COUNSEL FOR THE PROSECUTION.
Ferrers was very well pleased with himself. He had done his duty,
which had turned out, in a most unwonted manner, to be also his
pleasure, and he felt justly entitled to enjoy his Christmas holiday
to the full. It amused him immensely to see Lady Haigh forced to
countenance his constant presence at the fort, and his attendance on
Penelope whenever she went out. On learning the state of affairs, Sir
Dugald had absolutely and categorically forbidden his wife to do
anything that might lead to a second rupture of the engagement. Once
was enough, he said grimly; and, fume as she might, Lady Haigh judged
it well to obey. It could not be expected that the fact should improve
her temper, but Ferrers was in too complacent a state of mind to be
affected by her sharp speeches. He did not even fear that she would
succeed in prejudicing Penelope against him a second time, guessing
shrewdly that after one irrepressible outburst of disgust, she would
prefer to maintain silence on the subject, and in this he judged
correctly. Penelope’s anxious endeavours to do as he wished flattered
him pleasantly, and he reciprocated her efforts with a kindness which
had something of condescension in it. “Feeble as they are,” it seemed
to say, “you want to please me, and I will be pleased,” and Penelope
was too much broken in spirit to resent his attitude. She was not
altogether unhappy. Even in Khemistan there were at this season bright
bracing days, when a gallop over the desert could not but be a joy,
even though an unwelcome lover and an uncomprehending brother were
riding on either side of her. If at night she dedicated a few tears to
the memory of that vain dream of hers, it was only because it returned
to her in spite of her strenuous efforts to bury it. There was a kind
of restfulness in feeling that her fate was fixed without reference to
her own desires, and she was fervently anxious to be loyal to the two
young men who were both so willing for her to be absolutely happy in
their way.
In his abounding self-satisfaction Ferrers thought less of Major
Keeling’s delinquencies than before, and as the days passed on without
any fresh instance of them, became inclined to let the matter drop. If
the poor beggar found any fun in dressing up as a native and
pretending to work miracles, why in the world shouldn’t he? It would
not affect Ferrers when he got transferred to another district, and
this might happen at any moment. Keeling must be a perfect fool to
have spent his time in Penelope’s society to such little purpose, and
might really be left to his folly. But in coming to this conclusion
Ferrers was reckoning without the Mirza, whom he had not brought with
him to Alibad. After what had passed, he could quite understand the
man’s desire to keep out of Major Keeling’s sight, and he accepted the
responsibility of turning aside any questions that might be asked
about him. But on the last evening of his stay, when he was in his
room at Colin Ross’s quarters, whistling gaily as he tried on the
emerald ring with which he intended to clinch his formal engagement to
Penelope on the morrow, a low tapping reached his ears from the back
verandah, and it flashed upon him at once that the Mirza was there.
With a muttered curse on the man for disturbing him, he put away the
ring and went out softly, to find his follower standing in deep shadow
by a pillar.
“_Salaam_, sahib!” was the Mirza’s breathless greeting. “Now is the
moment of which I spoke to you. I have watched and spied around
Sheikhgarh night after night, until at last I can show you the full
measure of Kīlin Sahib’s treachery.”
“Oh, hang it all! I don’t want to go pottering about the desert
to-night,” said Ferrers angrily. “Why can’t you tell me what you’ve
found out?”
“Nay, sahib, it is for you to see it with your own eyes. So far it is
only the sahibs who will turn their backs on the man. After to-night,
the Memsahibs also will draw away their garments from touching him.”
The idea sounded promising. It would be good policy to be able to
prove to Penelope the reasonableness of the warning he had given her,
and which she had scouted, and he beckoned the Mirza in.
“You have brought my disguise, I suppose?” he said.
“Yes, sahib, and I have the ponies waiting outside the town. The moon
will not ride till late, so that we may hope not to run across Kīlin
Sahib on his way to Sheikhgarh.”
“Defend me from ever leading a double life! It’s too much trouble,”
said Ferrers, with a yawn, for he was sleepy. What an immense amount
of riding Major Keeling must get through night after night, if he went
first westwards to Sheikhgarh and then eastwards to the Akrab! And how
in the world did he manage to cram so much activity into the daytime?
