CHAPTER III
THE BEAST OF PREY
In a darkened room Netta Ermsted lay, trembling and unnerved. As usualin cases of adversity, Mrs. Ralston had taken charge of her; but therewas very little that she could do. It was more a matter for herhusband's skill than for hers, and he could only prescribe absolutequiet. For Netta was utterly broken. Since the fatal moment when she hadreturned from a call in her 'rickshaw to find Major Burton awaiting herwith the news that Ermsted had been shot on the jungle-road while ridinghome from Khanmulla, she had been as one distraught. They had restrainedher almost forcibly from rushing forth to fling herself upon his deadbody, and now that it was all over, now that the man who had loved herand whom she had never loved was in his grave, she lay prostrate,refusing all comfort.
Tessa, wide-eyed and speculative, was in the care of Mrs. Burton,alternately quarrelling vigorously with little Cedric Burton whoseintellectual leanings provoked her most ardent contempt, and teasing theluckless Scooter out of sheer boredom till all the animal's ideas inlife centred in a desperate desire to escape.
It was Tessa to whom Stella's pitying attention was first drawn on theday after her return to The Green Bungalow. Tommy, finding her raging inthe road like a little tiger-cat over some small _contretemps_ with Mrs.Burton, had lifted her on to his shoulders and brought her back withhim.
"Be good to the poor imp!" he muttered to his sister. "Nobody wantsher."
Certainly Mrs, Burton did not. She passed her on to Stella with hertwo-edged smile, and Tessa and Scooter forthwith cheerfully took uptheir abode at The Green Bungalow with whole-hearted satisfaction.
Stella experienced little difficulty in dealing with the child. Shefound herself the object of the most passionate admiration which wentfar towards simplifying the problem of managing her. Tessa adored herand followed her like her shadow whenever she was not similarlyengrossed with her beloved Tommy. Of Monck she stood in considerableawe. He did not take much notice of her. It seemed to Stella that he hadretired very deeply into his shell of reserve during those days. Evenwith herself he was reticent, monosyllabic, obviously absorbed inmatters of which she had no knowledge.
But for her small worshipper she would have been both lonely andanxious. For he was often absent, sometimes for hours at a stretchwholly without warning, giving no explanation upon his return. Sheasked no questions. She schooled herself to patience. She tried to becontent with the close holding of his arms when they were together andthe certainty that all the desire of his heart was for her alone. Butshe could not wholly, drive away the conviction that at the very gatesof her paradise the sword she dreaded had been turned against her. Theywere back in the desert again, and the way to the tree of life wasbarred.
Perhaps it was natural that she should turn to Tessa for consolation anddistraction. The child was original in all her ways. Her ideas of deathwere wholly devoid of tragedy, and she was too accustomed to herfather's absence to feel any actual sense of loss.
"Do you think Daddy likes Heaven?" she said to Stella one day. "I hopeMother will be quick and go there too. It would be better for her thanstaying behind with the Rajah. I always call him 'the slithy tove.' Heis so narrow and wriggly. He wanted me to kiss him once, but I wouldn't.He looked so--so mischievous." Tessa tossed her golden-brown head."Besides, I only kiss white men."
"Hear, hear!" said Tommy, who was cleaning his pipe on the verandah."You stick to that, my child!"
"Mother said I was very silly," said Tessa. "She was quite cross. Butthe Rajah only laughed in that nasty, slippy way he has and took hercigarette away and smoked it himself. I hated him for that," ended Tessawith a little gleam of the tiger-cat in her blue eyes. "It--it was aliberty."
Tommy's guffaw sounded from the verandah. It went into a greeting ofMonck who came up unexpectedly at the moment and sat down on awicker-chair to examine a handful of papers. Stella, working within theroom, looked up swiftly at his coming, but if he had so much as glancedin her direction he was fully engrossed with the matter in hand ere shehad time to observe it. He had been out since early morning and she hadnot seen him for several hours.
Tessa, who possessed at times an almost uncanny shrewdness, left her andwent to stand on one leg in the doorway. "Most people," she observed,"say 'Hullo!' to their wives when they come in."
"Very intelligent of 'em," said Tommy. "Do you think the Rajah does?"
"I don't know," said Tessa seriously. "I went to the palace at Bhulwanaonce to see them. But the Rajah wasn't there. They were very kind," sheadded dispassionately, "but rather silly. I don't wonder the Rajah likeswhite men's wives best."
"Oh, quite natural," agreed Tommy.
"He gave Mother a beautiful ring with a diamond in it," went on Tessa,delighted to have secured his attention and watching furtively for somesign of interest from Monck also. "It was worth hundreds and hundreds ofpounds. That was the last thing Daddy was cross about. He was cross."
"Why?" asked Tommy.
