The hum of a mosquito was about the only sound to be heard in the
Residency house, as, clad in silken pyjamas, Mr Harley lay sleeping
easily upon his light bamboo bedstead, dimly seen through the thin gauzy
curtains by the light of a well-subdued lamp.
The bedroom was furnished in the lightest and coolest way, with matting
floor and sides, while jalousie shutters admitted the cool night air.
The Resident had been smoking, partly in obedience to a bad bachelor
habit, partly to keep at bay that Macbeth of insects that haunts all
eastern rooms, and tries so diligently to murder the sleep of the
inoffensive and just.
The faint pungent odour of a good cigar still pervaded the room, and the
extinct end was yet between Neil Harley's white teeth, as he lay there
dreaming about Helen Perowne, seeing her admired and followed by all the
single men at the station, while he was the only one who made no sign.
He sighed in his sleep, and then uttered a low moan, as if in spite of
his placid face and show of indifference he suffered deeply on Helen's
account; but a calm smile, well resembling indifference, rested upon his
features, and seemed to say that, come what might, he was patiently
waiting his time.
Then came a change, for the calmness seemed to be swept away by a gust
of passion, and the strong man's hands clenched, his brow grew rugged,
and as if suffering from some acute agony, the white teeth of the
sleeper closed tightly with a sharp click, and a portion of the
bitten-through cigar rolled from his lips on to the floor.
Then all was very still. The heat seemed to grow more intense, and the
faint ripple of the river, as it glided by the island, could be
distinctly heard. Now and then from the distant jungle some wild,
uneasy cry rose upon the still air, riding as it were across the river
like a warning to tell the slumbering Europeans that the savagery of the
primeval forest lay close beside their civilisation; while the wakeful
might have pondered on the fact that their safety rested solely upon the
British _prestige_, and that a spark might ignite a train that would
result in a terrible conflagration sufficient to sweep them all away.
Some such thoughts crossed the sleeping brain of Neil Harley that night,
and his sleep grew more and more troubled as he thought how love-blinded
he had been, and the risks they had run from Helen's treatment of the
young Rajah.
The trouble had passed away now, but such another affair might result in
ruin to them all; and yet he had allowed her to go on and trifle,
looking on with assumed indifference, though his heart was stung the
while.
Neil Harley's sleep again grew restful and calm; for in a pleasant dream
he fancied that Helen, more beautiful than ever, had bidden him to her
side, telling him that all her weak and wilful coquetry was but to try
him. That she had loved him from the first, for he was the only man who
had really touched her heart; and that, though she had fought against
the restraint he had placed upon her, and told herself that she hated
him and the way in which he had mocked at her trifling, she was his--his
alone--that she resigned herself to his keeping--his keeping--that of
the only man who could ever sway her heart.
The night grew hotter still, and the faint breath that was wafted
between the open laths that covered the window seemed to have passed
from the mouth of some furnace. A harsh roar came from the jungle, and
then a loud plash or two echoed over the surface of the stream, as some
great reptile plunged in from the muddy bank.
Then all was very still once more for a time, till suddenly the faint
plash-plash of oars was heard, seeming now to be coming nearer, now to
be fading away, drowned by the shrill insect hum. Again it sounded
nearer, and all doubt of its proceeding from a boat bound for the
Residency island was ended by the loud challenge of the sentry at the
landing-place.
Then came voices in reply, and once more the hum of the mosquitoes was
all that could be heard: now low and deep, now shrill and angry.
The faint lapping of the river and the plash of oars had died away, and
the silence and heat were painful enough to draw a low sigh from the
sleeper, just as the bedroom door was softly opened, and a dark figure
glided in, crept over the matting floor without making a sound, and bent
over the bed.
For the moment it seemed as though he was there upon some errand of ill;
and one who watched would have been ready to raise an alarm, the
insecurity of the station life being sufficient to warrant such a
supposition; but the idea of the dark figure being bent on an evil
errand was at once destroyed, for after waiting for a moment, he cried,
softly:
"Master--master!"
The Resident started lip with the sudden awakening of a man accustomed
to suspect peril at every turn, and his hand darted beneath his pillow
even as he raised himself, to be withdrawn grasping the butt of a loaded
revolver.
"Ah, you Ling," he said, with a sigh of relief, as he lowered his hand.
"What is it? Someone ill?"
"Mr Perowne has come across in his boat, sir."
"Mr Perowne? at this time! what does he want?"
"To see you, sir."
"Tell him I'll be there directly." The Chinese servant glided away as
silently as he had come, and the Resident hastily dashed some water in
his face to clear away the sleepy feeling.
"I hope nothing serious!" he muttered. "Has Helen been taken ill?"
A pang shot through him at the thought, and the reckless behaviour of
the night, that had stung him again and again during the course of the
evening, was forgiven.
