote of life, don't you think? When one isyoung, one envies older and more experienced men, but what has theworld left of novelty to offer them? The simple matter of joining asteamboat, and taking possession of my berth, had afforded me thrillswhich some of my fellow-passengers--those whom I envied the most forthe stories of life written upon their tanned features--could onlyhope to taste by means of big-game hunting, now, or other far-fetchedmethods of thrill-giving.
It wore off a bit the next day, of course, and I found that once onehas settled down to it, ocean traveling is merely floating hotel life.But many of my fellow-passengers (the boat was fairly full) stillappealed to me as books of romance which I longed to open. And beforethe end of that second day, I became possessed of the idea that therewas some deep mystery aboard. Since this was my first voyage,something of that sort was to be expected of me; but it happened thatI stood by no means alone in this belief.
In the smoking-room, after dinner, I got into conversation with achap of about my own age who was bound for Colombo--tea-planting. Wechatted on different topics for half an hour, and discovered that wehad mutual friends, or rather, the other fellow discovered it.
"Have you noticed," he said, "a distinguished-looking Indianpersonage, who, with three native friends, sits at the small cornertable on our left?"
Hamilton--that was my acquaintance's name--was my right-hand neighborat the chief officer's table, and I recollected the group to which hereferred immediately.
"Yes," I replied; "who are they?"
"I don't know," answered Hamilton, "but I have a suspicion that theyare mysterious."
"Mysterious?"
"Well, they joined at Marseilles, just before yourself. They werereceived by the skipper in person, and two of them were closeted inhis cabin for twenty minutes or more."
"What do you make of that?"
"Can't make anything of it, but their whole behavior strikes me aspeculiar, somehow. I cannot quite explain myself, but you say that youhave noticed something of the sort, yourself?"
"They certainly keep very much to themselves," I said. Hamiltonglanced at me quickly.
"Naturally," he replied.
Not desiring to appear stupid, I did not ask him to elucidate thisremark, although at the time it meant nothing to me. Of course I havelearned since, as everyone learns whose lines are cast amongOrientals, that iron barriers divide the races. But at the time I knewnothing of this--as will shortly appear.
During breakfast on the following morning, I glanced several times atthe mysterious quartette. They had been placed at a separate table andwere served with different courses from the rest of the passengers. Iwas not the only member of the company who found them interesting, butthe Anglo-Indians on board, to a man, left the native party severelyalone. You know the icy aloofness of the Anglo-Indians?
My second day at sea wore on, uneventfully enough; the bugle hadalready announced the hour for dressing, and the boat-deck outsidemy berth, where I had had my chair placed, was practically deserted,when something occurred to turn my thoughts from the four Indians.It was a glorious evening, with the sun setting out across theMediterranean in such a red blaze of glory that I sat watching itfascinatedly, my book lying unheeded on the deck beside me. Rightand left of me men occupying the other deck cabins had lighted up,and were busily dressing. Right aft was a corner cabin, larger thanthe others, and suddenly I observed the door of this to open.
A slim figure glided out on to the deck, and began to advance towardme. It proved to be that of a woman or girl dressed in clinging blacksilk, and wearing a _yashmak_! She had a richly embroidered shawlthrown over her head and shoulders, and in that coy half-light shepresented a dazzlingly beautiful picture.
It was my first sight of a _yashmak_, and, because it was worn by amarvelously pretty woman, the thousands seen since have never entirelylost their charm for me. I could detect the lines of an exquisitelychiseled nose, and the long dark eyes of the apparition were entirelyunforgettable. The hand with which she held her shawl about her was ofivory smoothness, and, like a little red lamp, a great ruby blazedupon the index finger.
With her high-heeled shoes tapping daintily upon the deck sheadvanced; then, suddenly perceiving that the promenade was notentirely deserted, she turned, but not hastily or rudely, and glidedback to her cabin.
