"Lo! I have prayed," said Auntie Rosebody, captiously, "and I have watched, but naught has come of it save a brow-ache. Truly Ummu, at my age, piety is fatiguing and 'tis better to trust the senses God gave than seek a new gift from him. Belike He is tired of old Gulbadan, and would as lief she took her rest decently in death like the rest of her generation. One cannot expect Him to count an old woman as worth so much to the world as a young one."

Little Umm Kulsum looked shocked.

"Nay, Auntie," she began, "are we not taught----"

"Taught," echoed the old lady tartly, "aye, we are taught much that is not true and more that is no use to us when we lose our way. But there! it serves me right! None lose themselves on a straight path; so mine--nay!--it is mine, child, not yours--hath been crooked, that is the truth. But I have made up my mind. The diamond shall go back to the jeweller from whom it was taken, for 'tis my belief that his Majesty the King knows naught about it. When I came from morning prayers and found him paying his respects to the Lady Mother, my conscience was exalted to the edge of confession and I began, as one does begin, to skirt round the subject--I never could abide, like my revered father--on whom be peace--to go head foremost into cold water. But the fount of my penitence soon ran dry in the parched desert of his ignorance. 'Tis useless telling a blind man that you have stolen his spectacles! So I gave over, came hither, and ordered a do-piÂza with double spice of onions to it, for I was sick with fasting. And it hath cleared my brain. The diamond shall go back, and I will trust the red madwoman as thou didst suggest last night. For his Highness the Most-Auspicious spoke of her this morning to Lady Hamida, and bid us all look out to see this ChÂran--forsooth!--at the Durbar to-morrow! Truly my august nephew hath a wit like a camel's cantrip; it leaves one uncertain whether to laugh or to weep! But he must hold her faithful, so I will write a letter to the Feringhi in a feigned hand, appointing time and place for restoration. This she shall take; and afterward I will lay strict oaths on her, such as not even a woman could evade, and she shall have the stone, and bring back receipt therefore. So that settles it, and may God forgive silly old Gulbadan!" She frowned fiercely. "Yea, grand-daughter, that is the sting in the scorpion's tail! For once KhÂnzÂda Gulbadan Begum hath been a fool! She hath acted without counting the cost."

So, secretly and in haste, Âtma Devi was sent for and shewn into the little corbeilled balcony overhanging the lofty outside wall of the palace, where there could be no eavesdroppers save the purple pigeons that cooed and strutted on the wide cornices.

"The diamond!" she said incredulously. "Oh! Beneficent Ones! it is not stolen! Or rather it hath been given back. My lord Birbal must have replaced it, for the King knows naught about it."

"'Tis my lord Birbal who knows naught about it, foolish one," said Auntie Rosebody, peremptorily, "for he sent it back here safe sewn in the Prince's turban. Lo! unbeliever, look, and see if I lie."

Her small henna-tinged palm went into her bosom, and there, like a huge dewdrop among rose leaves, lay the gem.

"The King's Luck," murmured Âtma in stupefaction, "the King's Luck! And yet my lord Birbal knew--this slave knows that he knows, and the King does not know--this slave knows that he does not know."

"Oh cloud not perspicacity with noes and not noes!" cried Aunt Rosebody wrathfully and yet with a whimper in her voice. "If the Most-Excellent is ignorant--as I, too, believe him to be, and as I pray he may ever remain--that is the more reason why this should go back at once."

"Aye!" assented Âtma, her face scarcely less bewildered than little Umm Kulsum's as she sate rocking herself to and fro, mechanically repeating penitential verses of the Koran, "but my lord Birbal knew--wherefore?"

"Wherefore," echoed Aunt Rosebody vehemently protesting. "Lo! if thou wilt ask questions, I shall lose my way again. Remember the saying

And for my part, I think the better of Birbal for his silence. If my nephew knew that his heir had filched his Luck from him----" and then suddenly she dissolved into tears, "Oh! Gulu! Gulu! beloved of thy father! why didst not think of this before, thou silly--old--fool?"

Umm Kulsum joined her in tears, only Âtma Devi sate calm, frowning. "Aye," she assented gravely, "I see. The Most High must never know. Therefore if the Beneficent Lady will give me the letter I will see it delivered, and when dark comes I can take the King's Luck to the place appointed."