He must be able to do almost without sleep. It was really a pity such
a fine soldier and ingenious plotter should be such a rascal! “Why
don’t you go into partnership with Keeling Sahib, Mirza, instead of
showing him up?” he asked. “You two might rule Asia, he as Padishah
and you as Vizier.”
“Am I a dog, to work with perjured men and those false to their salt?”
snarled the Mirza. Ferrers laughed unkindly.
“Oh, don’t try to come the righteous indignation dodge over me: I know
you a little too well for that. Now just touch up my face a bit. If
there’s a moon, it’ll be harder for me to pass muster if we meet any
one than it was by starlight.”
The toilet completed, they slipped out, and, by dint of traversing
unsavoury alleys and skulking close under walls, managed to evade
various sentries and reach the desert unchallenged. The Mirza made
straight for the spot where he had picketed the ponies, and directed
their course rather to the south of the hill which commanded the town
on the west. The route on this occasion did not lead through the open
desert, but up and down hill-paths and dry nullahs, and Ferrers
wondered where they would find themselves at last. When they reached a
kind of cave in which the Mirza remarked that they must leave the
ponies, they were in a part of the hills with which he was totally
unacquainted, so far as he could tell in the darkness. The Mirza
seemed to know the way well, however; and warning him that the
slightest noise would be dangerous, as the Sheikh-ul-Jabal’s servants
kept the neighbourhood closely patrolled, led him up what seemed a
goat-track in the rocks. He would not allow any loitering for rest,
saying that the moon would soon rise, and they must be in shelter
first, and by dint of great exertions they reached their goal in time.
It was a kind of ledge or shelf on the side of the cliff, overlooking
what seemed to be a pile of huge rocks below; but as the moon rose,
Ferrers perceived that the apparently shapeless masses were the rude
towers and buildings of a hill-fort. The site had been well chosen,
for, with the short range of the native matchlocks, it could not be
commanded from any of the surrounding hills. From his position Ferrers
could see between two of the towers down into the courtyard, and he
was startled to perceive a black horse standing saddled in front of
the building which represented the keep or chief apartments of the
place. The horse was held by a servant, and presently another servant
appeared with a torch, and a third brought a bag of food and a skin of
water, and fastened them to the saddle. Then, as Ferrers watched,
there appeared on the threshold the majestic figure in white and
scarlet which he had last seen at the _pir_’s tomb. The Sheikh turned
for a moment, apparently to give directions to several women, the
flutter of whose robes could be seen by the torchlight, and then came
out upon the steps, followed by three children, two boys and a girl,
whose ages might run from ten to twelve. All three kissed the Sheikh’s
hand, the boys holding his stirrup while he mounted, and he gave them
his blessing as he rode away. In the clear mountain air the opening of
the gate in the entrance-tower was plainly audible, and presently a
gleam of white and scarlet and steel beyond the fort showed that the
Sheikh was riding down the path. Ferrers stood up, in a state of anger
which surprised himself.
“What does it mean?” he demanded. “Who are those children?”
“It is for you to say, sahib. As for me, I have no doubt. They are the
children of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal.”
“Which means that Keeling is married to a native woman, and they are
his children,” said Ferrers. “Is it conceivable that a man can be such
a traitor? False to his country and his race! I say, Mirza, let us go
after him and put an end to his treachery.”
But the Mirza held him back. “Nay, sahib, it must not be. Has it not
often been told me that the way of the English is to do all things
slowly and according to forms of law? You know how the traitor can be
punished after the English manner; then do not act as would one of the
hill-people, which can only harm yourself.”
Ferrers saw the force of the reasoning, and followed his guide slowly
down the dangerous path. His mind was in a whirl. Marriages between
Englishmen and native women were far more common in those days than in
these, but Major Keeling was the last man he would have expected to
contract one. This, then, was the explanation of his insensibility
with regard to Penelope! But he had sat beside her, talked to her,
touched her hand, behaved like an honourable man who was free to seek
her if he chose, while only a few miles off his unacknowledged wife
and children were leading a secluded existence within stone walls. It
occurred to Ferrers that it would be a good idea to arrest them and
bring them to Alibad, there to confront Major Keeling with them
suddenly; and he asked the Mirza whether the fort was well defended.
