ONE CROWDED HOUR.
Throughout that long day, Dick worked with feverish activity at
anything that offered itself as an outlet for his energies, without
cherishing the least hope that his friend’s sanguine anticipations of
a possible change for the better in the attitude of the King and
Fath-ud-Din would be realised. It was his opinion that the worst had
come to the worst, and that as soon as Stratford had met his death at
the Palace, a general attack upon the Mission premises would take
place, with the view of making it appear that all the members of the
expedition had been murdered in a popular tumult. With this cheering
prospect in view, he prepared the building for defence, instructed the
servants afresh as to their respective duties in case of an assault,
and placed the stands of arms where their contents could most readily
be seized on an emergency. Fearing that an attempt might be made to
starve the Mission into a surrender, he bought up all the provisions
which the country-people brought in, and even induced them by liberal
payments to sell him a supply of corn which they had intended to
dispose of in the city market.
Having thus made preparations for resisting a siege as well as a
sudden assault, he was forced by his very need of occupation to take
somewhat wider views, and to consider the improbable possibility of
evacuating the place safely. Accordingly he summoned Ismail Bakhsh,
and, setting before him the facts of the case, asked whether he would
undertake the dangerous task of conveying a message to Fort
Rahmat-Ullah. He did not attempt to minimise the risks to be incurred;
but the old soldier was faithful to his salt, and consented to attempt
the journey in disguise. His trained eye had enabled him to observe
the features of the route traversed on the journey to more purpose
than his younger companions had done, and he was persuaded that if he
were once safely outside the walls he could make his way to the
frontier without much difficulty--provided, of course, that his
absence was not discovered, and a hue and cry set on foot. A certain
addition to his pension in case of his success, and compensation to
his family if he was killed, were agreed upon, and Ismail Bakhsh
retired, leaving Dick to face the inaction which he had been combating
all day.
He could not think of anything else to do, beyond going the round of
the walls at absurdly short intervals and seeing that the servants
were keeping a good look-out; and the more personal troubles, which he
had been trying to keep at bay, crowded upon him and would not be put
aside. The day had cost him both his friend and the woman whom he
loved--and who loved that friend. The miserable irony of the situation
seemed to mock him afresh whenever he tried to face it. Georgia loved
Stratford, and Stratford had gone to his death to save her--yet not
because he loved her, but because he saw in the action a chance of
doing a good stroke of business--while he, who would willingly have
died for Georgia’s sake, remained alive, to meet the grief and anger
which she would naturally feel at his having allowed his friend to
sacrifice himself for her.
Wretched as the outlook appeared to Dick, however, it is a question
whether it was not even more dreary for Georgia, since his conscience
was clear, and hers was not. She could not rid herself of the
conviction that if she had done as Lady Haigh advised, and declined to
go to the Palace without first consulting Stratford, he might even now
be free and in comparative safety, while if he had given her leave to
go, she would not have had herself to reproach for his untoward fate.
It was so unlike her usual practice to act on the impulse of a moment
of irritation, as she had done in this case, that she asked herself
what could have made her refuse so decidedly even to communicate to
the gentlemen her intention of visiting her patient. She had not far
to seek for an answer. It was Dick whose opposition she had feared.
She had been so obstinately determined not to appear in the slightest
degree willing to ask either his opinion or his advice, after the
words he had uttered in the heat of their discussion, that she had
sacrificed his friend and hers to her wounded pride.
Nor was the realisation of this fact her sole punishment. Whatever
Dick might think, she had no illusions as to the frame of mind in
which Stratford had gone to the Palace. His story she had early heard
from Lady Haigh, with the addition of the significant remark that he
was never likely to marry now, and it had given her a distinct thrill
of pleasure when she found that this faithful lover was willing to be
her friend on the footing she liked best. The greater number of her
medical _confrères_ in London, and of the many men whose friendship
she had gained and kept since her hospital days, had been content to
accept her terms and to meet her on the equal ground of comradeship.
Some there had been, as Mabel had told Dick, who were anxious to go
further, and had been courteously though firmly repulsed; but
Stratford was not one of these. He had made a friend of her as if she
had been a man, she thought, and he had sacrificed himself for her in
exactly the spirit he would have exhibited if Lady Haigh had been in
danger, and not Miss Keeling. She knew well enough that there was no
personal feeling whatever in his case, but it was different with Dick.
