The Stolen Kasaba

by W. A. Fraser

STOLEN KASABA

BY W. A. FRASER

THE solemn firm of Cook Company, jewelers, in Calcutta, was in a most unusual hurry. Dimitri the Greek and Duttoo the Hindoo goldsmith were working all day and half the night on a wondrous pearl head-dress, a moti kasaba, for Maharajah Darwaza.

The "Bushira," the most beautiful pearl in the world, that had just come up from its finding in the Persian Gulf, was to be enthroned in this wonderful golden crown, surrounded by myriads of lesser pearls.

Hansen, the head clerk, had in charge this trinket that would cost four lakhs of rupees—$1,25,000. All day he must keep his eyes on the priceless pearls, and at midnight take them to the vault in the showroom, of which he and the manager alone knew the combination.

Maharajah Darwaza must have the kasaba for the durbar at Government House on the 20th, for the express purpose of humiliating his rival in Oriental display, the Thakore of Bharana. It was an old-time rivalry; and for weeks Calcutta had talked of a wonderful silver bedstead, with a musical box beneath, that the jewelers had made for Bharana.

Mr. Dodd, the manager of Cook Company, occupied the flat above the showroom; and on the morning of the 19th when he came down to his office, Burns, a clerk, asked if he would open the vault, as Duttoo was waiting to finish the moti kasaba.

"Hasn't Hansen been here yet?" Dodd queried.

"No, sir."

"That's strange; hope he is not ill; must be, though—must be. Send a peon to his bungalow to ask."

Dodd adjusted the combination, swung the heavy iron door and stepped into the vault. Then he gave a cry of alarm. The silver casket which should have contained the kasaba yawned empty.

"Who has taken the head-dress?" Dodd gasped, wringing his hands and turning frightened eyes upon Burns.

"Nobody, sir; they couldn't—the vault was locked—you opened it yourself, sir."

"Where is Duttoo? Where is Dimitri?"

"Here is Duttoo, sir; he is waiting."

"Where is the kasaba, Duttoo?" Dodd gasped; "where have you put it?"

The frightened Hindoo stared in bewildered astonishment.

"Speak! Do you hear?" And the manager grasped him roughly by the shoulder.

Burns interposed, saying: "Duttoo is frightened, sir." Then turning to the goldsmith he added gently: "Tell the Burra Sahib when you last saw the kasaba, Duttoo."

"Last night when the big clock struck twelve times, Hansen Sahib took the kasaba and his little lamp. He unlocked the strong door that is between here and our little workshop, and he passed through. Then the sahib locked it again, and I went out the back door, as Kushna, the durwan, will say. And now here am I waiting for the work; that is all Duttoo knows, huzoor."

"Call Gopal Singh," Dodd commanded; and when the durwan of the front door came, the manager asked if Hansen had passed out the night before.

"Yes, huzoor, surely Hansen Sahib went out at midnight and locked the front door behind him," Gopal Singh answered. "No one went in because I and Peroo Singh rested on our charpoys against the outside of the door."

"Did Hansen Sahib carry anything?" Dodd asked.

"Nothing, huzoor."

"Ah, I have it," the manager declared. "He has forgotten the combination—he could not open the vault, and has hidden the pearls somewhere. Quick, Burns, jump in a gharry, drive to Hansen's bungalow, and tell him we are waiting. Durwan, allow no one in or out while we search the premises. Of course, it will be all right as soon as Hansen comes—quite all right, but in the meantime——" Dodd broke off and rubbed his hands together nervously.

The search brought forth nothing; and it was with a cry of relief Dodd heard a gharry clatter up to the front door and stop. "Ah!" he said eagerly, "here is Mr. Hansen at last; now we'll——" His voice broke and he leaned against the door jamb.

Burns descended alone from the gharry and in his white face was a look that frightened the manager.

"Come into my office—don't speak," he whispered, grasping Burns by the arm. Inside he said: "Now, what is it?"

"Hansen hasn't been to his bungalow since yesterday. He lives in a chummery out on the Tollyjunge Road, and his comrades are anxious—they can't understand it. He was always so steady, sir."

"My God! Here, Burns, take a gharry—quick—go to police headquarters and tell Mr. Creighton, the Chief of Detectives, that I want to see him. Give him my compliments, and ask him to please come at once. But not a word to anybody, mind—silence."