The Mirza assured him that not only was the garrison ample for
defence, but watchmen were posted on all the hill-tops round, and it
was only by bribing one of these, over whom he had obtained some hold
in the past, that he had been able to reach the point of vantage they
had occupied. It was practically impossible to approach the place
undetected, he said, and before long there came a startling proof of
the truth of his words. Just before they reached the cave where the
horses had been left, Ferrers trod on a loose stone, which rolled down
the hillside with a terrifying clatter. Instantly a hail from the hill
on their left was answered by another from the right, and followed by
one from the fort itself.
“Mount and ride for your life,” panted the Mirza to Ferrers, as they
stumbled into the cave. “There is no hope of escaping unnoticed now.”
They had the ponies outside the cave in a twinkling, and were mounted
and riding down the path in another second. Stones rolled down under
the ponies’ feet, voices ran from hill to hill, and presently, when
the forms of the intruders were perceived, bullets began to fly around
them. Fortunately for Ferrers and the Mirza, the ponies were
sure-footed, and none of the Sheikh’s matchlockmen waited to take good
aim. They dashed out on the plain at last, unhurt, and from the nullah
behind them there rang out a last shot and a sharp cry, a man’s
death-cry.
“The sentry who suffered us to pass,” remarked the Mirza casually.
“They have a short way with brethren who have been false to their
oaths, as I should know.”
He seemed to feel he had said too much, and refused to answer Ferrers’
eager questions as to when he had been a member of the brotherhood,
and why he had left it. They rode briskly back to the outskirts of the
town, and dismounted. The Mirza guided Ferrers through the byways to
Colin’s quarters, and left him there, carrying off his disguise for
safety’s sake, and Ferrers tumbled into bed and slept heavily.
He did not wake till late, when he found the whole place in excitement
over the arrival of the mail. There were letters for him, but he
disregarded them all in favour of a telegram which had been forwarded
by boat and messenger from the point where the wires ended. It was
dated from Government House, Bab-us-Sahel, and came from his uncle,
announcing curtly that Mr Crayne was cutting short his Christmas
festivities on account of some complication which had arisen over the
affairs of a deposed native prince up the river. He considered that
his presence on the spot would enable the difficulty to be more easily
settled, and he was coming up the river by steamer as far as the
station which was the window by which the Alibad colony looked into
the larger world. He would be glad to see his nephew during his stay
there, and he was requesting Major Keeling to grant him a week’s
leave, which would be ample for the purpose.
Ferrers’ feelings when he read the missive were mixed. Much depended
on this interview, and the impression he might make on his uncle. But
should he go to meet him as an engaged man or not? It was impossible
to tell what Mr Crayne’s mood at the moment would be, but the
probability was that he would find grounds for a grievance in either
alternative. On the whole, thought Ferrers, it would be better to
suppress all mention of Penelope until he had fathomed his uncle’s
intentions towards him. If he had no benevolent design in view, his
prejudices need not be considered; but if he had anything good in
store, it might be necessary to proceed with caution, and not reveal
the truth until Mr Crayne had seen Penelope and honoured her with his
approval. Ignoring his own former changes of feeling, Ferrers was now
sufficiently in love to feel certain that his uncle must approve of
her.
With this in his mind he left the emerald ring in Colin’s charge, and
prepared for his journey, receiving a curt notice from Major Keeling
that the leave requested by his uncle was granted, riding out to Shah
Nawaz to inform the man who was taking his place that another week’s
exile was in store for him, and bidding farewell to Penelope and Lady
Haigh. Penelope was too much relieved to see him go to take any
offence at the postponement of the engagement, and Lady Haigh hailed
his departure in private as offering an opening for the “something
that might happen,” much longed for by herself, to prevent matters
going any further. Ferrers saw through her at a glance, and rode away
laughing. He had an idea that he might be able to induce his uncle to
pay a flying visit to Alibad and make Penelope’s acquaintance, and
then he remembered suddenly that he had in his possession information
that would bring Mr Crayne to Alibad if nothing else would. He had
given up the idea of extending mercy to Major Keeling by this time. He
wanted to see him disgraced, driven from the army and from the society
of Europeans, and forced to herd with the natives whose company it was
clear that he preferred. He had not a doubt that his uncle’s feelings
would accord with his, and he devoted a good deal of time while on his
journey to going over the different points of his evidence, and
deciding on the form in which he would present it.
