"A MYSTERY ABOUT MAYNE----"
More than two years had elapsed since Derek Mayne left Fairplains.
Almost immediately afterwards, his regiment had been removed from
Cananore, to the distant cantonment of Bareilly,--a station which
instead of lying on the damp seaboard of the Malabar Coast, was
situated in the heart of a sugar cane district, with the white
Himalayas glimmering on its horizon. Here, in hard work, and strenuous
play, parades, manœuvres, inspections, cricket, polo, and fishing in
the Sardar, time passed only too rapidly; thanks to new surroundings,
new friends, and incessant occupation, the memory of Nancy became a
little blurred.
Mayne recalled her existence, when he dispatched his half-yearly cheque
to Teddy Dawson; for although his friend had assured him, that the
money would lie untouched, nevertheless he persisted in lodging the
amount at Grindlays. Teddy had volunteered the news, that Nancy was now
living in London, with her father's sister; but of this information,
Mayne vouchsafed no notice, and correspondence, save for the bi-annual
cheque, had completely lapsed. The yearly sum of two hundred and
fifty pounds,--which was half of his private income,--left Mayne
somewhat pinched in his finances. To keep a couple of ponies, to go on
fishing, and shooting trips, required a certain number of rupees; and
occasionally Captain Mayne found considerable difficulty in making both
ends meet! His brother officers wondered why the deuce Mayne was now so
economical? and what he had done with his money?
An incredible story had leaked out through Mayne's Madras servant--who
had accompanied him to the Hills; it whispered, that when there, he had
got into some sort of entanglement with a girl! This tale was frankly
discussed, and believed, in the Gorrah bazaar at Cananore, but had
never risen in any substantial form to higher circles,--such as the
club or mess; and yet all the time, though nothing was said, there
was a vague uneasy feeling, that Mayne was keeping back some incident
or experience, connected with his six week's leave on that coffee
plantation. It was noticed, how, although he had apparently enjoyed
extraordinarily good sport, he was strangely reserved with regard to
his hill friends; rarely referred to his expedition, and sat dumb when
other fellows less successful, loudly bragged of their "shikar."
Also it had been remarked, that when he returned from the Neilgherries,
he had appeared to be extraordinarily depressed, and that Mayne always
such a cheery fellow, with lots to say for himself, hadn't a word to
throw to the traditional dog. Former enthusiastic letters received by
his friends, describing his delightful quarters, his first-class sport,
were subsequently discounted, by a mysterious, and significant silence.
One surprising fact, had been much discussed; Mayne was just the
ordinary young man, and not in the least eccentric, and yet when his
trophies were unpacked, displayed and praised (two magnificent tiger
and three panther skins, all in first-class condition), as the largest
panther skin was unrolled, he seemed strangely put out, and gave a
hasty order to his bearer. Later, but four skins were exhibited, and
when the fifth was inquired for, the bearer promptly answered that "the
Sahib had given orders, that it was to be taken away and _burnt_!"
In a small Mofussil station such as Cananore, topics of conversation
are but scanty. There was a good deal of talk and conjecture,
respecting this same panther. Why had Mayne ordered such a prize to
be destroyed? Why could he not have given it to someone--if he had a
particular down upon the animal?--the Colonel's wife would have been
proud to accept its skin.
No satisfactory answer to this was obtained at the time, but later, it
became known that Mayne's friend, the coffee planter, had died, as the
result of an encounter with a panther; it was conceded that possibly
_that_ was the reason of Mayne's agitation, and the order for the
destruction of an unusually fine trophy.
Skin or no skin, there was some mystery connected with Mayne's visit
to the Neilgherries. Since then, he had been obviously short of money,
and given to unwonted economy. He drank cheap claret, refused himself
a new rifle, and another polo pony. A hard player like Mayne, found it
difficult to manage with less than three. Whatever the trouble was,
he did not avoid society; he was popular with women; his good looks
and good manners, made him a general favourite. He went to dances
and picnics, was conspicuous in gymkhanas, and every afternoon, when
nothing was "on," he played rackets or tennis at the club. Once or
twice, when a particularly active girl happened to be his tennis
partner, he recalled Nancy,--not one of the lot could approach her as
far as play was concerned. Who would have believed that her thin brown
arm and wrist, was capable of such smashing strokes, and disastrous
service?
Mayne had now been three years in India, and never exhibited any
intention of taking leave home. Apparently he preferred an excursion
into Thibet, or Cashmere. At the back of his mind, he had a conviction,
that as long as he remained in the country, he was safe from any
awkward developments that might result from the ceremony which had
taken place in the drawing-room at Fairplains.
Yet at the same time, he had an impression that some day, like murder,
it would all come out,--and there would be a holy row! Meantime he
thrust the hateful prospect into the lumber room of his brain; the
poignant memories of the last week of Travers' life had now become
a little dim. Supposing he had held back, and not suffered himself
to be moved by an exceptionally tragic situation: by Mrs. Hicks'
observations, and carried away by an almost irresistible impulse? he
could have guaranteed an acceptable income to Nancy, which would have
left them both free!
Now, they were bound together by that deadly certificate in his
despatch box, on which were inscribed the names of Eleanora Nancy
Travers, spinster, and Derek Danvers Mayne, bachelor. Nothing but death
could release them. Occasionally plunged in contemplation, he would let
his mind work; endeavouring to trace some way out of this desperate
situation. His thoughts would travel to and fro, as in a maze,--vainly
seeking some safe, and honourable exit. Sometimes, during these moods
of reflection, his companion for the moment, would wonder at Mayne's
abstraction? Once or twice, he had been offered "a penny for his
thoughts," but had invariably dismissed the offer with a laugh.
Finally summing up the affair, he assured himself that some day or
other--perhaps in twenty years--the whole business must be disclosed.
Supposing Nancy wanted to marry someone?--supposing he were to meet
_the_ girl, and fall in love with her? what a complication that would
be! After all, the present was calm and peaceful, he could discern no
clouds on the horizon, and soothed his uneasiness, with the well-worn
sedative,--"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."
Such were Mayne's sentiments, when he received a cable from home,
informing him that his uncle had met with a serious accident, and
begging him to return at once. As there could be but one answer to such
an appeal, Mayne instead of taking his intended sixty days' shooting
leave into Garwalb, immediately applied for three months to England--on
"urgent private affairs."