Why had he allowed Stratford to go instead of going himself? He did
care for her--at least, she had begun to think so until his plain
speaking of a week ago had created the breach between them. But now
she was on the horns of a dilemma. Either he could not care for her,
since he had left it to another man to give his life to save hers, or
else, if he did care for her, he was a coward who was willing to
shelter himself behind the other man’s self-sacrifice. But Dick’s past
record was sufficient to put the latter supposition beyond the bounds
of possibility, and Georgia was thrown back upon the former. He could
not care for her, and she cared for him. To the woman whose heart had
never been touched before, the thought was almost unendurable in the
shame it brought with it.
And she had sent Stratford to his death! What would there have been in
the slight humiliation--more fancied than real, after all--involved in
asking his leave as head of the party before quitting the Mission,
compared with the overwhelming remorse and misery which now oppressed
her? She recalled the threats launched against herself by Antar Khan’s
mother, and sobbed and shuddered at the thought that the tortures of
which the mere mention had been considered sufficient to terrify
herself were now being inflicted on another, and by her fault. Lady
Haigh, who came wandering in and out of her room like a restless
ghost, could offer her no comfort, since the best they could hope for
was that Stratford was dead already, cut down by the guard in some
conflict provoked by himself, and that he had thus died without either
torture or indignity. The two women could not endure to talk, could
not even pray; they could only weep in concert and exchange
half-uttered surmisings which were worse than certainties.
The day wore away, and Mr Hicks, who had spent the greater part of it
busily and happily in passing all the rifles in review, cleaning them
and adjusting the mechanism, came to Dick, as he sat brooding gloomily
over the state of affairs in the office, and represented mildly but
firmly that the whole party would be the better for some dinner. He
had put up with the absence of tiffin under the painful circumstances
of his visit, he said; but he could not see that because one poor
fellow had got wiped out all the rest must necessarily starve. Thus
reminded that he had taken no food since breakfast-time, Dick awoke to
a perception of the duties of hospitality, and apologising to Mr Hicks
for the inconvenience and discomfort to which he had been subjected,
ordered the meal to be served at the usual hour. It was a very small
and lugubrious company that met in the dining-room. Dick had sent a
message to the ladies, asking whether they would appear at table, but
no answer was returned; and Mr Hicks was the only person who possessed
an appetite. He did his best to worry his hosts into eating something,
but he was not very successful; and at last Fitz left the table
suddenly, muttering something about the flag, which he feared had not,
in the general confusion, been hauled down as usual at sunset. As the
noise of his hurrying footsteps on the stones of the terrace died
away, another sound became audible--the blare and din of native music,
the shrill cries of triumph of women, and the approaching tread of a
multitude.
“It’s coming at last!” cried Dick, springing up from his seat and
buckling on his sword. “You know your post, Hicks?”
“Wait a minute, Major,” said Mr Hicks. “Doesn’t it strike you that
this is rather a new way of conducting an attack?”
“Why, what else could it be?” asked Dick.
The American turned aside, and would not meet his eye as he answered--
“Well, if they have put an end to the poor fellow, I would bet my last
red cent that they would carry his remains about in procession to show
the people--to show us, too, for the matter of that--and it won’t be a
pretty sight for the ladies to see, any way.”
“Good gracious, no!” cried Dick. “Say nothing to them at present,
Hicks. We will just order the servants to their posts without
troubling the ladies, and then watch from the gate and see what
happens.”
They went down into the outer courtyard, sent the servants to their
appointed places without any noise or confusion, and took their stand
at the window over the gateway, where they were joined by Fitz and
Kustendjian. They stood there, waiting breathlessly, for some minutes,
each man’s hand on his weapon, while behind them the fierce eyes and
gleaming blades of Ismail Bakhsh and his subordinates reflected the
glare of the torches which were now beginning to appear at the end of
the winding street. Nearer and nearer came the crowd, apparently all
mad with joy, leaping, dancing, tearing off clothes and flinging them
on the ground, waving torches, shouting, singing, and yelling. Some
looked up at the window as they passed it, and it seemed to the little
band of white men standing there that their gestures became
intolerably derisive, and that their faces took on a fiendish grin as
they massed themselves in the street beyond the Mission and waited--in
so far as those still pressing upon them from behind would allow them
to wait. Dick felt his heart thumping against his ribs; he was aware
that Kustendjian had sat down in a corner and hidden his face from the
horror he expected to see, that Fitz was leaning against the wall with
white lips and staring eyes, and that Mr Hicks was uttering spasmodic
exhortations at momentary intervals--“Steady, boys! Keep up; don’t let
’em see you wilt. Never give in!”--such as bespoke rather, perhaps,
the turmoil of his own mind than his estimate of the state of feeling
of his companions.
