Battiscombe Asserts Himself
“Jim!”
“Well?”
She came closer.
“Why were you so rude to Mr. Armourer?”
A suggestion of the old weakness of character crept into his face. He
remained for some moments blinking into her eyes as a man trying to
accustom his gaze to the light. Presently his features hardened and he
regarded her squarely.
“Look here, Vera, how much longer is this sort of thing to go on? Do
you expect me to be polite to these--harmless acquaintances of yours
for an eternity?”
She flushed angrily.
“I don’t understand you. What in the name of goodness are you driving
at?”
He brought his fist heavily down on to the table and the glass
Armourer had used rolled off and broke on the floor.
“You know very well what I’m talking about. Don’t beat about the bush.
Answer me!”
Completely bewildered, she racked her brain for some clue to the
solution of her husband’s changed attitude. Jumping at the most
obvious conclusion, she repeated the suggestion she had made earlier
in the evening to Michael.
“You’ve been drinking.”
He nodded bitterly.
“Oh, yes,” he retorted, “I’ve been drinking all right. I dropped in at
Vance’s place and had a couple on the way up. I’ve been treated to a
considerable amount of undiluted hell on your account this
evening--and I felt I was in need of something to steady myself. I can
put up with a lot--more than most men, I fancy--but there are some
things I can’t stand.”
“Such as----?”
“Such as discovering my own wife kissing one of my colleagues on the
verandah of my own house!”
She was trembling with fury now, her fingers clenching and unclenching
themselves at her sides.
“That’s not true; you know it’s not true!”
“I wish to heaven it weren’t; but, for the first time in all this
miserable business, I have the evidence of my own eyes. Good Lord,
Vera, haven’t you some sense of decency? Leaving me out of the
question altogether, aren’t there sufficient scoundrels on the island
without you wanting to seduce a decent boy like Armourer?”
She made a sudden movement towards her room.
“If you’ve nothing but these vile accusations to level at me, I’m
going to bed.”
He stepped between her and the door.
“Listen to me,” he said sternly, “you’re not going to leave this
verandah until you’ve heard everything I’ve got to say.”
She tried to push past him, but he caught her by both arms and forced
her into a chair.
She sprang out of it again, her cheeks very white, her eyes blazing.
“How dare you treat me like that! How dare you bully me!” Her lower
lip quivered and she buried her face in her hands. She collapsed in
the chair again, seeking refuge in tears. “You--hurt--me.”
He stood irresolutely over her, his features twitching. He was feeling
uncommonly miserable, and, had she sought to retreat at that moment,
he could not have mustered courage to detain her. A weak impulse
prompted him to take her in his arms and comfort her, but that final
scene between Armourer and his wife still rankled, and he choked it
down.
Remembering something, he dived a hand into a side-pocket and threw a
bulky packet into her lap.
She glanced at it through her fingers, but did not move.
“You will find some of your own letters there,” he told her hoarsely,
“letters from Moberly to his wife suggesting a divorce and letters
from Mrs. Moberly to the Governor. I am counting on you to explain why
Moberly should have imagined his wife had grounds for obtaining a
divorce.”
She gulped down something, withdrew her fingers slowly and turned a
tear-stained face up to him.
“Where did you get these?” she asked dully.
He sat on the edge of the table and folded his arms.
“Mrs. Moberly has been in correspondence with the Governor for some
time. She has known Sir Henry for a good many years. I am given to
understand that he doesn’t desire to pose in any way as a censor of
morals, but that, wishing to put an end to what he regarded as a
highly undesirable state of affairs, he forwarded these letters to the
Commissioner.”
Her fingers fidgeted with the tape that bound the bundle.
“That was why he wanted to see you?”
“Yes.”
She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.
“And you believe all these--horrible fabrications?”
He clasped his hands between his knees and swayed uncomfortably to and
fro.
“What else am I to believe? You say you didn’t go to Bukit-Serang this
afternoon?”
“No.”
“Why not? If you are going to tell me it was out of any sense of
decent feeling for me, I’m afraid I can’t believe it.”
She was dangerously near tears again.
“Jim, why are you such a beast to me?”
“Why are you such a beast to _me_?”
“I’m not,” she sobbed. “I’ve just tried to amuse myself; that’s all. I
did kiss Michael Armourer. I made him kiss me. You don’t suppose I did
that because I cared about him? Men are such fools!”
“I’m just beginning to realise it,” said Battiscombe. “I’m not in the
least bit blind to the fact that you’ve fooled _me_.”
She shook her head sadly.
“You’ll never understand me, Jim. You’ve brought me out to the East
and you expect me to behave with all the absurd decorum of the
suburbs. Spices, tropical sunshine--and colour! If you want to blame
anything, you must blame the surroundings, the climate and the
unutterable loneliness. You’ve had your work; I’ve had nothing to do
but to bask in the sunshine and absorb! It’s got into my veins--this
Borneo of yours. I’ve caught the spirit of the place and, to all
intents and purposes, I’m a headhunter. I delight in these little
conquests. Armourer was a real conquest, Jim, because in his heart of
hearts he despised me--and he despises me still. Oh, I know I’ve
sinned. In that respect I’ve sinned terribly. I’ve ridden back,
flushed with excitement at my wrong-doing, like a naughty child
expecting to be smacked; but you’ve never smacked me, Jim. You’ve just
sat there, fat, contented, blind… until I could have shrieked at
you--‘Dick Moberly’s kissed me; do you hear? What are you going to do
about it?’ You’re lucky that that’s all that has happened; but it is
all!”