In fifteen minutes the detective chief appeared, and the jeweler explained his trouble.

"I'll put Teck on this," the Chief said. "You've heard, of him, Mr. Dodd? He brought the Nawab of Kojac to book over poisoning the Resident. And he found the Nizam's jewels that were stolen when the Nizam was here last year. Yes, Teck is the man; I'll send for him at once. I'll have a look about, myself, in the meantime."

"Thank you, Mr. Creighton. I do hope you are successful. I have a feeling that there has been foul play. I'll give a reward—yes, ten thousand rupees for the recovery of the kasaba."

Again Burns was dispatched in a gharry to police headquarters, and presently returned with a short, chubby round-faced little man who looked quietly at Dodd out of mild blue eyes.

"We had better go into your office, Mr. Dodd," the Chief said, "and you can explain the case fully to Mr. Teck."

[Illustration: Copyright, 1906, by Underwood & Underwood.

HE DID NOT KNOW THAT IT WAS RUSTUM SITTING ON THE BOX OF THE NEW GHARRY HE ENGAGED.]

When the circumstances had been repeated to the detective, Creighton said: "It seems quite clear that this Hansen has disappeared with the pearls; there is not the slightest evidence of any one having broken into the place. If we can locate him, we shall find the pearls. He has yielded to the temptation, I fear."

"It wasn't Hansen," declared the manager firmly. "I would trust my life with him. There's been foul play, I'm sure."

"Whom do you suspect?" Teck clicked in a soft, gentle voice.

"Perhaps the durwans. I've had Gopal Singh for some time, but I've just discovered that Peroo Singh, who has come lately, is a subject of the Thakore of Bharana."

"What connection has the Thakore with the case?" Teck asked.

"Well, there is fierce rivalry between the two princes. They happened to meet here yesterday, and nothing would do Darwaza but he must have the pearl kasaba and try it on, just to anger Bharana. I tell you the Thakore's eyes were unholy in their vicious jealousy. He knew that the Maharajah was going to wear this at the durbar."

"And you think he may have put the durwans up to stealing it, out of revenge?" Teck asked.

"He is capable of doing it, I know that. He came to the guddi (throne) through the murder of his uncle."

"Well," said Teck, "I want an hour to look about. Shut the front door, let no one in or out, and we'll hold another little conference here in one hour. It is now"—Teck raised his eves to a clock on the wall—"what! Half-past eleven? Ah! I see, it is stopped."

"It is just eleven o'clock, Mr. Teck," Dodd advised, pulling a watch from his pocket. "That clock must have stopped last night—it was going yesterday. My man has forgotten to wind it."

Dodd arose, went to the clock, which consisted of the works, a dial plate, and the weights and pendulum hanging down the wall without an enclosing box. He swung the pendulum and the clock started off.

"It is not run down—odd it should have stopped," he added. "Well, we'll meet here at twelve again."

"I will go to my office, send out Detective Thorns on Hansen's track, and return at twelve," the Chief said.

"And I will be upstairs, Mr. Teck, if you wish any information," the manager added. "That will give you the whole lower floor to yourself. The durwans and assistants are at your command."

The detective drifted casually about the showroom; had the heavy iron shutters of the front windows lowered; tried the lock of the front door with the manager's duplicate key; examined the iron-barred window, the vault, the private office where he had sat with the manager; and finally walked out the front door and sauntered casually up and down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. Then he hailed a gharry and drove to the municipal offices, where, for five minutes, he consulted a city map. At twelve o'clock he was back waiting for his Chief, and together they were ushered into his private office by the Manager.

"What was Hansen like, Mr. Dodd?" Teck asked as soon as they were seated. "Was he athletic—would he fight if cornered?"

"Yes, he was a Birmingham man; he would be a tough customer to overcome."

"Hut they did him up, the cowardly sweeps!" Teck execlaimed.

Dodd started. "You don't mean——"

"Yes, it's a thousand pounds to a gooseberry that you'll never see Hansen again, dead or alive."

Teck drew from his pocket some tiny fragments of pearl.

"Ah!" exclaimed Dodd, "the Maharajah broke that pearl yesterday."

Teck placed in the palm of his hand two additional pieces of broken pearl, and asked: "You are an expert, Mr. Dodd; are these pieces from the same pearl?"

