Travers paid no attention to Ramma Lal's reproachful reply. He was lost in amazement. Here, on the very night he had chosen for purloining the jewel, two other men were on the same errand. Stop. There was a reason for their date. They had mentioned twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five years. It was evidently an anniversary. Every twenty-five years an attempt had to be made to restore the jewel to the Temple of Agni. Three attempts had already been made in vain, and now, on the hundredth anniversary of the theft by Major Illingworth, another attempt was in progress. At any rate, he was forewarned. The house was a mile and a half away from the station by the main road on which the Hindoos were going. He knew a cut across the fields which shortened the distance by half a mile. He would gain ten minutes. In that ten minutes he had to obtain the Pearl. The train pulled up at Knowlesworth station. The two Hindoos stepped out. Travers followed. He watched them start along the road; then he briskly cut across country. The church clock struck eight as he reached the terrace in front of the hall. From the beginning he had matured only one plan of campaign. He knew the rules of the house, and he would take advantage of them. From eight to nine the men-servants were busy in the dining-room. Anyone could open the main outer door and enter. He might, of course, be seen, and in this eventuality Travers relied upon his being known to allay suspicion. He was in evening dress, and temporarily, at any rate, would strike a servant as being one of the guests. The nominal dinner-hour was eight. It had been his intention to enter at 8.20 in order to allow for any delay either on the part of the kitchen or the guests. Dinners at Knowlesworth were notoriously unpunctual, and if he entered now he might run into the house party or meet stragglers on the stairs. He must wait. But the Hindoos were marching down the road. Each instant brought them nearer. In ten--no, in eight minutes--they would be in the garden. Yet he dare not enter. He waited impatiently in the shadow of the great portico. It was now 8.10. He would make an attempt. He slowly pushed back the heavy door, and entered the vestibule. This was cut off from the hall by big glass doors, and then by heavy curtains. Still more carefully he opened the inner door, and then quickly closed it again. Through the opening had come the sound of voices and laughter. They were gathered in the hall before the fire, waiting for the summons to dinner. So there he stayed, cursing the unpunctuality of the house, and unquietly reflecting that a casual remark as to the present state of the weather might lead to the glass door being opened and himself ignominiously disclosed.