Neil Harley's new suspicion, one which he was cautious not to mention as
yet, was that, in accordance with the Malay character, this revengeful
blow had come from one who owed the English community or Government a
grudge.
The Rajah had been the first to suffer from suspicion, but his coming
had cleared him somewhat in the eyes of his friends; still there was one
who might well feel enmity against the English for the part they had
played, and this was one who had not been to clear herself from
suspicion.
The Inche Maida had come to the Residency island humbly with her
petition--a reasonable suppliant for help against her enemies. She had
had her request, if not refused, at all events treated with official
neglect. It was no wonder, then, that she should feel aggrieved, and,
while wearing the mask of friendship, take some steps to obtain mental
satisfaction for the slight.
The Resident pondered upon all this, and felt that she must naturally be
deeply wounded. She had borne her disappointment with the patience and
stoicism of one of her religion; but all the same she might have been
waiting for an opportunity to strike.
"Allah's will be done!" she had said at their last interview, when the
Resident had made a further communication from Government; and she had
bent her head and sighed deeply as she turned to go away, but only to
return, shake hands with Mr Harley, and thank him.
"You are a good man, Mr Harley," she had said, "and I know you would
have helped me if you could."
"Yes, she has been most friendly ever since," he mused, "and her
behaviour last night at the party was all that could have been desired."
Still, he argued, she was a Malay, and all this might have been to serve
as a blind to her future acts. She must feel very bitter, and, with all
an Eastern's cunning, she must have been nursing up her wrath till an
opportunity occurred for revenge.
This, perhaps, would be that revenge.
"No," he said, "it was childish;" and he felt directly after that he was
maligning a really amiable woman.
He ended by thinking that he could judge her by her acts. If she were
innocent of all complicity in the abduction of Helen--if abduction it
was--she would come and display her sympathy to her English friends in
this time of trouble.
"What do you think, Miss Stuart?" he said, leading her into the opening
of a window. "The Inche Maida has cause of complaint against us. Do
you think she has had anything to do with getting Helen away?"
"No, I'm certain she has not," cried Grey, flushing warmly. "She is too
good and true a woman."
"Do you think she likes Helen?" asked the Resident.
"No, I think she dislikes her," replied Grey; "but she could not be
guilty of such a crime as you suggest."
"I am suspicious," said the Resident. "Why does she stay away? She
must have heard something by this time. Did you see her very late last
night?"
"Yes, till very late--till after the disappearance. She was wondering
where Helen had gone."
"Yes," said the Resident, "that is all in her favour, my dear child; but
still she stops away."
"No," said Grey, quietly, "she is not staying away. See: here she
comes, with her servants. I think she has arrived to offer her services
in this time of trouble."
Grey Stuart was right, for directly after the Malay princess entered the
large drawing-room, eager with her offers of help, as her English friend
had said.
"I did not know till a messenger came in," she exclaimed, excitedly. "I
was home late, and I was asleep. When I heard of the trouble at the
station, I came and brought my servants. What shall I do?"
She was most affectionate and full of pity for Mr Perowne. To the
Resident she was friendly in the extreme, and in a frank, genial way,
utterly free from effusiveness; while to Grey Stuart she was tenderness
itself, kissing her and talking to her in a low voice of the trouble,
and keeping her all the time at her side.
"Henry," said little Mrs Bolter, suddenly.
"Yes, my dear."
"I don't trust these black people a bit. They are very friendly and
full of offers of service, but I cannot help thinking that they are at
the bottom of all this trouble. Do you hear?"
"Yes, my dear, I hear," said the doctor; "but I cannot say that you are
right. It's as puzzling as the real site of Ophir; but I hope it will
all come right in the end."
Suspicious as Mrs Bolter felt, she did not show her feelings, but
joined in the conversation; and she was obliged to own that the conduct
of the Inche Maida seemed to be quite that of an English lady eager to
help her friends in a terrible time of trial.
In the midst of the conversation that ensued there was the sound of
voices outside, and the Resident, closely followed by Mr Perowne and
the Rajah, hurried out to see if there was any news.
One of the sergeants, with a private of Hilton's company, had just
arrived on the lawn, these being two of the men who had gone down the
river in a sampan.
"Ah! Harris," exclaimed the Resident, eagerly, on seeing something in
the sergeant's face which told of tidings, "what news?"
The sergeant glanced at Mr Perowne in rather a troubled manner, and
hesitated.
"Speak out, my man, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed the latter, "and let
me know the worst."
"It mayn't be the worst, sir," replied the sergeant, with rough
sympathy. "I hope it isn't, sir; but we found a boat, sir--one of our
own boats--left by the `Penguin' for our use at the island."
"Yes--yes, I know!" exclaimed Mr Perowne.
"Quick! speak out, Harris. What of her?" cried the Resident.
"She was lying bottom up, sir, on a bit of sandbank, a dozen miles down
the river, sir; and this was twisted round one of the thwarts--the
sleeve just tied round, sir, to keep it in its place."
As he spoke he held up a light coat, saturated with water, and muddy and
crumpled, where it had dried on the way back.
Neil Harley took the coat and examined it carefully. Then laying it
down, he said, slowly:
"It looks like Chumbley's; but I cannot feel sure."
"I made sure it was one of the lieutenant's coats, sir," said the
sergeant, respectfully.
"Let us see the boat," said Mr Perowne. "Where is it?"
"Down at your landing-stage, sir, and--"
He stopped short, as if afraid he should say too much.
"What is it, Harris? Speak out," said the Resident, sternly.
"She seems to have been laid hold of, sir, by one of them great river
beasts. There's a lot of teeth marks, and a bit ripped out of her
side."
Mr Perowne shuddered, and Neil Harley recalled the various stories he
had heard of crocodiles attacking small boats--stories that he had
heretofore looked upon as mythical, though he knew that the reptiles
often seized the natives when bathing by the river bank.
"As far as I could judge, sir," said the sergeant, who, seeing that he
gave no offence in speaking out, was most eager to tell all he knew, "it
seems as if the officers, sir, had taken the ladies for a row upon the
river, when the boat perhaps touched one of the great beasts, and that
made it turn and seize it in its teeth. Then it was overset, and--"
The men started and stopped short, for there was a faint cry of horror,
and they all turned to see Grey Stuart standing there pale, with her
lips apart, and a look of horror in her fixed eyes, as she saw in
imagination the overturned boat, and the vain struggles of those who
were being swept away by the rapid stream.
The whole scene rose before her eyes with horrible substantiality--all
that she had heard or been told of the habits of the great reptiles that
swarmed in the river helping to complete the picture. For as she seemed
to realise the scene, and saw the struggling figures in the water, there
would be a rush and a swirl, with a momentary sight of a dark horny back
or side, and then first one and then another of the hapless party would
be snatched beneath the surface.
But even then her horror seemed to be veined with a curious sensation of
jealous pain, for she pictured to herself Helen floating down the stream
with her white hands extended for help, and Hilton fighting his way
through the water to her side. Then he seemed to seize her, and to make
a brave struggle to keep her up. It was a hard fight, and he did not
spare himself, but appeared to be ready to drown that she might live.
The water looked blacker and darker where they were, and there was no
help at hand, so that it was but a question of moments before they must
sink. And as, with dilated, horror-charged eyes, Grey stared before her
to where the river really ran sparkling in the sunshine, the imaginary
blackness deepened, and all looked so smooth and terrible that she
watched for where that dreadful glassiness would be broken by some
reptile rising to make a rush at the struggling pair; and--yes, there at
last it was! And with the name of Hilton half-formed upon her lips, she
uttered another cry, and fell fainting in the Inche's Maida's arms.