I have endeavored to outline for your benefit the state of my mind atthis period, hinting how keenly alive I was to romance of any sort,provided it wore the guise of the Orient; so that it will beunnecessary for me to explain how strong an impression this episodemade upon me. The Indian party was forgotten, and as I hastily dressedand descended to dinner, I scarcely listened to Hamilton when he benttoward me and whispered something about the "Strong Room."
My gaze was roaming about the spacious saloon. Even in those days Imight have known better; I might have known that no Mohammedan womanwould take her meals in a public saloon. But I was too dazzled by mymemories to summon to my aid such fragments of knowledge respectingEastern customs as were mine.
* * * * *
Well, some little time elapsed before I saw or heard anything furtherof the houri. I began to settle down to the routine of the trip, and(you know how news circulates through a ship?) it was
not very longbefore I knew as much as any of the other passengers knew.
Hamilton was a sort of filter through which it all came to me, and ofcourse it was not undiluted, but colored with his own views. The ladyof the _yashmak_, he informed me, was a member of the household of awealthy Moslem in the neighborhood of Damascus. She was travelling viaPort Said, and taking a Khedivial boat from there to Beyrut. He was aperfect mine of information, but his real interest was centered allthe time on the party of four Indians.
"They are emissaries of the Rajah of Bhotana," he informed meconfidentially. "The mystery begins to clear up. You must have readabout a month ago that Lola de l'Iris was selling some of her jeweleryand devoting the proceeds to the founding of an orphanage or somethingof the kind; quite a unique advertisement. Well, the famous Indiandiamond presented to her by one of the crowned heads of Europe wasamongst the bunch which she sold; and after staying in the West forover fifty years, it is again on its way back to the East where itcame from."
I began to recollect the circumstances, now; the historic Indiandiamond--I do not know Hindustani, but its name translated means "Lureof Souls"--had been in the possession of the dancer for many years,and its sale for such a purpose had turned the limelight upon her mostenviably. It was a new idea in advertising, and had proved anadmirable success.
So the four reticent gentlemen were the guardians of the diamond.Under normal circumstances this might have been interesting, but, asI have tried to make clear, another matter engrossed my attention. Infact, I was living in a dream-world.
Of course, my opportunity came, in due course. One evening, as Imooned on the shadowy deck--which was quite deserted, because anextempore dance was taking place on the deck below--_she_ came glidingalong towards me. I could see her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
At first I feared that she was going to turn back. She hesitated, ina wildly alluring manner, when first she saw me sitting there watchingher. Then, turning her head aside, she came on, and passed me. I nevertook my eyes off that graceful figure for a moment.
Coming to the rail, she leaned and looked out toward the coast ofCrete, where silver tracings in the blue marked the mountain peaks;then, shivering slightly, and wrapping her embroidered shawl moreclosely about her shoulders, she retraced her steps.
Not a yard from where I sat, she dropped a little silk handkerchiefon the deck!
How my heart leapt at that! the rest was a magical whirl; and tenseconds later I was chatting with her.
She spoke fluent French, but little English.
She appealed to me in a way that was new and almost irresistible; itwas an appeal quite Oriental, sensuous--indescribable. I just wantedto take her in my arms and kiss those tantalizing lips; talking seemeda waste of time. Of course, I cannot hope to make you understand; butit was extraordinary. I felt that I was losing my head; the glances ofthose long dark eyes were setting me on fire.
Suddenly, she terminated this, our first _tete-a-tete_. She raised herfinger to her veiled lips and glided away into the shadows like aphantom. A sentence died, unfinished, on my tongue. I turned, andlooked over my shoulder.
Gad! I got a fright! A most hideous Oriental of some kind, having onlyone eye but that afire with malignancy, was watching me from where hestood half concealed by a boat.
My lily of Damascus was guarded!
Humming, with an assumption of unconcern, I strolled away and joinedthe dancers below.
II
That was the beginning, then. I cursed to think how short a time wasat my disposal; but since, the very next morning, I found myselfenjoying a second delicious little stolen interview, I perceived thatmy company was not unacceptable.
What? oh, I had lost my head entirely; I admit it.
