The Treasure Of The Mosque

by Michael White

THE TREASURE OF THE MOSQUE

SOME day when the citizens of New York realize the possibilities of their roofs the news columns will be more fertile in that respect than at present. But in the meanwhile, as Lambert will tell you, if you wish to get mixed up in really surprising complications by way of a roof, you must go to the Orient. It is there Kismet understands how to deal out the hand of a roof situation with a bewitching unveiled face for the queen, and a gray whiskered thieving old monkey for the joker. But this is anticipating matters.

Needless to say Lambert did not travel all the way from Detroit to Aurungnugur to entangle himself in a roof situation. His object in Aurungnugur was to secure the order for an automobile from the ruling Raja—an order worth some trouble when all the decorative metal work was to be of solid silver, and the leather furnishing of elaborately ornamented red morocco. In fact it was intended to be a state automobile in which his Highness purposed to ride when he wore all his jewels, a machine which would long be remembered as the pride of the House of Aurungnugur. In these circumstances it was also a matter of business pride to Lambert that he had fully grasped the significance of the order at a distance, and designed a car, which for prodigality of gilding and all manner of fancy trimmings, would cause any self-respecting 'American millionaire to perspire with confusion if seen in, on Fifth Avenue. But public opinion is different, of course, in Aurungnugur. What more seemingly was there for a resourceful young business man like Lambert to yearn for over a deal than the indifferent manner in which his Highness regarded the estimated figure of $50,000—thus far the record price in automobiles. His Highness waved the money question aside with a lofty gesture.

“The King of Aurungnugur does not consider the price of what he desires like a one—eyed man in the bazaar," remarked the Raja by the lips of an interpreter. “The design of the American Sahib is satisfactory. That is enough. As to the money, let the American Sahib go and talk with Dunkar Rao, the prime minister. His Highness is impatient to ride in the automobile.”

So Lambert went to talk with the prime and only minister of Aurungnugur. If the treasury was little better than a cellar-like hole in the wall of one of the palace courts, the ample waistband and sleek crafty features of the minister suggested that his office kept him in easy comfort. He greeted Lambert with the officer of a fat hand, ornamented with a large square cut emerald and invited him to a seat at the table which served as the receipt of custom. In one corner a group of babus (clerks) with ink-horns and sand-blotters toted up the finances of the state in a lively chorus. When Lambert began to speak, Dunkar Rao gave an attentive ear, and smacked his thick lips approvineg over the Raja’s decision.

“Wah! Wah!” he exclaimed. “Very good! It shall be settled at once as his Highness wishes."

“You see,” Lambert explained. “Fifty thousand dollars may seem a big price, but with all that silver and expensive stuff the car couldn’t be turned out for less.”

Dunkar Rao waved his hand after the manner of his royal master, as if the price of the car was not a subject of dispute.

“As his Highness wishes for a state automobile which shall surpass in splendor the automobile of any other prince, what more is there to be said?”

But Lambert presently discovered there was much more to be said. By hints and a significant manner Dunkar Rao let it be understood that according to ancient custom a “present” was due the prime minister which would more than obliterate all the profit, and Lambert was not out for that kind of business. Thus a decided check to the negotiations was reached—no “present,” no sealing of the contract—for the wily minister had many excuses at command with which to put off the old Raja. So as Lambert firmly decided against the “present” he went away feeling he was up against a pretty contest of wits, with the advantage of position all on the side of Dunkar Rao.

A man having died of cholera at the dak bungalow (traveler’s rest) the day before Lambert’s arrival, he had preferred to rent the upper story of a house in the Mohammedan quarter. Lambert’s room possessed the advantage of overlooking the walled garden of a mosque—a refreshing glimpse of shrubs and flowers in the fierce blaze of noontide, and a feast for the eyes when the red glow of sunset bathed the adjacent marble dome and fretwork tracery of cloistered arches in a splendor of color. It deepened into mystery when the shadows fell and the clear high pitched voice of the mullah—“La! il-lah-Ullaho!”—rose to float over the city. With interest stimulated to further discovery Lambert had climbed to the roof, and from that place of vantage had seen not only the old mullah dozing between prayer calls, but a figure upon whom his eyes should not have rested. At least when they did fall upon the unveiled form of a pretty girl——presumably the mullah’s daughter—moving among the flowers, Lambert should have retired from the roof,——i.e. according to the strict rule of Aurungnugur propriety. But being an American, Lambert saw no harm in observing a pretty girl’s actions, attractively attired, as she was, in the Mohammedan fashion, with a jaunty little red velvet, fringed cap to set off her dark curls, an embroidered waist revealing a shapely neck, and filmy skirts shot with gold and silver thread.

