CHAPTER XXVII
AN ARRESTED CONFESSION
Linforth related the history of his failure to Ralston in the officeat Peshawur.
"Shere Ali went away on the day the pitcher was broken," he said. "It wasthe breaking of the pitcher which gave him the notice to go; I am sure ofit. If one only knew what message was conveyed--" and Ralston handed tohim a letter.
The letter had been sent by the Resident at Kohara and had only this dayreached Peshawur. Linforth took it and read it through. It announced thatthe son of Abdulla Mahommed had been murdered.
"You see?" said Ralston. "He was shot in the back by one of hisattendants when he was out after Markhor. He was the leader of the rivalfaction, and was bidding for the throne against Shere Ali. His murderclears the way. I have no doubt your friend is over the Lowari Pass bythis time. There will be trouble in Chiltistan. I would have stoppedShere Ali on his way up had I known."
"But you don't think Shere Ali had this man murdered!" cried Linforth.
Ralston shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not? What else was he waiting for from ten to eleven in the balconyabove the well, except just for this news?"
He stopped for a moment, and went on again in a voice which wasvery grave.
"That seems to you horrible. I am very much afraid that another thing,another murder much more horrible, will be announced down to me in thenext few days. The son of Abdulla Mahommed stood in Shere Ali's way aweek ago and he is gone. But the way is still not clear. There's stillanother in his path."
Linforth interpreted the words according to the gravity with which theywere uttered.
"His father!" he said, and Ralston nodded his head.
"What can we do?" he cried. "We can threaten--but what is the use ofthreatening without troops? And we mayn't use troops. Chiltistan is anindependent kingdom. We can advise, but we can't force them to follow ouradvice. We accept the status quo. That's the policy. So long asChiltistan keeps the peace with us we accept Chiltistan as it is and asit may be. We can protect if our protection is asked. But our protectionhas not been asked. Why has Shere Ali fled so quickly back to hiscountry? Tell me that if you can."
None the less, however, Ralston telegraphed at once to the authorities atLahore. Linforth, though he had failed to renew his old comradeship withShere Ali, had not altogether failed. He had brought back news whichRalston counted as of great importance. He had linked up the murder inChiltistan with the intrigues of Shere Ali. That the glare was rapidlybroadening over that country of hills and orchards Ralston was very wellaware. But it was evident now that at any moment the eruption might takeplace, and fire pour down the hills. In these terms he telegraphed toLahore. Quietly and quickly, once more after twenty-five years, troopswere being concentrated at Nowshera for a rush over the passes intoChiltistan. But even so Ralston was urgent that the concentration shouldbe hurried.
He sent a letter in cipher to the Resident at Kohara, bidding him toexpect Shere Ali, and with Shere Ali the beginning of the trouble.
He could do no more for the moment. So far as he could see he had takenall the precautions which were possible. But that night an event occurredin his own house which led him to believe that he had not understood thewhole extent of the danger.
It was Mrs. Oliver who first aroused his suspicions. The four ofthem--Ralston and his sister, Linforth and Violet Oliver were sittingquietly at dinner when Violet suddenly said:
"It's a strange thing. Of course there's nothing really in it, and I amnot at all frightened, but the last two nights, on going to bed, I havefound that one of my windows was no longer bolted."
Linforth looked up in alarm. Ralston's face, however, did not change.
"Are you sure that it was bolted before?"
"Yes, quite sure," said Violet. "The room is on the ground floor, andoutside one of the windows a flight of steps leads down from the verandahto the ground. So I have always taken care to bolt them myself."
"When?" asked Ralston.
"After dressing for dinner," she replied. "It is the last thing I dobefore leaving the room."
Ralston leaned back in his chair, as though a momentary anxiety werequite relieved.
"It is one of the servants, no doubt," he said. "I will speak about itafterwards"; and for the moment the matter dropped.
But Ralston returned to the subject before dinner was finished.
