McGregor.
"Nothing. Never heard of an adopted daughter."
"Then what do you make of this?"
McGregor's left hand went into a desk-drawer, and something the color of deep sea-water over a sandy bottom flashed in the sunlight as Ommony caught it. He held it to the light. It was stone, not more than two inches thick at the thickest part, and rather larger than the palm of his hand. It was so transparent he could see his fingers through it; yet it was almost fabulously green. One side was curved, and polished so perfectly that it felt like wet soap to the touch; the other side was nearly a plane surface, only slightly uneven, as if it had been split off from another piece.
"It looks like jade," said Ommony.
"It is. But did you ever see jade like it? Hold it to the light again."
There was not a flaw. The sun shone through it as through glass, except that when the stone was moved there was a vague obscurity, as if the plane where the breakage had occurred in some way distorted the light.
"Keep on looking at it," said McGregor, watching.
"No, thanks." Ommony laid the stone on his knee and deliberately glanced around the room from one object to another. "I rebel against that stuff instinctively."
"You recognize the symptoms?"
"Yes. There's a polished black-granite sphere in the crypt of a ruined temple, near Darjiling, that produces the same sort of effect when you stare at it. I'm told the Ka'aba at Mecca does the same, but that's hearsay."
"Put the stone in your pocket," said McGregor. "Keep it there a day or two. It's the fragment that's missing from Tilgaun, and you'll discover it has peculiar properties. Talk with Chutter Chand about it, he can tell you something interesting. He tried to explain to me, but it's over my head—Secret Service kills imagination—I live in a mess of statistics and card-indexes that 'ud mummify a Sybil. All the same, I suspect that piece of jade will help you to trace the Terrys; and, if you dare to take a crack at the Ahbor country—"
"How did you come by the stone?" asked Ommony.
"I sent C99—that's Tin Lal—to Tilgaun to look into rumors of trouble up there. Tin Lal used to be a good man, although he was always a thorough-paced rascal. But the Service isn't what it used to be, Ommony; even our best men are taking sides nowadays, or playing for their own hand. India's going to the dogs. Tin Lal came back and reported everything quiet at Tilgaun—said the murders were mere family feuds. But he took that piece of jade to Chutter Chand, the jeweler, and offered it for sale. Told a lame-duck story. Chutter Chand put him off—kept the stone for appraisal—and brought it to me. I provided Tin Lal—naturally —with a year behind the bars—no, not on account of the stone. He had committed plenty of crimes to choose from. I chose a little one just to discipline him. But here's the interesting part: either Tin Lal talked in the jail—or some one followed him from Tilgaun. Anyway, some one traced that piece of jade to this office. I have had an anonymous letter about it; worth attention—interesting. You'll notice it's signed with a glyph —I've never seen a glyph quite like it—and the handwriting is an educated woman's. Read it for yourself."
He passed to Ommony an exquisitely fashioned silver tube with a cap at either end. Ommony shook out a long sheet of very good English writing-paper; It was ivory-colored, heavy, and scented with some kind of incense. There was no date—no address—no signature, except a peculiar glyph, rather like an ancient, much simplified Chinese character. The writing was condensed into the middle of the page, leaving very wide margins, and had been done with a fine steel pen.
"The stone that was brought from Tilgaun by Tin Lal and was offered for sale by him to Chutter Chand is one that no honorable man would care to keep from its real owners. There is merit in a good deed and the reward of him who does justly without thought of reward is tenfold. There are secrets not safe to be pried into. There is light too bright to look into. There is truth more true than can be told. If you will change the color of the sash on the chuprassi at the front door, one shall present himself to you to whom you may return the stone with absolute assurance that it will reach its real owners. Honesty and happiness are one. The truth comes not to him who is inquisitive, but to him who does what is right and leaves the result to Destiny."
Ommony examined the writing minutely, sniffed the paper, held it to the light, then picked up the tube and examined that.
"Who brought it?" he asked.
"I don't know. It was handed to the chuprassi by a native he says he thinks was disguised."
"Did you try changing the chuprassi's sash?"
"Naturally. A deaf and dumb man came. He looked like a Tibetan. He approached the chuprassi and touched his sash, so the chuprassi brought him up to me. He was unquestionably deaf and dumb—stone-deaf, and half of his tongue was missing. The drums of his ears had been bored through—when he was a baby probably. I showed him the stone and he tried to take it from me. I had to have him forcibly ejected from the office; and of course I had him followed, but he disappeared utterly, after wandering aimlessly all over Delhi until nearly midnight. I have had a look-out kept, but he seems to have vanished without trace."
"Have you drawn any conclusions?"
McGregor smiled. "I never draw them before it's safe to say they're proved. But a young woman almost certainly wrote that letter; Miss Sanburn's adopted daughter—"
"Who I don't believe exists," said Ommony.
"—is reported by 888, who has hitherto always been reliable, to have disappeared. She disappeared, if she ever did exist, from Tilgaun; the stone unquestionably came from Tilgaun, and it seems to have been in Miss Sanburn's possession, in the mission. Ergo—just as a flying hypothesis,—Miss Sanburn's adopted daughter may have written that letter. If so, she's in Delhi, because the ink on that paper had not been dry more than an hour or two when it reached me."
"Have you searched the hotels?"
"Of course. And the trains are being watched."
"I'm curious to meet Hannah Sanburn's adopted daughter!" said Ommony dryly. "I've known Hannah ever since she came to India more than twenty years ago. I've been co-trustee ever since Marmaduke died, and I don't believe Hannah Sanburn has kept a single secret from me. In fact, it has been the other way; she has passed most of her difficult personal problems along to me for solution. I've a dozen files full of her letters, of which I dare say five percent are purely personal. I think I know all her private business. As recently as last year, when we met here in Delhi,—well—never mind; but if she had an adopted daughter, or an entanglement of any kind, I think I'd know it."
"Women are damned deep," McGregor answered. "Well; we've not much to go on. I'll entrust that stone to you; if you're still willing to try to get into the Ahbor country, I'll do everything I can to assist. You've a fair excuse for trying; and you're a bachelor. Dammit, if I were, I'd go with you! Of course, you understand, if the State Department learns of it you'll be rounded up and brought back. Do you realize the other difficulties? Sven Hedin is said to have made the last attempt to get through from the North. He failed. In the last hundred years about a dozen Europeans have had a crack at it. Several died, and one got through—unless Terry and your sister did, and if so, they almost certainly died. When Younghusband went to Lhassa he considered sending one regiment back by way of the Ahbor Valley but countermanded the order when he realized that a force of fifty thousand men wouldn't stand a chance of getting through. From time to time the government has sent six Goorkha spies into the country. None ever came back. It's almost a certainty