That the girl was aware of Lambert’s presence was unlikely, because otherwise she would not have come and sang love refrains to the accompaniment of a tinkling sitar almost under his window. He was sure she was not the kind of girl to make such advances. But one night, before the moon had risen to shed a silver stream on the white dome of the mosque, an incident happened which set Lambert to reflection. From below two whispering voices fluttered upward and fell reminiscently upon his ears. Apparently he was made the sole custodian of a secret. At least not entirely so, though the other witnesses hardly counted—as yet. Under the wide eaves, from whence sprang the ledge of a tottering buttress, a family of monkeys had taken up their residence. They also helped to entertain Lambert’s leisure hours, particularly the antics of a gray whiskered old fellow with whom Lambert had got upon friendly terms by the purchase of sticky bazaar sweetmeats. That purchased friendship is of no value, is the moral which Lambert insists should wind up his story.

Such then was the situation on Lambert’s roof when he returned from his unsatisfactory interview with the King’s minister. At the door he encountered his landlord, Firoz Khan, seated cross-legged and polishing a wonderfully supple blade. As Lambert approached, Firoz Khan looked up gravely, swept Lambert’s face with a keen glance, and seemed to divine the thoughts in his tenant’s mind.

“The Huzoor has not found the King’s pig easy to catch by the tail,” he grunted. “Ohe, sahib! Be careful, sir, that when hunting a pig for the first time you avoid the tusk.”

“I guess you refer to that——well——to Dunkar Rao?” suggested Lambert, checking an impulse to be more emphatic.

“Sir,” replied Firoz Khan, “I only say that he is a fool who expects to get else than an ass for a camel from Dunkar Rao. The English bunyas (merchants) know him well. That is why they do not come any more to Aurungnugar.”

Lambert whistled softly. So that was the reason why there were no other bids apparently for the state automobile. As he had begun to suspect, Dunkar Rao had a bad financial reputation.

“Well,” he said, “but the King is all right. Hasn’t the King got piles of money?”

“The King, sahib, is Dunkar Rao, and Dunkar Rao is a pig of a Hindu idol worshipper who skins the people like sheep.”

Firoz Khan’s eyes gleamed as he bent the blade of his sword double and let it fly backward into position. With a grip on the hilt which made the sinews on his bronze forearm start forth like whipcords of metal, he held the sword upward so that the sunlight flashed upon the steel.

“Allah Akbar!” he muttered. “There are many things to be settled. What does Dunkar Rao’s piglet of a son do slinking near the mosque after night fall?”

“Aye!” ejaculated Lambert, who suddenly perceived a connection between the whisperings under his window and the bit of news just disclosed by his landlord.

“Aye, too, sahib,” responded Firoz Khan, grimly. “What does that profligate, for whose evil ways Dunkar Rao squeezes the people, do near a Mohammedan mosque after nightfall?”

For answer Lambert professed complete ignorance, but when he went up on to the roof that evening there lurked in his mind the idea of somehow warning the pretty girl that it was unwise for a mullah’s daughter to waste her affection on a worthless piglet, even though he were the son of the King’s minister. Further, and this he thought would be more effective, he might hint he knew a gentleman with a muscular arm and a supple blade close on the piglet’s trail. If she were reckless of her own safety, she would probably consider her lover’s safety after the manner of women, and the end desired thus brought about. But though he sat and waited for some hours, rather wondering why he seemed to be watched in turn by the monkeys, not a glimpse did he catch of the mullah’s daughter. So finally he went down to the not too luxurious repose of his string bed. Lambert had fallen into a comfortable done when he was suddenly roused to wakefulness by a feeling that there was some one in the room. Opening his eyes he beheld a black form apparently going through his pockets.