"I don't think you need be uneasy, Mrs. Oliver," he said. "The house isguarded by sentinels, as no doubt you know. They are native levies, ofcourse, but they are quite reliable"; and in this he was quite sincere.So long as they wore the uniform they would be loyal. The time mightcome when they would ask to be allowed to go home. That permission wouldbe granted, and it was possible that they would be found in arms againstthe loyal troops immediately afterwards. But they would ask to beallowed to go first.
"Still," he resumed, "if you carry valuable jewellery about with you, itwould be as well, I think, if you locked it up."
"I have very little jewellery, and that not valuable," said Violet, andsuddenly her face flushed and she looked across the table at Linforthwith a smile. The smile was returned, and a minute later the ladies rose.
The two men were left alone to smoke.
"You know Mrs. Oliver better than I do," said Ralston. "I will tell youfrankly what I think. It may be a mere nothing. There may be no cause foranxiety at all. In any case anxiety is not the word" he correctedhimself, and went on. "There is a perfectly natural explanation. Theservants may have opened the window to air the room when they werepreparing it for the night, and may easily have forgotten to latch thebolt afterwards."
"Yes, I suppose that is the natural explanation," said Linforth, as helit a cigar. "It is hard to conceive any other."
"Theft," replied Ralston, "is the other explanation. What I said aboutthe levies is true. I can rely on them. But the servants--that is perhapsa different question. They are Mahommedans all of them, and we hear agood deal about the loyalty of Mahommedans, don't we?" he said, with asmile. "They wear, if not a uniform, a livery. All these things are true.But I tell you this, which is no less true. Not one of those Mahommedanservants would die wearing the livery, acknowledging their service. Everyone of them, if he fell ill, if he thought that he was going to die,would leave my service to-morrow. So I don't count on them so much.However, I will make some inquiries, and to-morrow we will move Mrs.Oliver to another room."
He went about the business forthwith, and cross-examined his servants oneafter another. But he obtained no admission from any one of them. No onehad touched the window. Was a single thing missing of all that thehonourable lady possessed? On their lives, no!
Meanwhile Linforth sought out Violet Oliver in the drawing-room. He foundher alone, and she came eagerly towards him and took his hands.
"Oh, Dick," she said, "I am glad you have come back. I am nervous."
"There's no need," said Dick with a laugh. "Let us go out."
He opened the window, but Violet drew back.
"No, let us stay here," she said, and passing her arm through his shestared for a few moments with a singular intentness into the darkness ofthe garden.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.
"No," she replied, and he felt the tension of her body relax. "No,there's nothing. And since you have come back, Dick, I am no longerafraid." She looked up at him with a smile, and tightened her clasp uponhis arm with a pretty air of ownership. "My Dick!" she said, and laughed.
The door-handle rattled, and Violet proved that she had lost her fear.
"That's Miss Ralston," she said. "Let us go out," and she slipped out ofthe window quickly. As quickly Linforth followed her. She was waiting forhim in the darkness.
"Dick," she said in a whisper, and she caught him close to her.
"Violet."
He looked up to the dark, clear, starlit sky and down to the sweet andgentle face held up towards his. That night and in this Indian garden, itseemed to him that his faith was proven and m
ade good. With the sense offailure heavy upon his soul, he yet found here a woman whose trust wasnot diminished by any failure, who still looked to him with confidenceand drew comfort and strength from his presence, even as he did fromhers. Alone in the drawing-room she had been afraid; outside here in thegarden she had no fear, and no room in her mind for any thought of fear.
"When you spoke about your window to-night, Violet," he said gently,"although I was alarmed for you, although I was troubled that you shouldhave cause for alarm--"
"I saw that," said Violet with a smile.
"Yet I never spoke."
"Your eyes, your face spoke. Oh, my dear, I watch you," and she drew in abreath. "I am a little afraid of you." She did not laugh. There wasnothing provocative in her accent. She spoke with simplicity and truth,now as often, what was set down to her for a coquetry by those whodisliked her. Linforth was in no doubt, however. Mistake her as he did,he judged her in this respect more truly than the worldly-wise. She hadat the bottom of her heart a great fear of her lover, a fear that shemight lose him, a fear that he might hold her in scorn, if he knew heronly half as well as she knew herself.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said, quietly. "There is noreason for it."
