“That’s a corking story,” said the reporter.  “That decanter is exactly like the one that John W. Gates always sets out during an interview.”

“Pardon me,” said General Ludlow, “for forgetting hospitality in the excitement of my narrative.  Help yourself.”

“Here’s looking at you,” said the reporter.

“What I am afraid of now,” said the General, lowering his voice, “is that I may be robbed of the diamond.  The jewel that formed an eye of their goddess is their most sacred symbol.  Somehow the tribe suspected me of having it; and members of the band have followed me half around the earth.  They are the most cunning and cruel fanatics in the world, and their religious vows would compel them to assassinate the unbeliever who has desecrated their sacred treasure.

“Once in Lucknow three of their agents, disguised as servants in a hotel, endeavoured to strangle me with a twisted cloth.  Again, in London, two Thugs, made up as street musicians, climbed into my window at night and attacked me.  They have even tracked me to this country.  My life is never safe.  A month ago, while I was at a hotel in the Berkshires, three of them sprang upon me from the roadside weeds.  I saved myself then by my knowledge of their customs.”

“How was that, General?” asked the reporter.

“There was a cow grazing near by,” said General Ludlow, “a gentle Jersey cow.  I ran to her side and stood.  The three Thugs ceased their attack, knelt and struck the ground thrice with their foreheads.  Then, after many respectful salaams, they departed.”

“Afraid the cow would hook?” asked the reporter.

“No; the cow is a sacred animal to the Phansigars.  Next to their goddess they worship the cow.  They have never been known to commit any deed of violence in the presence of the animal they reverence.”

“It’s a mighty interesting story,” said the reporter.  “If you don’t mind I’ll take another drink, and then a few notes.”

“I will join you,” said General Ludlow, with a courteous wave of his hand.

“If I were you,” advised the reporter, “I’d take that sparkler to Texas.  Get on a cow ranch there, and the Pharisees—­”

“Phansigars,” corrected the General.

“Oh, yes; the fancy guys would run up against a long horn every time they made a break.”

General Ludlow closed the diamond case and thrust it into his bosom.

“The spies of the tribe have found me out in New York,” he said, straightening his tall figure.  “I’m familiar with the East Indian cast of countenance, and I know that my every movement is watched.  They will undoubtedly attempt to rob and murder me here.”

“Here?” exclaimed the reporter, seizing the decanter and pouring out a liberal amount of its contents.

“At any moment,” said the General.  “But as a soldier and a connoisseur I shall sell my life and my diamond as dearly as I can.”