Burma, until deposed by his brother Mindon Min, who proved to be the only humane
king in the entire line of Alompra."
Professor Frescott gave a knowing nod.
"That was the curse of Alompra," he recalled. "Beginning with a warrior
chieftain, the dynasty degenerated and finally perished through descendants who
were the victims of a homicidal mania."
"A fratricidal mania, too," added Shebley. "One of their greatest pastimes
was killing off their brothers - and all their families were large."
Again Frescott nodded.
"I've often wondered about Pagan Min," continued Shebley. "He must have
hated his brother Mindon, and why he let him live, I cannot understand. Why, if
Mindon had ever come within Pagan's reach -"
With a sudden pause, Shebley studied Frescott's gaze as though trying to
guess what lay behind the narrowed eyes. Then, crisply, Shebley asked:
"You are interested, professor?"
"Very much," assured Frescott in a dispassionate tone. "You appear to be
versed in Oriental customs, and anything Oriental intrigues me."
It was so frankly put that Shebley decided his actions would not be
misunderstood. Rising from the table, he stepped around it, the twelve inch
dagger lying flat across his hands so that Frescott could study it more closely.
The professor had seen many katars before, but none like this.
"Unique."
Shebley voiced the word in matter-of-fact tone. It was his favorite
expression, for it applied to every item in his well stocked cases. As a
collector, Shebley valued curios only if they were quite unmatched, and he had
reason to prize this katar as such.
The silver blade was six inches long, and ran wide from the hilt, tapering
to a dull point. Having no sharpened edges, it appeared to be a ceremonial
weapon, as was further evidenced by the hilt. In fact, the hilt was the
distinctive feature that caused a katar to differ from other styles of daggers.
Instead of a mere handle, the hilt was shaped like a letter H so that the
cross-bar could be gripped by the fist, the knuckles resting in the
stirrup-shaped space between the cross-bar and the dagger blade. The upper
extensions of the hilt were protective wings for the hand and wrist and were
composed of gold, highly ornamented.
It was the cross-bar, however, that fascinated Frescott, as Shebley knew it
would. Instead of being mere gold as was customary with the finest hand-grips,
the center of the bar was a gleaming, blood-red stone set between two cup-shaped
holders. As large as a marble and as round, that magnificent gem seemed filled
with the blood for which the dagger's blade unquestionably thirsted.
At first glance, Frescott mistook the jewel for a genuine ruby, worth a
fortune in itself, but Shebley, catching his visitor's questioning glance, shook
his head.
"A Balas ruby!" defined Shebley. "Merely a form of spinel, though this is a
fine specimen, which I doubt that anyone could match. It probably came from
Tharawaddy's crown, so he could furnish his bloodthirsty son with a weapon
befitting a murderous prince."
Opening one button of his vest, Shebley thrust the dagger through the space
so that the silver blade projected below and the gold hilt, with its blood-red
eye appeared above. There was something rakish in the slant of the weapon which