“Hello!” he cried, sitting up in bed. “What the mischief are you up to?”

In response there came a gibbering chatter as the dark form made for the window, trailing Lambert’s pants.

“Drop them, you fiend,” shouted Lambert, recognizing the gray whiskered monkey of the buttress. “If that’s the way you repay me for my bazaar candy, I’ll teach you—”

As the monkey leaped for the window, Lambert sprang from the bed and made a grab for his pants. The monkey backed for the window and Lambert seized a chair as the most handy weapon. He brought it down with a crash where the monkey ought to have been, but was not. The monkey gave an extra pull, two buttons shot to the floor, and he went out of the window with Lambert’s suspenders. Lambert did not pause to hurl anathema, because he realized at once the serious nature of his loss. The market of Aurungnugur did not traffic in suspenders, and his only pair had been burglared by a monkey. There was nothing humorous in the situation to Lambert, rather it presented all the elements of an outrage. He darted up the flight of brick stairs to the roof and made for the buttress, on which he could just see vaguely the gray whiskered monkey discussing the loot with his family.

“Give them up, you thief,” he threatened, “or when I catch you there’ll be trouble.”

But either the monkey did not understand or felt secure from intimidation. In any case being a holy animal he was not accustomed to rough treatment. So as the monkey displayed no sign of repentance, Lambert felt it best to change his policy. He wondered what his friends would think of his being compelled to bribe a monkey to return his suspenders.

“Say,” he coaxed. “You bring those suspenders here and I’ll buy you a whole rupee’s worth of that vile candy—you know—sweetmeats.”

But the monkey seemed to prefer holding on to the suspenders than taking the risk of a promise. So as there seemed no other course, Lambert proceeded to climb down on to the buttress.

“All right,” he muttered. “You wait till I get you.”

Meanwhile the monkeys watched Lambert’s actions with complete indifference. Perhaps they foresaw what was going to happen. Lambert had just set both feet on the narrow ledge of the buttress, when some of the crumbling bricks gave way, and he felt himself going earthward. He made a wild grab for the edge of the roof, missed it, and shot down into a bed of rose bushes, by no means a sentimental couch, as the thorns in his flesh testified. When he picked himself up, his first impulse was to shout his opinion of the monkeys. At which they chattered as if to say——What an irascible person.

Lambert, with his blood now hot for action, moved to climb the buttress, but on each assault the bricks gave way and he found himself back among the rose bushes. To add insult to injury the monkeys commenced pelting him with loose scraps of mortar. Pausing at last to take a cooler survey of his position, it was borne in upon Lambert that it might result in unpleasant consequences. To regain his room by way of the perpendicular wall was impossible, so there he was in the old mullah’s garden at an hour and in circumstances undoubtedly suspicious. It became clear that he must put off vengeance on the monkeys to find a way out of the garden. At all costs he knew he must avoid the sacred precincts of the mosque itself, where the discovery of a Christian might mean death. But casting his mind back over the scene by daylight, he recollected there had seemed to be a passage dividing the precincts of the mosque from the mullah’s house, which possibly led to an exit. He decided to search for the passage, keeping well within the shadows. Thus proceeding cautiously Lambert reached the passage and entered. As he groped along in darkness as black as ink, guiding his steps by a hand on the wall, the passage turned and twisted in various directions, and seemed of interminable length. Where it ended he had not the vaguest idea, he soon lost all sense of position. It was also ominously silent. Presently he halted abruptly. He fancied he heard a stealthy step following. Lambert set his back to the wall and with clenched fists took an offensive rather than a defensive position. Should it chance to be one of the fanatical hangers on of the mosque, it would be wisest to get in a good telling blow first and trust to luck for the rest. The step drew nearer and Lambert held his breath with muscles tense. He was about to strike, when some undefined impulse, for which he devoutly thanked Heaven afterwards, caused him to hold back. In another moment a soft hand gently swept his shoulders and crept upward to his mouth. Then—— then——Ye gods! he felt the hand pass around his neck, his head was drawn downward, and——he was held in the sweetest, tenderest embrace.

“Hush!” the soft hand was quickly placed upon his mouth. “Desire of my desire! Heart of my heart! Life of my life! Even so have I done thy wish.”