“Soldiers!” murmured some one, and a squadron of cavalry defiled
slowly past, saluting as they came level with the window--a piece of
mockery for which Dick cursed them in his heart. Then more torches,
more musical instruments, more excited people, banners, dancing-girls,
gliding and posturing to the sounds of the music, with their long
coloured scarfs twirled daintily on the tips of their outspread
fingers; and then two men riding alone, wearing robes of honour. As
they reached the gate they paused and waited; then one of them looked
up, and in tones of extreme calmness addressed the group at the
window.
“You don’t mean to keep me here all night, North, do you? Mr
Anstruther, I give you my word of honour that I am not a ghost yet.”
How they got down the stairs and opened the gate none of them ever
knew, but in another minute Stratford was among them, unhurt, and
indulging in a little chaff by way of maintaining his own composure.
“I wonder you didn’t shoot me when I looked up just now, North. If
ever I saw murder in a man’s eye, I saw it in yours then. Mr Hicks,
you have as keen a scent for a battle as any vulture. The way you turn
up when you think we are likely to be in trouble is positively
pathetic. I have some further use for my arm, Anstruther, if you have
finished wringing my hand off. Peace be with you, Ismail Bakhsh! I
fear you are disappointed that there is to be no fighting to-night?”
“My lord is pleased to jest,” said Ismail Bakhsh, reprovingly, as he
directed the closing of the gate. The processionists outside had
turned back, and were marching homewards amid a fresh outburst of
minstrelsy, with the man who had accompanied Stratford at their head.
No one thought of asking who he was, nor, indeed, of paying the
slightest attention to affairs outside, as Stratford was assisted,
quite unnecessarily, to dismount, and escorted through the archway
into the inner court. But he was not to arrive altogether unheralded.
Brought to his senses by Stratford’s commonplace greeting, Fitz had
dashed across the court and up to the terrace, the only man who
remembered in the excitement of the moment that the joyful news ought
not to be allowed to burst suddenly upon the ladies. The fresh hope in
his voice--a hope to which they had been strangers for what seemed
interminable hours--roused them from their lethargy of grief, and they
came out into the verandah with tear-stained faces and ruffled hair,
both looking as though they had cried until they could cry no more.
“Good news, Lady Haigh!” panted Fitz. “Miss Keeling, they haven’t
murdered him after all. He is not a bit hurt. He will be here in a
minute. He’s here now!”
This method of breaking the news, though strictly gradual, could
scarcely be called gentle, and Lady Haigh and Georgia stood staring at
Fitz without understanding him in the least. Seeing this, he tried a
new plan, the first that recommended itself to his excited mind.
“Aren’t you going to put on your best things to greet the hero in,
Miss Keeling? He’s dressed up to the eyes himself. You never saw such
a get-up--most awfully swagger. You will never be able to keep him in
countenance.”
“Oh, you absurd boy!” cried Georgia, and she sat down at the top of
the steps and laughed wildly.
“Fetch me a jug of water, Mr Anstruther,” said Lady Haigh, sternly.
“You are getting into a way of going into hysterics, Georgia, and I
mean to break you of it. This is the second time I have caught you at
it since we came to Kubbet-ul-Haj, and it’s not professional.”
“Professional?” echoed Georgia, beginning to laugh again; “it is the
circumstances that are unprofessional, not I. Besides, I am not in the
least hysterical. Thank you--a little water--please--Mr Anstruther.”
The water, applied internally, and not as Lady Haigh had intended,
proved efficacious, and when Stratford and the rest approached the
terrace, Georgia had recovered her composure. She met Stratford as he
mounted the steps, and held out her hand to him. Dick, seeing the
action, turned his eyes away, and listened in sick terror for what
would follow. After all, Stratford had the right to win her now if he
chose to exercise it. But if he did not choose? Would he humiliate
Georgia by repulsing her before them all? But Dick need not have been
afraid. Even his jealous ear could detect in her tones merely the
amount of feeling natural and unavoidable under the circumstances,
although her eyes were swimming with tears as she said--
“I can never thank you enough for what you have done to-day, Mr
Stratford. If I don’t seem as grateful as I ought to be, you must only
think that I can’t blame myself properly for my foolishness and
obstinacy in going to the Palace without leave as I did, since it gave
you the opportunity of doing such a deed of heroism.”
