The clerk gulped and said timidly, “Yes, sir! I hope that—” But he stopped as Bill was already halfway across the ornate lobby heading for the stairs.
Bill locked the door of his room behind him, placed the elephant on the bed and tended to his cut. When it was bandaged to his satisfaction, he sat down and unwrapped the package. The elephant was just as he had expected. It stood on his bed, its dark wood gleaming. He picked it up and shook it. Nothing rattled. He looked it over inch by inch and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He began to feel baffled and foolish. He got the knife out of his coat pocket and picked at the wood. From the looks of it and the heft of it, it felt like any other five-rupee elephant picked up in the bazaar by an eager tourist. He took it over to his desk and examined it more carefully. Then he noticed the clue. There was a fine line around the neck of the creature, a line so thin that it was almost invisible. He propped it between his knees and twisted the head. It moved slightly, but it was very tight. He turned it slowly and the crack widened. After three full turns it came off. Inside the body of the elephant was a white mass. At first he thought of dope. But as he touched it and felt of it he realized that it was ordinary wax.
His breath was coming faster as he grabbed the knife again and picked gently at the wax. He licked his dry lips, bursting with curiosity at what might be hidden in the wax. As the knife blade slipped in he felt it strike something hard. He gouged at it and pried out a two-inch cube of wax. He broke it apart in his fingers and gasped as he uncovered a large round blue stone. He rubbed the bits of wax off of it and it lay in his palm, a pale transparent blue with a bright six-pointed star glistening on it. He guessed that it must be at least thirty carats. He had priced star sapphires and at a guess the one he held in his hand must be worth at least three thousand rupees. A thousand dollars! He dug eagerly into the body of the wooden elephant, his hands shaking, and the pile of sapphires grew on his desk, some larger and some smaller than the first one, but all a perfect shade of blue with distinct stars. At last the body of the elephant was empty. Eighteen of them. He inspected the perfect carving of the wooden threads which had enabled the head of the beast to fit on so perfectly and felt sudden respect for the craftsmanship of whoever had done the work.
Then he noticed something that had previously escaped his attention. There was a small recess in the head of the elephant, a deep cylindrical hole about a half inch in diameter. He inserted the tip of his little finger into it to rub the inside wall which looked white. A little edge of white showed, so he pulled it out. It was a piece of paper which had been rolled and tucked up into the recess. He flattened it out on the desk and saw that it was a short typewritten note.
It said, “Will cease shipments until D. leaves island. P. reports having seen him with courier. Has asked about you. Now have two new sources of gems at Ratnapura and unlimited supply of containers. Glad to hear your shipments to the States are going as planned. Please rush cash for more merchandise. Also look for new courier. Present one unreliable I fear.”
Bill’s breath came faster as he realized the implications of the note. D. could be none other than himself. Casey was the courier. And the note must be to Snider. Then Carson was the only one who could have written the note, as he was the only one who would know that Bill had asked about Snider. So that was it! So that was why Carson was so anxious to get rid of him. He grew more angry than he had yet been as he realized how easily Carson would have thrown him to the dogs just to protect a clever smuggling racket. He also felt faintly honored at the thought that Carson would consider him dangerous enough to dispose of by sending him home. Also, that Carson had correctly estimated that he would never go in on such a deal. Obviously Carson was looking for a weaker and more stupid assistant in Ceylon. An assistant he wouldn’t have to fear.
The whole nightmare of pending disgrace rolled off of Bill’s mind. He could almost feel the lines of tension erasing themselves from his face. But how to tie Carson into the whole thing? It would be his word against the old man’s. He might still wiggle out. He reread the note and suddenly noticed that every letter “a” in the note was tilted half over on its back. That looked familiar. He jumped up and ran over to the bureau. He grabbed the carbon of the fatal letter and opened it so quickly that he tore it. Yes! There were the same “a’s.” Carson had been stupid enough to type it on the office machine. He checked the two and found some more minute identical similarities in the type. That ought to do it.
After he had crammed the jewels and the fragments of wax back into the elephant and gone to bed, he lay awake looking up toward the dark ceiling, feeling once again the delicious thrill of self-confidence. He almost shuddered as he thought of the dismal trip home that he might have taken. Could easily have taken if it hadn’t been for a whole chain of fragile circumstances that clung together with so large an element of chance.
Just before he dropped off to sleep he thought what splendid pleasure it would be to fix the wagon of Mr. T. F. Carson.
But Bill was not as rough as he thought he was. When he went to the office of the American Consul the next morning, he felt a small feeling of sympathy for the old man who sat in the office a few blocks away with the world ready to fall in on his ears. Even as he sat in the locked office with the young vice-consul and unrolled the whole fantastic story and watched the excited face of the man across the desk, he couldn’t feel any real thrill of triumph. He watched the vice-consul heft the gems, compare the two notes, finger the hundred-rupee note and examine the elephant. Even when the consul came in and listened to the whole story and complimented him on his intelligence and audacity, he didn’t feel good about it. In the back of his mind hovered the faces of Carson and Casey Lal. In fact, when the parade of customs men, police, consular representatives and miscellaneous officials started toward the offices of the Purtron Oil Company, Bill walked slowly a little behind the group, feeling nothing but a strange combination of weariness and relief.
