THE DURZA’S OPAL.

Dunstan Times, Issue 2486, 21 June 1909, Page 6

THE DURZA’S OPAL.

- - (By Aquila Kempster.)

.It’s a far cry from New 'York toJJombav, and a lonely one, at least for the first year; after that the Last whisper, and the rush and roax % West sink down thin and faint and a* again matter quite so much. S year, before you have learned adapt yourself, to listen and be still, i a restless, enervating time, when a ma may easily drift to leeward m a worm whose every tide seems to set that" Even Geoffrey Thorne, despite his mat ter-of-fact temperament and we \eloped muscles, was not immune thou# •his method of drifting leeward differed a little from the ordinary— probably on account of Dolly, with whom he chanced

To begin with, the girl had curious ideas—inherited undoubtedly from mother-which, it must be confessed, had always baffled Ueoftrey • despite his 10%~ for her. In the old days, the dear old days, when they had - slipped into eacl other’s hearts, he had accepted these ideas as part of the poetry of her nature delicate, subtle, and as elusive as she herself. They didn't appeal to him very strongly at that tune save as dainty fancies ; thev were too vague, too intangible. Besides, ‘he could see no advantage in wasting time discussing mystical dreams of soul-communion when he might clasp the pretty dreamer in his arms; nugn. look deep down into her tell-tale eyes, 01 watch the delicate color come and go as he whispered past the little cml tha strayed about her ear. Yet if naif of what siie believed about this soul of hu, were true, it was really a most creditable possession; though so .ar it had tol'lowed its vocation in such an unostentatious manner that his attention ha never been attracted to it. He was just a clean, straight young heathen, fairly well to do who had before the advent of the girl been satisfied with the prose of life; after that th meeting her, he had entered the lists 'with a certain gallant confidence born of former mild experiences; but as he was permitted to come nearer to her he found these experiences worse than useless. They had been pleasant, •unny shallow's, with neither winds nor tide; but here he felt vaguely heights and depths of which he had never before dreamed, and which might have daunted him had they not appealed strongly to possibilities in his nature which, so far, had lain dormant. And Dolly? Well, the pretty witch had woven her spells about him by uay and night, now flaming her love on him most dislractmgly, and again eluding him in quiet shadows where he must needs feel his way thoughtfully; but evei lo\ing him and making him the centre of her dreamy fancies, and despite, nay, perhaps because of them, holding him, beckoning him, compelling him to to - lU Then the parting had come, and -she was in New York and he in Bombay. with the world of waters set between. She had been brave* enough up to the very last, but then she let go the passion that was in her, declaring that the sepa- • ration was not—need not be real; asserting that she could and would bo with him, despite time and space and every other deterring thing, if only he woukl keep on needing her. For the moment, as she had spoken, with her soft, round arms about his shoulders and her delicate, mobile face quivering close to his, ho had been* a little awed, conscious ot some subtle thing, some ungrown sense quickening to her words, her mood, and understanding it. Later, when the glamour of her touch was gone, he realised with little pleasure the absurdity of the thing, though the thought of the love back ot the pretty, passionate exaggeration undoubtedly comforted him, and he fell m gladly with her suggestion that they devote one quiet hour every evening to thoughts of each other as lar as possible while thev were apart. He had' come out from home to master the intricacies of his father’s general import business, and at the end oi tvu) years it would be, "Hey, Dolly, bo, Holly,” and home again. But in those first lonely weeks, two years ot India held the threatenings of a cycle ot Cathay. Behar, where his father held large plantation rights, was to bo the scene of ns labors and he expected to make them m* chief interest for many months to come. Meantime, however, he had.been delay m in Borabav pending the settlement oi a piece of business ot a far more romantic nature. This was nothing less than the delivery of a famous jewel to the agent of a certain hill princeling—an opal, which the hillsman had placed, during a time of bitter strife among the men ot their own blood, for safekeeping with his friend, Geoffrey’s lather, Francis Thome. This wonderful jewel, with its reputed occult powers, had reposed, together with certain papers pertaining to Durza s line of descent, in Francis 1 homes strongroom in New York for over nine years, while the prince who had placed them there was a wanderer from his own house, seeking ways and means ot strengthening his hand and turning tne tables on those who had usurped his place His enemies had sought the jewel in every city throughout India during these years, not so much for its intrinsic value,' though that was reckoned to be fabulous, as from the fact that its posses don would add mystic right to physical might in the eyes of all the hill tribes who were halting between two opinions as to the rights of Prince Durza. so temples had: been despoiled and sacred tombs violated in the search; astrologers and soothsayers, jadoo makers, both men ana women,' had sought in the stars,- in the earth, ay, and among the spirits for the hiding-place of the jewel of the House of Ilanipore. But despite the wisdom ot their magic the opal stayed in I rancm Thorne’s safe, though it seems probable that some idea of its whereabouts out finally leak out and that the movements ot the Thornes were carefully watched. Meantime Prince Durza had laughed m his sleeve and bided his time till his stais were strong and his plans ripe, when he gent secret word to his friend, Fiancis

