“Just so. The stone was genuine as it passed round the table until it reached Sir Rupert, who then replaced it in the box. Then Mr. Gregg took the stone from the box and passed it round to the rest of us. It was then a fake one.”
Sir Rupert was clenching and unclenching his hands spasmodically. Major Foran moved close to him.
“This is a damned outrage, I tell you,” he growled. “I put the stone back where I found it.”
“Exactly,” Jayram said with emphasis. “Where you found it.”
They realized that he must have said something clever, or made some point that was obscure to them.
“If I may make a suggestion, Major,” Jayram said quietly. “Have your Sepoys take Father Cassian into the study and hold him until I come. We will remain here.”
The blood drained from Father Cassian’s face as he stared at the little Bengali inspector. His mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds. Everyone was staring at him with astonishment. If nothing else, Cassian’s expression betrayed his guilt.
“That’s a curious request,” observed Foran, recovering quickly. “Are you sure that Father Cassian is the thief?”
“Will you indulge me? At the moment, let us say that Father Cassian is not all that he represents himself to be. Furthermore, at the precise moment of the disturbance, Cassian was holding the stone. Sir Rupert had asked him for it. Our attention was momentarily distracted by Lady Miller at the door. When I looked back, the stone had been replaced in its holder. Sir Rupert, seeing this, took up the stone, examined it, and replaced it. The only time it could have been switched was when Cassian held it, before he replaced it in the casket.”
Cassian half rose, and then he slumped down. He smiled in resignation. “If I knew the Bengali for ‘it’s a fair cop,’ I’d say it. How did you get on to me, Jayram?”
Jayram sighed. “I suspected that you were not a Catholic priest. I then made a pointed reference to Pelagius to test you. Any Catholic priest would know that Pelagius is not a saint and martyr of the fourth century. He was a philosopher who argued vehemently with Augustine of Hippo and was excommunicated from the Roman church as a heretic. You did not know this.”
Cassian shrugged. “I suppose we can’t know everything,” he grunted. “As I say, it’s a fair…” He had reached a hand into his cassock. Then a surprised look came over his features. He rummaged in his pocket and then stared at Jayram. “But…,” he began.
Jayram jerked his head to Foran. Foran gave the necessary orders. After the erstwhile “Father” Cassian had been removed, against a background of stunned silence, Foran turned back to Jayram.
“Perhaps you would explain why you have had Cassian removed to be searched. The search could easily have been done here.”
“The reason,” Jayram said imperturbably, “is that we will not find the stone on him.”
There was a chorus of surprise and protest.
“You mean, you know he is innocent?” gasped Foran.
“Oh no. I know he is guilty. When our attention was distracted by the entrance of the captive, Father Cassian swapped the genuine stone and placed the fake on the table for Sir Rupert to pick up later. It was the perfect opportunity to switch the genuine stone for the faked stone. Cassian is doubtless a professional jewel thief who came to Baroda when he heard that Savaji Rao was going to present the Eye of Shiva to the Resident for transportation to England.”
“You mean, Cassian was already prepared with an imitation ruby?” demanded Royston.
“Just so. I doubt whether Cassian is his real name. But we will see.”
“But if he doesn’t have the stone, what can we charge him with, and moreover, who the hell has the genuine stone?” demanded Foran.
“Father Cassian can be charged with many things,” Jayram assured him. “Traveling on a fake passport, defrauding… I am sure we will find many items to keep Father Cassian busy.”
“But if he doesn’t have the genuine Eye of Shiva, who the devil has it?” repeated Lieutenant Tompkins.
Jayram gave a tired smile. “Would you mind placing the genuine ruby on the table, Your Excellency?”
There was a gasp as he swung round to Lord Chetwynd Miller.
Lord Chetwynd Miller’s face was sunken and pale. He stared up at Jayram like a cornered animal, eyes wide and unblinking.
Everyone in the room had become immobile, frozen into a curious theatrical tableau.
The Resident tried to speak, and then it seemed his features began to dissolve. He suddenly looked old and frail. To everyone’s horror, except for the placid Jayram, he reached into the pocket of his dinner jacket and took out the rich red stone and silently placed it on the table before him.
“How did you know?” he asked woodenly.
Ram Jayram shrugged eloquently. “I think your action was one made on-how do you say-’the spur of the moment’? The opportunity came when our prisoner tried to escape. You instinctively ran after him. You collided with Sir Rupert, and both went down. Cassian went to your aid. He had his role as a priest to keep up. There was-how do you call it? — a melee? The jewel accidentally fell from Cassian’s pocket unnoticed by him onto the floor. You saw it. You realized what had happened and staged a second fall across it, secreting it into your pocket. You were quick-witted. You have a reputation for quick reactions, Excellency. It was an excellent maneuver.”
Foran was staring at the Resident in disbelief. Tompkins, the ADC, was simply pale with shock.
“But why?” Foran stammered after a moment or two.
Lord Chetwynd Miller stared up at them with haunted eyes. “Why?” The Resident repeated with a sharp bark of laughter.
“I have given my life to the British Government of India. A whole life’s work. Back home my estates are heavily mortgaged and I have not been able to save a penny during all my years of service here. I was honest; too scrupulously honest. I refused to take part in any business deal which I thought unethical; any deal from which my position prohibited me. What’s the result of years of honest dedication? A small pension that will barely sustain my wife and myself, let alone pay the mortgage of our estate. That together with a letter from the viceroy commending my work and perhaps a few honors, baubles from Her Majesty that are so much worthless scrap metal. That is my reward for a lifetime of service.”
Major Foran glanced at the imperturbable face of Jayram and bit his lip.
“So, you thought you saw a way of subsidizing your pension?” Jayram asked the Resident.
“I could have paid off my debts with it,” confirmed the Resident. “It would have given us some security when we retired.”
“But it was not yours,” Sir Rupert Harvey observed in a shocked voice.
“Whom did it belong to?” demanded the Resident, a tinge of anger in his voice. “Was it Savaji Rao’s to give? Was it the Queen-Empress’s to receive? Since Colonel Vickers stole it from the statue of Shiva in Betul, it has simply been the property of thieves and only the property of the thief who could hold on to it.”
“It was the property of our Queen-Empress,” Lieutenant Tompkins said sternly. He was youthful, a simple young soldier who saw all things in black-and-white terms.
“She would have glanced at it and then let it be buried in the royal vaults forever. No one would have known whether it was genuine or fake-they would merely have seen a pretty red stone. To me, it was life; comfort and a just reward for all I had done for her miserable Empire!”
Lord Chetwynd Miller suddenly spread his arms helplessly, and a sob racked his frail body. It was the first time that those gathered around the table realized that the Resident was merely a tired old man.
“I have to tell my wife. Oh God, the shame will kill her.”
They looked at his heaving shoulders with embarrassment.
“I don’t know what to do,” muttered Foran.
“A suggestion,” interrupted Ram Jayram.
“What?”
“The stone was missing for a matter of a few minutes. It was not really stolen. What happened was a sudden impulse, an overpowering temptation which few men in the circumstances in which His Excellency found himself could have resisted. He saw the opportunity and took it.”