Every word went to Dick’s heart, as, alas! it was meant to do. He
waited anxiously to hear Stratford say that he had gone to the Palace
merely as a speculation of his own, and that Miss Keeling had had very
little to do with the matter, but the words did not come. Stratford
was not the man to hurt a woman’s feelings gratuitously by an
uncalled-for rebuff, however true its nature, and he answered at
once--
“You are too kind, Miss Keeling. I assure you that there was an eager
competition for the honour of helping you out of your little
predicament. Anstruther was bent on going; and as for North, I had to
keep him back almost by main force. He was only restrained at last by
a combination of definite orders, personal entreaties, and solemn
assurances that my going was for the greater good of the Mission.”
Georgia’s eyes were raised to Dick’s for a moment, and the expression
in them said, “You might have told me!” But his eyes met hers with a
steady hostility, which revived all the bitter feelings which had
tormented her during the day.
“I am afraid I did you an injustice, then, Major North,” she remarked,
sweetly. “You must take into account the circumstances of the moment,
and kindly forgive my hasty words. I am only a woman, you know.”
Dick bit his lip, and tried hard to think of something cutting to say.
Was it fair that this woman, who had treated him so unfairly--no, not
unfairly, cruelly--well, not exactly cruelly, slightingly--no, not
that, carelessly, perhaps--should also have the power of making him
writhe in this way? And he loved her! He had even told Stratford so!
How Stratford must be laughing at him in his sleeve at this moment!
All this passed through his mind as he stood staring dumbly at Georgia
until Lady Haigh, who had caught the look in his eyes, pushed her
gently aside, and addressed herself to the hero of the occasion.
“And you escaped without signing their treaty?” she asked.
“I did not sign it, certainly,” he replied.
“And what about our treaty?” asked Fitz, eagerly.
“There is our treaty--signed,” returned Stratford, with a queer gleam
in his eyes as he laid the parchment on the table. “When the Chief
gets better he will find that his work was not all in vain, Lady
Haigh.”
Lady Haigh blushed afterwards to remember that she was ready to kiss
Stratford there and then in the first flush of her delight at the
news; but she restrained herself sufficiently to do no more than wring
his hand without a word. The rest were examining the treaty, which
bore Stratford’s signature and another, as well as the King’s seal and
that of the Grand Vizier.
“But that is not Fath-ud-Din’s signature,” said Kustendjian, who was
looking at the parchment from the other side of the table.
“No,” said Stratford, drily; “it is Jahan Beg’s.”
“Jahan Beg’s?” was echoed, in tones of astonishment.
“Yes; he has succeeded Fath-ud-Din as Grand Vizier. You have a good
deal to hear; but I should like some dinner first, if there is any
going.”
“Have you had nothing but meat lozenges all day, Mr Stratford?” asked
Fitz, laughing; and every one adjourned to the dining-room, where the
dishes, which had been left untasted half an hour before, were still
on the table. Everything was cold, of course, and the servants were in
despair; but the makeshift meal was the most cheerful that had taken
place during the whole sojourn of the Mission in Kubbet-ul-Haj, and
when it was over, the party returned to the terrace, and demanded
clamorously of Stratford that he should tell his story.