He glanced down at his hands.
“Do you swear that?” he demanded presently in a low voice.
She rose with a sudden movement and leaned against him, smoothing the
lapels of his jacket between finger and thumb. She looked up at him,
her blue eyes that seemed so honest brimming over with mute
appeal--and Jim Battiscombe succumbed.
He crushed her to him--this beautiful penitent, swathed in the vampire
frock she had selected to overwhelm Michael, and she was far too
clever to complain of his roughness then.
“I’ve been a little rotter to you, Jim,” she whispered. “You must be
firm with me in future--ever so firm; do you understand?”
Her husband nodded. He was so utterly overcome, so profoundly
optimistic that their married life had found its second wind, that he
forgot she had evaded his question.
“Poor little woman!” he murmured presently. “I’m afraid I’ve been very
much to blame.” He caught sight of the pile of letters in their
binding of official tape that had fallen to the floor as she rose.
“We’ll burn those damned letters--every blessed one of ’em. Anyhow,”
he added fiercely, “this affair’s shown up Moberly in his true
colours. You won’t want to see him again.”
“Never,” she agreed with almost unnecessary emphasis. Moberly’s
indiscretion had led her into uncommonly deep waters--and she was not
likely to forget it in a hurry. This would be a lesson to her for all
time, and she would take care Michael Armourer did not commit a
similar error. Besides, she remembered, Armourer was unmarried.
“I suppose he’s given you presents?--brooches and things?”
She started.
“You want me to send them back?”
“Rather!--every one!”
“Very well, I will. I’ll make them up into a parcel the first thing in
the morning.”
Battiscombe rubbed his hands together.
“We’ll do it now and wash our hands of the whole affair.”
He observed her tenderly.
“You’re a wonderful little woman, Vera. I don’t wonder fellows fall
head over ears in love with you the minute they see you.”
She was still nestling in his arms and there was a gap between her
frock and her neck.
“Hullo!” he exclaimed, “what’s this?”
His glance had fallen on the chain of gold filigree, and before she
could prevent him he had drawn the Crimson Butterfly from its
hiding-place into the lamp-light. “I’ve never seen this before.”
He groped for the fastening with his great fingers.
A moment later he held the pendant in his palm and Vera stood a little
away from him cudgelling her fertile brain for some excuse to account
for its presence there.
As he pawed it wonderingly, struck momentarily dumb by the sheer
beauty of the thing, a queer feeling stole over him. He could have
sworn that he was handling something unutterably unclean.
He looked up sharply.
“Did he give you this, too?”
Mrs. Battiscombe hesitated. She was on the point of explaining how
Abu-Samar had stopped her, induced her to go to his house and forced
her to accept the gift, when she realised the difficulties besetting
any such confession. She had already told him that she had refrained
from embarking upon her proposed expedition to inspect Moberly’s
newly-erected clubhouse. She would have to correct that statement,
which would be a remarkably bad beginning to a rather improbable
story. Jim had doubted her once that night, and, having put these
doubts to flight, it would be a pity to risk arousing them again.
“Er--yes. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
He dropped it on the table.
“Extraordinarily so. Wonder where he got it?”
She gave the faintest shrug to her shoulders.
“In some bazaar in Colombo or Singapore, I fancy. He did tell me.”
Battiscombe slid from his perch, and, foraging for some moments in a
cupboard, unearthed a sheet of brown paper. He spread it out and
placed the pendant on it.
“That’ll make a good start, anyway. Trot out all the other little
tokens of affection, dear, and we’ll get this job off our chests.”
She sighed deeply.
“Must we do it to-night? I’m so tired.”
For once he was firm.
“Absolutely. It won’t take you a moment.”
She went to her room.
Five minutes later he carried off a little oblong parcel to the back
of the house. He came back smiling.
“And that’s the end of Mr. Richard Moberly! I’ve given it to Kuraman,
and our worthy planter will find it when he comes on to the verandah
for an early breakfast. It’ll help him to start the day well!”
She surveyed him doubtfully.
“Oughtn’t I to have written?”
He shook his head.
“In future, whenever the necessity arises for anyone to write to Dick
Moberly, it’s going to be your lawful husband!”
She was arranging her hair in front of the glass when Jim’s head and
shoulders came round the door.
“I say, Vera!”
“Yes?” she responded through a mouthful of pins.
“I didn’t tell you, did I? The Commissioner’s instructed me to watch
that black feller closely.”
She looked round.
“Black fellow?”
“Why, yes; the chap who styles himself Dr. Abu-Samar. I happened to
mention our little encounter this morning and he got quite excited. As
far as I can make out, Samar’s not a doctor at all. He’s a
revolutionary of a most dangerous type and has already given trouble
in Sarawak. He’s believed to get a hold over the natives by sheer
hypnotism. He can make ’em believe anything. Well, good night, little
woman. Sleep well.”
The door closed softly.