Aunt Rosebody gave a sigh of relief. "Truly thou art not so bad, good red-woman. Ummu! my pen and ink. And we--we three will swear never to open our mouths concerning this again, least of all to the Most-Auspicious. No! not even as dying confession to ease our miserable souls."

"Lo! I promise," sobbed Umm Kulsum. "God gives the reward of silence."

"Yea! I promise," murmured Âtma softly.

And so it came to pass that just as Birbal had almost given up hope of coming even upon a trace of the lost diamond; when, thrown back upon himself, he was meditating the possibility of a private audience with the Beneficent Ladies, and a complete throwing of himself upon their mercy, he received a message to come down without delay to the Hall of Labour. He found William Leedes attempting to make out the meaning of a little scented note in a brocaded bag, which had been left for him at the outside door.

"A woman's writing for sure," said Birbal quickly at his first glance. "See how the curves are clipped showing lack of decision." He read the first words--"Ye Gods!" he muttered; so ran hastily through the few lines which appointed a place for the due restoration of the missing gem.

Then he refolded the letter, replaced it in its covering without a word, and stood silent, all the confident vitality gone from face and figure. Suddenly he sniffed at the brocaded bag. "Aye! violets!" he murmured. "The Lady Umm Kulsum's favourite flower! By heaven and earth, Birbal! thou art a fool!" He flung his arms out so recklessly that it seemed as if he would strike himself. "'Tis my mistake after all, sir jeweller! I must have confused the true and the false, for this is from the palace." he said bitterly, "and all my searchings, my chase after that vanishing quantity the harlot Siyah Yamin hath been lost time! I am a fool!"

It was a few minutes ere his quick brain had regained sufficient self-confidence to work; but then it worked rapidly. At nine o'clock--it was now six--by the large flat stone at the Anup tank, not only William Leedes must be in evidence, but he, Birbal, and a strong guard of deaf and dumb slaves must be concealed close by so as to prevent any possibility of treachery. For Birbal did not forget Akbar's curious challenge to his courtiers that day, or that the safe conduct given to the Englishman was a promise which an assassin's dagger might easily break. Ralph Fitch and John Newbery were too far away to be points of attack, but William Leedes must be guarded. Aye! and endless other possibilities must be foreseen, and precautions taken against defeat. For in this case defeat would mean a change in the King's whole line of policy. It is true that it would also, in all probability, mean his acceptance of practical politics and so bring him round to Birbal's point of view--namely that Kingship must follow certain definite and familiar lines; but Birbal's wholehearted love of his master could not brook defeat for him. What action he took must be free, not forced.

So in the interval between the time of receiving the notice of appointment and the appointment itself Birbal set seriously to work in consultation with Abulfazl.

"The hounds of hell will scour heaven and earth to find some pitiful failure," he said finally, almost grinding his teeth with impotent regret. "Lo! Shaikh-jee! What ails the King at times to give such handle to his enemies?"

"It is his sense of strength," replied Abulfazl calmly. "He feels like a God, and of a truth he is one." The Prime Minister's flattery had grown to be part of himself; he really thought of Akbar as he wrote about him.

"Perchance!" growled Birbal, "but he lives among men, and men know how to trick their gods. I can think of no more promises; if thou dost, guard against failure, for my leisure may be scant."

As he made his way to the appointment, he told himself that it might be scant indeed; since, somehow, he must recover the diamond that night. Despite his unbelief, his clear wit, his critical outlook on all things, he could not escape from the feeling that the best safeguard to his master would be the repossession of the lucky stone. Yes! he must recover it.

The night was dark, dark enough to favour the posting of men unseen in the shadow of the trees to the left of the big flat stone. So dark that even the still levels of the tank lay unrevealed, save here and there, where a feeble oil rushlight shone on the shore showing the little platter of food for the dead on which it stood, the fading chaplet of flowers twined around the offering.

So dark, so still, so quiet. No sign anywhere of movement.