"You are hard to others if they come in your way," she replied, andLinforth stopped. Yes, that was true. There was his mother in the houseunder the Sussex Downs. He had got his way. He was on the Frontier. TheRoad now would surely go on. It would be a strange thing if he did notmanage to get some portion of that work entrusted to his hands. He hadgot his way, but he had been hard, undoubtedly.
"It is quite true," he answered. "But I have had my lesson. You need notfear that I shall be anything but very gentle towards you."
"In your thoughts?" she asked quickly. "That you will be gentle in wordand in deed--yes, of that I am sure. But will you think gently ofme--always? That is a different thing."
"Of course," he answered with a laugh.
But Violet Oliver was in no mood lightly to be put off.
"Promise me that!" she cried in a low and most passionate voice. Her lipstrembled as she pleaded; her dark eyes besought him, shining starrily."Oh, promise that you will think of me gently--that if ever you areinclined to be hard and to judge me harshly, you will remember these twonights in the dark garden at Peshawur."
"I shall not forget them," said Linforth, and there was no longer anylevity in his tones. He spoke gravely, and more than gravely. There was anote of anxiety, as though he were troubled.
"I promise," he said.
"Thank you," said Violet simply; "for I know that you will keepthe promise."
"Yes, but you speak"--and the note of trouble was still more audible inLinforth's voice--"you speak as if you and I were going to part to-morrowmorning for the rest of our lives."
"No," Violet cried quickly and rather sharply. Then she moved on astep or two.
"I interrupted you," she said. "You were saying that when I spoke aboutmy window, although you were troubled on my account--"
"I felt at the same time some relief," Linforth continued.
"Relief?" she asked.
"Yes; for on my return from Ajmere this morning I noticed a change inyou." He felt at once Violet's hand shake upon his arm as she started;but she did not interrupt him by a word.
"I noticed it at once when we met for the first time since we had talkedtogether in the garden, for the first time since your hands had lain inmine and your lips touched mine. And afterwards it was still there."
"What change?" Violet asked. But she asked the question in a stifledvoice and with her face averted from him.
"There was a constraint, an embarrassment," he said. "How can I explainit? I felt it rather than noticed it by visible signs. It seemed to methat you avoided being alone with me. I had a dread that you regrettedthe evening in the garden, that you were sorry we had agreed to live ourlives together."
Violet did not protest. She did not turn to him with any denial in hereyes. She walked on by his side with her face still turned away from his,and for a little while she walked in silence. Then, as if compelled, shesuddenly stopped and turned. She spoke, too, as if compelled, with a kindof desperation in her voice.
"Yes, you were right," she cried. "Oh, Dick, you were right. There wasconstraint, there was embarrassment. I will tell you the reason--now."
"I know it," said Dick with a smile.
Violet stared at him for a moment. She perceived his contentment. He wasnow quite unharassed by fear. There was no disappointment, no angeragainst her. She shook her head and said slowly:
"You can't know it."
"I do."
"Tell me the reason then."
"You were frightened by this business of the window."
Violet made a movement. She was in the mood to contradict him. But hewent on, and so the mood passed.
"It was only natural. Here were you in a frontier town, a wild town onthe borders of a wild country. A window bolted at dinner-time andunlocked at bedtime--it was easy to find something sinister in that. Youdid not like to speak of it, lest it should trouble your hosts. Yet itweighed on you. It occupied your thoughts."
"And to that you put down my embarrassment?" she asked quietly. They hadcome again to the window of the drawing-room.
"Yes, I do," he answered.
She looked at him strangely for a few moments. But the compulsion whichshe had felt upon her a moment ago to speak was gone. She no longersought to contradict him. Without a word she slipped into thedrawing-room.