A CROCODILE INTERVENES
Major Norton opened his mouth to cry a warning; but Wargrave grasped his
arm and said hurriedly:
"Don't shout, sir! Don't wake her! She'd be too confused to move."
Then he thrust his field-glasses into the adjutant's hand.
"Watch for the strike of my bullet, Ray," he said.
He threw himself at full length on the ground and pressed a cartridge
into the breech of his rifle. His companions stood over him as he cast a
hurried glance forward and adjusted his sight, muttering:
"Just about four hundred yards."
The crocodile was nearly broadside on to him; and even at that distance
he could see the scaly armour covering head, back and sides, that would
defy any bullet. The unprotected spot behind the shoulder was hidden
from him; the only vulnerable part was the neck. Wargrave laid his cheek
to the butt and sighted on this.
The crocodile crept on inch by inch, dragging its limbs forward with the
slow, stealthy movement of its kind when stalking their prey on land.
The horrified watchers saw that the terrible snout with its protruding
fangs was barely a yard from Mrs. Norton's feet. Raymond's hands holding
the glasses to his eyes trembled violently. The Resident shook as with
the palsy; and he stared in horror at the crawling death that threatened
the sleeping woman.
Wargrave fired.
As the rifle rang out the creeping movement ceased.
"You've hit him, I'll swear," cried Raymond. "I didn't see the bullet
strike the ground."
Wargrave rapidly worked the bolt of his rifle, jerking out the empty
case and pushing a fresh cartridge into the chamber. He fired again.
"That's got him! That _must_ have got him!" exclaimed Raymond.
The crocodile lay still. Frank leapt to his feet and, rifle in hand,
dashed down the incline. At that moment Mrs. Norton awoke, turned on her
side, raised her body a little and suddenly saw the horrible reptile.
She sat up rigid with terror and stared at it. The brute slowly opened
its huge mouth and disclosed the cruel, gapped teeth. Then the iron jaws
clashed together. With a shriek the woman sprang to her feet, but stood
trembling, unable to move away.
"Run! Run!" shouted Wargrave, springing down the slope towards her.
Behind him raced Raymond, while her husband, who was unable to run
fast, followed far behind.
Mrs. Norton seemed rooted to the spot. But she turned to Wargrave with
outstretched arms and gasped:
"Save me, Frank! Save me!"
With a bound he reached her, and, as she clung to him convulsively,
panted out:
"It's all right, dear. You're safe now."
He pushed her behind him, and bringing the rifle to his shoulder, faced
the crocodile. The brute opened and shut its great jaws, seeming to gasp
for air, while a strange whistling sound came from its throat. Its body
appeared to be paralysed.
"It can't move. You've broken its spine," cried Raymond, as he reached
them. "Your first shot it must have been. Look! Your second's torn its
throat."
He pointed to the neck and went round to the other side. From a jagged,
gaping wound where the expanding bullet had torn the throat, the blood
spurted and air whistled out with a shrill sound.
Wargrave turned to Violet and took the terrified woman, who seemed on
the point of fainting, in his arms.
"All right, little girl. It's all right. The brute's done for."
She pulled herself together with an effort and looked nervously at the
crocodile. Then she released herself from Frank's clasp and said,
smiling feebly:
"What a coward I am! I'm ashamed of myself. Where's John? Oh, here he
is. Doesn't he look funny?"
The Resident, very red-faced and out of breath, had slowed down into a
shambling walk and was puffing and blowing like a grampus. As he came up
to them he spluttered:
"Is it safe? Is it dead?"
"It's harmless now, sir," answered Raymond. "It's still living but it
can't move. The spine's broken, I think."
The Resident turned to his wife. The poor man had been in agony while
she was in danger; but now that the peril had passed he could only
express his relief in irritable scolding:
"How could you be so foolish, Violet?" he asked crossly. "The idea of
going to sleep near the tank! Most unwise! You might have been eaten
alive."
His wife smiled bitterly and glanced at the grumbling man with a
contemptuous expression on her face.
"Yes, John, very inconsiderate of me, I daresay. But how was I to know
that there was a _mugger_ (crocodile) in the tank?"
Then for the first time she realised the nearness of the water.
"Good gracious! I thought I was much farther--how did I get so close to
it? Did I slip down in my sleep?"
"No; there are the trees," said Raymond. "It's extraordinary. The whole
tank seems to have shifted."