It was an effort to speak of matters ordinary, topics of the ship; myimpulse was to whisper delicious nonsense into those tiny ears.However, I forced myself to talk about things in general, and told herthat the famous diamond, Lure of Souls, was aboard.
This was news to her, and she seemed to be tremendously interested.Her interest was of such a childish sort, so naive, that the projectgrew up in my mind at that very moment--the project that was toterminate so disastrously. It was hardly a matter of so many words;there was nothing definite about the thing at all, and this, oursecond interview, was cut short in much the same manner as the first.
"_Ssh! Mustapha!_"
With those whispered words, and a dazzling smile, this jewel ofDamascus who interested me so much more deeply than the Rajah'sdiamond, departed hurriedly--and I turned to meet again the malignantgaze of the wall-eyed guardian.
The sort of romance in which I was steeped at that time flourishes andgrows fat upon incidents of this kind. I have searched my memory manya time since then, for some word or hint to prove that theconversation about the diamond was opened and guided in a desireddirection by the lady of the _yashmak_; but excluding transmission ofthought, I could never find any evidence of the kind--have never beenable to do so.
Certainly my memories of that period are hazy except in regard toNahemah. If I were an artist, I could paint her portrait from memorywithout the slightest error, I think. She occupied my thoughts to theexclusion of all else. But the project was formed and carried out.Hamilton was one of those popular men who seem born to occupy thechair at any kind of meeting at which they may be present; heorganized almost every entertainment that took place on board. Atfirst he was not at all keen on the idea.
"There are all sorts of difficulties," he said; "and one doesn't careto ask a favor of a native. At any rate one doesn't care to berefused."
But I had set my heart upon gratifying Nahemah's curiosity, and, withthe aid of Hamilton, it was all arranged satisfactorily. The nativeguardians of the diamond were rather flattered than otherwise, and aselect little party of the "best" people on board met in the chiefofficer's cabin to view Lure of Souls.
The difficulty in regard to Nahemah was readily overcome by Hamiltonthe energetic, and Dr. Patterson's wife "took her up" for the occasionin a delightfully patronizing manner. The four swarthy, politeOrientals were there, of course; several other ladies in addition toMrs. Patterson and Nahemah, the chief officer, myself, Hamilton, and asepulchral Scotch curate, the Rev. Mr. Rawlingson, whom I had scarcelynoticed hitherto, and whose presence at this "select" gathering rathersurprised me.
The sea was like a sheet of glass, and this was the hottest day whichI had yet experienced. It was about an hour before lunch-time when wegathered to view the diamond; and Mr. Brodie, the chief officer,exercised his pawky humor in a series of elaborate pantomimicprecautions, locking the door with labored care, and treating theladies of the company to Bluebeard glances of frightful intensity.
Phew! if we had only known!...
Finally one of the Indians took out the diamond from its case--whichhad been brought from the strong-room a few minutes before. It was awonderful thing, I suppose, of quite unusual size, and it sparkled andgleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open porthole in anabsolutely dazzling fashion. I had ranged myself close beside Nahemah.Each of us was permitted to handle the stone. It was I who passed itto her, Mr. Rawlingson having passed it to me. She held it in the palmof her little hand, and her eyes sparkled with childish delight as shebent to examine the gem. Then a very strange thing happened.
From somewhere behind me--I was sitting with my back to theporthole--a dull gray object came leaping and twirling; and ascorpion--I have never seen a larger specimen--fell upon Nahemah'swrist!
She uttered a piercing cry, dropped the diamond and brushed the horridinsect from her wrist; then fell swooning into my arms....
A scene of incredible confusion followed. The four Indians, ignoringthe presence of the scorpion, dropped like cats upon the floor,seeking for Lure of Souls. Mrs. Patterson and I carried Nahemah tothe sofa hard by and laid her upon it. Just as we did so the scorpiondarted from between the end of the sofa and the wardrobe, and thechief officer put his foot upon it.