1 Thorne, to deliver the opal. Geoffrey had arrived with the jewel in his trunk and had promptly transferred it to the vaults of the Elphmstone Bank, after which he waited patiently for some word xvora Durza Khan which should relieve him of his trust. He was not aprgieularly concerned when a couple of weeks passed without any sign from the prince Efather had told him the story of the ■ crocked fight that was going on for the t possess ion of a rocky hill fort and half a .dozen villages somewhere up hi the .Noiwest Mountains, also of the mystic im pomace attached by the combatants to ithe opah This fast sounded like awful istuff, Lt when these Hindu chaps had reputations for that sort ot thing, and the i methods of doing business weren t us a - fair anvway. He expected to be ap■»roache<f in some devious kind of manCbut as he had a copy of the prince s 3 and al*o the password by which he would recognise either Durza oi his agent, iho anticipated no difficulty m the matter Sing settled' some preliminary 'business he*took rooms at a hotel up on Sbar’ Hill and there waited till the mrtnco should be pleased to show himself, fe was lonely and not a little homesick, and in the evening, after the stifling heat -of the day? he w«ruM sit and smoke on frn.ulah Forgetting all about the SUTSTL mglv out and away over the Arabia X whose edge was mellowed soft in -Stv moonlight; and this hour of his ■C/wiU A would rtretd. to two and ' three as night by night he let himseii f idrift the purple gulf, far out beyond its rim where shadowy latteens rise and hover and dip, till the noises of the city (billow grew still, save for the faint rattle

