'The rajah has many jewels, I suppose?'
'What rajah hasn't?' queried Cranston calmly. 'I saw his rubies, the real Oriental kind, as large as marbles. Emeralds, too, and diamonds -'
'What about sapphires, Lamont?'
'Sapphires?' Cranston gave an indulgent headshake. 'Too common. Only the rajah's servants would wear them. He might use them for coat buttons.'
Cranston was reaching for the newspaper again. Margo couldn't curb her patience any longer.
'What about sapphires like the Star of Delhi?' she demanded. 'Wouldn't such stones interest this all important rajah?'
The question actually took away some of Cranston's calm, but Margo recognized that his sudden interest must also be a pose. He'd just been waiting for her to bring up the question that was already in his mind, and he was letting her take the credit for it.
'A real thought, Margo!' Cranston exclaimed. 'I'll speak to the rajah about the Star of Delhi, and tell him that it was your idea. He'll be so pleased that he'll want to meet you. So there's your reward, Margo - a meeting with a real rajah.'
During the afternoon, while still waiting to hear further from Cranston, Margo tried to convince herself that rajahs meant nothing in her life; but despite such efforts, she had to concede that a meeting with the handsome Rajah of Lengore would be an interesting experience.
When Cranston called up, later, and said he'd arranged it for early in the evening, Margo couldn't control the enthusiasm that she felt.
'The rajah will call for you,' Cranston told her. 'By the way, I sent a package over to your apartment, along with a note. Sorry I can't see you, or go along, this evening. The commissioner insists upon my meeting him at the club.'
AT her apartment, Margo found the note and the package, and didn't know whether to be irked or intrigued.
It seemed that Cranston had arranged some scheme with the rajah that probably involved the Star of Delhi, though the note did not specify it. At any rate, the rajah was going somewhere with his niece, a Hindu princess.
Not having a niece who was a Hindu princess, the rajah had been stumped, until Cranston elected Margo for the part. So the package contained the costume that the girl was to wear, and with it, Cranston had sent along a bottle of make-up dye which he guaranteed would furnish Margo with a delicately dusky complexion.
At first Margo rebelled; then, having intended to get dressed for the evening anyway, she decided to try the Hindu costume. Having put on what there was of it, she took a look at the effect in a full-length mirror. Except that it made her feel like a prospective guest at an artists' ball, Margo rather liked it.
The costume had very ornate slippers, a pert jacket studded with real jewels, and a split skirt that gave the effect of bloomers. The skirt was filmy, even away from the light, and though not exactly daring, wouldn't do for street wear in New York.
However, Margo decided that a Hindu princess would probably be privileged to wear a fur coat in a cool clime like America, so she proceeded to dye her face and neck.
The effect was good, and she added the brownish hue to her arms and hands.
She was just finished, when the apartment bell announced the Rajah of Lengore.
Margo met her escort in the apartment lobby. He was as handsome as his photograph, and quite tall.
His smile of greeting was a bit troubled by sight of Margo's fur coat, but when she explained that she was wearing the Hindu costume, too, he gave a pleased nod. The rajah, himself, was wearing his uniform and a compact turban.
They stepped into a waiting limousine, and as they rode away together, the rajah produced an array of rings and bracelets for his niece to wear.
There was an anklet, too, the most expensive item among all the jewelry. Of gold, studded with diamonds and rubies, it was so heavy that when Margo crossed her knees, she found it more comfortable to keep her left foot on the floor, since the band of gold was on her left ankle.
When they reached their destination, Margo was rather surprised to find it an old-fashioned office building. A man stepped from an elevator to give the Oriental visitors a curious look, but when the rajah announced in slow but perfect English that he was Cranston's friend, the elevator man took them up.
At the top, Margo saw an elevator door which had a pane of thick bulletproof glass. Peering through, a servant studied the visitors, then opened the door.
They were ushered into a room of paneled oak, where a crabby old man sat behind a desk on which rested a tray with a half-finished bowl of milk toast. The servant was already helping Margo remove her fur coat, when the old man looked up. The expression of annoyance that Uriah Crome was showing to impress Commissioner Weston, took a very sudden change.
Open-mouthed, Crome scanned the uniformed Rajah of Lengore, then, let his widening eyes take in Margo from head to foot. The rajah was introducing himself, and announcing that the lady was his niece, which Crome could readily believe.
Margo's complexion looked about the same hue as the rajah's, and her bizarre Oriental costume revealed a shapeliness that suited the specifications of a Hindu princess. But the feature that overwhelmed Crome, and won him to immediate belief, was the display of jewelry that Margo flashed for his especial benefit.
The rajah had placed a necklace of emeralds and diamonds around his niece's neck, and those gems made a wonderful splash. Bracelets and rings attracted Crome's down-sweeping eye, and when he saw the anklet, with its sparkle of diamonds and fire of rubies, he drew a long, amazed gasp.
The bitter flicker to his lips was just a recollection of the half million dollars that he had spent, under forced pressure, for the Star of Delhi.
IF the Rajah of Lengore intended to pawn his niece's gems, and had asked her to wear them here for the effect on Uriah Crome, it was certainly a case of super-salesmanship. Already, Crome was wishing that he could afford to purchase those adornments wholesale.
Catching the covetous glint in the old man's eye, Margo began to picture herself peeling off layers of jewels and dropping them on Crome's desk, while the rajah would be counting money in return.
It made her angry at Lamont, and at the rajah, too. Cranston's helping the rajah to sell jewels to Crome was fair enough, but Margo didn't like the idea of being used as an attraction to raise the price. She could imagine how a real Hindu princess would feel if called upon by an avaricious uncle to make a public sacrifice of her personal jewels, to impress an old miser like Crome.
She intended to tell Lamont what she thought of him, when she met him. Meanwhile, she'd act the part that she was playing, even though it was helping the very cause that she considered detestable.
Then, as the Rajah of Lengore spoke in a slow, musical tone, Margo was overwhelmed with remorse for having formed so wrong an opinion of Cranston and his Hindu friend.
The rajah, too, had observed Crome's gaze and was politely telling the old collector that none of his niece's jewels were for sale. Instead, the Rajah of Lengore had come to buy gems from Uriah Crome, and had requested his niece to accompany him, that she might compare with her present adornments whatever items Crome offered.
Indeed, the rajah's tone implied a doubt that Crome had many jewels that the princess would care to own.
It was the right way to deal with Crome. Testily, the old collector pressed buttons on his desk and started panels spinning all about the room. Bobbing about like a jack-in-the-box, he pointed his visitors to one display case after another, trying to impress them with his marvelous collection.
They went from topazes to opals, past shelves that teemed with specimens of turquoise and amethyst. On beyond an array of diamonds, to emeralds and rubies, finally stopping at a case of sapphires. It was there that the rajah made his closest study; he shook his head in disappointment.
'I had hoped to find the one gem that I wanted,' he announced. 'The great Star of Delhi.'
Never had any man been taken more off guard than Uriah Crome.
Margo looked quickly at the old collector, saw his face go as purple as the shelves of sapphires. Crome's lips were wagging, but no words came from them. It was the Rajah of Lengore who spoke.
