"031 (B060) - The Majii (1935-09) - Lester Dent.palmdoc.pdbTXT" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

IN TEMPLE NAVA
To those who read this, and who had been following the affair in the newspapers, the item meant that Rama Tura would that night make jewels out of worthless articles in Temple Nava.
TEMPLE NAVA was not a building by itself, but an establishment on the upper floor of a Park Avenue building which was nothing if not exclusive.
It had been installed by a cult of wealthy thrill-seekers who had, after the depression came along, been too busy to indulge in whimsies.
The furnishings, very rich, had been intactЧno one could be found with enough money to buy such costly gimcracksЧwhen Rama Tura leased it and began to set New Yorkers by the ears.
The swanky Temple Nava was the gathering place of many of the nabobs of the metropolis that night. There were many scientists and jewel experts. Rama Tura invited efforts to prove himself a fake.
There were many sensation-seekers, also, but those fry were not even permitted into the building. Policemen handled the traffic, and to enter the premises, one had to exhibit a bit of cardboard bearing cabilistic symbols. These were issued to the proper persons by detective agencies hired by Rama Tura.
It is a common thing for ladies to wear gloves the year around, so the presence of such covering on the hands of one woman who presented a card attracted no undue attention. No one, of course, imagined the gloves covered blue finger nails.
The lady herself did get a good deal of attention. A formal gown of black set off a remarkable figure, and her wide brown eyes stared aloofly from a face that would have been perfection except for a certain grimness about the mouth.
Her manner suggested someone bent on a mission that might not be exactly pleasant. She had an olive skin.
Her card was satisfactory, and she was admitted.
Not long after, a choleric dowager complained that she had lost her card of invitation, perhaps to a thief. She happened to be well known, and she was admitted anyway.
Straight into Temple Nava stalked the woman with the remarkable figure and the determined manner.
Many men saw her and admired her. Others saw her and looked as if a hungry tiger had walked into their midst. These latter were aides of Rama Tura. He seemed to have an incredible number of them. One hurried to present himself before Rama Tura.
Rama Tura had just been carried into Temple Nava in a plain black coffin, and he was being photographed by newspaper cameramen.
It was plain to see that the cameramen considered the coffin business ridiculous fakery, but it made good stuff for their papers, and they had orders to get the photographs.
The messenger made signals furtively, and the cameramen were bustled out.
Rama Tura had lain in the coffin all of the time, very much like a dead man. Some of the photographers had touched him and he had seemed quite cold and lifeless.
The messenger leaned over the casket and said, "The Ranee is here."
RAMA TURA opened his eyes. He opened his mouth and it stayed open.
"I know it," he said in the tongue of Jondore.
"Some one told you first," gulped the messenger.
"No," said Rama Tura. "I know all things."
There seemed no way of refuting this, so the messenger swallowed several times.
"We did not scare her into leaving New York," he pointed out. "She is here because she intends to make more trouble."
"She had nerve to walk in boldly," said Rama Tura.
"There are police," reminded the other. "She will expect them to save her."
"She will be mistaken," intoned the other.
The messenger squirmed uneasily. "But she is the RaneeЧ"
"The Majii, my master, has waited thirty centuries for what he is now preparing to do," murmured Rama Tura. "The Majii has a plan of such vast size that you would not even understand it, my servant. If the Ranee insists on meddling, she must be put out of the way. No one must interfere."
The messenger nodded, then asked a very natural question. "How?"
"My magic will take care of that," Rama Tura advised him.
A little later, Rama Tura was carried out on the floor of Temple Nava by six big men of Jondore who were naked above the waist. It was a very effective entrance.
Rama Tura, it developed, was not to perform his feats on anything so prosaic as a stage, but in the center of the floor. Comfortable seats for the spectatorsЧwho would later be customers, perhapsЧhad been arrayed about the open space.
A large circular cloth of scarlet was carried in and placed on the floor, and Rama Tura was lifted from his coffin-like box and placed on this.
Very slowly, like something arising from the dead, Rama Tura got to his feet. He began to speak in a hollow, macabre voice. He did, however, use excellent English.
"I am not going to bore you with a mystic monologue," he told those present. "You probably would not believe me, anyway. I care not whether you think I am a fakir and a showman, for it is not important."
He turned slowly, like a machine, to survey those assembled in Temple Nava. His eyes were weird brown disks in his big, shiny skull. Several people shuddered.
"Perhaps," Rama Tura continued, "it has occurred to some of you to wonder why India has always been the world's treasure house of precious stones, for you all must have heard of the fabulous collections of the Rajahs. It is because jewels have a significance in the Orient, a significance that goes back some thirty centuries to a fabulous being known as the Majii. The Majii could do anything."
He paused as if for that to sink.
"Anything," he repeated. "It is my opinion that the Majii was the basis for the well-known story of Aladdin and the lamp. The Majii was really the Genie who appeared when Aladdin rubbed the lamp. In other words, this tale which is thought to be fiction is true."
He paused again.
"But that is neither here nor there. I do not attempt to explain my methods, except to tell you something I know your minds are too undeveloped to grasp. You will not believe that thought can be converted into matter, that the essence of the mind is supreme over all things. Yet this is quite true and the foundation of all so-called miracles.
"You find this hard to believe. All rightЧdo not try. The primitive native cannot understand how an admixture of yellow and blue paints will produce a green paint, not knowing aught of the science of light. He knows that it does. You will watch me and know that I do produce jewels in a way you cannot understand."
This lengthy harangue was received with great interest, and while it was going on, Rama Tura's assistants had been circulating through the crowd, eyes alert, and had found two persons surreptitiously trying to use miniature cameras.
These individuals had been conducted to the front row and, to their embarrassment, requested to use the cameras openly.
Something vague and heavy came into the atmosphere of the room. An odor it was, with a tomblike mustiness. The audience tensed.
"Will some one bring an object forward for me to convert into a gem?" Rama Tura requested. "Hard, crystalline substances are the most suitable. Artificial jewels are excellent. Other things require too much time and effort."
Some one got up hurriedly and offered a large red imitation stone. The bearer admitted this had been purchased in the dime store that afternoon.
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