of distant tom-toms and the rhythmu sweep of the punkas in his room, -then the thin cry of a mullah from some nearby minaret would bring him back to ©artli again- and warn him that he was keeping unhallowed hours. Gradually, as these night watches absorbed him more and more, it did indeed seem that the girl drew closer to him than ever before. Little* half-forgotten incidents grew quick again with new meaning; the memory of a touch, a caress, thrilled him to bewilderment, till he grew supicious, analytical, when instantly the charm was gone and there was nothing left but the hot, velvety night and the faint odor of eucalyptus from the compound below. .... L , . At last there came a night in the beginning of the May heat when these curious subjective impressions seethed and messed to an objective crisis. A heavy lassitude had held him all day long, and after dinner he was drowsy before his first cigar was half burned. His lodging was close to the Towers of Silence, and he sat lazily watching a white stream of Parsee mourners chanting its solemn way up the ■narrow death-path on the hillside watching them sway and turn and genuflect with their strips .of spotless linen aginst the brilliant sky, while the swarming vultures poised and wheeled, impatient for the feast to which they were bidden The sad chanting in the Garden of the Hokmas was long over and the vultures were fringing the towers heavily when Thorne stirred and straightened m his chair. He was a recreant knight; he had slept instead of keeping his tryst. I he moon was flooding the verandah as he rose stumbling!y, flooding it with' that curious magnetic light that men and beasts alike shun, and which is pecular to a few ol its Oriental phases. He shaded his eyes instinctively and turned with the daze still on him toward the window of his room, then halted on the hotel and rveered inside doubtfully. The pLue seemed to be full of the odor ot wood violets. No, ’twasn’t eucalyptus! twas violets —her flowers! . , It was quit© impossible, but the odor persisted, lingering delicately, even after , he had his lamp alight and was argu’ng out the absurdity of the whole thing. Then, while he was still mentally girding for his folly, there came a low tapping on his door. He flung it open instantly and stood facing a big, broad-shouldered, white-robed Hindu,who salaamed profoundly before him, his long linen sleeves almost'' touching Thorne's face as he swept forward and clown in his genuflection. \nd with the sweep of the sleeves came the -breath of some strange perfume, a suggestion only, that was gone ere the American could realise it. It came again in an instant, and this time Geoflreys heart answered it with a little futile flutter. For a moment his consciousness seemed to lapse curiously even as he stood talking to the man, but the trouble passed and 1 he continued the interview, k little heavily, stagnantly, perhaps, but not more so than might have been accounted for by his heavy sleep in the moonlight. He heard the stranger speak the password of Prince Durza, speak it in a strong, authoritative voice, and ho mumbled a hesitating acceptance of the word even while* he strove «i little irntabh o concentrate his thoughts, for the smel of wood violets would keep mixing in with them, and Dolly’s voice -it was very funny, hut it was Dolly s voice—was whispering all the time, only the whisper was so faint and low and fai a,w, :l y that he couldn't catch its meaning. Well, right there in the room, with the lamps shining brightly, Geoffrey saw the prince's sea! set to a letter, lie examined the seal with labored care at the suggestion of the Hindu and then accepted the. directions given in the letter in all g o<) d faith. These bade him bring the opal on the following night, under tno guidance of his present visitor, Ka-uo Ched, to the house .of -a woman in the bazaar, where Durza Khan would meet him in person, receive the jewel, and set him free from his trust. The Hindu salaamed himself out, after giviipr him final instructions regarding their * meeting the following night, and then Thorne went to bed, and slept heavily HU lute the next nun mug. He woke'with the memory of the Hindu s instructions dinging almost oppressively about his consciousness. As he dressed the business of the opal seemed gradually to assume an importance he Had never dreamed of conceding to it before, and he found himself again and again during the morning brooding anxiously over the possibility of his failing to carry out any of the very simple instructions. In the afternoon he brought the opal from the hank, and on reaching the seclusion of his room opened the case and examined, the jewel with a new and curious interest. He had seen it fifty times and thought he was perfectly familial with its size and coloring, yet now it looked strange to him, darker and deadei in hue —almost, he could have sworn, smaller in size. Something like that was what happened, he had heard, when danger or misfortune threatened the head ot the house of Ranipore, Yet, even if ms eyes did not deceive him and the whole idea were not preposterous, why should the thin"- change now when Durza was just on top of the wave—or would bo when this little business was transacted. He hnaaly decided that probably the stone had been slowly losing color for years, hut that the change had been so gradual that neither his father nor he had noticed it. Still, despite this plausible explanation, he trrew more and more morbidly depressed as the time for the meeting with Ramo died drew near. Just before he set out he paused before a big steam ei trunk, then lifted the lid and drew out a heavy Colt revolver. He fingered it doubtfully a moment, but finally pushed it back into the tray. He never carried the thing outside of his trunk, and what was the matter with him tonight, anyway? Then he lighted a cigar, and fifteen minutes later was on his way with Ramo Ched to meet Prince Durza. The Hindu had a carriage waiting m which they drove out toward Chinchiiolgy, several heavy-weight Bengali i miners trotting beside them the whole distance. Twice the horses were pulled up sharply and hallted in the black shadows ot some narrow place, while the runners slipped away, apparently to investigate the road. Geoffrey, however, showed little interest in these proceedings, something ol the lethargy of the previous night having taken the place of the unpleasant rest lessness of the past few hours. At last, after much doubling and twisting, the carriage stopped before a house set back in a darkened allley, when the Hindu, leaning from the window, cried aloud twice to some unseen watcher. A door came creaking open almost on the instant and, after a few words of questioning, Thorne and Ramo Ched left the carriage and entered the house, while the Bengalis squatted down against the wall, lighting birris and whispering together as they watched the road. Geoffrey passed with his guide up a narrow, twisting stairway, at the head of which a woman —an Egyptian, _ by her dress—was standing watching their ascent She came straight to Thorne as he reached the landing. He halted dumbly, staring in amazement, for as she stood there, swaying and bending before him, she appealed to his senses as the most wonderful thing of flesh and blood they ever could have desired. _ She was slim, supple, bronze: sensuous, vital, vibrant, from her dark flower-crowned head to the little scarlet slippers that slung about her naked feet; while her eyes were strange, shadowy places that drew his and held ; them securely even as her scarlet lips laughed out a welcome. “Ohie, Sahib, thou art welcome; anc thou too, Ramo Ched. Sahib, I have i heard of thee and thy coming a hundrednay, a thousand times. Thou art welcome s for thyself, and—for Durza s sake anc