Ensuing events
were indescribable. Since the diamond had not yet beenpicked up, obviously the cabin door could not be unlocked; so in thestuffy atmosphere of the place it was a matter of some difficulty torevive Nahemah. Meanwhile, four wild-eyed Indians were creeping aboutamongst our feet--like cats, as I have said before.
In the end, just as the girl began to revive somewhat, it becameevident that Lure of Souls was missing. A pearl shirt button, theownership of which we were unable to establish, was picked up, but nodiamond.
The chief officer showed himself a man of priceless tact. He rang forthe stewardess, and the ladies were shepherded to a neighboring,vacant cabin. Then the door was relocked, and Mr. Brodie proceeded tostrip, placing his garments one by one upon the little folding tablefor examination. He was not satisfied until every man present hadoverhauled them. We all followed his example, the Rev. Mr. Rawlingsonlast of all ... and Lure of Souls was still on the missing list!
Then we gave the chief officer's cabin such a turnout as it had neverhad before, I should assume. Our quest was unrewarded. Meanwhile, theladies had been submitted to a similar search in the adjoining cabin;same result.
With great difficulty we succeeded in hushing up the matter to acertain extent; but the captain's language to the chief officer wasappalling, and the chief officer's remarks to Hamilton were equallyunparliamentary; whilst Hamilton seemed to consider that he wasjustified in placing the whole blame upon me, which he did in termslittle short of insulting. The four Indians apparently regarded allof us with equal suspicion and animosity.
I could not foresee the end. The thing was so sudden, so serious, thatat the time it banished even thoughts of Nahemah from my mind. Ianticipated that we should all find ourselves arrested when we reachedPort Said.
Later in the day Hamilton walked into my cabin and placed a littlecardboard box upon the dressing-table. It contained the crushed bodyof the scorpion.
"Where did that scorpion come from?" he demanded abruptly.
It was a question which already had been asked fully a thousand times,yet no one had discovered an intelligent reply.
I shook my head.
"It came from the open porthole," he replied, "and as it's a thousandto one against a scorpion being aboard, somebody was _carrying_ it forthis very purpose--somebody who was on the deck outside the chiefofficer's cabin _and who threw the scorpion_ into the cabin."
"But such a deadly thing...."
"Have a good look," said Hamilton, turning the insect over with alead pencil; "this one isn't deadly at all. See!--his tail has beencut off!"
I looked and stifled an exclamation. It was as Hamilton had said. Thescorpion was harmless.
* * * * *
I never once set eyes upon Nahemah again until we arrived at PortSaid. Then I saw her preparing to go ashore in one of the boats. Imanaged to join her, ignoring the scowls of her one-eyed attendant,and we arrived at the quay together. Right there by the water's edgea most curious scene was being enacted. Surrounded by two or threepassengers and a perfect ring of uniformed officials, Hamilton, veryexcited, watched his baggage being turned out upon the ground. He sawme approaching.
"Hang it all, Fane," he cried, "this is disgraceful!--I don't knowupon whose orders they are acting, but the beastly police aresearching my baggage for the diamond...."
I thought it very extraordinary and said as much to the Rev. Mr.Rawlingson, who was one of the onlookers.
"It is very strange indeed," he said mildly, turning his gold-rimmedspectacles in my direction.
A moment later, to my horror and indignation, Nahemah was submitted tothe same indignity! The crowd had been roped off from the part of thequay upon which we stood, and I could see that the whole thing hadbeen arranged beforehand in some way, probably by wireless from theship. Curiously, as I thought at the time, my own baggage was notexamined in this way, but I was detained long enough to lose sight ofNahemah and her one-eyed guardian. When I got to the hotel I indulgedin some reflection. It occurred to me that Hamilton was bound forColombo, which made it rather singular that he should have had hisbaggage put ashore at Port Said.
I should have liked to have searched the town for my lady of the_yashmak_, but having no clue to her present whereabouts, realizedthe futility of such a proceeding. My last thought before I fellasleep that night was that some day in the near future I shouldvisit Damascus.