The Resident was mopping his bald scalp and lifted his hat to let the
gusty wind cool his head. A sudden squall blew the big pith sun-helmet
out of his hand. Wargrave caught it in the air and returned it to its
owner.
"By Jove! it's a regular gale," he said. "I think I know what's
happened. This wind's so strong that it's blown the water of the tank
before it and actually shifted the whole mass thirty or forty yards this
way."
"Yes, I've known that to occur before with shallow ponds," said Raymond.
"I've heard the passage of the Red Sea by the Israelites and the
drowning of Pharaoh's Army explained in the same way. It's said that the
crossing really took place at one extremity of the Bitter Lake through
which the Suez Canal passes."
Major Norton was staring at the far end of the tank now left bare.
"There may be some interesting insects stranded on the bottom uncovered
by the receding water," he said, abstractedly, and was moving away to
search for them when Wargrave said disgustedly:
"Don't you think, sir, that, as Mrs. Norton has had such a shock, the
sooner we get off the better?"
"Yes, yes. Very true. But you can order the camels to be saddled while
I'm having a look," replied the enthusiastic collector. "I really must
go and see. There may be some very interesting specimens there."
And he hurried away. His wife smiled rather bitterly as he went. Then
she turned to the two subalterns.
"But tell me what happened? How did the _mugger_ come here? How was I
saved?"
Raymond rapidly narrated what had taken place. Violet looked at Wargrave
with glistening eyes and held out her hands to him.
"So you saved my life. How can I thank you?" she said gratefully. Her
lips trembled a little.
Frank took her hands in his but answered lightly:
"Oh, it was nothing. Anyone else would have done the same. I happened to
be the only one with a rifle."
Raymond turned away quickly and walked over to the crocodile. Neither of
them took any notice of him. Violet gazed fondly at Wargrave.
"I owe you so much, Frank, so very much," she murmured in a low voice.
"You've made my life worth living; and now you make me live."
He was embarrassed but he pressed the hands he held in his. Then he
released them and tried to speak lightly.
"Shall I have the _mugger_ skinned and get a dressing-bag made out of
his hide for you?" he said, smiling. "That'd be a nice souvenir of the
brute."
She shuddered.
"I don't want to remember him," she cried, turning to glance at the
crocodile. "Horrid beast! I can't bear the sight of him."
The _mugger_ certainly looked a most repulsive brute as it lay stretched
on the ground, its jaws occasionally opening and shutting spasmodically,
the blood from its wounded throat spreading in a pool on the sun-baked
earth. It was evidently an old beast; and skull and back were covered
with thick horny plates and bosses through which no bullet could
penetrate. The big teeth studded irregularly in the cruel jaws were
yellow and worn, as were the thick nails tipping the claws at the ends
of the powerful limbs.
"The devil's not dead yet. Shall I put another bullet into him?" said
Wargrave.
"It's only wasting a cartridge," replied his friend. "He can't do any
more harm. When the men come we'll have him cut open and see what he's
got inside him."
Violet shuddered.
"Oh, do you think he has ever eaten any human being?" she asked, gazing
with loathing at the huge reptile.
"Judging from the way he stalked you I should think he has," answered
Raymond. "Hullo! here comes one of the camel-drivers with some of the
villagers. They'll be able to tell us about him."
On the rim of the basin appeared a group of natives moving in their
direction. Suddenly they caught sight of the crocodile, stopped and
pointed to it and began to talk excitedly. One of the local peasants ran
back shouting. The rest hurried down for a closer view of the reptile. A
chorus of wonder rose from them as they stood round it. The Mahommedan
camel-driver exclaimed in Hindustani:
"_Ahré, bhai! Kiya janwar! Pukka shaitan!_ (Ah, brother! What an animal!
A veritable devil!)"
As the villagers spoke only the dialect of the State, Raymond used this
man as interpreter and questioned them about the crocodile. They
asserted that it had inhabited the tank for many years--hundreds, said
one man. It had, to their certain knowledge, killed several women
incautiously bathing or drawing water from the tank. As women are not
valued highly by the poorer Hindus this did not make the _mugger_ very
unpopular. But early in that very year it had committed the awful crime
of dragging under water and devouring a Brahmini bull, an animal devoted
to the Gods and held sacrosanct.