"Poor child!" he muttered. "I believe she loves me, and bird-like, is
fluttering and timorously striving to escape from the string that holds
her." He glanced at his watch as it hung upon a stand. "Two o'clock.
I have not been in bed above an hour. What can be wrong?"
The next minute he was in the dining-room, where he found Mr Perowne
agitatedly walking up and down; but as soon as the Resident entered he
advanced and caught him fiercely by the arm. "Harley, do you know
anything of this?" he cried.
"Of this? Of what?"
"Helen! Where is she?"
"Helen? In bed and asleep I hope. What do you mean?"
"I missed her somewhere about eleven. I have not seen her since."
The Resident looked curiously at Mr Perowne, whose flushed face and
excited manner seemed to suggest that he had been playing the host too
freely during the evening, and to his own deterioration in balance.
"Tired, and gone to bed. A bit peevish with weariness," suggested the
Resident, who drove back a curious sense of uneasiness that troubled
him.
"No," said Mr Perowne, hoarsely; "she has not gone to bed, and the
house and the gardens have been searched again and again. Do you know
anything of this?"
"I? Absurd! I left in good time. I bade her good-night when she was
talking to the chaplain; he was trying to persuade her to let him cover
her shoulders with the shawl he carried."
The Resident ceased speaking to dwell for a moment upon the luminous
look he had seen Helen bestow upon the chaplain--a look meant, he told
himself, to annoy him, while he knew that it would give poor Rosebury
food for sweet reflection during weeks to come.
"It is very strange," said Mr Perowne excitedly; and his haggard gaze
was directed about the place, as if he half expected to find that Helen
was there. "Where did you see her last, do you say?"
"Talking to Rosebury, and before then she was with Hilton. I fancy they
were having words. Well, perhaps I ought hardly to say that; but Hilton
was certainly remonstrating angrily."
"When was that?"
"Half-past ten or eleven; I cannot say for certain."
"Let us go and see Hilton," said Mr Perowne; "but stay. Am I to
believe you, Harley?"
"As you please, Mr Perowne," said the Resident, with dignity. "Why
should you doubt my word?"
"I do not doubt it!" cried Mr Perowne, catching his hand. "Pity me,
Harley. I seem cold and strange; but I love that girl, and she is
gone."
He gasped painfully as he spoke, but smiled sadly directly after as the
Resident warmly grasped his hand.
"One minute," said the Resident; and hastily adding something to his
clothing, he joined his visitor again, and the two sallied forth into
the still, hot night, to make their way to the little fort, which was
stronghold and barracks in one.
Here they were challenged by another sentry, for, peaceful times as they
were, the military arrangements were always kept upon the sternest war
footing.
"We want to see Captain Hilton," said Mr Harley, in his quick,
commanding way.
"Captain's ashore, sir. He went to Mr Perowne's party."
"Yes, yes," said that gentleman; "we know: but he has come back."
"No, sir; not while I've been on guard--three hours, sir."
"Call the sergeant," said Mr Harley, sharply.
He needed no calling, for, hearing voices, he had come out to see who
came so late.
"Where is Captain Hilton?"
"I thought he was stopping to sleep at Mr Perowne's, sir," said the
sergeant, saluting. "Hasn't been back. Beg pardon, sir; didn't see it
was Mr Perowne."
"But he left my house hours ago," said that gentleman.
"Gone to stay at Dr Bolter's, perhaps, sir," suggested the sergeant.
"Are you sure he did not return while your back was turned?" said Mr
Harley.
"Quite sure, sir. Still, he might, sir; it's no use to be too sure.
Like to go to his quarters, sir?"
"Yes, we'll go in," said the Resident, quickly; and following the
sergeant, after exchanging glances, the two gentlemen entered Hilton's
room.
The bed had not been pressed, and everything was in order, just as the
regimental servant had placed it after his master had dressed to attend
the evening _fete_.
"Mr Chumbley hasn't come back neither," said the sergeant.
"Not come back!" said the Resident, wondering. "This is strange. I
don't know, though. They have gone to smoke a cigar with someone, and
then decided to stay all night."
Mr Perowne shook his head, and the Resident felt that his explanation
was not good, and both were silent as they walked back towards the
entrance of the fort.
"What does this mean?" said Mr Perowne, at last.
"Can't say yet," replied the Resident, sharply. "Sergeant, have a look
round, and make sure that Captain Hilton and Mr Chumbley have not come
back."
"Yes, sir, I'll look round," said the sergeant; "but they couldn't have
landed without the sentries knowing."
"Go and see," said the Resident, sternly; and the sergeant saluted and
walked away.
"They must be staying somewhere," said the Resident, who suffered from
the desire to keep back the question that so agitated his breast.
"Depend upon it, they have gone to the doctor's to smoke a cigar."
