As they rounded the corner of the terrace, and came in sight, I hobbled out to warn them off.  But, as ill—­luck would have it, the two Bouncers were beforehand with me.  They whizzed out on to the terrace like a couple of skyrockets, wild to see the Indians exhibit their tricks.  The other ladies followed; the gentlemen came out on their side.  Before you could say, “Lord bless us!” the rogues were making their salaams; and the Bouncers were kissing the pretty little boy.

Mr. Franklin got on one side of Miss Rachel, and I put myself behind her.  If our suspicions were right, there she stood, innocent of all knowledge of the truth, showing the Indians the Diamond in the bosom of her dress!

I can’t tell you what tricks they performed, or how they did it.  What with the vexation about the dinner, and what with the provocation of the rogues coming back just in the nick of time to see the jewel with their own eyes, I own I lost my head.  The first thing that I remember noticing was the sudden appearance on the scene of the Indian traveller, Mr. Murthwaite.  Skirting the half-circle in which the gentlefolks stood or sat, he came quietly behind the jugglers and spoke to them on a sudden in the language of their own country.

If he had pricked them with a bayonet, I doubt if the Indians could have started and turned on him with a more tigerish quickness than they did, on hearing the first words that passed his lips.  The next moment they were bowing and salaaming to him in their most polite and snaky way.  After a few words in the unknown tongue had passed on either side, Mr. Murthwaite withdrew as quietly as he had approached.  The chief Indian, who acted as interpreter, thereupon wheeled about again towards the gentlefolks.  I noticed that the fellow’s coffee-coloured face had turned grey since Mr. Murthwaite had spoken to him.  He bowed to my lady, and informed her that the exhibition was over.  The Bouncers, indescribably disappointed, burst out with a loud “O!” directed against Mr. Murthwaite for stopping the performance.  The chief Indian laid his hand humbly on his breast, and said a second time that the juggling was over.  The little boy went round with the hat.  The ladies withdrew to the drawing—­room; and the gentlemen (excepting Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite) returned to their wine.  I and the footman followed the Indians, and saw them safe off the premises.

Going back by way of the shrubbery, I smelt tobacco, and found Mr. Franklin and Mr. Murthwaite (the latter smoking a cheroot) walking slowly up and down among the trees.  Mr. Franklin beckoned to me to join them.

“This,” says Mr. Franklin, presenting me to the great traveller, “is Gabriel Betteredge, the old servant and friend of our family of whom I spoke to you just now.  Tell him, if you please, what you have just told me.”

Mr. Murthwaite took his cheroot out of his mouth, and leaned, in his weary way, against the trunk of a tree.