"To let him go?" echoed the girl. "But--ought you not to have had him
arrested as a traitor and a murderer? Good Heavens! The whole plot is
too awful."
"And so I divulge it to you first, instead of to my fellow-man Orwell,
R.M., or Isard, commanding the Matabeleland Mounted Police in Gandela.
Why?"
Clare looked puzzled.
"I don't know why," she said. "But it seems a dreadful responsibility."
"So I was inclined to think--in fact, very much did think--when having
mapped out my plans everything seemed to conspire to smash them up.
Yourself among the said everything."
"Myself? Now, how?"
Lamont smiled that queer sour smile again.
"Why, certainly. Didn't you make a point of my entering for the
tent-pegging? What would have happened if I'd won? I couldn't receive
a prize by deputy. Didn't you want me to help you and your sister, what
time to have left the side of our worthy and reverend magician would
have been fatal?"
"Yes. I did that," said Clare penitently. "But, Mr Lamont, how on
earth could I have foreseen that anything of the kind was brewing?"
"No, you couldn't. I'm not blaming you, you understand, no, not for a
moment."
What was this? Not blaming her? Blaming _her_! Clare Vidal was not
accustomed to be `blamed' any more than to have her requests refused,
especially in this land where there were not even enough women to go
round, as she was fond of putting it. She was wondering what awful and
scathing rejoinder she would have made to any man who should have
ventured on such a remark to her a day or two ago. Yet to this one,
lounging back there with one elbow resting on a big cold stone, lighting
his pipe, she had no thought of scathing rejoinder. She was all aglow
with admiration of his nerve and self-reliance.
"Then there was a bore of a fellow--Jim Steele--who was rather screwed,
and wanted me to fight him, silly ass! Of course I wasn't going to do
that there, under any circumstances, but he--and the other idiots who
thought I was afraid of him--little dreamt how they were trying to dig
their own graves. For our worthy schemer Qubani would have thought me
grotesque with a swelled eye, and you are bound to sustain some such
damage in a rough-and-tumble with a big powerful devil like Steele. It
was important then that Qubani should not think me grotesque."
"Yes, I know. I've heard about that affair. There's very little that
doesn't get round to us, in a small place like this, Mr Lamont. And
you told him you'd meet him later--I know all about it, you see. Well,
you mustn't. It's not at all worthy of grown men to act like a lot of
overgrown schoolboys. It's undignified."
"Oh, I very much more than quite agree with you there. But then I
promised the chap. Now, how can I go back on a promise?"
More than ever now did her brother-in-law's insinuations with regard to
this man come back to Clare. And it struck her that he did not plead
that cowardice might be imputed to him if he failed--only that having
made a promise he ought to keep it. "He isn't a bad chap at bottom, Jim
Steele," went on Lamont, "except when he's squiffy, and then he gets
quarrelsome. Probably he'll have forgotten all about everything by the
time he wakes, or if not will recognise that he's made an ass of
himself."
"I should hope so, indeed. But we are getting away from the
witch-doctor. Why did you let him go?"
"Instinct, pure instinct. Natives are queer animals, and you don't
always know quite how to take them. If we had kept old Qubani, the
township might have been rushed this very night. By turning him loose,
full up with what I told him--well the move is justified by results, or
you and I would not be talking together up here comfortably at this
moment. Now this one has taken on a sort of respect for me--they do
that, you know. I asked him what he thought would happen if I gave away
for what purpose he was there. He wilted at that. Then I told him I
gave him his life, and he must not be less generous. He talked round
and round for a little, then said that I had better begin to move with
my things at a time of the moon I reckoned out at somewhere about a
fortnight hence. So now you see why I want you to get Fullerton to take
you in to Buluwayo."
"But, he won't do it. He might if you were to put it to him."
"That's just when he wouldn't. You know what they'd say, Miss Vidal
`Lamont's got 'em again'--meaning the funks."