He felt as he spoke that this was impossible; for he was sure that the
hours kept at the doctor's were too regular for such a relapse.
"And my daughter?" said Mr Perowne, in a cold, stern voice.
"I'll have the men out to search if it is necessary," said the Resident,
eagerly; "but before we proceed to such an extreme measure, had we not
better make more inquiries? Yours is a large house and grounds. She
may be back by now."
Neil Harley felt a strange choking sensation as he spoke, and he knew
that his words were weak; but he clung to the hope that there was some
mistake, and that Helen was by now safely at home.
"She may," said Mr Perowne, bitterly. "But it seems to me that there
is some trick here. I gave you the credit of it at first."
"Am I a man so wanting in respect for Helen that I should insult her and
you?"
"I--I can't help it, Harley!" groaned the father. "There seems to be no
end to my troubles!"
The Resident looked at him sharply, for that evening he had seemed all
life and gaiety.
"Yes, you may look!" groaned the unhappy man; "but everything goes wrong
with me. There is, I am sure, some planned affair here; and I believe
that Hilton is at the bottom of it."
"Do not be so ready to condemn, Perowne," said the Resident, quickly.
"I feel sure that Hilton would be guilty of no rash, foolish escapade
like this. It is absurd! Good heavens, man! do you think that Helen
would degrade herself by eloping? I will not believe it!"
"I wish I could feel you were right," groaned the unhappy father.
"Why Chumbley is away too. It is like saying that he is implicated."
"He is Hilton's chosen companion," said Mr Perowne, sadly.
"Tut, man; we shall have to look farther afield than that."
"Then why are they not here to speak for themselves?" cried Mr Perowne,
in a querulous, excited way. "Hilton has been constantly hanging about
my place a great deal more than Helen liked, and she showed it to-night
by completely turning her back upon him."
"But surely you do not think that Hilton--" began the Resident.
"I do not think anything," said Mr Perowne, angrily. "But here is the
fact before us: my daughter is missing, and Captain Hilton has not
returned to his quarters."
"Neither has Chumbley," said the Resident, uneasily.
"Neither has Chumbley," assented Mr Perowne.
"A man who, beneath his languid indifference, is the soul of honour,"
said the Resident; and he led the way to the boat by which Mr Perowne
had come across.
The men were lying in the bottom asleep; but they roused up directly as
the two gentlemen entered and were rowed to the landing-stage at the
foot of Mr Perowne's garden, where the swift stream was lapping the
stones placed to keep it from washing the lawn away.
As they were rowed across Neil Harley found himself looking thoughtfully
down into the water time after time, and a curious shuddering sensation
came upon him, one which he strove hard to cast off.
He could not, he would not believe it possible, he told himself; but in
spite of his efforts, and the mastery he generally had over self, the
thought would come.
They found the servants ready with the answer that nothing had been seen
of their young mistress, though they had continued searching ever since
their master had gone away.
"Shall we look round ourselves?" said Mr Perowne.
"No, if you say the house has been searched."
"I have been in every room myself."
"Then let us go on to the doctor's. We may find Hilton and Chumbley
there, and they perhaps can throw some light upon the matter."
Mr Perowne bowed, and they hurried off to the doctor's pretty bungalow,
a short distance away.
"They are not here, unless they are stopping to sleep."
"How do you know?"
"There is no light."
All the same the Resident tapped sharply at the door, and his summons
was followed by a thump on the floor, as if someone had leaped out of
bed.
The next moment a window was thrown open, and the doctor's voice was
heard.
"Now then: who's ill?"
"Don't be alarmed, doctor," said the Resident.
"Oh, it's you, Harley. Had too much supper?"
"No, no. Tell me quickly. Did Hilton and Chumbley come home with you?"
"No; they went away ever so long before."
"Did you see them go?"
"No. Can't say I did."
"They have not been back to their quarters."
"Stopped to have a cigar somewhere."
"Perhaps so; but tell me, when did you see Hilton last?"
"I don't know. Oh, yes, I do. He went down towards the river, with a
cigar in his mouth."
"When did you see my daughter?" said Mr Perowne.
"Oh! are you there, Perowne? Well, I don't know. Not for an hour
before we came away."
"An hour and a half," said Mrs Bolter's voice. "We didn't see her when
we came away."
"Did she go away with anyone, Mrs Bolter?" exclaimed Perowne, eagerly.
"No; I saw her walk towards the house by herself. I'll get up and dress
directly. Perhaps I can do some good. The poor girl has been overcome
by the heat, Bolter, and fainted away somewhere in the grounds. We'll
both dress and come on directly, Mr Perowne. Have the shrubberies
searched again. Henry, go and rouse up Arthur; he may be useful."
"Yes, call him," said the Resident; "he was seen with her last, and may
know where she went."