Barlow had waited until the decoit would have gone before showing the
papers that were in his pocket because it was an advantage that the
enemy should think them lost. He was checked now as he put a hand in
his pocket to produce them by the entrance of Elizabeth, and he fancied
there was a sneer on her thin lips.
"Father," she said, as she leaned against the desk, one hand on its
teak-wood top, "I've been listening to the handsome leader of thieves;
I couldn't help hearing him. I fancy that Captain Barlow could tell
you just where this woman, the Gulab, who is as beautiful as the moon,
is. I'm sure he could bring her here--if he _would_."
The Captain's fingers unclasped from the papers in his pocket, and now
were beating a tattoo on his knee.
"Elizabeth!" the father gasped, "do you know what you are saying?" His
cold grey eyes were wide with astonishment. "Did you hear all of Ajeet
Singh's story?"
"Yes, all of it."
"It's your friend, Nana Sahib, whom you treat as if he were an
Englishman and to be trusted, that knows where this woman is,
Elizabeth."
A cynical laugh issued from the girl's lips that were so like her
father's in their unsympathetic contour: "Yes, one may trust men, but a
woman's eyes are given her to prevent disaster from this trust which is
so natural to the deceivable sex."
"Elizabeth! you do not know what you are saying--what the inference
would be."
"Ask Captain Barlow if he doesn't know all about the Gulab's movements."
The Resident pushed irritably some papers on his desk, and turning in
his chair, asked, "Can you explain this, Captain--what it is all about?"
There were ripples of low temperature chilling the base of Barlow's
skull. "I can't explain it--it's beyond me," he answered doggedly.
The girl turned upon him with ferocity. "Don't lie, Captain Barlow; a
British officer does not lie to his superior."
"Hush, Beth," the father pleaded.
"Don't you know, Captain Barlow," the girl demanded, "that this woman,
the Gulab, is one who uses her beauty to betray men, even Sahibs?"
"No, I don't know that, Miss Hodson. I saw her dance at Nana Sahib's
and I've heard Ajeet's statement. I don't know anything evil of the
girl, and I don't believe it."
"A man's sense of honour where a woman is concerned--lie to protect
her. I have no illusions about the Sahibs in India," she continued, in
a tone that was devilish in its cynicism, "but I did think that a
British officer would put his duty to his King above the shielding of a
_nautch_ girl."
"Elizabeth!" Hodson rose and put a hand upon the girl's arm; "do you
realise that you are doing a dreadful thing--that you are impeaching
Captain Barlow's honour as a soldier?"
Barlow's face was white, and Hodson was trembling, but the girl stood,
a merciless cold triumph in her face: "I do realise that, father. For
the girl I care nothing, nor for Captain Barlow's intrigue with such,
but I am the daughter of the man who represents the British Raj here."
Barlow, knowing the full deviltry of this high protestation, knowing
that Elizabeth, imperious, dominating, cold-blooded, was knifing a
supposed rival--a rival not in love, for he fancied Elizabeth was
incapable of love--felt a surge of indignation.
"For God's sake, Elizabeth, what impossible thing has led you to
believe that Captain Barlow has anything to do with this girl?" the
father asked.
"I'll tell you; the matter is too grave for me to remain silent. This
morning I rode early--earlier than usual, for I wanted to pick up the
Captain before he had started. As I turned my mount in to his compound
I saw, coming from the back of the bungalow, this native woman, and she
was being taken away by his _chowkidar_. She had just come out some
back door of the bungalow, for from the drive I could see the open
space that lay between the bungalow and the servants' quarters."
Hodson dropped a hand to the teak-wood desk; it looked inadequate,
thin, bloodless; blue veins mapped its white back. "You are mistaken,
Elizabeth, I'm sure. Some other girl--"
"No, father, I was not mistaken. There are not many native girls like
the Gulab, I'll admit. As she turned a clump of crotons she saw me
sitting my horse and drew a gauze scarf across her face to hide it. I
waited, and asked the _chowkidar_ if it were his daughter, and the old
fool said it was the wife of his son; and the girl that he claimed was
his son's wife had the iron bracelet of a Hindu widow on her arm. And
the Gulab wears one--I saw it the night she danced."
A ghastly hush fell upon the three. Barlow was moaning inwardly, "Poor
Bootea!"; Hodson, fingers pressed to both temples, was trying to think
this was all the mistaken outburst of an angry woman. The
strong-faced, honest, fearless soldier sitting in the chair could not
be a traitor--_could not be_.
Suddenly something went awry in the inflamed chambers of Elizabeth's
mind--as if an electric current had been abruptly shut off. She
hesitated; she had meant to say more; but there was a staggering
vacuity.
With an effort she grasped a wavering thing of tangibility, and said:
"I'm going now, father--to give the keys to the butler for breakfast.
You can question Captain Barlow."
Elizabeth turned and left the room; her feet were like dependents,
servants that she had to direct to carry her on her way. She did not
call to the butler, but went to her room, closed the door, flung
herself on the bed, face downward, and sobbed; tears that scalded
splashed her cheeks, and she beat passionately with clenched fist at
the pillow, beating, as she knew, at her heart. It was incredible,
this thing, her feelings.