“It is rather long, and I am afraid you will find it a little
tedious,” he said, throwing away his cigarette; “but I can assure you
that the experience was much more tedious to go through than to talk
about. Well, no attempt was made to molest me when I got to the
Palace, and I started off as usual in the direction of the hall of
audience. Generally, as you know, when we have gone to the Palace,
there have been a lot of chamberlains and fellows to clear a path for
us and bring us to the King, but to-day I had to elbow my way through
the crowd that was hanging about. It was a sign that times were
changed; but that wasn’t all, for, before I had got half-way through
the mob, I felt a pull at my coat-tail, and when I could put my hand
there, I found that I had been eased of my pistol. However, as I had
put the pistol into that pocket for the express purpose of having it
seen and stolen, I didn’t mind much. When I got to the door of the
audience-chamber, the guard made a fuss about letting me in; but I
said that the King had sent for me, and I meant to see him. When they
saw that I would stand no nonsense, they let me pass, and I found the
King and Fath-ud-Din, as I had hoped, in the room in which they had
tried to bribe the Chief to sign their treaty. It is quite small, you
remember, and the walls are solid, without any of the lattice-work
panels you see in the big hall. The windows are high up, and all the
open carving is of stone, and not of wood. It was another score for me
that the King thought fit to treat me as a criminal, and didn’t invite
me to come close to him, so I chose my position, and camped in the
corner in a line with the door, and opposite to the King’s divan. Of
course this was nominally in order that what we said should not be
overheard outside. They brought in coffee; but I refused to taste it,
for I didn’t see any advantage in being poisoned at the very outset,
and there was no object in keeping on the mask of friendliness any
longer.”
“Wait a minute,” said Dick. “How did you manage everything without an
interpreter?”
“I got out my best Ethiopian for the occasion, and when that failed we
had recourse to Arabic,” returned Stratford. “The King and Fath-ud-Din
can both talk it pretty well when they like, as you know. Well, when
war had once been declared by my refusing the coffee, we sat for hours
arguing. It was intimated to me pretty clearly at the beginning that
if I didn’t sign their treaty, I should not leave the Palace alive;
but when they saw that that didn’t seem to affect me to any
appreciable extent, they began to add inducements on the other side.
They offered me money and precious stones--quite a comfortable little
fortune, I should think--rising by degrees until either their tempers
or their purses gave way. Then, evidently thinking that my obstinacy
arose from a fear that the rest of you would split upon me, they
offered to put every one else belonging to the Mission out of the way,
and to send me back to Khemistan as a conquering hero, returning with
the best treaty I could manage to obtain. When they found that
wouldn’t do, they offered me Jahan Beg’s office and property if I
would only sign. I was to disappear from the ken of mortals outside
Ethiopia, of course, and they would represent that the Mission had all
been carried off by a pestilence, leaving only the treaty behind them.
Their ideas as to English credulity are distinctly Arcadian. Well, all
this time the servants kept bringing in sweetmeats and sherbet and
fruit; but I would not touch anything, though I was abominably
thirsty, for I remembered what Miss Keeling had said about some poison
that destroyed the will, and I didn’t want to be hocussed into
signing. Then they started on a fresh tack, and had in a crowd of
dancing-girls----”
“The temptation of St Egerton!” cried Fitz, hugely delighted. “Were
they very fascinating, Mr Stratford?”
“You might possibly have found them so,” returned Stratford, coolly;
“but my tastes don’t happen to lie in that direction. I endured their
performances for some time, and then they began to get tiresome. It
was rather hard on the poor things, I know, for they were doing their
level best; but I yawned aggressively, and suggested that we should go
back to business. They bundled the girls out, and I found that the
King and Fath-ud-Din had about reached the end of their patience. They
took to threats now, and discoursed movingly for some time on the
subject of tortures, with a strictly personal application. Fath-ud-Din
did most of the talking; but when the King thought that his language
was lacking in vigour, he added a few stronger touches to the picture.
At last I remarked that this was all very interesting, but it wasn’t
business, and that set them off. The King stamped on the floor, and
immediately the curtain over the door was pulled aside, and a gang of
the most villainous-looking negroes I ever saw filed in. ‘Seize that
white devil,’ said Fath-ud-Din, ‘and let our lord the King behold your
skill.’ That was all very well, but there were two sides to the
question. ‘Stop,’ I said to the foremost black fellow as he turned
towards me--‘cross that line in the floor at your peril!’ He laughed.
I believe they thought I meant to take it fighting; but that was not
my game at all. In a rough-and-tumble fight with those niggers I
should have gone under in no time, and I didn’t exactly see being
pulled to pieces with red-hot pincers to make a holiday for the King
and Fath-ud-Din. I had slipped the little revolver down my sleeve and
into my right hand, and I had some extra cartridges in my left, and as
the man set his foot on the line I had pointed at, I shot him straight
off. It was rather a strong thing to do; but it was my only chance.
The other black fellows drew back as the first man fell forward on his
face, his arms almost touching the King, and Fath-ud-Din opened his
mouth to yell out to the guard; but I spoke first, slipping in another
cartridge into the chamber I had fired. ‘I have six shots here without
reloading,’ I said. ‘The next two are for the King and the Grand
Vizier, as soon as either of them moves or speaks; the rest are for
the first four men that cross this line.’”