It was not until his second evening at Mr Crayne’s camp on the river
that he found his opportunity. The secretary and other officials who
were dragged in the Commissioner’s train, gathering that he would like
a talk with his nephew, had gladly effaced themselves on various
pretexts, and Ferrers and his uncle were left alone together. For some
time, while they smoked, Ferrers endured a bombardment of short snappy
questions, delivered in tones expressive of the deepest contempt, as
to his past career and his financial position, and heard his answers
received with undisguised sniffs. Then his chance came.
“What d’ye think of that man of yours--Keeling?” demanded Mr Crayne.
“He is--a fine soldier,” responded Ferrers guardedly.
“What d’ye hum and haw like that for, sir?” Mr Crayne added a strong
expression. “I won’t be put off by puppies like you.”
“I have no wish to put you off, sir,” said Ferrers with dignity; “but
you will understand it is difficult to give a candid opinion of one’s
commanding officer.”
“I’ll give you a candid opinion of him, if you like!” cried Mr Crayne.
“He’s the most arrogant, hot-headed, interfering, cantankerous fool
that ever wrote insubordinate letters to his superiors!”
“Oh, is that all?” The nephew’s face wore a pitying smile.
“All? What more d’ye want, sir? And what d’ye mean by grinning at me
like that, sir? I won’t stand impudence.”
“And yet you have to stand Keeling’s? He is indispensable, isn’t he?”
Another volley of strong language, which Ferrers understood to convey
the information that Mr Crayne would feel deeply indebted to any one
who would enable him to bundle Major Keeling out of the province for
good and all. When the flow of vituperation ceased for a moment, he
spoke--
“I have been anxious to ask your advice for some time, sir.
Circumstances have come to my knowledge about Major Keeling----”
“That would break him--smash him--if they came out?” gasped Mr Crayne,
becoming purple in the face. “Go on, boy; go on.”
Ferrers began his tale, at first interrupted continually by what he
considered impertinent questions as to his relations with the Mirza,
his grounds for accepting evidence from him against Major Keeling, and
so on; but by degrees the interruptions ceased, and he was allowed to
finish what he had to say in peace. Then Mr Crayne chuckled.
“I knew the man was a hot-headed fool, but I never thought he was a
double-dyed ass!” he cried triumphantly. “He’s set a trap for himself,
and walked into it. He might have written insubordinate letters till
he died, and not given me such a handle against him as this. What are
you looking horrified about, sir, eh?”
Ferrers disavowed the charge stoutly, though his uncle’s glee had set
his teeth on edge. “I don’t quite see----” he began.
“Eh? What? Don’t see it? Don’t see that the fellow has personated this
Sheikh-ul-Jabal for ten years, and made away with the allowance he was
supposed to pay over to him? Used it to support his precious
black-and-tan family, of course. No, there’s no law against a man’s
marrying a black woman, or a dozen, if he wants ’em, and he’s at
liberty to become a heathen, for all I know, if he doesn’t force his
notions down other people’s throats; but embezzlement--that’s a
different thing.”
“Oh, but--by Jove! this is disgusting,” said Ferrers. “I really don’t
think----”
“Oh, you’re young, and innocent, and romantic,” said his uncle,
drawling out the epithets, which Ferrers felt were quite undeserved,
with immense relish. “What does it matter if the man chooses to live
like a nigger when he’s off duty? Plenty of ’em do. But giving false
receipts for government money--that’s where we have him.”
“But how can he have managed it?”
“Oh, it’s been cleverly done. I allow that. It must have begun with
that Nalapur affair ten years ago. Of course the real Sheikh-ul-Jabal
was killed with his brother-in-law Nasr Ali, and old Harry Lennox, in
his eagerness to get his conscience whitewashed for what he had done,
never took the trouble to see whether he was alive or dead, but
granted the allowance when it was asked for. And your fine Commandant
has simply pocketed it from that day to this!”
