Ronnie Carteret was the subject of a good deal of chaff that night at
mess. The Rajah was being entertained, and he was the only man who paid
the young officer any compliments on the matter of his achievement on
the racecourse. Everyone else openly declared that the horse, and not
its rider, was the one to be congratulated.
"Never saw anything so ludicrous in my life," one critic said. "He
looked like a rag doll in the saddle. How he managed to stick on passes
me. Is it the latest from America, Ronnie? Leaves something to be
desired, old chap! I should stick to the old style, if I were you."
Ronnie had no answer for the comments and advice showered upon him from
all sides. He received them all in silence, sullenly ignoring derisive
questions.
Hyde was not present, to the surprise of every one. All knew that he had
been invited, and there was some speculation upon his non-appearance.
Baring was there, quiet and self-contained as usual. No one ever chaffed
Baring. It was generally recognized that he did not provide good sport.
When the toasts were over he left the table.
It was soon after his departure that a sound like a distant explosion
was heard by those in the messroom, causing some discussion there.
"It's only some fool letting off fireworks," someone said; and as this
seemed a reasonable explanation, no one troubled to enquire further. And
so fully half an hour passed before the truth was known.
It was Baring who came in with the news, and none who saw it ever
forgot his face as he threw open the messroom door. It was like the face
of a man suddenly stricken with a mortal hurt.
"Heavens, man! What's the matter?" the colonel exclaimed, at sight of
him. "You look as if--as if--"
Baring glanced round till his eyes fell upon Ronnie, and, when he spoke,
he seemed to be addressing him alone.
"The dam has burst," he said, his words curt, distinct, unfaltering.
"The whole of the lower valley is flooded. The Magician's bungalow has
been swept away!"
"What?" gasped Ronnie. "What?"
He sprang to his feet, the awful look in Baring's eyes reflected in his
own, and made a dash for the doorway in which Baring stood. He stumbled
as he reached, it and the latter threw out a supporting arm.
"It's no use your going," he said, his voice hard and mechanical.
"There's nothing to be done. I've been as near as it is possible to get.
It's nothing but a raging torrent half a mile across."
He moved straight forward to a chair, and thrust the boy down into it.
There was a terrible stiffness--almost a fixity--about him. He did not
seem conscious of the men that crowded round him. It was not his
habitual reserve that kept him from collapse at that moment; it was
rather a stunned sense of expediency.
"There's nothing to be done," he repeated.
He looked down at Ronnie, who was clutching at the table with both
hands, and making ineffectual efforts to speak.
"Give him some brandy, one of you!" he said.
Someone held a glass against the boy's chattering teeth. The colonel
poured some spirit into another and gave it to Baring. He took it with a
hand that seemed steady, but the next instant it slipped through his
fingers and smashed on the floor. He turned sharply, not heeding it.
Most of the men in the room were on their way out to view the
catastrophe for themselves. He made as if to follow them; then, as if
struck by a sudden thought, he paused.
Ronnie, deathly pale, and shaking all over, was fighting his way back to
self-control. Baring moved back to him with less of stiffness and more
of his usual strength of purpose.
"Do you care to come with me?" he said.
Ronnie looked up at him. Then, though he still shivered violently, he
got up without speaking; and, in silence, they went away together.