With a powerful glass the Manager examined the shell in Teck's hand. "No, they are quite distinct," he said; "one is from a pearl of exquisite luster, the other carried a slight purple shade."

"Then Hansen is dead, instead of being a thief," Teck declared.

"You think the durwans killed him?" the Manager asked in a hoarse whisper.

"The durwans had nothing to do with it. They could not get in the front door until Hansen had unlocked it as he passed out. At that time the vault would have been locked—they couldn't get into it."

"I hadn't thought of that," Dodd commented.

"There was a struggle in the vault. As Hansen was placing the kasaba in the silver casket he was struck from behind; the kasaba fell from his hand, struck the side of the casket—there is a little glint of gold there which I can show you, plain as a footprint in soft clay; and these pieces of pearl, that are not from the one Darwaza broke yesterday, were some of them on the floor of the vault, and some in the casket itself."

"But Hansen walked out the front door," objected Dodd.

"No, he didn't."

"The durwan saw him."

"He saw a man dressed in Hansen's clothes. Hansen always had a few words of greeting with the durwans when he went out; this man hurried off with a gruff salaam. The durwan admits that he didn't see his face, there was very little light. Gopal Singh says that was at 12.30, and Hansen left the workshop at 12. That gave them half an hour for the job."

"But you said they did this, Mr. Teck—only one passed out."

"Through the door; the other went out the way they came in and took Hansen's body. The job was done by Ives Holborn."

"Holborn!" the Chief gasped.

"Yes. While I've been watching here for him—I had advice from Scotland Yard that he had headed this way after the Brighton Hotel robbery—he slips in and does this trick under my very nose. And, Mr. Dodd, I can tell you this, if Holborn had done it alone, we might say good-by to your pearls; but, luckily, this time he needed an accomplice——"

"One of my employés, Mr. Teck?"

"No; fortunately it's next door to a fool, a sailor—I mean a fool at this sort of work. They came here last night at half past eleven and started to cut away the iron bars of the window for egress. I found the mark of Holborn's saw."

[Illustration: Copyright, 1906, by Underwood & Underwood.

FOR OVER HALF A MILK, STRAIGHT EASTWARD, RUSTEM'S GHARRY CLATTERED.

"But, Mr. Teck," the Chief said, "if they could get in, why this trouble to get out by a different route?"

"Because it was not low tide until six o'clock and they were in a hurry."

"I don't understand—what has the tide to do with my shop?" cried Dodd petulantly.

Teck's mild blue eyes assumed a bored, patient look as he answered: "My dear sir, it has taken me an hour to discover these matters, and you would comprehend all in a minute—please be patient. As I said, Ives Holborn and the sailor came here at 11.30. While Holborn cut at the window bar, the sailor amused himself with the silver trinkets in that showcase which has been disarranged. Fortunately for us he put a little trinket in his pocket, a silver boats'n's whistle. Now you see how I know it was a sailor, and by this we will make him pay for his whistle; this trinket will get us back the pearls, I hope. At twelve o'clock Holborn heard Hansen's key in the door of the workshop, and he and the sailor hid in this office. From a chink in the door Holborn saw Hansen open the vault that he had meant himself to drill open. As you have said, Hansen carried a little lamp, so our friend was enabled to see the pearl kasaba. The two thieves crept to the vault, knowing that Hansen would close it when he came out. No doubt he was taking a good-night look at the beautiful kasaba, and, as his back was turned, they pounced upon him like two Thugs. Hansen had placed the lamp on the little shelf just above the casket where you will find a ring of oil. It is likely he was struck from behind with an iron bar or a sand-bag and never made a sound. Holborn realized the situation at once—there is no cleverer thief in the world than Ives Holborn.

"Observe that he took nothing but the pearl crown. That was so that it would be supposed your man had disappeared with this that he had in charge. Holborn saw Hansen bolt the shop door on the inside and knew that he would not go back that way; and on the ring that held the key was another that fitted the front door, so he knew it was his habit to go out that way. He exchanged clothes with the dead man, sent the sailor out the way they had come in with the body, covered up his tracks, put the crown on his head beneath a cap or soft hat, and walked out."

Dodd and the Chief sat with their heads craned toward the little, blue-eyed man who spoke in the monotonous tone of one who reads from a book.

"Now," the jeweler asked, "how do you know they came here at 11.30 as you say, and how could they get out of the building with a dead body?"