“But how did he impose himself on the brotherhood and the Sheikh’s
followers?”
“Why d’ye ask me? I wasn’t there. But we’ll call my secretary, and ask
him about the Mountain sect. It’s his business to get ’em all up, and
he’s a dab at finding out facts. Not that I let him think so. Here,
you sir, Hazeldean!” he raised his voice, “Come here!”
The secretary came hurrying up, in evident perturbation. He was a
nervous-looking youth, with the round shoulders and hesitating manners
of the student, and gave the impression of having been waked from a
dream by a rough shock.
“Why are you never at hand when you’re wanted, sir?” demanded Mr
Crayne. “It’s scarcely worth while asking you, but perhaps among all
the perfectly useless information you manage to stow away you may have
picked up something about the Sheikh-ul-Jabal and his sect?”
“Indeed I have, sir. The subject has interested me very much since I
came to Khemistan, and learned----”
“Then let’s hear what you know about it,” snapped Mr Crayne.
“The Mountain brotherhood claims to be the direct survival of a
terrible secret society formed in Crusading times,” began the
secretary, as if he were repeating a lesson, “which furthered its
objects by the murder of any one who stood in its way. There were
seven stages of initiation, and in the lower the brethren professed
the most rigid Mohammedanism, but in the higher the initiates were
taught that good and evil were merely names, and all religions alike
false. Absolute obedience to the rule of the Sheikh-ul-Jabal was the
chief point in the vows taken, and when he ordered the removal of any
one, it took place at once. Some of the Crusading leaders were accused
of having entered the brotherhood, and this accusation was especially
brought against the Templars. The order seems to have existed in
secret ever since it was supposed to be stamped out, and the present
Sheikh-ul-Jabal is actually a pensioner of the Company’s, living
somewhere near Alibad, which was what attracted my attention to the
sect at first. Some writers think that the Druses----”
“That’ll do,” said Mr Crayne curtly, interrupting the hurried
monologue. “I didn’t ask you for a lecture. Can you tell me the exact
membership of the order at the present time, or anything else that is
practical?”
“I--I’m afraid not, sir. There are no means of ascertaining such facts
as that, I fear. But I believe an important book has been published in
Germany dealing with the sect, if you would permit me to order it for
you----”
“No, I won’t. What good is a German book to any civilised man? You are
always ready to stock my library with books you want to read. You can
go back to your grinding, sir.”
The secretary departed with alacrity, and Mr Crayne turned to his
nephew--
“We see that the sect has always been willing to accept European
recruits, at any rate, which looks promising. The murder part of the
business has been dropped, apparently, or I should scarcely be sitting
here, after Keeling’s letters to me. Well, I shall pay a flying visit
to Alibad, and thresh the matter out. Must give the man a chance to
justify himself, though he’ll be clever to do it. If he offers to pay
back the money, I may have to let him retire and lose himself. If not,
there must be an inquiry. You’ll be prepared to give evidence, of
course?”
“It’s an awkward thing to witness against one’s commanding officer,
sir.”
“What, trying to back out of it, eh? What d’ye mean, sir? I’ll have
your blood if you fail me.”
“I could not remain in the regiment after it, sir.”
“Oho, you want to get something out of me, eh? Well, other regiments
won’t exactly compete for your services, either. It must be something
extra-regimental, then. What about the languages? I hear you used to
knock about among the niggers when you were down at the coast. Do any
good with it? Like to go to Gamara?”
“In what capacity, sir?”
“Governor-General’s agent, I suppose. They’re talking of sending an
envoy to hunt up that fool Whybrow. You know he’s disappeared? If you
come well through the business, you’re a made man.”
Ferrers did not hesitate. Whybrow was not the only man who had entered
the Central Asian city and been seen no more. It was the dream of
every generous mind in India to force an entrance into the dungeons
there, and set the captives free. How proud Penelope would be of him
if he accepted and performed the coveted task!
“I should like nothing better, sir,” he said.
“Well, I think I have influence enough to get you the appointment. But
you’ve got to do your work first, or I’ll break you.”