"But the drums of jeopardy!" said Kitty.
"Emeralds, green as an English lawn in May after a shower, Kitty. By the
way, do you mind if I call you Kitty? I used to."
"And I've always thought of you as Cutty. Fifty-fifty."
"It's a bargain. Well, the drums to my thinking are the finest two
examples of the green beryl in the world. Polished, of course, as
emeralds always should be. I should say that they were about the size of
those peppermint chocolate drops there."
"Have one?" said Kitty.
"No. Spoil the taste of the pipe."
"You ought to spoil that taste once in a while," was Burlingame's
observation. "But go on."
"I suppose originally there was a single stone, later cut into halves,
because they are perfect matches. The drums proper are exquisitely
carved ivory statuettes, of Hindu or Mohammedan drummers, squatting,
the golden base of the drums between the knees, and the drumheads the
emeralds. Lord, how they got to me! I wanted to run off with them. The
history of murder and loot they could tell! Some Delhi mogul owned them
first. Then Nadir Shah carried them off to Persia, along with the famous
peacock throne. I saw them in a palace on the Caspian in 1912. Russia
was very strong in Persia at one time. Perhaps they were gifts; perhaps
they were stolen--these emeralds. Anyhow, I'd never heard of them until
that year. And I travelled all the way up from Constantinople to get
a glimpse of them if it were possible. I had to do some mighty fine
wire-pulling. For one of those stones I would give half of all I own. To
see them in the possession of another man would be a supreme test to my
honesty."
"You old pirate!" said Burlingame.
"But why the word jeopardy?" persisted Kitty, who was intrigued by the
phrase.
"Probably some Hindu trick. It is a language of flowery metaphors. It
means, I suppose, that when you touch the drums they bite. In journeying
from one spot to another they always leave misfortune behind, as I
understand it. Just coincidence; but you couldn't drive that into an
Oriental skull. This is what makes the study of precious stones so
interesting. There is always some enchantment, some evil spell. To
handle the drums is to invite a minor accident. Call it twaddle;
probably is; and yet I have reason to believe that there's something to
the superstition."
Burlingame sniffed.
"I can prove it," Cutty declared. "I held those drums in my hands one
day. I carried them to a window the better to observe them. On my return
to the hotel I was knocked down by a horse and laid up in bed for a
week. That same night someone tried to kill the man who showed me the
emeralds. Coincidence? Perhaps. But these days I'm shying at thirteen,
the wrong side of the street, ladders, and religious curses."