By this time the crocodile had breathed its last. Raymond measured it
roughly and found it to be over twelve feet in length. The peasants
turned the great body on its back. Wargrave saw that the skin
underneath was too thick to be made into leather, so he bade them cut
the belly open. The stomach contained many shells of freshwater crabs
and crayfish, as well as a surprising amount of large pebbles, either
taken for digestive purposes or swallowed when the fish were being
scooped up off the bottom. But further search resulted in the finding of
several heavy brass or copper anklets and armlets, such as are worn by
Indian women. Some had evidently been a long time in the reptile's
interior.
When the camels had come and the party was preparing to mount and start
back home, a crowd of villagers, led by their old priest, bore down upon
them. Learning that Frank was the slayer of the sacrilegious crocodile
the holy man hung a garland of marigolds round his neck and through the
interpreter offered him the thanks of gods and men for his good deed.
And to a chorus of blessings and compliments he rode away with his
companions.
So ended the incident--apparently. But consequences undreamed of by any
of the actors in it flowed from it. For imperceptibly it brought a
change into the relations between Mrs. Norton and Wargrave and
eventually altered them completely. At first it merely seemed to
strengthen their friendship and increase the feeling of intimacy. To
Violet--they were Violet and Frank to each other now--the saving of her
life constituted a bond that could never be severed. He had preserved
her from a horrible death and she owed Wargrave more than gratitude.
Hitherto she had often toyed with the idea of him as a lover, and the
thought had been a pleasant one. But it had hardly occurred to her to be
in love with him in return. In all her life up to now she had never
known what it was to really love. She had married without affection. Her
girlhood had been passed without the mildest flirtation; for she had
been brought up in a quiet country village where there never seemed to
be any bachelors of her own class between the ages of seventeen and
fifty. Even the curate was grey-haired and married. She had made up for
this deprivation during the voyage out to India and her season in
Calcutta; but, although she had found many men ready to flirt with her,
Norton's proposal was the only serious one that she had had and she
accepted him in desperation. She had never felt any love for him. She
did not realise that he had any for her; for, although he really
entertained a sincere affection of a kind for her, it was so seldom and
so badly expressed that she was never aware of its existence. Since her
marriage she had had several careless flirtations during her visits to
her relatives in Calcutta; but her heart was not seriously affected.
She never acknowledged to herself that any gratitude or loyalty was due
from her to her husband. On the contrary she felt that she owed him, as
well as Fate, a grudge. She was young, warmblooded, of a passionate
temperament, yet she found herself wedded to a man who apparently needed
a housekeeper, not a wife. Her husband did not appear to realise that a
woman is not essentially different to a man, that she has feelings,
desires, passions, just as he has--although by a polite fiction the
prudish Anglo-Saxon races seem to agree to regard her as of a more
spiritual, more ethereal and less earthly a nature. Yet it is only a
fiction after all. Violet was a living woman, a creature of flesh and
blood who was not content to be a chattel, a household ornament, a piece
of furniture. It was not to be wondered at that she longed to enter into
woman's kingdom, to exercise the power of her sex to sway the other and
to experience the thrill of the realisation of that power. Often in her
loneliness she pined to see eyes she loved look with love into hers. She
was not a marble statue. It was but natural that she should long for
Love, a lover, the clasp of strong arms, the pressure of a man's broad
chest against her bosom, the feel of burning kisses on her lips, the
glorious surrender of her whole being to some adored one to whom she was
the universe, who lived but for her.
Now for the first time in her life her errant dreams took concrete
shape. At last she began to feel the companionship of a particular man
necessary for her happiness. She had never before realised the
pleasure, the joy, to be derived from the presence of one of the
opposite sex who was in sympathy, in perfect harmony with her nature.
In her lonely hours--and they were many--she thought constantly of
Wargrave; his face was ever before her, his voice sounding in her ears.
She usually saw her husband--absorbed in his work and studies--only at
meals; and as she looked across the table at him then she could not help
contrasting the heavy, unattractive man sitting silent, usually reading
a book while he ate, with the good-looking, laughter-loving playfellow
who had come into her life. She learned to day-dream of Wargrave, to
watch for his coming and hate his going, to enjoy every moment of his
presence. He had brought a new interest into her hitherto purposeless
life, the life that he had preserved and that consequently seemed to
belong to him. New feelings awakened in her. The world was a brighter,
happier place than it had been. It pleased her to realise what it all
meant, to know that the novel sensations, the fluttering hopes and
fears, the strange, delightful thrills, were all symptoms of that
longed-for malady that comes sooner or later to all women. She knew at
last that she loved Wargrave and gloried in the knowledge. And she never
doubted that he loved her in return.