'"Cos he was jealous, I expect," said Tessa wisely. "I thought he wasgoing to give her a whipping. And I hid in his dressing-room to see.Mother was awful frightened. She went down on her knees to him. And hewas just going to do it. I know he was. And then he came into thedressing-room and found me. And so he whipped me instead." Tessa endedon a note of resentment.
"Served you jolly well right," said Tommy.
"No, it didn't," said Tessa. "He only did it 'cos Mother had made himangry. It wasn't a child's whipping at all. It was a grown-up'swhipping. And he used a switch. And it hurt--worse than anything everhurt before. That's why I didn't mind when he went to Heaven the otherday. I hope I shan't go there for a long time yet. It isn't nice to bewhipped like that. And I wasn't going to say I was sorry either. I knewthat would make him crosser than anything."
"Poor chap!" said Tommy suddenly.
Tessa came a step nearer to him. "_Ayah_ says the man who did it will behanged if they catch him," she said. "If it is the Rajah, will youmanage so as I can go and see? I should like to."
"Tessa!" exclaimed Stella.
Tessa turned flushed cheeks and shining eyes upon her. "I would!" shedeclared stoutly. "I would! There's nothing wrong in that. He's a horridman. It isn't wrong, is it, Captain Monck? But if he shot my Daddy?" Shewent swiftly to Monck with the words and leaned ingratiatingly againsthim. "You'd kill a man yourself that did a thing like that, wouldn'tyou?"
"Very likely," said Monck.
She gazed at him admiringly. "I expect you've killed lots and lots ofmen, haven't you?" she said.
He smiled with a touch of grimness. "Do you think I'm going to tell ascaramouch like you?" he said.
"Everard!" Stella rose and came to the window. "Do--please--make herunderstand that people don't murder each other just whenever they feellike it--even in India!"
He raised his eyes to hers, and an odd sense of shock went through her.It was as if in some fashion he had deliberately made her aware of thatsecret chamber which she might not enter. "I think you would probably bemore convincing on that point than I should," he said.
She gave a little shudder; she could not restrain it. That look in hiseyes reminded her of something, something dreadful. What was it? Ah yes,she remembered now. He had had that look on that night of terror when hehad first called her his wife, when he had barred the window behind herand sworn to slay any man who should come between them.
She turned aside and went in without another word. India again! Indiathe savage, the implacable, the ruthless! She felt as a prisoner whobattered fruitlessly against an iron door.
Tessa's inquisitive eyes followed her. "She's going to cry," she said toMonck.
Tommy turned sharply upon his friend with accusation in his glance, butthe next instant he summoned Tessa as if she had been a terrier andwalked off into the compound with the child capering at his side.
Monck sat for a moment or two looking straight before him; then hepacked together the papers in his hand and stepped through the openwindow into the room behind. I
t was empty.
He went through it without a pause, and turned along the passage to thedoor of his wife's room. It stood half-open. He pushed it wider andentered.
She was standing by her dressing-table, but she turned at his coming,turned and faced him.
He came straight to her and took her by the shoulders. "What is thematter?" he said.
She met his direct look, but there was shrinking in her eyes. "Everard,"she said, "there are times when you make me afraid."
"Why?" he said.
She could not put it into words. She made a piteous gesture with herclasped hands.
His expression changed, subtly softening. "I can't always wear kidgloves, my Stella," he said. "When there is rough work to be done, wehave to strip to the waist sometimes to get to it. It's the only way toget a sane grip on things."
Her lips were quivering. "But you--you like it!" she said.
He smiled a little. "I plead guilty to a sporting instinct," he said.
"You hunt down murderers--and call it--sport!" she said slowly.
"No, I call it justice." He still spoke gently though his face hadhardened again. "That child has a sense of justice, quite elementary,but a true one. If I could get hold of the man who killed Ermsted, Iwould cheerfully kill him with my own hand--unless I could be sure thathe would get his deserts from the Government who are apt to be somewhatslack in such matters."
Stella shivered again. "Do you know, Everard, I can't bear to hear youtalk like that? It is the untamed, savage part of you."
He drew her to him. "Yes, the soldier part. I know. I know quite well.But my dear, do me the justice at least to believe that I am on the sideof right! I can't do other than talk generalities to you. You simplywouldn't understand. But there are some criminals who can only be beatenwith their own weapons, remember that. Nicholson knew that--and appliedit. I follow--or try to follow--in Nicholson's steps."
She clung to him suddenly and closely. "Oh, don't--don't! This isanother age. We have advanced since then."