III
I saw very little of Port Said, for we had arrived in the earlymorning and I was departing for Cairo by a train leaving shortlybefore midday. I wandered about the quaint streets a bit, however,and wondered if, from one of the latticed windows overhanging me,the dark eyes of Nahemah were peering out.
Although I looked up and down the train fairly carefully, I failed tofind among the passengers anyone whom I knew, and I settled down intomy corner to study the novel scenery uninterruptedly. The shipping inthe canal fascinated me for a long time as did the figures which movedupon its shores. The ditches and embankments, aimlessly wanderingfootpaths, and moving figures which seemed to belong to a thousandyears ago, seized upon my imagination as they seize upon theimagination of every traveller when first he beholds them.
But, properly speaking, my story jumps now to Zagazig. The trainstopped at Zagazig; and, walking out into the corridor and lowering awindow, I was soon absorbed in contemplation of that unique town. Itsnarrow, dirty, swarming streets; the millions of flies that boardedthe train; the noisy vendors of sugar cane, tangerine oranges andother commodities; the throng beyond the barriers gazing open-mouthedat me as I gazed open-mouthed at them--it was a first impression, butan indelible one.
I was not to know it was written that I should spend the night inZagazig; but such was the case. Generally speaking, I have found theservice on the Egyptian State Railway very good, but a hitch of somekind occurred on this occasion, and after an hour or so of delay, itwas definitely announced to the passengers that owing to an accidentto the permanent way, the journey to Cairo could not be continueduntil the following morning.
Then commenced a rush which I did not understand at first, and inwhich, feeling no desire to exert myself unduly, I did notparticipate. Half an hour later I ascertained that the only two hotelswhich the place boasted were full to overflowing, and realized whatthe rush had meant. It was all part of the great scheme of things, nodoubt; but when, thanks to the kindly, if mercenary, offices of theInternational Sleeping Car attendant, I found myself in possession ofa room at a sort of native _khan_ in the lower end of the town, Iexperienced no very special gratitude towards Providence.
I have enjoyed the hospitality of less pleasing caravanserai since,but this was my first experience of the kind, and I thought verylittle of it.
My room boasted a sort of bed, certainly, but without entering intodetails, I may say that there were earlier occupants who disputed itspossession. The plaster of the walls--the place apparently was builtof a mixture of straw and dried mud--provided residence not only formosquitoes, but also for ants, and the entire building was redolentof an odor suggestive of dried bones. That smell of dried bones ischaracteristic, I have learned, of the sites of ancient Egyptiancities (Zagazig is close to the ruins of ancient Bubastis, of course);one gets it in the temples and the pyramids, also. But it was novel tome, then, and not pleasing.
I killed time somehow or other until the dinner hour; and the train,which now reposed in a siding, became a rendezvous for those whodesired to patronize the dining-car. Evidently no sleeping-cars wereavailable (or perhaps that idea was beyond the imagination of thenative officials), and having left a trail of tobacco smoke along theprincipal native street, I turned into my apartment which I sharedwith the ants, mosquitoes--and the other things.
An examination of my rooms by candle-light revealed the presence of acupboard, or what I thought to be a cupboard, but opening the doubledoors I saw that it was a window, latticed and overlooking a lowerapartment; so much I perceived by the light of an oil lamp which stoodupon the table. Then, stifling a gasp of a
mazement, I hastily snuffedmy candle and peered down eagerly at that incredible scene....
Nahemah, longer veiled, was sitting at the table, and opposite to herwas seated the hideous wall-eyed attendant!
They were conversing in low tones, so that, strive as I would, I couldnot overhear a word. You ask me why I spied upon the lady's privacy inthis manner? For a very good reason.
Midway between the two, upon the rough boards of the table, lay Lureof Souls, twinkling and glittering like a thing of incarnate light.
I observed that there was a door to the room below, almost immediatelyopposite the window through which I was peering ... and this door wasopening very slowly and noiselessly. At least, _I_ could hear nonoise, but the one-eyed man detected something, for suddenly hestarted up and did a remarkable thing. Snatching up the diamond fromthe table, he clapped it into the eyeless cavity of his skull andturned in a twinkling to face the intruder.
