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“Afraid the cow would hook?” asked the reporter.

“No; the cow is a sacred animal to the Phansigars. Next to their goddess they worship the cow. They have never been known to commit any deed of violence in the presence of the animal they reverence.”

“It’s a mighty interesting story,” said the reporter.

“If you don’t mind I’ll take another drink, and then a few notes.”

“I will join you,” said General Ludlow, with a courteous wave of his hand.

“If I were you,” advised the reporter, “I’d take that sparkler to Texas. Get on a cow ranch there, and the Pharisees –“

“Phansigars,” corrected the General.

“Oh, yes; the fancy guys would run up against a long horn every time they made a break.”

General Ludlow closed the diamond case and thrust it into his bosom.

“The spies of the tribe have found me out in New York,” he said, straightening his tall figure. “I’m familiar with the East Indian cast of countenance, and I know that my every movement is watched. They will undoubtedly attempt to rob and murder me here.”

“Here?” exclaimed the reporter, seizing the decanter and pouring out a liberal amount of its contents.

“At any moment,” said the General. “But as a soldier and a connoisseur I shall sell my life and my diamond as dearly as I can.”

At this point of the reporter’s story there is a certain vagueness, but it can be gathered that there was a loud crashing noise at the rear of the house they were in. General Ludlow buttoned his coat closely and sprang for the door. But the reporter clutched him firmly with one hand, while he held the decanter with the other.

“Tell me before we fly,” he urged, in a voice thick with some inward turmoil, “do any of your daughters contemplate going on the stage?”

“I have no daughters — fly for your life — the Phansigars are upon us!” cried the General.

The two men dashed out of the front door of the house.

The hour was late. As their feet struck the side-walk strange men of dark and forbidding appearance seemed to rise up out of the earth and encompass them. One with Asiatic features pressed close to the General and droned in a terrible voice:

“Buy cast clo’!”

Another, dark-whiskered and sinister, sped lithely to his side and began in a whining voice:

“Say, mister, have yer got a dime fer a poor feller what –“

They hurried on, but only into the arms of a black-eyed, dusky-browed being, who held out his hat under their noses, while a confederate of Oriental hue turned the handle of a street organ near by.

Twenty steps farther on General Ludlow and the reporter found themselves in the midst of half a dozen villainous-looking men with high-turned coat collars and faces bristling with unshaven beards.

“Run for it!” hissed the General. “They have discovered the possessor of the diamond of the goddess Kali.”

The two men took to their heels. The avengers of the goddess pursued.

“Oh, Lordy!” groaned the reporter, “there isn’t a cow this side of Brooklyn. We’re lost!”

When near the corner they both fell over an iron object that rose from the sidewalk close to the gutter. Clinging to it desperately, they awaited their fate.

“If I only had a cow!” moaned the reporter — “or another nip from that decanter, General!”

As soon as the pursuers observed where their victims had found refuge they suddenly fell back and retreated to a considerable distance.

“They are waiting for reinforcements in order to attack us,” said General Ludlow.

But the reporter emitted a ringing laugh, and hurled his hat triumphantly into the air.

“Guess again,” he shouted, and leaned heavily upon the iron object. “Your old fancy guys or thugs, whatever you call ’em, are up to date. Dear General, this is a pump we’ve stranded upon — same as a cow in New York (hic!) see? Thas’h why the ‘nfuriated smoked guys don’t attack us — see? Sacred an’mal, the pump in N’ York, my dear General!”

But further down in the shadows of Twenty-eighth Street the marauders were holding a parley.

“Come on, Reddy,” said one. “Let’s go frisk the old ‘un. He’s been shown’ a sparkler as big as a hen egg all around Eighth Avenue for two weeks past.”

“Not on your silhouette,” decided Reddy. “You see ’em rallyin’ round The Pump? They’re friends of Bill’s. Bill won’t stand for nothin’ of this kind in his district since he got that bid to Esopus.”

This exhausts the facts concerning the Kali diamond. But it is deemed not inconsequent to close with the following brief (paid) item that appeared two days later in a morning paper.

“It is rumored that a niece of Gen. Marcellus B. Ludlow, of New York City, will appear on the stage next season.

“Her diamonds are said to be extremely valuable and of much historic interest.”