[image: images/img_08.jpg
caption: “I have six shots here without reloading,” I said.]
“Sir,” said Mr Hicks, approvingly, “there was a dreadful smart
newspaper man lost when you were raised for a diplomatist.”
Stratford smiled in acknowledgment of the compliment, which was
delivered with even more than the amount of drawl which Mr Hicks chose
usually to affect.
“Well, there was a moment’s pause,” he went on, “which I utilised in
surveying the position. I had the King within easy range, with
Fath-ud-Din standing beside him, and to reach the door they would have
to pass me. I was in the corner, so that even if the guard came in
they could only reach me in front. Of course they could have floored
me easily if the black fellows had come at me in a body; but it would
have been the last fight for two or three of them, and they knew it
and kept quiet. The only danger was that they might fire at me from
the door or from the outside of one of the windows when the guard
found out what had happened, and I saw that if I was to get off we
must come to terms before any one in the great hall suspected
anything. What they made of the sound of my revolver-shot I don’t
know, but it doesn’t seem to have struck them as anything suspicious;
perhaps they thought that the King was amusing himself with practising
shooting at me. No one appeared, at any rate, and I spoke to the King
again. ‘Before we do anything further,’ I said, ‘I should be glad to
know where Jahan Beg is.’ Fath-ud-Din instantly replied with great
gusto that he was expiating his crimes in the King’s deepest dungeon,
which he would never leave alive. I remarked that it was just possible
some one in that room might die sooner than Jahan Beg did, which made
him calm down a little, and then I asked the King what crime Jahan Beg
had committed. He did not fly out as Fath-ud-Din had done, but told me
quite quietly that it was unwise in me to inquire after the traitor
who had done his best to deliver Ethiopia into our hands. I asked what
he meant (of course I kept my eyes about me and the revolver ready all
this time), and he told me a very circumstantial story, the recital of
which was intended to cover me with confusion. It seemed that
Fath-ud-Din, as soon as the Chief had definitely refused to gratify
him by extraditing Jahan Beg on account of some imaginary crime, told
the King that he had strong reason to suspect his rival of intriguing
with us. He was sure he was an Englishman, and he believed that he was
plotting with the English to dethrone the King and put Rustam Khan in
his place. The King was loath to suspect Jahan Beg, and particularly
anxious not to have to find a substitute for him in the frontier work
which he alone could do; but the Vizier was so positive that he
consented to set spies to watch him. Of course they saw him come to us
at night and found out that he was supplying us with corn, so he was
promptly arrested and thrown into prison, and the charge considered
proved.”
“You must have been pretty well stumped at that,” said Dick. “It was a
mad thing for Jahan Beg to continue to come here as he did when he
knew that Fath-ud-Din suspected him.”
“Yes,” said Stratford; “my only chance was a sudden attack by means of
a _tu quoque_. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘Jahan Beg is an Englishman, and he came
to the Mission to visit the Envoy, who was an old friend of his. But
he did not come with any view of interfering in public matters. He has
never sought to engage our help in placing Rustam Khan upon the
throne, nor in making any change in the government of Ethiopia, and we
should not have granted it if he had. In fact, his coming was so
entirely unofficial that we did not even take advantage of his visits
to the Mission to seek his assistance in the negotiations which the
Grand Vizier was carrying on with us at the time. When Fath-ud-Din
used to visit the Envoy by night, and even when he came to try and
arrange the secret agreement about Antar Khan’s succession to the
throne, we did not invite Jahan Beg to be present, because we knew
that the matter was not intended to be made public, and we feared to
produce the impression that our friend was endeavouring to thrust
himself uninvited into the King’s counsels.’ I saw in a moment that
the shot had told. The King turned and glared at Fath-ud-Din, and then
again at me. ‘What!’ he cried. ‘Fath-ud-Din desired to set my son
Antar Khan upon my throne?’ ‘He came merely to attempt to secure the
support of her Majesty’s Government for the Prince in case that should
happen which England and Ethiopia would alike deplore,’ I said, as
soothingly as I could; but the King was not mollified. ‘He sought to
obtain assurance of English support in case of my death?’ he cried.
