Adventure Magazine Cover — page 63: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Om be, would know how to keep out of sight. The Masters are a mare’s nest, Ommony, old top. However, there may be something in the other rumor. By the way, who’s this adopted daughter of Miss Sanburn’s?” ‘“‘Never heard of her.’’ “You're a trustee of the Marmaduke Mission, aren’t you? Know Miss San- Pee intimately? When did you last see er a” ‘“‘A year ago. She comes to Delhi once a year to meet me on the mission business. About once in three years I go to Tilgaun. I’m due there now.”’ ‘And you never heard of an adopted daughter? Then listen to this.” McGregor opened a file and produced a letter written in English on cheap, ruled paper. ‘This is from Number 888—Sirdar Sirohe Singh of Tilgaun, who has been on the secret roster since before my time. His home is somewhere near the mission. “* ‘Number 888 to Number I. Important. Miss Sanburn of mission near here did pro- cure fragment of crystal jade by unknown means, same having been broken from an- tiquity of unknown whereabouts and being reputed to possess mysterious qualities. ‘Miss Sanburn’s adopted daughter’—get that?—‘intending to return same, was pre- vented by theft of fragment, female thief being subsequently murdered by being thrown from precipice, after which, frag- ment disappeared totally. Search for fragment being now conducted by anony- mous individuals. Should say much trouble will ensue unless recovery is prompt and secret. Muss Sanburn’s adopted daughter’— get that again?—‘has vanished. Should advise much precaution not to arouse public curiosity. 888.’ “What do you make of it?” asked McGregor. “Nothing. Never heard of an adopte 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 61 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 dis- torted 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. “TI rebel against that stuff instinctively.” ‘You recognize the symptoms?” “Ves. 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 Til- gaun, and you'll discover it has got 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 Abor country——” “How did you come by the stone?” asked Ommony. “T sent Cog—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. Men who used to work for the love of the game are actually selling information to the politicians. I have proof of it. It’s all politics—pay—pensions. India’s going to the dogs. “Tin Lal came back and reported every- thing quiet at Tilgaun—said the murders NOOK C© inn