In some way a
legend has grown up around it--it is of very great age--to the
effect that it must always cause its owner to lose his most
cherished possession."
"I wonder," said the silvern voice, "that you, who possess so
many beautiful things, should consent to have so ill-omened a
curiosity in your house."
"I do not fear the evil charm of this little ivory image," said
Colonel Deacon, "although its history goes far to bear out the
truth of the legend. Its last possessor lost his most cherished
possession a month after the Buddha came into his hands. He fell
down his own stairs--and lost his life!"
Madame de Medici languidly surveyed the figure through the
upraised emerald.
"Really!" she murmured. "And the one from whom he procured it?"
"A Hindu usurer of Simla," replied the Colonel. "His daughter
stole it from her father together with many other things, and
took them to her lover, with whom she fled!"
Madame de Medici seemed to be slightly interested.
"I should love to possess so weird a thing," she said softly.
"It is yours!" exclaimed the Colonel, and placed it in her hands.
"Oh, but really," she protested.
"But really I insist--in order that you may not forget your first
visit to my house!"
She shrugged her shoulders.
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