3 that which thou hringest—thrice weli come.” She had drawn close as she spoke and i he was standing,. a little confused, and r just a little rigidly, looking into her eyes.' What were they saying—aside from her - words? Something important, he knew; I and that if he kept still, quite still, he i would understand and be satisfied. The sign that passed between the Egyptian and Ramo Ohed quite escaped Thorne while these weightier matters were compelling him. The Hindu moved quietly away, and as he went the woman flung back a curtain with a slender naked arm and beckoned Thorne to pass within. As the curtain fell again he was conscious that they had come, into a place of soft lights that blended into harmonies of quiet colors, where the perfumed air was stirred and cooled by the swish of hidden silken punkas, a languorous place of ease befitting the beauty of the woman. She faced about with a fall of the purdah, and looked at him keenly; then, a? she marked his dull, quiescent air, she drew close again, and, gazing straight and full into his eyes, she touched him with her finger-tips, here and there about his breast, and muttered ptrange, lowbreathed words that seemed to reach him curiously through her finger-tips. And still he" stood there helpless before her and resisted not at all. Only, when her hand passed slowly twice before his face —at the second pass something seemed to snap, some cord inside his brain, some last doubt yielded—with a heavy sigh ms body lost that first rigidity and drooped a little wearily, while his eyes, having found in hers the thing they sought, related their strain. As the woman saw him thus, her lips curled in a little scornful laugh: "Ohie, my lord !” she cried ; “my master! What would’st thou with thy slave? Shall I sing to thee or dance? Speak, that 1 may serve thee!” He moved uneasily under her raillery, but answered her never a word. Then she flicked her lingers in his face with insolent mockery and gibed at him. “Why dost thou'not speak —art dumb? Thou, a, lord! a master! Nay, by Hanuman, thou are a slave—my slave ! 1 have He followed her to a divan over among serve me, and I will do with thee even as 1 desire. And the opal thou has brought—come, follow me and I will consider it.” He followed her to a divan over among the palms, his feet seeming to drag heavily among the soft rugs as he went. Then he was sittimr bent toward her as she lay back among the piled-up cushions, and he was fumbling in his pocket for the opal. Her eyes weie demanding it, her fingers reaching out for it, bu,t just as he was drawing it forth he paused with a sharp little intaking of the breath — paused listening, for a whisper had reached him, faint, low, and barely audible, as if from beyond vast spaces. Then it came again, gathering force and volume. “Wake ! Geoffrey, wake !’’ ‘ Something soft and chill touched his forehead and he started and half rose from his chair, for the whisper-was persisting and growing in clearness, and strength till it vibrated through him like the clang of an alarm bell. "Wake! Geoffrey, wake!” The woman was up, half kneeling among the cushions of the couch, and thrusting her arms and hands out at him in long, sweeping passes, while her lips were whispering those same strange words of command again. Suddenly she gave a frightened scream and Tome staggered to his feet. Something cold and white had swept between them and Hung the woman back. Her shrieks wore ringing wildly still, but even as Thorne gained his feet he felt a shock as of cold water dashed in his face. He gave a little gasp, his hands went out gropingly, and “My God!” he cried; “whore —where am 1?” He was standing in the middle of a squalid room the sordid native furnishing of which was poorly lighted by a smoking oil lamp whose reek was heavy in the foul, hot air. And on the floor, almost a,t his foot, a Sidi woman writhed and twisted in the throes of some horrid convulsion. She was gross, bloated, hideous —a hag who frothed and mouthed at him even as he stood staring with month and eyes agape, understanding not at all. Then again came that .soft, cold shock and tiie whisper that was yet a clarion call. “Wake! Geoffrey, wake!” He came right to now with a startawake. alert, himself again and on his guard. And as he stood still striving to gather his wits, there came a rush on the 6tails outside in answer to the woman’s cries,, and Thorne seizing the lamp, sprang forward to meet it. There was no time for parley as the door flung open, for Ramo (.Tied no more the grave, white-robed, deferential Hindu hut a brawny Pariah fighter, stripped to his loin cloth —leaped straight at Geoffrey, who, for want of a handier weapon, lunged fiercely at him with the lighted lamp. There was a crash of glass, a flare of flame, and then a savage yell as the fellow staggered back, and, missing his foothold, went headlong down the stairs, with little pools of fire clinging about him and spattering all around. It was dark now save for these spots and flares of flame that clung about the stairway, twisting and spouting like fiery snakes. By their reflection Thome could see a tangled rout of cursing men below whom their leader’s fall had evidently greatly embarrassed. From his dark doorway lie watched them pick themselves up, hut by the time they were ready for another rush the flames were licking eagerly at the dry old balustrade in half a dozen places, and the men halted part way up in angry consternation, then ran back for water. But the stairway shrivelled up like so much tinder, and almost before Thorne realised his danger, ho was cut oft from flic lower floor by a harrier of flame, while cries of “Fire! fire!” were rising from the streets below; then the hurried clash and clamor of alarm hells. He got the door between the stairway and the room shut and began to grope desperately in the blackness for some other outlet. But the room was evident-, ly windowless, and already the smoke was filling it to suffocation. It burned his tongue, his throat, his lungs, as he gasped it down; then, as he realised his position and his impotence, a great rage filled him and he went stumbling hack and forth, smashing and tearing at the walls with his hare hands, and cursing, too. with long, sobbing breaths that were an swered by the woman as she gasped her life out on the floor. In the midst of his desperate strait he checked himelf suddenly and his curses died away, for there ‘came again that cold, soft thing, fluttering about him now with little cries and whispering caresses. Then, as the end came, he gasped out, “Dolly! Dolly!” and as his body swayed and his senses reeled it seemed that for an instant she took form and shape, a thing of shadowy light, and that, even as lie fell, her arms were about him and her ■ moaning lips to his. His head struck the corner of the bidi s wooden bedstead and then a shuddering cry rang out—a woman’s cry—chill, deI sparring, and full of woe. 1 After that cry came silence while the ’ smoke thickened and heaved sluggishly about the two quiet figures. Slowly the ' murmur of the fire beyond grew to a sullen roar. Already the room was lighting ! hotly. The further wall began to crack ’ and pulse and glow,/ and soon a little i flame licked through and darted here and there. A brighter glow, then a scarlet I hole appeared, ringed about with yellow 3 flames that hissed and flared and filled the zoom with ruddy light, 1 But just as a spark had touched the a woman’s sari there came another sound, I of hasty feet upon the roof. A shrill P whistle, hoarse words of command, and 3 then the dull blows of an axe. A moment

