In an hour the boys were back at the palace. The court dinner and reception had been sched-72 POLAR-RAY DYNASPHERE
uled for eight-thirty. But a servant announced that it would be delayed.
Prince Gopal chuckled. “I suspect that Miss Swift and Miss Newton have caused quite a dither among our court ladies 1”
When the reception finally got under way, Tom and Bud gaped. The court ladies, beaming with pride, had their long, jet-black hair done in fashionable American styles. The Rani and her chief lady-in-waiting were wearing dresses of Sandy’s and Phyl’s let out at the seams. The others had on hastily sewn-together copies.
The two American girls, however, wore Indian saris and gold bangles with a tikka, or beauty spot, above their eyes!
“Sandy and Phyl are still the belles of the ball!” Prince Jahan confided with a chuckle.
Later, Prince Gopal drew Tom aside. The dewan’s face was serious. “How much do you know about this man Mortlake?” he questioned.
Tom shrugged. “Only what he says-that he is an archaeologist for an American museum. Why?”
“It is against the law to remove ancient art objects from Vishnapur,” Gopal went on. “I suspect that is Mortlake’s real purpose. As chief of his highness’s security police I had his luggage searched. This was found inside.”
Tom gasped as Prince Gopal held out a tiny, gleaming black figure with twin ruby eyes. It looked exactly like Sandy’s stolen Kali pin!
CHAPTER IX
THE POISON LAKE
IT seemed too great a coincidence, Tom thought, that Mortlake would have a duplicate of Sandy’s pin. This looked like the same one!
“Have you heard what happened at Elephanta?” Tom asked the dewan.
Prince Gopal nodded grimly. “Was the Kali pin which was snatched from your sister similar to this one?”
“Just like it.”
“Then no doubt we believe the same thing-that Mortlake hired dacoits to steal the pin.”
Tom was amazed by this remark. He had assumed that if Mortlake had faked the robbery, it was to provide an excuse for rescuing Jahan and winning permission to enter Vishnapur. “Is the pin valuable enough for Mortlake to want to steal it?”
“Definitely!” Gopal said. “I have had the pin
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examined by one of our historical experts. He has identified it as a relic from Shankaru.”
“Shankaru?” Tom exclaimed. “That’s the place Mortlake is hoping to visit!
What’s so important about it?”
Gopal explained that centuries ago, a rich civilization had existed in Vishnapur. This was before her present people had migrated into the mountain valleys from India and Tibet. The ancient craftsmen had turned out exquisite works of art. “The black onyx Kali figure is only a sample,” he explained. The civilization had died out in the mists of history. Now, the only trace left was a heap of ruins at a site called Shankaru several days’ journey north from Chullagar.
“The few relics of this civilization are now almost priceless,” Prince Gopal stated. “That is why none may be taken out of the country. Museums and collectors would give a great deal for an item like this pin.”
Tom mulled over the information. “There’s no way to prove this is my sister’s pin.”
“That is true,” Gopal conceded. “And since Mortlake is an honored guest of the Rajah, I shall take no steps against him. But it is clear the man may be a thief.”
Prince Gopal also asked Tom to say nothing about the matter to Jahan or the Rajah-at least until he had had time to investigate further and find out how the pin had been purloined from
THE POISON LAKE 75
Vishnapur. “It might cause trouble,” he added wryly, “if they were to learn their police had allowed such a relic to be smuggled all the way to Bombay!”
Prince Gopal then took out a beautiful emerald ring, flashing with green fire, and handed it to Tom. “Since I cannot return the Kali pin to your sister, please give her this.”
After the dinner party, Tom gave Sandy the ring and explained the situation.
She was thrilled with the gift, but her brother was still troubled by what had happened. If Mortlake was a thief, Tom wanted nothing more to do with him.
Could it be, however, that the dacoits or smugglers had planted the pin in Mortlake’s luggage for some reason?
After mulling over the problem, Tom decided to give the man a chance to speak for himself. He went to the archaeologist’s room and knocked on his door.
Mortlake opened it, surprised. “What brings you here, Tom?”
“It’s a delicate subject, and I don’t know how to begin,” Tom replied as Mortlake motioned him to a chair.
“How delicate?”