"Your clock was stopped at 11.33 last night as you said. That meant that some one unfamiliar with its position on the wall had struck against the pendulum at 11.33. And as some one had been in the building who could not have got in from above, as I discovered when I investigated, and could not have passed the durwans at the door, he must have come up from below. A little trip to the sidewalk showed me the iron grating over a sewer-vent, and the stoppage of the clock suggested that the entry had been made in your office."

Teck rose and with his cane tapped along the marble floor, saying: "It was very simple, once started in the right way, to find the drum note." He stooped and rolled up the end of a Persian rug. "And here, you see, is the marble slab that——" Teck drew from his pocket a heavy sheath knife and pried up the slab of marble. Then he lifted another, and Dodd and the Chief looked down a black hole through the cement and gravel that underlay the marble, and up from the hole came a damp, sickening odor as from a sewer.

"That is the way they came in," Teck said; "they drove a little tunnel from the sewer and worked up. It was pure chance their coming into the office—but that didn't matter. That sewer empties into the Hooghli River at Barna Ghat. It is low tide at six o'clock and they could not have got out until that hour. That is why they meant to cut the bars. Hansen's body has probably been carried out to sea by this time. Thus is not the first time Ives Holborn worked from a sewer; it is an old trick of his in England.

"Now," continued Teck, "we'll cover up this hole. See how cleverly Holborn put this piece of studding across to hold the marble slabs where the cement was cut away—brought it with him on purpose, no doubt. And now we must find the sailor. Chief, will you come with me, sir. First, of course, we must go and adopt the garb of ship's officers—anything will do. You can open up shop now, Mr. Dodd. We've got all the clues we can obtain here; I forgot to mention that at the bottom of that hole in the tunnel are the small-heeled foot-prints of a sailor's boot, and also the broader footprints of a landsman. However, this doesn't matter, for we know that it was Holborn and a sailor without this additional proof."

The Chief and Teck drove first to Rada Bazar where they purchased the brass-buttoned white coats and caps of steamship officers in a second-hand shop. In the gharry, as they drove to Barna Ghat, the two detectives attired themselves in this garb.

"According to the city plan," Teck said, as they came to the river, "the trunk sewer empties just below Barna Ghat. We can't see it now for the tide is high. We'll tackle these sampan men just above the ghat for a trace of our sailor."

[Illustration: Copyright, 1906, by Underwood & Underwood.

IN AND OUT AMONGST THE NATIVES ON THE SIDEWALK STRADDLES THREADED HIS WAY.

"A sailor who has deserted because he struck a Bengali boatman took a sampan from here to a ship about six o'clock this morning," Teck said to a grizzled boatman who came forward "and here is a reward of five rupees to the man who will help us find him."

"Huzoor, even I, Emir Ally, put such a sahib on yonder steamer this morning at the time the Sahib says," replied the boatman. "Indeed, Huzoor, it was in my mind that the sailor sahib had been up to evil, for he was all of a mud. And even as he spoke to me for hire, he looked many times over his shoulder. Yes indeed, he was the one that was pursued."

"Very good, Emir Ally," Teck said; "here are five rupees, and see, Emir, here are five more, and you will wrap these in your dhoti (cloth) when you have gone with us to the steamer and pointed out the man."

"I will go. Get into my sampan, Huzoor."

"No, Emir; this budmash (rogue) might see the number of your boat and know our errand. We will go higher up and take another sampan—come!"

Presently, under the Bengali's guidance, they swung alongside the steamer "Carnatic" that lay moored in the river.

Instructed by Teck to make no sign, Emir Ally recognized a small, pock-marked sailor as his passenger of the morning.

Teck made his mission known to the Captain, who said that the identified man was known as Straddles. He had signed on the ship the day before—indeed, had only come on duty that morning. The "Carnatic" was sailing next day and was picking up a crew.

The Captain had Straddles' bag searched quietly, and hidden in the toe of a sock was found a silver boats'n's whistle. As Teck had instructed, this was not removed, and every evidence of a search was obliterated. No one but the Captain and Chief Officer knew of the search, or why the two sahibs in ship's uniform had come aboard. The Captain promised to give Straddles leave to go ashore if he asked for it.

"And he'll ask for it to-night, Captain," Teck said; "don't give it to him before sundown whatever you do. We'll be waiting for him."

