Om: The Secret of Ahbor Valley. Talbot Mundy

was another ivory enigma, absolutely smooth in contrast to the elder's wrinkles, and much paler. He, too, wore snuff-colored clothes. His head was wrapped in a turban of gorgeously embroidered brown silk, in contract to the other's monkish simplicity, and the cloth of which his cloak was made seemed to be of lighter and better material than the older man's. He was remarkably good-looking—straight-featured and calm -placid, not apparently from self-contentment but from assurance that life holds a definite purpose and that he was being led along the narrow road. There was an air of good temper and wisdom about him, no apparent pride nor any mean humility. His eyes were blue-gray, his hands small, strong and artistic. His feet, too, were small but evidently used to walking. He was in every dimension smaller than the older man, unless mind is a dimension; they appeared to be equals in mental aroma, and they exuded that in the mysterious way of a painting by Goya Lucientes.

      "Well, what do you want?" Chutter Chand asked at last in English. It was a ridiculous language, on the face of it, to use to a Tibetan; but the older man had been using English in the outer shop, and Chutter Chand knew no Prakrit dialect.

      The answer, in English devoid of any noticeable accent, was given by the older man in a voice as full of humor as his wrinkled face.

      "The piece of jade," he said, unblinking, ending on a rising note that suggested there was nothing to explain, nothing to argue about, nothing to do but be reasonable. He snapped his fingers, and Diana, normally a most suspicious dog, came close to him. He ran his fingers through her hair and she laid her huge jowl on his knee. Chutter Chand crossed and uncrossed his legs restlessly.

      "I haven't it," said the jeweler. "Besides—er—ah—you would have to tell me your—that is—er—you would have to establish first by what right you make such a demand. You understand me?"

      "I have made no demand," the old man answered, smiling. His voice was sweetly reasonable; his bright old eyes twinkled. "You have asked what I want. I have told you."

      "Tell me who you are," said Chutter Chand.

      "My son, I am a Lama. I am one who strives to tread the Middle Way."

      "Where from?"

      "From desire into peace!"

      "I mean, what, place do you come from?"

      "From the same place that the piece of jade came from, my son. From the place to which he who desires merit will return it."

      "Is the jade yours?" asked Chutter Chand.

      "Is the air mine? Are the stars mine?" the Lama answered, smiling as if the idea of possessing anything were a joke made by an inquiring child.

      "Well; what right have you to the piece of jade?" Chutter Chand snapped back at him. He let the irritation through without intending it and smiled directly afterward in an attempt to undo the impression. But if the Lama had noticed the acerbity, he made no sign.

      "None, any more than you have," came the answer in the same mild voice. "None has any right to it. I have a duty to return it to whence it came—and a duty to you, to preserve you from impertinence, if that may be. It is not good, Chutter Chand, to meddle with knowledge before the time appointed for its understanding. He who would tread the Middle Way is patient, keeping both feet on the ground and his head no higher than humility will let it reach. Be wise—O man of intellectual desires! Destruction is in rashness."

      His fingers touched Diana's collar and twisted it around until the small brass plate, on which Ommony's name was engraved, came uppermost; but his eyes continued to look straight at Chutter Chand. It was the younger man, squatting in silence beside him, his head and body motionless, whose bright eyes took in every detail of the room, not omitting to notice the movement of the Lama's hand. Except for the eyes, his face continued perfectly expressionless.

      "Well—er—ah—before I answer definitely, I would like you to tell me about the jade," said Chutter Chand. "You will find me reasonable. I am not a sacrilegious person. Er—ah—can you not establish to my satisfaction that—ah—I would be doing rightly to—er—let us say, to entrust the piece of jade to you?"

      "I think you know that already," said the Lama, in a voice of mild reproof, as if he were speaking to a child of whom he was rather fond. "What does your heart say, my son? It is the heart that answers wisely, if desire has been subdued. I have come a very long way—"

      "Desiring the piece of jade!" sneered Chutter Chand—regretting the sneer instantly—driving fingernails into the palm of his hand with impatience of himself.

      "True," said the Lama. "Desire is not easy to destroy. Yet I do not desire it for myself. And for you I desire peace—and merit. May the Lord live in your heart and guide you in the Middle Way."

      The jeweler moved restlessly. The atmosphere was getting on his nerves. There was an indefinable feeling of being in the presence of superiority, which is irritating to a man of intellect.

      "You mean, there will be no peace for me unless I give up the piece of jade to you?" he asked tartly.

      "I think that is so," said the Lama gently.

      "Well; it is not in my possession."

      "But you know who has it," said the Lama, looking straight at him.

      The jeweler did not answer, and the Lama's eyes beamed with intelligence. The young Tibetan moved at last and whispered in his ear. The Lama nodded almost imperceptibly, turning the dog's collar around again with leisurely fingers, whose touch seemed magically satisfying to Diana. He looked once, sharply, at the big brass Buddha, let his eyes rest again on the jeweler's, and went on speaking. "What a man can not do is no weight against him. It be the hand of Destiny, preventing him from a mistake. The deeds a man does are the fruits that are weighed in the balance and from which the seeds of future lives are saved. Peace be with you. Peace refresh you. Peace give you peace that you may multiply it, Chutter Chand."

      The Lama arose and the younger man rolled up the mat. Diana jumped to her feet. Chutter Chand made an attempt to get out of his chair with dignity; but the Lama seemed to have monopolized in his own person all the dignity there was in sight, which was embarrassing. "Er—ah—I appreciate the blessing. Er—ah—are you going? But you haven't told me what I asked about the jade —ah—would you care to come again?—Perhaps—"

      The Lama smiled, stroked Diana's head, bowed, so that his long skirts swung like a bronze bell, and one almost expected a resonant boom to follow, and led the way out, followed by the younger man, who smiled once so suddenly and brightly that Chutter Chand's nervous irritation vanished. But it returned the moment they had gone. He jumped at the noise Ommony made pushing the brass Buddha away from the wall.

      "Damn them both!" he exploded. "Sahib, I hate to be mystified! I detest to be patronized! I feel I made myself contemptible! I could not think! I could not make my brain invent the questions that I should have asked!"

      "You did pretty well," said Ommony. "See 'em home, girl!"

      Diana's tail went between her legs, but she did not hesitate; she trotted out of the shop—stood still a moment on the sidewalk—sniffed—vanished.

      "Sahib, they will send some one to loot this shop of mine! Ommonee—"

      "Tut-tut! Those two didn't overlook one detail. The young one read my name on Diana's collar and whispered it to the Lama. The Lama knew I was behind the Buddha. He suspected something when he felt the chair-seat and found it warm."

      "Worse and worse!" said Chutter Chand despondently. "To incur the enmity of such people is more dangerous than to tamper with my snakes!"

      Chutter Chand, his brain full of western and eastern science, his suit from London and his turban from Lahore, yearned to the West for protection from eastern mystery. Ommony, all English, steeped in the Orient for twenty years, had thrown his thought eastward and was reckoning like lightning in terms of Indian thought.

      "They didn't suspect my presence until after they came in here. Shut up, Chutter Chand! Listen to me!—They'll have brought a man to watch outside the shop and follow any one who follows them. They can't have cautioned