“Personal. To do with you and an ugly rumor.”
Mortlake’s face clouded, but Tom could detect no look of guilt. “Okay, out with it, Tom.”
As diplomaticaUy as possible, Tom told Mortlake about the stolen article which reportedly had been found in the baggage. Before he could con-76 POLAR-RAY DYNASPHERE
tinue, Mortlake, red in the face, cried out, “It’s a lie! If anything was there, someone put it there to incriminate me-and by heavens I’ll find out who it was!”
“Hold it! Just cool down a minute,” Tom said as Mortlake was about to yank the bell cord for a servant. The man seemed so honestly enraged that Tom was inclined to believe his innocence.
The archaeologist stood lost in thought a moment, then asked, “What did they find?”
When Tom told him, Mortlake was astounded. “I swear I know nothing about your sister’s Kali pin!”
He seemed even more startled when Tom told him the onyx ornament had come from Shankaru. But he shrugged when Tom tried to draw him out on this point. “The pin sounds like a more recent Hindu object-but I may be wrong.”
“If the pin isn’t valuable, why would those dacoits take so much trouble to steal it?”
“Perhaps because Kali is sacred to Indian thugs and dacoits,” Mortlake replied.
Tom went back to his room. He was convinced that Mortlake’s surprise had been genuine and that the man had been truthful about the pin being planted.
Nevertheless, to play safe, Tom made a hasty trip to the Sky Queen and radioed Ames at Enterprises to check Mortlake’s background.
Next morning Prince Jahan offered to escort
THE POISON LAKE 77
Tom, Bud, and the girls on a brief tour of Chullagar. As the young people left the palace, they saw the mahouts washing the royal elephants outside the stables. Chow was helping them!
“He must have taken a shine to that elephant he rode yesterday,” Tom said with a chuckle.
The Texan was whistling happily as he sloshed water over the huge beast’s wrinkled gray hide. “Hi, folks!” Chow called. “Figgered an ole Texas wrangler like me oughta get acquainted with the ridin’ stock around here.”
Sandy giggled. “The elephant certainly looks as if he’s enjoying that bath.
You two seem to be pretty good friends.”
“Yup, we sorta understand each other. Only it’s a she. Her name’s Chini, meanin’ ‘Sugar.’ ” Chow added, “She’s got false teeth.”
“False teeth! Are you serious?” asked Phyl.
“Sure. Bein’ a lady, her tusks don’t grow very big, so they fit her up with wooden ones.” Chow tugged at one white-painted tusk to show how it came loose. “Fer parades, they even gild her toenails. An’ you know what? These critters are ticklish!”
“With those thick hides?” Bud scoffed.
“Honest Injun-I’ll show you.” Chow ran his fingers softly over the elephant’s flank.
A mahout bringing a fresh bucket of water exclaimed, “Stop, Sahib-that is dangerous!”
The warning came too late! The elephant
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reared skittishly and trumpeted. Then the beast plunged its trunk into the bucket of water and sprayed Chow from head to foot! Chow stood spluttering and dripping while his audience shook with laughter.
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“Brand my poncho,” Chow mumbled, “I shoulda knowed better’n to get fresh with a lady!”
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A horse-drawn carriage took Prince Jahan’s party through the city. The streets were noisy as mountaineers and peasants poured into Chullagar for the festival. Heavily loaded yaks plodded along, jostled by mule caravans which were driven by jolly fur-hatted Tibetans. The men wore turquoise and coral earrings, and their animals were decorated with red pompoms of yak hair.
Prayer flags were draped across the fronts of buildings, and many of the whitewashed brick houses were being repainted pink, yellow, or blue in honor of the Feast of Chogyal. As the carriage passed, there were shouts of “Jai Kumar Jahan!- Long live Prince Jahan!”
“They seem to like you.” Phyl said to him.
The market place was a babble of voices. Street vendors spread their wares on the pavements. One turbaned, gray-bearded rug merchant sat puffing on a hubble-bubble pipe. A stall displayed clusters of rainbow-colored spun-glass bracelets. A dye seller was weighing heaps of powder on scales.
“You must watch out when the festival is in full swing,” Jahan warned Sandy and Phyl. “The merrymakers brew colored water with those dyes and splash everyone in sight.”