For an instant a head was laid on his shoulder, and “Ahi!” a little sigh escaped into the darkness. When the head was withdrawn, he felt some kind of metal bowl thrust into his hand. Again came the warning, “Hush!” Before he could find the heart or words to dispel so captivating a situation by the evident truth that there had been a mistake, he was drawn backward a few paces, a door was opened, and he was thrust gently into the starlit outer world which was as the greater darkness. He heard the door closed behind him, and found himself in a narrow lane which led past the garden wall to the street in which he resided. He turned and stared at the closed door as if it had shut him out from a realm of delight instead of manifold danger.

“Well, if this isn’t a page out of the Arabian Nights!” he ejaculated, “then I’m not a citizen of Detroit trying to get the best of that old sinner, Dunkar Rao.”

He was about to direct his attention to the bowl, when two figures darted from the mosque buildings a hundred feet down the lane. A third figure came out of concealment and promptly gave chase. Lambert, feeling that it was no affair of his, stepped back into the shadow of the doorway. As the three men swept past, the muttered curses of the one in the rear with something that gleamed in his hand, suggested Firoz Khan hot on the war-path. The three quickly disappeared, and then as the way seemed clear Lambert made haste to reach the security of his room. Providentially he was not intercepted, the door of the house was unbolted, and he was soon beyond his own threshold. A few moments later found him standing over a small table, and by the dim light of a lamp regarding the contents of the metal bowl with overwhelming amazement.

“Well—I’ll—be——hanged! Surely—they—can’t—be real.”

He inserted a hand and drew forth a kind of crown set with a magnificent emerald, a necklace of fine pearls, rings and other ornaments ablaze with jewels. Lambert sank back on the edge of his string bed and waved his hand toward the glittering pile in bewilderment.

“They couldn’t possibly have belonged to that girl, the daughter of a hundred-rupees-a—month mullah. Then—who—what—where ?—”

He turned his face toward the window. Far down on the eastern sky the gray of early dawn was flushed a faint rose pink. A breath of cool air played upon his cheek. Presently the voice of the mullah rose to remind the Faithful that in the sum total of things prayer is more accountable than sleep.

“Too tired to think it out now,” he murmured. “Must wait till morning. Hope to goodness, though, that girl won’t get into trouble. If she does shall have to try and help her out——somehow. That embrace wasn’t intended for me, I guess, but anyway I got it.”

He rose, collected the jewels in the bowl, and locked them up in his trunk. Then he flung himself on his bed. Exhausted with fatigue and the strain on his nerves he was soon oblivious to the awakening earth.

When Lambert returned to consciousness Firoz Khan was standing by the bed. Lambert started up as he noticed that Firoz Khan was wearing his hereditary blade.

“It is to warn the Huzoor,” said Firoz Khan, “that I have trespassed. To-day many things will happen.”

“Then something has happened?” questioned Lambert, with quick perception.

“Sir,” replied Firoz Khan, “last night Dunkar Rao’s piglet son broke into the mosque and stole the treasure. The sanctuary has been defiled by the feet of a profligate idol worshiper. The jewels which were bequeathed to the mosque by a Mohammedan king in the days before these Hindu unbelievers came to rule in Aurungnugur, have been desecrated by impious hands. But, Allah Akbar!” he grimly ejaculated, as his fingers impulsively clutched his sword hilt, “we shall know all soon. Many things will happen before the call to prayer at sunset. It will be a red sunset, Huzoor.”

Lambert cast a look toward the trunk where the pious Mohammedan king’s jewels lay concealed, and thought how close his neck was to Firoz Khan’s beautiful sword.

“Well,” he interrogated, “it hasn’t all been found out then?”

“Huzoor, I with my own eyes saw the piglet and a companion creep from the mosque at the third hour after midnight. Their feet are young, otherwise they would now be in Gehenna. But we have yet to know who assisted them in the mosque.”

Lambert scrambled off his bed and began to dress hastily, managing to substitute a valise strap in lieu of his stolen suspenders. His mind was working quickly over the situation, in which he saw extreme danger to the girl.