"I don't care--I don't care--I never did!" she gasped.
But she did, and only now knew it.
"I was right--I'm glad--I'd say it again!"
But she would not, and she knew it. She knew that Barlow could not be
a traitor; she knew it; it was just a battered new love asserting
itself.
And below in the room the two men for a little sat not speaking of the
ghoulish thing. Barlow had drawn the papers from his pocket; he passed
them silently across the table.
Hodson, almost mechanically, had stretched a hand for them, and when
they were opened, and he saw the seal, and realised what they were,
some curious guttural sound issued from his lips as if he had waked in
affright from a nightmare. He pulled a drawer of the desk open, took
out a cheroot--and lighted it. Then he commenced to speak, slowly,
droppingly, as one speaks who has suddenly been detected in a crime.
He put a flat hand on the papers, holding them to the desk. And it was
Elizabeth he spoke of at first, as if the thing under his palm, that
meant danger to an empire, was subservient.
"Barlow, my boy," he said, "I'm old, I'm tired."
The Captain, looking into the drawn face, had a curious feeling that
Hodson was at least a hundred. There was a floaty wonderment in his
mind why the fifty-five-years'-service retirement rule had not been
enforced in the Colonel's case. Then he heard the other's words.
"I've had but two gods, Barlow, the British Raj and Elizabeth; that's
since her mother died. In a little, a few years more, I will retire
with just enough to live on plus my pension--perhaps in France, where
it's cheap. And then I'll still have two gods, Elizabeth and the one
God. And, Captain, somehow I had hoped that you and Elizabeth would
hit it off, but I'm afraid she's made a mistake."
Barlow had been following this with half his receptivity, for, though
he fought against it, the memory of Bootea--gentle, trusting, radiating
love, warmth--cried out against the bitter unfemininity of the girl who
had stabbed his honour and his cleanness. The black figure of Kali
still rested on the table, and somehow the evil lines in the face of
the goddess suggested the vindictiveness that had played about the thin
lips of his accuser.
And the very plea the father was making was reacting. It was this,
that he, Barlow, was rich, that a chance death or two would make him
Lord Barradean, was the attraction, not love. A girl couldn't be in
love with a man and strive to break him.
Hodson had taken up the papers, and was again scanning them mistily.
"They were on the murdered messenger--he was killed, wasn't he, Barlow?"
"Yes."
"And has any native seen these papers, Captain?"
"No, I cut them from the soles of the sandals the messenger wore,
myself, Sir."
"That is all then, Captain; we have them back--I may say, thank God!"
He stood up and holding out his hand added, "Thank you, Captain. I
don't want to know anything about the matter--I'm too much machine now
to measure rainbows--fancy I should wear a strip of red-tape as a tie."
"If you will listen, Sir--there is another that I want to put right.
Your daughter did see the Gulab, but because she had brought me the
sandals. And you can take an officer's word for it that the Gulab is
not what Elizabeth believes."
"Captain, I have lived a long time in India, too long to be led away by
quick impressions, as unfortunately Elizabeth was. I've outlived my
prejudices. When the _mhowa_ tree blooms I can take glorious pleasure
from its gorgeous fragrant flowers and not quarrel with its leafless
limbs. When the pipal and the neem glisten with star flowers and
sweeten the foetid night-air, it matters nothing to me that the natives
believe evil gods home in the branches. I know that even a cobra tries
to get out of my way if I'll let him, and I know that the natives have
beauty in their natures--one gets to almost love them as children. So,
my dear Captain, when you tell me that the Gulab rendered you and me
and the British Raj this tremendous service, and add, quite
unnecessarily, that she's a good girl, I believe it all; we need never
bring it up again. Elizabeth has just made a mistake. And, Barlow,
men are always forgiving the mistakes of women where their feelings are
concerned--they must--that is one of the proofs of their strength. But
these"--and he patted the papers lovingly--"well, they're rather like a
reprieve brought at the eleventh hour to a man who is to be executed.
We're put in a difficult position, though. To pass over in silence the
killing of two soldiers would end only in the House of Commons;
somebody would rise in his place and want to know why it had been
hushed up. But to take action, to create a stir, would give rise to a
suspicion of the existence of this."
Hodson rose from his chair and paced the floor, one hand clasped to his
forehead, his small grey eyes carrying a dream-look as though he were
seeking an occult enlightenment; then he sat down wearily, and spoke as
if interpreting something that had been whispered him.
"Yes, Barlow, this decoit has been seized by the Nana Sahib lot. His
life was forfeit, and they've offered him his life back to come here
and turn Approver--to become a spy, not _for_ us but as a spy _on_ us
for them. Ajeet would know that information of his coming to me would
be carried to them by spies--the spies are always with me--and his life
wouldn't be worth two annas. I gave him that pardon because we have no
power to seize him here, but it will make them think that we have
fallen into the trap. They might even believe--wily and suspicious as
they are--that what he gleans here is the truth.