As Teck went over the side he noticed the small, foxlike eyes of Straddles watching him curiously; and to lull the sailor's suspicion, he called loudly to the Captain: "There'll be a hundred tons of jute come alongside to-night. That'll finish your cargo. We'll send you a new steward from the office."

On shore Teck paid Emir Ally his ten rupees and said to the Chief: "I'll take that big native policeman, Rustem, we'll dress as native gharry wallahs; I'll hire a gharry and lie in wait here at this landing ghat for Straddles. As he'll have important business on, and probably has had motley already from Holborn. he'll hire my gharry. And having money, first of all he'll want a drink, so he'll drive to the Esplanade, where all good sailors drink. So if you're to hunt with me to-night, Chief, you can post yourself at the Esplanade corner at six. We'll need a determined man or two if we run Holborn to earth; he's a bad one."

As Teck had foretold, about half-past six the pock-marked sailor who was Straddles came to the landing ghat opposite the "Carnatic." There was no gharry stand at that point, and Straddles eagerly engaged the one he found casually waiting.

"To the Esplanade, gharry wallah," he said.

At that hotel Straddles discharged the gharry and passed in to the ground floor saloon, which was for sailors, to wait until night had come.

When the sailor came forth again in an hour, he did not know that it was Rustem sitting on the box of the new gharry he engaged, neither did he see as the gharry turned into Dhurrumtullah Road a native, who was Teck, clamber to the little seat that projected from the hind ankle, and crouch there; nor did he know that behind in another gharry followed the Chief and Runjeet, a Punjabi policeman.

For over half a mile straight eastward along Dhurrumtullah Road Rustem's gharry clattered. Suddenly Teck felt the vehicle tip low on one side. Peering around the side, he saw the gleam of a white trouser leg, then another foot was thrust out, and the body of the sailor edged half through the side door till his feet rested on the low step.

Teck slipped to the street and darted to the sidewalk. As he did so, the sailor dropped to the ground and Rustem, all unconscious of the desertion, drove his gharry on into the darkness and disappeared. Teck chuckled softly as he thought of Rustem's astonishment when he would presently find himself alone with his horses.

"Very clever, Mister Sailor-man," the detective muttered to himself; "the scent now grows warm."

In and out amongst the natives on the sidewalk Straddles threaded his way, and behind trailed the detective. Once, as the gharry that followed drew up to him, Teck slipped from the sidewalk and raised his hand; then he was back to the walk and trailing his quarry.

At the second street, a small lane, a sailor turned in past a row of little native shops. Beyond these was a high pucca wall, and at a heavy wooden gate in this the sailor stopped, turned, looked carelessly up and down the lane, then knocked.

Teck, bargaining for some sweetmeats, saw the gate open, the sailor disappear within, and then the gate was closed. The detective went back to Dhurrumtullah, at the corner of which waited the Chief and Runjeet.

"We must capture the durwan at the gate before he can give an alarm," Teck advised; "so Runjeet must knock, and tell the durwan that he has brought the Sahib's purse that was left in the Sahib's gharry. The durwan, hoping to steal the money, will be drawn. You know the Thug trick of a handkerchief to smother his cry, Runjeet—only don't break his neck."

The Punjabi's white teeth gleamed in the flickering light of the shop lamps, as he unwound his kummerbund (sash) and held it loosely in his hand.

Teck and the Chief, standing with their backs to the wall, waited while Runjeet, with Oriental duplicity, played upon the cupidity of the gatekeeper.

"Kuhn hai?" the durwan's voice asked, in answer to the policeman's knock.

"I am the gharry driver to the Sahib, who has just gone in," Runfeet answered, "and here is his purse with ten rupees that the Sahib has lost in my gharry."

There was the clink of a chain, the rasp of a bolt, the creak of hinges as the heavy gate was swung to a crack; a lean black arm was thrust through, and a voice said: "Give me the purse, brother—I will give it to the Sahib."

"Call the Sahib," Runjeet answered, "that I may give it into his hands. How do I know that thou are not a thief?—all durwans are of the robber caste," and he jingled the rupees seductively in his hand.

"Give it to me, brother," the gatekeeper answered, "and thou mayst keep a rupee for thine honesty in bringing it; the Sahib will not mind." The gate opened a little wider, and the speaker, in his eagerness for the money, thrust his shoulder and one leg through.

