“Yes, I've come across that theory.”
“According to an obscure occult manuscript-dating from the sixteenth century, if I remember rightly-which is quoted in Schuyler's De Mythen van Verloren Halfedelstenen, a large aerolite that fell in prehistoric times broke into three pieces. One piece landed in the West, another in Africa, and the third in the Far East. They are known as the Eyes of Naga.”
“Three eyes?”
“Yes. Three eyes. Peculiar, isn't it? I'm afraid I have no understanding of the Dutch language and wasn't able to read the Schuyler volume myself-my information came from a summary in Legendary Gemstones by Jerrold Wilson-but I believe the author goes on to recount two myths: a South American one which tells how the Amazon sprang into being when a large black diamond fell from the sky; and a Cambodian one about a lost continent in which a great river flowed from the spot where a black stone fell. He speculates that a similar story probably exists in the African interior concerning the source of the Nile.”
“It does!” Burton exclaimed. “While I was in the central Lake Regions, in a town named Kazeh, I was told that the fabled Mountains of the Moon supposedly mark the outer rim of a crater where an aerolite fell, giving rise to that river.”
“It can't be a coincidence, can it?” Brundleweed said. “I suppose the mythical shooting star really did fall. Anyway, the Choir Stones are supposedly the fragments of the Far Eastern Eye. If that's true, then the original diamond must have been considerably larger than the Koh-i-noor.”
“Hmm,” Burton grunted. “The Naga. I've encountered references to them. They equate to the Devanagari of Hindu mythology; seven-headed reptilian beings who established an underground civilisation long before Darwin's apes learned how to walk upright.”
“Ah, well, there you are,” Brundleweed commented, noncommittally.
“I shall have to look into that,” Burton murmured thoughtfully. “What of the African and South American diamonds?”
“Not a trace,” the dealer answered. “Although there are vague suggestions that, seventy years or so ago, an English aristocrat discovered an enormous black diamond in Chile. However, I very much doubt the veracity of the claim, for no such diamond has ever been seen, let alone cut and placed on the market.”
“The aristocrat's name?”
“I have no idea, Captain. As I said, it's the vaguest of rumours.”
“Hmm. And what of Francois Garnier? Why did he decide to sell his collection?”
Brundleweed snorted scornfully: “Believe it or not, he claimed that they emanate a deleterious influence. Tosh and piffle, of course!”
“Did you have any prospective buyers?”
“No, but my advertisement in the trade newspaper was only published a couple of days before the robbery. I received just a single enquiry, from a chap who came into the shop to confirm that I was putting the stones on the market, but he was one of those dandified Rake-ish sorts, and though he expressed an interest, he didn't leave a name or address, and I haven't heard from him since.”
“I followed that up,” Detective Inspector Trounce put in, “but it's been impossible to trace the fellow.”
Burton sipped his tea and gazed at the biscuit tin, his mind working.
He looked up. “Is there any explanation for the sound the diamonds are reputed to make?”
“Not that I know of. The sound is real, though. I heard it myself-the faintest of drones. I believe there's a Schuyler in the British Library, if you want to consult it. Maybe the author makes mention of the phenomenon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brundleweed. One final question. You reported a ghost?”
The diamond dealer looked embarrassed. He coughed and scratched his chin through his beard.
“Um, to be frank, Captain Burton, I think I must have nodded off and dreamed it.”
“Tell me, anyway.”
“Very well, but please bear in mind that I was strangely out of sorts that afternoon. I don't know why. I developed a migraine and felt oddly nervous and jumpy. For some reason, I imagined that my lot in life was very unsatisfactory and I grew rather morose. I inherited this little business from my father and have never before or since considered that I might do anything else in life but run it. However, that afternoon I was suddenly filled with resentment toward it, feeling that it had prevented me from doing something more important.”
“What, precisely?”
“That's the thing of it! I have no idea! The suggestion that I might abandon the family business is absurd in the extreme! Anyway, I was in a thoroughly bad temper and, at four o'clock-I remember the time because the clock suddenly stopped ticking and I couldn't get it started again-I decided to pack it in for the day. The Francois Garnier Collection was already locked in my safe but, before leaving, I went to double check it. As I passed through into the workshop, the figure of a woman caught my eye. It made me jump out of my skin, I can tell you. She was standing in the corner, white and transparent. Then I blinked and she was gone. Believe me, after that I had a thorough case of the jitters and left the shop in a hurry, though not before locking up carefully. On the way home, the fresh air seemed to do me good and the migraine left me. I began to feel more like my old self. By the time I stepped through my front door, I was perfectly fine. I went to bed early and slept heavily. I didn't awake until the police knocked the next morning.”
Burton looked at Trounce. “Some sort of gas?” he suggested. “Causing hallucinations?”
“That was my thought,” the detective replied. “But we checked every inch of the floors, walls, and ceilings and found no residue and no indication of how gas might have been introduced. Certainly it didn't come up from the cellar. The tunnel from the underground river wasn't dug until hours later.”
There was a long pause, then Burton said: “I apologise for imposing upon you, Mr. Brundleweed. Thank you for the tea and biscuits. I hope the diamonds are recovered.”
“I suppose they'll surface eventually, Captain.”
“And when they do,” Trounce offered, “I'll hear about it!”
The men stood, exchanged handshakes, and Burton and Trounce took their leave.
“What next?” the detective asked as they stepped out onto the street.
“Well, Trounce old chap, this has piqued my curiosity, so I think I'm going to bury my head in books for the rest of the day to see what more I can dig up about the Naga, then on Wednesday I shall take my rotorchair out for a spin.”
“Where to?”
“Tichborne House. Much as I'd rather pursue this diamond affair, orders are orders, so I ought to have a chat with the soon-to-be-deposed baronet.”
Burton spent an uncomfortable afternoon at the British Library consulting Matthijs Schuyler's De Mythen van Verloren Halfedelstenen, along with a number of other books and manuscripts.
He became increasingly ill.
Malaria is like an earthquake; after the initial devastating attack, a series of lesser aftershocks follow, and one of them crept over the king's agent as he studied.
It began with difficulty focusing his right eye. Then he began to perspire. By five o'clock he was trembling and feeling nauseous.
He decided to go home to sleep it off.
Sitting in a hansom, being bumped and jerked toward Montagu Place, he considered what he'd read.
According to the occult text consulted by Schuyler, a continent named Kumari Kandam once existed in the Indian Ocean. It was home to the Naga kingdom, whose capital city spanned a great river, the Pahruli, which sprang from the spot where a black diamond had fallen from the sky.
The Naga were reptilian, and were constantly warring with the land's human inhabitants, enslaving them, sacrificing them, and, it was hinted, eating them.