Stay! up yonder where the steps might begin, a twinkling light. Was it some other bereaved woman coming to place her remembrance on the water's edge--or was it the messenger? By heaven! it bore to the left--just a twinkling light, no more. Birbal held his breath. And now, grown nearer, the faint circle of radiance showed a hand holding a little platter of offerings, and on the wrist a fold not of white but red drapery.

By all that was holy, Âtma Devi! Then she was at the bottom of it, after all!

The next minute he and his slaves were surrounding her and the dark figure of William Leedes, who had risen from the large flat stone where he had been waiting.

She stood quite still, apparently not much surprised, and her eyes met Birbal's without fear.

"Yea, kill me when I have fulfilled my errand," she said quietly, "but not till then. I have sworn to give it to none but the jeweller. Is he here?"

"Take it from her, sir jeweller," came the quick order. "I can settle with her afterward."

There was a pause as Âtma Devi appraised the Feringhi's strange dress, then from amongst the little pile of uncooked grain upon the platter of the dead, produced the diamond. It shone with a faint lambent glow in the flickering light of the oil lamp. A sigh of satisfaction came from Birbal, but William Leedes bent closer to look at what he held and his face as he raised his head showed ghastly gray.

"It also is false, master," he faltered. "See yonder is the scratch my tool made on it----"

"False," Birbal stood transfixed, feeling, even amidst his stupefaction, a quick sense of relief that after all he had made no mistake. "False," he echoed, and turned on Âtma Devi. She also stood surprised, so surprised that Birbal realised in an instant that she was innocent of all complicity in whatever had brought about this astounding revelation. So without a word, he drew out the other false gem which he had brought with him, and laid it beside its marrow on the jeweller's palm.

"There be two false stones, sister," he said striving to be calm, feeling that it was his only chance of getting any hint on which he could work from her, "but where is the real one; dost know?"

Her great, wide eyes roved helplessly from the twin stones to the jeweller's face, so back to his; then back again to the stones.

"Pooru must have made them," she said slowly, "but I wist not they were even made."

Then suddenly she threw up her arms and clapped her hands together high above her head. The platter of death offerings with its little lamp falling from her hold, dashed itself to pieces on the stones, and there was darkness. So from it came her wail--"Lo I have betrayed the King, I, his ChÂran! Yet I know nothing." She sank huddled in a heap upon the ground.

"There is no use wasting further time here," said Birbal roughly after several vain attempts to rouse Âtma Devi from ineffectual despair. "Leave her to her own condemnation. This points to deeper plotting than I dreamt of, and there is no moment to lose."

As he hurried off, he marshalled half a hundred theories before the judgment seat of his brain....

The biggest villain--who was the biggest villain? KhodadÂd without doubt, but he was dead. Could he have had the diamond? It was becoming plain to Birbal that in this scheme of theft some one had played for the chance of the Great Diamond never coming again within reach of a jeweller's lathe. Someone had kept the real stone, and played off false ones upon the conspirators. He must search KhodadÂd's house; aye even the corpse which still awaited the next dawn for burial. Then there was Siyah Yamin; but that devil's limb had once more disappeared. She would be found, of course--no power, not even fear, could keep a woman of her kidney quiet for long. But this was all in the future, and deep down in the cynical heart of the man lurked a clamour that his King, his master, should have the benefit of his luck stone within the next few hours. It must not be in the keeping of his enemies. It must be secure in the safe custody of a friend.

Yet he felt curiously helpless. Though he had ransacked Fatehpur Sikri, aye and Agra also, in search of the so-called Sufi from IsphahÂn--the mountebank, the juggler with men's senses, he had not come upon a trace of him. William Leedes was of no use, and the only other human being friendly to the King who knew of the diamond's loss, was the half-crazy woman whom he had left crushed in despairing remorse by the Anup tank. Most likely she would go home and kill herself with the death-dagger of her race.

Well she was of no use. From beginning to end, she had been a hindrance, not a help.

And Âtma, meanwhile, was feeling that the Seven Tides of the Waters of Strife had overwhelmed her.

What had she done? She had persuaded Diswunt to give the opportunity for the theft of the diamond, it is true; but only that she might take it--as she had taken it--to the keeping of the Beneficent Ladies. And they had given it back to her. She sate unconscious of the passage of Time, puzzling herself vainly to account for those twin stones which had lain shining in the jeweller's palm.