"Have we?" he said sombrely. "And do you think the India of to-day canbe governed by weakness any more successfully than the India ofNicholson's time? You have no idea what you say when you talk like that.Ermsted is not the first Englishman to be killed in this State. TheRajah of Markestan is too wily a beast to go for the large game at theoutset, though--probably--the large game is the only stuff he caresabout. He knows too well that there are eyes that watch perpetually, andhe won't expose himself--if he can help it. The trouble is he doesn'talways know where to look for the eyes that watch."
A certain exultation sounded in his voice, but the next instant he bentand kissed her.
"Why do you dwell on these things? They only trouble you. But I thinkyou might remember that since they exist, someone has to deal withthem."
"You don't trust Ahmed Khan?" she said. "You think he is treacherous?"
He hesitated; then: "Ahmed Khan is either a tiger or--merely a jackal,"he said. "I don't know which at present. I am taking his measure."
She still held him closely. "Everard," her voice came low andbreathless, "you think he was responsible for Captain Ermsted's death.May he not have been also for--for--"
He checked her sharply before Ralph Dacre's name could leave her lips."No. Put that out of your mind for good! You have no reason to suspectfoul play where he was concerned."
He spoke with such decision that she looked at him in surprise. "I oftenhave suspected it," she said.
"I know. But you have no reason for doing so. I should try to forget itif I were you. Let the past be past!"
It was evident that he would not discuss the matter, and, wonderingsomewhat, she let it pass. The bare mention of Dacre seemed to beunendurable to him. But the suspicion which his words had startedremained in her mind, for it was beyond her power to dismiss it. Theconviction that he had met his death by foul means was steadily gainingground within her, winding serpent-like ever more closely about hershrinking heart.
Monck went his way, whether deeply disappointed or not she knew not. Butshe realized that he would not reopen the subject. He had made hisexplanation, but--and for this she honoured him--he would not seek toconvince her against her will. It was even possible that he preferredher to keep her own judgment in the matter.
They dined at the Mansfields' bungalow that night, a festivity for whichshe felt small relish, more especially as she knew that Mrs. Ralstonwould not be present. To be received with icy ceremony by Lady Harrietand sent in to dinner with Major Burton was a state of affairs that musthave dashed the highest spirits. She tried to make the best of it, butit was impossible to be entirely unaffected by the depressing chill ofthe atmosphere. Conversation turned upon Mrs. Ermsted, regarding whomthe report had gone forth that she was very seriously ill. Lady Harrietsought to probe Stella upon the subject and was plainly offended whenshe pleaded ignorance. She also tried to extract Monck's opinion of poorCaptain Ermsted's murder. Had it been committed by a mere _budmash_ forthe sake of robbery, or did he consider that any political significancewas attached to it? Monck drily expressed the opinion that somethingmight be said for either theory. But when Lady Harriet threw discretionto the winds and desired to know if it were generally believed inofficial circles that the Rajah was implicated, he raised his brows instern surprise and replied that so far as his information went the Rajahwas a loyal servant of the Crown.
Lady Harriet was snubbed, and she felt the effects of it for the rest ofthe evening. Walking home with her husband through the starlight later,Stella laughed a little over the episode; but Monck was not responsive.He seemed engrossed in thought.
He went with her to her room, and there bade her good-night, observingthat he had work to do and might be late.
"It is already late," she said. "Don't be long! I shall only lie awaketill you come."
He frowned at her. "I shall be very angry if you do."
"I can't help that," she said. "I can't sleep properly till you come."
He looked her in the eyes. "You're not nervous? You've got Peter."
"Oh, I am not in the least nervous on my own account," she told him.
"You needn't be on mine," he said.
She laughed, but her lips were piteous. "Well, don't be long anyway!"she pleaded. "Don't forget I am waiting for you!"
"Forget!" he said. For an instant his hold upon her was passionate. Hekissed her fiercely, blindly, even violently; then with a muttered wordof inarticulate apology he let her go.
She heard him stride away down the passage, and in a few moments Petercame and very softly closed the door. She knew that he was there onguard until his master should return.
She sat down with a beating heart and leaned back with closed eyes. Aheavy sense of foreboding oppressed her. She was very tired, but yet sheknew that sleep was far away. Just as once she had felt a dread that wasphysical on behalf of Ralph Dacre, so now she felt weighed down bysuspense and loneliness. Only now it was a thousand times magnified, forthis man was her world. She tried to picture to herself what it wouldhave meant to her had that shot in the jungle slain him instead ofCaptain Ermsted. But the bare thought was beyond endurance. Once shecould have borne it, but not now--not now! Once she could have deniedher love and fared forth alone into the desert. But he had captured her,and now she was irrevocably his. Her spirit pined almost unconsciouslywhenever he was absent from her. Her body knew no rest without him. Fromthe moment of his leaving her, she was ever secretly on fire for hisreturn.