Did he? It was hard to tell. To a man the thought of Love in the
abstract seldom occurs; and the realisation of the concrete fact that
he is in love with some particular woman generally comes somewhat as a
shock. He is by nature a lover of freedom and in theory at least resents
fetters, even silken ones. And Wargrave had never thought of analysing
his feelings towards Violet. He was not a professional amorist and,
although not a puritan, would never set himself deliberately to make
love to a married woman under her husband's roof. He was fond of Mrs.
Norton--as a sister, he thought. She was a delightful friend, a real
pal, so understanding, so companionable, he said to himself frequently.
It had not occurred to him that his feelings for her might be love. He
had often before been on terms of friendship with women, married and
single; but none of them had ever attracted him as much as she did. He
had never felt any desire to be married; domesticity did not appeal to
him. But now, as he watched Violet moving about her drawing-room or
playing to him, he found himself thinking that it would be pleasant to
return to his bungalow from parade and find a pretty little wife waiting
to greet him with a smile and a kiss--and the wife of his dreams always
had Violet's face, wore smart well-cut frocks like Violet's, and showed
just such shapely, silken-clad legs and ankles and such small feet in
dainty, silver-buckled, high-heeled shoes. And he thought with an inward
groan that such a luxury was not for a debt-ridden subaltern like him,
that his heavily-mortgaged pay would not run to expensive gowns, silk
stockings and costly footwear.
Yet it never occurred to him that Violet cared for him nor did it enter
his mind to try to win her love. But he felt that he would do much to
make her happy, that saving her life made him in a way responsible for
it in future; and he knew that she was not a contented woman. His
sympathy went out to her for what he guessed she must suffer from her
ill-assorted union.
But soon he had no need to surmise it; for before long Violet began to
confide all her sorrows to him and the recital made his heart bleed for
one so young and beautiful mated to a selfish wretch who was as blind to
her suffering as he was to her charm. The younger man's chivalry was up
in arms, and he felt that such a boor did not deserve so bright a jewel.
At times Frank was tempted to confront the callous husband and force him
to open his dulled eyes to the bravely-borne misery of his neglected
wife and realise how fortunate he ought to consider himself in being the
owner of such a transcendent being. But the next moment the infatuated
youth was convinced that Norton was incapable of appreciating so rare a
woman, that only a nature like his own could understand or do full
justice to the perfections of hers. Such is a young man's conceit. He
rejoiced to know that his poor sympathy could help in a measure to make
up to Violet for the happiness that she declared that she had missed in
life. And so he gladly consented to play the consoler; and she, for the
pleasure of being consoled, continued to pour out her griefs to him.
But if Frank was unconscious of the danger of his post as sympathising
confidant to another man's young and pretty wife, others were not. Her
husband, of course, was as blind as most husbands seem to be in
Anglo-Indian society. For in that land of the Household of Three, the
Eternal Triangle, it is almost a recognised principle that every married
woman who is at all attractive is entitled to have one particular
bachelor always in close attendance on her, to be constantly at her beck
and call, to ride with her, to drive her every afternoon to tennis or
golf or watch polo, then on to the Club and sit with her there. His
duty, a pleasant one, no doubt, is to cheer up her otherwise solitary
dinner in her bungalow on the nights when her neglectful husband is
dining out _en garçon_. No _cavaliere servente_ of Old Italy ever had so
busy a time as the Tame Cat of the India of to-day. And the husband
allows it, nay seems, as Major Norton did, to hail his presence with
relief, as it eases the conscience of the selfish lord and master who
leaves his spouse much alone.
But if the Resident saw no harm or danger in the young officer
constantly seeking the society of his pretty wife others did. At first
Frank's well-wishers tried to hint to him that there was likelihood of
his friendship with her being misunderstood. But he laughed at
Raymond's badly-expressed warning and rather resented Major Hepburn's
kindly advice when on one occasion his Company Commander spoke plainly,
though tactfully, to him on the subject. Then Violet's enemies took a
hand in the game. Mrs. Trevor, having failed to decoy him to her
bungalow for what she called "a quiet tea and a motherly little chat,"
cornered him one afternoon when he was on his way to the Residency and
spoke very openly to him of the risk he ran of being entangled in the
coils of such an outrageous coquette as "that Mrs. Norton," as she
termed her. Frank was so indignant at her abuse of his friend that for
the first time in his life he was rude to a woman and snubbed Mrs.
