One of the old priests
was watching us continuous, and I felt uneasy, for I knew we'd have to fudge
the Ritual, and I didn't know what the men knew. The old priest was a stranger
come in from beyond the village of Bashkai. The minute Dravot puts on the
Master's apron that the girls had made for him, the priest fetches a whoop and
a howl, and tries to overturn the stone that Dravot was sitting on. 'It's all
up now,' I says. 'That comes of meddling with the Craft without warrant!'
Dravot never winked an eye, not when ten priests took and tilted over the
Grand Master's chair--which was to say, the stone of Imbra. The priest begins
rubbing the bottom end of it to clear away the black dirt, and presently he
shows all the other priests the Master's Mark, same as was on Dravot's apron,
cut into the stone. Not even the priests of the temple of Imbra knew it was
there. The old chap falls flat on his face at Dravot's feet and kisses 'em.
'Luck again,' says Dravot, across the Lodge, to me; 'they say it's the missing
Mark that no one could understand the why of.
We're more than safe now.' Then he bangs the butt of his gun for a gavel and
says, 'By virtue of the authority vested in me by my own right hand and the
help of Peachey, I declare myself Grand Master of all Freemasonry in
Kafiristan in this the Mother Lodge o' the country, and King of Kafiristan
equally with Peachey!' At that he puts on his crown and I puts on mine,--I was
doing Senior Warden,--and we opens the Lodge in most ample form.
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