later a scuttle was wrenched away and a lithe young sepoy, clinging to a rope, slipped down to the rescue through the smoke. The negress was dead, though the flames had never touched her. The doctors said it was suffocation, but those who knew her powers shook their heads, though they said nothing—what was the use ? As for Geoffrey, a little air, a little water, and a little rest brought him slowly round. Soon afterward he was able to deliver. the opal to Durza without further difficulty. He told the prince frankly how near he had come to losing it together with his life, told him how ho hhd been probably drugged, and certainly deluded 10 by Pariah, Ramo died, into accepting a false password and a false seal; but regarding that other and stranger side of the adventure he had no word to say, and a few days after leaving the hospital, slipped quietly away to Behar. Of course there were many stories bandied back and forth among the wonder-, mongers—the woman had been too notoriously evil for it not to have been so—most of which were wildly improbable, though possibly not more so than the truth which lay back of the tragedy. Durza, however, was largely instrumental in hushing the matter up, as much for his own sake as to squelch an unenviable notoriety for Thorne. So the part the Ranipore opal played in the tragedy never became public, while to this day Thorne, though still mystified, is probably ignorant that a greater danger threatened him that night than the loss of the opal, or, possibly, of his life. But Durza understood, for he knows the game from end to end, and some da> he will probably fulfil the vow he has registered against the Pariah, Ramp Ghod.