Had they been in England she knew that it would have been otherwise. Ina calm and temperate atmosphere she could have attained a serene,unruffled happiness. But India, fevered and pitiless, held her inscorching grip. She dwelt as it were on the edge of a roaring furnacethat consumed some victims every day. Her life was strung up to a pitchthat frightened her. The very intensity of the love that Everard Monckhad practically forced into being within her was almost more than shecould bear. It hurt her like the searing of a flame, and yet in the hurtthere was rapture. For
the icy blast of the desert could never reach hernow. Unless--unless--ah, was there not a flaming sword still threateningher wherever she pitched her camp? Surround herself as she would withthe magic essences of love, did not the vengeance await her--evennow--even now? Could she ever count herself safe so long as she remainedin this land of treachery and terrible vengeance? Could there ever beany peace so near to the burning fiery furnace?
Slowly the night wore on. The air blew in cool and pure with a softwhispering of spring and the brief splendour of the rose-time. The howlof a prowling jackal came now and then to her ears, making her shiverwith the memory of Monck's words. Away in the jungle the owls werecalling upon notes that sounded like weird cries for help.
Once or twice she heard a shuffling movement outside the door and knewthat Peter was still on guard. She wondered if he ever slept. Shewondered if Tommy had returned. He often dropped into the Club on hisway back, and sometimes stayed late. Then, realizing how late it was,she came to the conclusion that she must have dozed in her chair.
She got up with a sense of being weighted in every limb, and began toundress. Everard would be vexed if he returned and found her still up.Not that she expected him to return for a long time. His absence lastedsometimes till the night was nearly over.
She never questioned him regarding it, and he never told her anything.Dacre's revelation on that night so long ago had never left her memory.He was engaged upon secret affairs. Possibly he was down in the nativequarter, disguised as a native, carrying his life in his hand. He had afriend in the bazaar, she knew; a man she had never seen, but whose shophe had once pointed out to her though he would not suffer her--andindeed she had no desire--to enter. This man--Rustam Karin--was a dealerin native charms and trinkets. The business was mainly conducted by ayouth of obsequious and insincere demeanour called Hafiz. The latter sheknew and instinctively disliked, but her feeling for the unknown masterwas one of more active aversion. In the depths of that dark native stallshe pictured him, a watcher, furtive and avaricious, a man who lenthimself and his shrewd and covetous brain to a Government he probablydespised as alien.
Tommy had once described the man to her and her conception of him was aperfectly clear one. He was black-bearded and an opium-smoker, and shehated to think of Everard as in any sense allied with him. Dark,treacherous, and terrible, he loomed in her imagination. He representedIndia and all her subtleties. He was a serpent underfoot, a knife in thedark, an evil dream.
She could not have said why the personality of a man she did not know soaffected her, save that she believed that all Monck's secret expeditionswere conceived in the gloom of that stall she had never entered in theheart of the native bazaar. The man was in Monck's confidence. Perhaps,being a woman, that hurt her also. For though she recognized--as in thecase of that native lair down in the bazaar--that it were better neverto set foot in that secret chamber, yet she resented the thought thatany other should have free access to it. She was beginning to regardthat part of Monck's life with a dread that verged upon horror--afeeling which her very love for the man but served to intensify. She wasas one clinging desperately to a treasure which might at any moment bewrested from her.
Stiffly and wearily she undressed. Tommy must surely have returned agesago, though probably late, or he would have come to bid her good-night.Why did not Everard return?
At the last she extinguished her light and went to the window to gazewistfully out across the verandah. That secret whispering--the stirringof a thousand unseen things--was abroad in the night. The air was softand scented with a fragrance intangible but wholly sweet. India,stretched out beneath the glittering stars, stirred with half-openedeyes, and smiled. Stella thought she heard the flutter of her robe.
Then again the mystery of the night was rent by the cry of some beast ofprey, and in a second the magic was gone. The shadows were full of evil.She drew back with swift, involuntary shrinking; and as she did so, sheheard the dreadful answering cry of the prey that had been seized.
India again! India the ruthless! India the bloodthirsty! India thevampire!
For a few palpitating moments she leaned against the wall feelingphysically sick. And as she leaned, there passed before her inner visionthe memory of that figure which she had seen upon the verandah on thatterrible night when Everard had been stricken with fever. The look inher husband's eyes that day had brought it back to her, and now like aflashlight it leapt from point to point of her brain, revealing,illuminating.
That figure on the verandah and the unknown man of the bazaar were one.It was Rustam Karin whom she had seen that night--Rustam Karin,Everard's trusted friend and ally--the Rajah's tool also though Everardwould never have it so--and (she was certain of it now with thatcertainty which is somehow all the greater because without proof) thiswas the man who had followed Ralph Dacre to Kashmir and lured him to hisdeath. This was the beast of prey who when the time was ripe woulddestroy Everard Monck also.