‘Yes,’ said I; ‘and when we refused to enter into the arrangement,
saying that the matter was one for the King and his Amirs to settle
among themselves, he threatened that he would seek the assistance we
denied him from the Envoy of Scythia, who would not refuse it. Is it
possible that he was not acting on behalf of your Majesty, after all?’
‘Fath-ud-Din,’ said the King, ‘are the words of the Englishman true?’
‘O my lord,’ said the old villain, flopping down on his face before
the divan in an awful fright, ‘the Englishman’s tongue is forked. He
seeks to save himself from the fate he merits by casting dirt upon the
name of the meanest of my lord’s servants; but he shall yet eat his
words.’ ‘The matter is in the hands of the King to prove,’ I said;
‘let him send and fetch Jahan Beg straight here from his dungeon, and
let him be questioned as to all that has taken place. It is evident
that he cannot have held communication with any member of the Mission
since his arrest, and if his words agree with mine, mine must be seen
to be true; if not, then let us both pay the penalty.’ The King seemed
to think it rather a good idea, and was inclined to agree; but
Fath-ud-Din interposed all sorts of objections as he lay grovelling on
the floor, and at last I got tired. Some slave or chamberlain might
have come in at any moment and spoilt everything. So I took out my box
of lozenges, and said, ‘In this box I have food for several days, so
that I can remain here without inconvenience. The King and Fath-ud-Din
have no food, and cannot pass me to leave the room; therefore I would
recommend that they follow my advice.’ The King saw the reason of it,
and called one of the black fellows, whom he ordered to fetch Jahan
Beg at once, without saying anything about what had been going on. You
may judge that in spite of this I kept the revolver ready in case of
any attempt to rush me; but none was made. I think the King felt that
it was necessary to get to the bottom of the matter, for he even
invited me to come and sit beside him; but I refused, ‘until my words
were proved true,’ as I said. I don’t know whether Fath-ud-Din or I
felt the more uncomfortable when the messenger was gone, for it struck
me that Jahan Beg might think it advisable not to tell the exact
truth, in which case I should find myself badly left; but I made a
great parade of eating one of the lozenges, and I hope I dissembled my
uneasiness better than the Vizier did. Happily, when poor old Jahan
Beg was brought in--a perfect shadow, wasted and ill, and ragged, and
chained--he gathered the significance of the questions the King asked
him at once, and confirmed exactly what I had said, being able to
corroborate my account of the Vizier’s earlier visits to the Mission.
Of course, he did not know anything of the Antar Khan business, which
did not happen until after his arrest; but I had an inspiration there.
I suggested an examination of Fath-ud-Din’s servants, with the view of
discovering whether he had really held communication with the Scythian
agent and with us. The King jumped at the idea, and improved upon it
by ordering a search of his house as well. I thought that it was not
likely to be much good; but I was mistaken, for his scribe, on being
arrested, displayed such great anxiety to be allowed to take his copy
of the Koran to prison with him that suspicion was excited, and in the
cover of it they found concealed a written promise from the Scythian
agent, pledging his Government to support Antar Khan in case of the
King’s death, and to pay Fath-ud-Din eight thousand pounds in return
for his getting their treaty signed. The greedy old beast must have
had the paper in his possession when he came to us this morning--was
it really only this morning?--and tried to get us to outbid him by two
thousand pounds. It was exactly the evidence we wanted, and its
discovery is only another warning never to commit compromising
agreements to writing.”
“Yes; and then?” asked Fitz, eagerly, seeing that Stratford appeared
inclined to moralise.
“Then? Why, a grand transformation scene, of course. Fath-ud-Din’s
signet was taken from him, and he was conducted to the dungeon which
Jahan Beg had just vacated. Jahan Beg was taken to the bath, and
rigged out at the King’s expense, and formally invested with the Grand
Vizier’s signet. He was another man after a little care and attention.
As for me, I was favoured with a seat by the King’s side, publicly
thanked for exposing a traitor and saving the King (evidently he held
the same opinion as to his chances of life under Fath-ud-Din’s
fostering care that we did), and asked whether I had a copy of our
treaty at hand. That was the crowning moment. I produced the treaty
from inside my coat. Jahan Beg signed it--his first act in his new
capacity--I followed, and the King put his seal to it. And that is
all.”
“And now?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Now we have only to get back to Khemistan as fast as we can,” said
Stratford.