"Ah, brother, thou art indeed the durwan," Runjeet exclaimed; "here are the rupees, and give me the one that is my dustoor."

Teck heard a rustle, a gurgling, stifled cry, and at their feet on the ground lay the gatekeeper, his voice strangled in his throat by the twist of the policeman's kummerbund.

Teck clicked a pair of handcuffs on the durwan's wrists, saying to Runjeet, "Easy bhai (brother), don't choke him."

"Now, durwan," he added in a low voice, "we are police sahibs. Whose bungalow is this?"

"Baboo Ram Chunder's," the durwan gasped when the cloth was taken from his throat.

"All right. And in there are two thief sahibs, and unless you lead us to them quietly, you will be sent to jail; also, in the meantime, this little gun which I have here will kill you if you make a noise."

Teck drew a strong cord through the handcuffs, passing the end to Runjeet, and added: "If the durwan gives a warning to the thief sahibs you are to kill him."

"Huzoor, I will lead you to the little room wherein are the two sahibs with Baboo Ram Chunder. Huzoor, have pity upon Ramatha, for I am a man of a large family."

They slipped through the gate and Teck shot the bolts behind them. Then, led by the captive, they passed through a little courtyard in which a fountain played amongst crotons and aloes. It was perfectly dark. The heavy walls of a puccca building rose a gloomy blur against the night sky. They circled this on a cement path, coming to a set of steps at the back. Up the steps and across a broad veranda they passed, and leading, the durwan brought them to a spiral stairway that wound up a corner tower of the building.

As they passed, a servant called sleepily from a charpoy on the veranda: "Kuhn hai?"

"It is I, Ramatha, the durwan, brother,—I go to the Baboo Sahib " he answered, as they stood silent in the darkness.

"Salaam, Ramatha, thou old fool!" the servant replied.

At the top of the winding stairway, they stood on a landing, and from a latticed door little blades of light crept weakly into the darkness of the hall. Ramatha touched Teck on the arm and with his manacled hands pushed him gently toward the door.

Through a chink Teck surveyed the interior. Four or five brass lamps held cocoanut oil, in which floated lighted dips, their soft glow showing the detective, at one end of the room squatted on a silken cushion, a fat Bengali Baboo. Beside him stood a huge gaunt Punjabi leaning on a tulwar (curved sword). In front of the Baboo, seated on the floor, tailor fashion, were Straddles and Ives Holborn. And in the center of this group upon a square of black cloth rested the pearl-studded gold kasaba.

The inmates of the room were evidently bargaining. Teck saw the Baboo reach behind him and take from a small iron box a sheaf of Bank of England notes. He held them in his lap. Ives Holborn said something and the Baboo threw the notes back into the box angrily, grasped the snake-like stem of his hookah and puffed, then blew the smoke through his nostrils as if in disdain.

Teck touched the Chief and drew him gently to the chink in the door, whispering in his ear: "See we need not wait. You have your pistols, I have mine; the door is not even locked. We'll just step through and cover them and Runjeet will snap the darbies on their wrists."

Teck whispered this in the policeman's ear, and then: "Ready! Now!"

A wrench, the door flew open, and Ives Holborn, springing to his feet with an oath, looked into the muzzle of a big Webley revolver and heard Teck's voice saying: "Put up your hands, Holborn. A wrong move and you're a dead man. Now, Runjeet, the darbies, please."

The Baboo's guard raised his tulwar. As he did so the Chief's pistol crackled and a bullet ripped through the giant's shoulder. He spun around like a top, reeled, and fell across the iron box.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Bloomin' Teck!" said Ives Holborn. "I'd know your bloody fat voice if you was dressed like a coster. Wot's the little gyme? Here, Straddles, y'u swipe, behyve. These gents is visitors from Scotland Yard—wot's the gyme, Teck?"

"We've come for the pearls, Holborn, and you and this terrier. Put the irons on, Runjeet," Teck added. "Hold out your wrists, Straddles, and you, too, Holborn. That's right!"

That was the evening of the 19th, and on the morrow, the 20th, Darwaza wore his pearl kasaba at the durbar. Ives Holborn and Straddles are still doing time in the Andaman Islands for that job.

Hansen's body was never found and his murder was never brought home to the murderers.

The Baboo got a year in spite of his protestations that he knew nothing about the theft of the pearls.