“Now,” he said, “I’ve got an appointment with the prime minister. It’s mighty important and——”

“Be careful, sir,” warned Firoz Khan. “As long as you are under my roof no harm shall come to you. Neither shall any man touch a hair of your possessions.”

Lambert glanced from Firoz Khan’s face to the trunk with a shade of relief. It was much to feel assured the hiding place of the jewels would not be tampered with during his absence.

“Don’t you worry about me, Khan,” he nodded. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been in lots of scraps before this.”

But when Lambert reached the street he realized that he had never been in an exactly similar scrap. The air seemed burdened with an ominous tenseness. Grim-visaged men were collecting in groups and from beneath their flowing robes was the significant glint of steel. On sharply turning a comer Lambert nearly collided with a lean camel. Perched on the camel’s back was a gaunt figure, topped by an immense green turban. With outstretched arms he was summoning the Faithful to avenging work.

“Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed!” went up that cry which seems to make the earth shiver. “Come, Brothers, come! The hour! The sword!”

Lambert moved briskly out of the way, but he could not withhold a note of admiration.

“Great Scot!” he ejaculated. “What a chance for a moving-picture-show man!”

As Lambert hastened on toward the palace a plan was developing in his mind. He was not particularly concerned over the religious feud between the Mohammedans and Hindus, or if the piglet met his fate in a sharp and sudden manner, but from the look of things the life of a girl who had unwittingly sealed his lips was at stake. Fortunately he seemed to hold the trump card of the whole situation in the temporary possession of the late pious king’s jewels, but unfortunately he did not see how he could save the girl without also helping the piglet to escape punishment. He could only hope that Allah would settle with the piglet at some other time, and of that there was none to spare at present. At the palace he plunged into a scene of confusion. On receipt of the news the pleasure-loving King had promptly retreated to the harem, leaving Dunkar Rao to settle with the uprising. And Dunkar Rao was excitedly pacing the audience hall, waving his fat hands, and giving orders to wire for English troops. But as it would take at least six hours for the nearest detachment of English troops to reach Aurungnugur, Firoz Khan was probably right when he said things were going to happen.

“Ah, Hai!” he cried, on catching sight of Lambert. “You come like a bad omen.”

“Well,” replied Lambert, calmly, “that’s just how you choose to regard it. How about concluding the automobile deal?”

“How can I talk of automobiles,” cried Dunkar Rao, throwing up his hands, “when the Mohammedans have sworn to loot the palace.”

“Oh, I don’t see why not,” replied Lambert, lighting a cheroot and tossing the match on the royal pavement at Dunkar Rao’s feet. “I don’t see why the looting of the palace should interfere with the regular course of business. While the boys are fighting it out you can move the treasury office outside the trouble belt. That’s what we would do in my country.”

Dunkar Rao stared at Lambert’s composure in dumb amazement.

“Now, see here,” Lambert went on, changing his manner from a touch of levity to seriousness. “Suppose the Mohammedans have got this story all wrong. Suppose I know where the jewels are. Suppose I can prove your son didn’t steal them, and can point out the—well —the real thief in the situation.”

Dunkar Rao appeared ready to fall on Lambert’s neck in an outburst of relief.

“In that case you are my preserver,” he cried. “You are the embodiment of all earthly virtue and wisdom.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Lambert, indifferently. “We’ll take all that for granted, but how about the state automobile?”

A conflict of emotions swept over Dunkar Rao’s avaricious features. A distant shout caused him to yield precipitously.

“What is to be——must be. I will seal the contract provided you thus prevent the Mohammedan uprising.”

Lambert nodded and produced his contract, in which a clause guaranteed an ample deposit. Dunkar Rao winced as he glanced over it, but finally gave his assent.

“Well,” remarked Lambert, “I guess there’s nothing more to speak of except my little bit of graft-say a couple of thousand rupees. You can hand that over now after we seal the contract.”

“But,” protested Dunkar Rao, “that is never the way of business. It is the one who seeks a favor who pays.”

A smile of satisfaction lit up Lambert’s features.

“Yes, but in this case it is you who seek the favor, Rao. You’ll lose a good deal more than I if the Mohammedans burn the palace. Suppose we make my bit of graft twenty-five hundred to be on the safe side. Maybe what I want to buy with the money will cost- that,” he added, reflectively.