This was said with little bitterness, rather with a sort of tolerant
contempt. Clare felt ashamed as she remembered all the remarks to which
she had listened, reflecting on this man's courage, and all because he
did not take kindly to some low, pothouse brawl. She kindled.
"How can anyone say such a thing--such a wicked thing--when you have
saved the whole settlement from massacre?"
"Oh, that wouldn't count. To begin with, they wouldn't believe what
I've just been telling you--would say I'd invented it. They'll believe
it fast enough in a week or two's time though. By the way, it was the
sight of old Qubani and his red cap that made me miss that last tilt at
the peg, and a good thing I did miss it. Providential, as Father
Mathias would say."
"Father Mathias? Have you seen him lately?" said Clare.
"We travelled part of the way together when I was coming back from
Lyall's. We were caught in a nasty dry thunderstorm and took refuge in
Zwabeka's kraal. It was there I overheard that nice little conspiracy."
"And so you travelled with Father Mathias?" said Clare. "I hope you
were nice to him. He is a great friend of ours."
"Nice to him, Miss Vidal?" answered Lamont, raising his brows as if
amused at the question. "Why not? He is a very nice man. Why should I
be other than nice to him?"
"Oh, I don't know. Except that--well, he is a priest."
"What then? Oh, I see what you mean. But I have no prejudice against
priests. On the contrary--my experience of them is that they are
kindly, tolerant men, very self-sacrificing and with considerable
knowledge of human nature. When you've said that, it follows that they
are almost invariably good company. This one was decidedly so. Why on
earth should I not be `nice' to him?"
"Oh well, you know--you Protestants do have prejudices of the kind," she
answered somewhat lamely.
"But I am not a Protestant."
"Not a Protestant? I don't quite understand."
"Certainly not I don't protest against anything or anybody. I believe
in competition, and if the Catholic Church were to capture this country,
or England, or the entire world for that matter, I should reckon that
the very fact of doing so would be to establish its claim to the right
to do so."
Woman the apostle--woman the missioner--felt moved to say, "Why don't
you examine her claims to do so, and then aid in furthering them?" But
Clare Vidal, looking at the speaker, only quoted to herself, "Thou art
not far from the kingdom of heaven."
"As a matter of fact," went on Lamont, "I find among Catholics far more
tolerance--using the word in its broad, work-a-day sense--than among
those belonging to any other creed. By the way--are you one, may I
ask?"
"Why, of course."
"I didn't know. Well, you must take my opinion--given in utter
ignorance of the fact--for what it's worth. There's a sort of a
Catholic colony near my place at home, and the priest is one of my most
valued friends."
Clare brightened.
"Really?" she said. "How nice. But, Mr Lamont, how is it you live
over here? Do you prefer this country to England?"
"I think it prefers me. You see, I can't afford to live in my own
place. It's dipped--mortgaged, you understand--almost past praying for.
So it's let, and here I am."
"So that's why you are here?"
"Yes. The life suits me too. I believe if a miracle were to be worked,
and my place started again clear for me, I should still stick out here,
or at any rate come out every other year."
Clare looked at him, and the beautiful Irish eyes, their deep blue
framed by thick dark lashes, were sympathetic and soft. She was
thinking of the abominable stories Ancram had been spreading about this
man; how he had been hounded out of his county for cowardice, and so on.
She repeated--
"So that is why you are out here?"
"Of course," he answered looking at her with mild astonishment. "Why
else should I be?"
"Oh no. I hope you don't think me very inquisitive, Mr Lamont. Why,
it really seems as if I were trying to--to `pump' you--isn't that the
word?"
"But such a thought never entered my head. Why should it?"
Clare felt uncomfortable. There was manifestly no answer to be made to
this. So she said--
"By the way, who is this Mr Ancram? You knew him at home, didn't you?"
"Oh yes. Slightly, and didn't care for him at that. He turned up at my
place here one night. Peters had picked him up in woeful plight down
Pagadi way--and gave me the idea he had come to stay. I've nothing to
say against the chap, mind, but I don't care for him."