Trevor so severely that she went in a rage to her husband and insisted
on his taking immediate steps to arrest the progress of a scandal that,
she declared, would attract the unfavourable attention of the higher
military authorities to the regiment.
"Do you realise, William, that you will be the one to suffer?" said the
angry woman. "If anything happens, if Major Norton complains, if that
shameless creature succeeds in making that foolish young man run away
with her, you will be blamed. You can't afford it. You know that the
General's confidential report on you last year was not too favourable."
"It wasn't really bad, my dear; it only hinted that I lacked decision,"
pleaded the hen-pecked man.
"Exactly. You are not firm enough," persisted his domestic tyrant. "They
will say that you should have put your foot down at once and stopped
this disgraceful affair."
"But what can I do?" asked the Colonel helplessly.
"Someone ought to speak to Major Norton at once."
"Oh, my dear Jane, I couldn't. I daren't."
"For two pins I'd do it myself. Mrs. Baird said the other day that it
was our duty as respectable women."
"No, no, no, Jane. You mustn't think of it," exclaimed the alarmed man.
"I forbid you. You mustn't mix yourself up in the affair. It would be
committing me."
"Then send that impertinent young man away," said Mrs. Trevor firmly. No
General would have accused _her_ of lack of decision. "I used to have a
high opinion of him once; but after his insolence to me I believe him to
be nearly as bad as that woman."
"Where can I send him?" asked the worried Colonel. "He has done all the
courses and passed all the classes and examinations he can."
"You know you have only to write confidentially to the Staff and inform
them that young Wargrave's removal to another station is absolutely
necessary to prevent a scandal; and they'll send him off somewhere else
at once."
Her husband nodded his head. He was well aware of the fact that the Army
in India looks closely after the behaviour and morals of its officers,
that a colonel has only to hint that the transfer of a particular
individual under his command is necessary to stop a scandal--and without
loss of time that officer finds himself deported to the other side of
the country.
One morning, a week after Mrs Trevor's conversation with her husband,
Wargrave, superintending the musketry of his Double Company on the rifle
range, was given an official note from the adjutant informing him that
the Commanding Officer desired to see him at once in the Orderly Room.
As Major Hepburn was not present Frank handed the men over to the senior
Indian company commander and rode off to the Regimental Office,
wondering as he went what could be the reason of the sudden summons.
Reaching the building he found Raymond on the watch for him, while
ostensibly engaged in criticising to the battalion _durzi_ (tailor) the
fit of the new uniforms of several recruits.
"I say, Ray, what's up?" asked his friend cheerily, as he swung himself
out of the saddle.
The adjutant nodded warningly towards the Orderly Room and dropped his
voice as he replied:
"I don't know, old chap. The C.O.'s said nothing to me; but he's in
there with Hepburn trying to work himself up into a rage so that he can
bully-rag you properly. You'd better go in and get it over."
Wargrave entered the big, colour-washed room. The Colonel was seated at
his desk, frowning at a paper before him, and did not look up. Major
Hepburn was standing behind his chair and glanced commiseratingly at the
subaltern.
Frank stood to attention and saluted.
"Good morning, sir," he said. "You wanted to see me?"
Colonel Trevor did not reply, but turning slightly in his chair, said:
"Major Hepburn, call in the adjutant, please."
As the Second in Command went out on the verandah and summoned Raymond,
Wargrave's heart misgave him. He had no idea of what the matter was; but
the Colonel's manner and the presence of the Second in Command were
ominous signs. He wondered what crime he was going to be charged with.
"Shut the doors, Raymond," said the Commanding Officer curtly, as the
adjutant entered. The latter did so and sat down at his writing-table,
glancing anxiously at his friend.
Colonel Trevor's lips were twitching nervously; and he seemed to
experience a difficulty in finding his voice. At last he took up a
paper from his desk and said:
"Mr. Wargrave, this is a telegram just received from Western Army Head
Quarters. It says 'Lieutenant Wargrave is appointed to No. 12 Battalion,
Frontier Military Police. Direct him to proceed forthwith to report to
O.C. Detachment, Ranga Duar, Eastern Bengal.'"