Dunkar Rao, fearful that Lambert Would keep on raising his terms, summoned a munshi (secretary) and in legal form sealed the contract. With an inward groan he then produced the twenty-five hundred rupees never before heard of bakshish or graft.

“Now, if you come to Firoz Khan’s house in half an hour,” concluded Lambert, “I’ll guarantee to clear the whole matter up. If you doubt my good faith you can send along an escort to see I don’t mean to escape, but they must obey my orders or the guarantee is off.”

So accompanied by some of the palace officers Lambert returned to Firoz Khan’s house through the growing popular tumult. At the door Lambert ordered the escort to remain and prevent any one’s entrance. Then he went up to his room, and making sure that he was not observed, took the jewels out of the trunk. Then he leaned out of the window and tossed the trinkets one by one on to the ledge of the buttress. The monkeys at once set up a chattering of delight.

“That’s what you get for stealing my suspenders,” he exclaimed, as he flung the last jewel toward them. “Make the most of your short dream of wealth.”

Then he went down and talked with the palace officers until Dunker Rao arrived. Lambert at once led Dunkar Rao to the roof, and conducted him to a spot overlooking the buttress. The gray whiskered monkey had cocked the king’s crown on his head, and appropriated most of the other jewels, but his chief pride seemed to lie in Lambert's suspenders, which he wore as an order of merit across his breast.

“I guess that’s the biggest thief of the lot,” remarked Lambert, pointing to the gray whiskered monkey. “There may be some excuse for the others, but that old villain deserves all he may get.”

Dark faces peered over the edge of the roof with exclamations of surprise and wonder. But the source of the trouble was clearly discovered. It only remained to catch the monkeys and dispossess them of the jewels. That was not in Lambert’s contract. But he was given to understand that except being driven from the spot no further punishment would fall on the monkeys. They were sacred to the Hindus, and in the state of popular excitement it would not be wise to rouse the resentment of that faction. Perhaps stirred by gratitude Dunkar Rao gave an order that among the articles first recovered must be Lambert Sahib’s suspenders.

A few hours later, when peace had descended upon the city, Lambert strolled into the jeweler’s bazaar. In a back room of one of the shops a wonderful lot of barbaric trinkets was tossed at his feet for selection. Finally he chose a pearl necklace valued at three thousand rupees, which he figured out in this way—twenty-five hundred as little enough recompense for the danger in which Dunkar Rao’s son had involved the mullah’s daughter, and five hundred from his own pocket as no price at all for her embrace. But to Lambert the gift did not seem quite complete. He wanted the girl to know—— something. He was compelled to enlist the assistance of the jeweler, who seemed familiar with transactions requiring discretion if not secrecy. Presently he wrote some lines on a slip of rose-tinted paper.

“I think, sahib, she will understand,” he said. “Those Persian words mean——“May the brightness of thine eyes he a perpetual delight, may the sweetness of thy lips be as a pearl of great price, may the touch of thy hand fall as the dew of Heaven. May Allah preserve thee from all harm.”

“Yes,” nodded Lambert, “that’s just what I wish. Send along the message with the necklace. I guess it may be as well for her not to know whom it comes from.”

Subsequently Lambert learned by an underground channel that the girl had been persuaded that the jewels were crown jewels originally deposited in the mosque for safe keeping, and that she was performing a virtuous act in restoring them by the hand of her lover, Dunkar Rao’s son, who intended to appropriate them to his own use. Finally when he came to deliver the state automobile in all its splendor, he heard that the mullah’s daughter was about to marry a young Mohammedan noble, which indicated that she had wisely set aside all thoughts of the worthless Dunkar Rao’s son in favor of a better man. Once when Lambert was passing through the bazaar a veiled figure brushed by him closely. He looked up to recognize part of the face from which the veil had apparently fallen by accident. The return glance said much that was gratifying to Lambert. As she passed on a flower fell from her hand, but she did not turn again. Lambert picked up the flower and laid it away carefully in his pocketbook. Soon after the ramshackle tonga climbing the crest of a hill gave him a last view of the glistening dome against a pale blue sky and the terraced roofs of Aurungnugur.