Then the door was thrown open, and Hamilton leapt into the room.
I could scarcely credit my senses. Honestly, I thought I was dreaming.Hamilton's whole face was changed: a hard, cunning look had come overit, and he held a revolver in his hand. Nahemah sprang to her feet ashe entered, but he covered the pair of them with his revolver, andpointing to the one-eyed man muttered something in a low voice. Rage,fear, rebellion chased in turn across the evil features of One-eye;but there was something about Hamilton's manner that cowed.
Manipulating the sunken eyelids as though they had been of rubber,the guardian of the veiled lady slipped the diamond into the palmof his hand and tossed it, glittering, on to the table.
Hamilton's expression of triumph I shall never forget. One stepforward he took and was about to snatch up the gem when--out of thedark cavity of the doorway behind him stepped a second intruder.
It was the Rev. Mr. Rawlingson!
The reverend gentleman's behavior was most unclerical. He leapt uponthe unsuspecting Hamilton like a panther and screwed the muzzle of arevolver into that gentleman's right ear with quite unnecessary vigor.
"You have been wasting your time, Farland!" he snapped in a voice thatwas quite new to me. "That is, unless you have turned amateurdetective."
He made no attempt to reach for the diamond, but just held out hishand, and with his eyes fixed upon Hamilton, silently commanded thelatter to hand over the gem. This Hamilton did with palpablereluctance. Mr. Rawlingson, who, though still clerically garbed, haddiscarded his spectacles, slipped the stone into his pocket, snatchedthe revolver from Hamilton's hand and jerked his thumb in thedirection of the open door. Hamilton shrugged his shoulders and walkedout of the room. For scarce a moment did Rawlingson's eyes turn tofollow the retreating figure, but the chance was good enough for thewall-eyed man.
He launched himself through space like nothing so much as a kangaroo,bearing Rawlingson irresistibly to the floor! With his lean hands atthe other's throat he turned his solitary eye upon Nahemah, mutteringsomething gutturally. After a moment's hesitation she ran from theroom.
* * * * *
Twenty seconds later I was downstairs, and ten seconds after that washelping Rawlingson to his feet. He was considerably shaken and boasteda very elegant design in bruises which was just beginning to revealitself upon his throat; but otherwise he was unhurt.
"I have lost her, Mr. Fane!" were his first words. "She knows thispart of the world inside out. I have no case against Farland, but Iam sorry to have lost the woman."
Was my mind in a whirl? Did I think that madness had seized me?Replies both in the affirmative; I was simply staggered.
I always go to pieces with this part of the yarn, being an unpractisednarrator, as I have already explained; but I may relieve your mindupon one point. I never saw Nahemah and the one-eyed man again, norhave I since set eyes upon Hamilton. Mr. Rawlingson, the last time Iheard from him, was in similar case.
The explanation of the whole thing was something of a blow to me, ofcourse. The lily of Damascus who had fascinated me so hopelessly wasno Eastern at all; you will have guessed as much. She was aFrenchwoman, I believe; at any rate they had a long record up againsther in Paris. She had gone out after Lure of Souls, and veryingeniously had made me her instrument. As Mr. Rawlingson explainedto me, what had probably taken place was this:
The harmless scorpion, specially brought along for some such purpose,had been thrown into the chief officer's cabin from the open portholeby the one-eyed villain. That had been the cue for Nahemah to drop theshirt button, and, whilst the occupants of the cabin were inconfusion, to toss the diamond out on to the deck where her accomplicewas waiting. The search of their effects had been futile, of course;no one had thoughts of searching the eye-cavity of her Easterncompanion.
Where did Hamilton come in? Hamilton was one James Farland, anAmerican crook of the highest accomplishments, known to the police ofthe entire civilized world. He, too, had gone out for Lure of Souls,but the woman, his professional competitor, had proved too clever forhim.
The Rev. Mr. Rawlingson? He was Detective-Inspector Wexford of NewScotland Yard. Yes, it's a rotten story, from a romantic point ofview.