"There's a curious efficacy, Barlow, in what I might call an
affectation of simplicity. You know those stupid heavy-headed
crocodiles in that big pool of the Nerbudda below the marble gorge, and
how they'll take nearly an hour wallowing and sidling up to a mud-bank
before they crawl out to bask in the sun; but just show the tip of your
helmet above the rock and they're gone. That's perhaps what I mean.
As we might say back in dear old London, this wily Rajput thinks he has
pulled my leg."
"I think, Colonel, that you are dead onto his wicket."
"Well, then, the thing to do is to emulate the mugger. But
this"--Hodson lifted the paper and he grew crisp, incisive, his grey
eyes blued like temper purpling polished steel--"we've got to act:
they've got to be delivered, and soon."
"I am ready, Sir."
"It's a dangerous mission--most dangerous."
"Pardon, Sir?"
"Sorry, Captain. I was just thinking aloud--musing; forgive me.
Perhaps when one likes a young man he lets the paternal spirit come in
where it doesn't belong. I'm sorry. There's a trusty Patan here who
could go with you," Hodson continued, "and this side of his own border
he is absolutely to be trusted; I have my doubts if any Patan can be
relied upon by us across the border."
"I will go alone," Barlow said quietly. Then his strong white teeth
showed in a smile. "You know the Moslem saying, Colonel, that ten
Dervishes can sleep on one blanket, but a kingdom can only hold one
king. I don't mean about the honour of it, but it will be easier for
me. I went alone through the Maris tribe when we wanted to know what
the trouble was that threatened up above the Bolan, and I had no
difficulty. You know, Sir, the playful name the chaps have given me
for years?"
"Yes--the 'Patan'--I've heard it."
"I make a good Musselman--scarce need any make-up, I'm so dark; I can
rattle off the _namaz_ (daily prayer), and sing the _moonakib_, the
hymn of the followers of the Prophet."
"Yes," Hodson said, his words coming slowly out of a deep think, "there
will be Patans in the Pindari camp; in fact Pindari is an all-embracing
name, having little of nationality about it. Rajputs, Bundoolas,
Patans, men of Oudh, Sindies--men who have the lust of battle and loot,
all flock to the Pindari Chief. Yes, it's a good idea, Captain, the
disguise; not only for an unnoticed entrance to the camp, but to escape
a waylaying by Nana Sahib's cut-throats."
"Yes, Colonel, from what I have learned--from the Gulab it was,
Sir--the Dewan has an inkling that I am going on a mission; and if I
rode as myself the King might lose an officer, and officers cost pounds
in the making."
The Resident toyed with the papers on his desk, his brow wrinkled from
a debate going on behind it; he rose, and grasping the black Kali
carried it back to the cabinet, saying: "That devilish thing, so
suggestive of what we are always up against here, makes me shiver."
Then he sat down, adding, "Captain, there is another important matter
connected with this. The Rana of Udaipur is being stripped of every
rupee by Holkar and Sindhia; they take turn about at him. Holkar is up
there now, where we have chased him--threatened to sack Udaipur unless
he were paid seventy lakhs, seven million rupees--the accursed thief!
We have managed to get an envoy to the Rana with a view to having him,
and the other smaller rulers of Mewar, join forces with us to crush
forever the Mahratta power--drive them out of Mewar for all time. The
Rajputs are a brave lot--men of high thought, and it is too bad to have
these accursed cut-throats bleeding to death such a race. If the Rana
would sign this paper also as an assurance of friendship, to be shown
the Pindari Chief, it would help greatly."
"I understand, Colonel. You wish me to get that from the Rana?"
"Yes, Captain; and I may say that if you can get through with all this
there will be no question about your Majority; you might even go higher
up than Major."
"By Jove! as to that, my dear Colonel, this trip is just good sport--I
love it: less danger than playing polo with these rotters. I'll swing
over to Udaipur first--it's just west of the Pindari camp,--been there
once before on a little pow-wow--then I'll switch back to Amir Khan."
"I wish you luck, Captain; but be careful. If we can feel sure that
this horde of Pindaris are not hovering on our army's flank, like the
Russians hovered on Napoleon's in the Moscow affair, it will be a great
thing--you will have accomplished a wonderful thing."
"Right you are, Sir," Barlow exclaimed blithely. The stupendous task,
for it was that, tonicked him; he was like a sportsman that had
received news of a tiger within killing distance. He rose, and
stretched out his hand for the paper, saying: "I've got a job of
cobbling to do--I'll put this between the soles of my sandal, as it was
carried before--it's the safest place, really. To-morrow I'll become
an apostate, an Afghan; and I'll be busy, for I've got to do it all
myself. I can trust no one with a dark skin."
"Not even the Gulab, I fear, Captain; one never knows when a woman will
be swayed by some mental transition." He was thinking of Elizabeth.
"You're right, Colonel," Barlow answered. "I fancy I could trust the
Gulab--but I won't."