The Broken Road

  CHAPTER XXIX

  MRS. OLIVER RIDES THROUGH PESHAWUR

  Violet Oliver told her story later during that day. But there was acertain hesitation in her manner which puzzled Ralston, at all events,amongst her audience.

  "When you went to your room," he asked, "did you find the window againunbolted?"

  "No," she replied. "It was really my fault last night. I felt the heatoppressive. I opened the window myself and went out on to the verandah.When I came back I think that I did not bolt it."

  "You forgot?" asked Ralston in surprise.

  But this was not the only surprising element in the story.

  "When you touched the man, he did not close with you, he made no effortto silence you," Ralston said. "That is strange enough. But that heshould strike a match, that he should let you see his face quiteclearly--that's what I don't understand. It looks, Mrs. Oliver, as if healmost wanted you to recognise him."

  Ralston turned in his chair sharply towards her. "Did you recognisehim?" he asked.

  "Yes," Violet Oliver replied. "At least I think I did. I think that I hadseen him before."

  Here at all events it was clear that she was concealing nothing. She wasobviously as puzzled as Ralston was himself.

  "Where had you seen him?" he asked, and the answer increased hisastonishment.

  "In Calcutta," she answered. "It was the same man or one very likehim. I saw him on three successive evenings in the Maidan when I wasdriving there."

  "In Calcutta?" cried Ralston. "Some months ago, then?"

  "Yes."

  "How did you come to notice him in the Maidan?" Mrs. Oliver shiveredslightly as she answered:

  "He seemed to be watching me. I thought so at the time. It made meuncomfortable. Now I am sure. He _was_ watching me," and she suddenlycame forward a step.

  "I should like to go away to-day if you and your sister won't mind,"she pleaded.

  Ralston's forehead clouded.

  "Of course, I quite understand," he said, "and if you wish to go we can'tprevent you. But you leave us rather helpless, don't you?--as you alonecan identify the man. Besides, you leave yourself too in danger."

  "But I shall go far away," she urged. "As it is I am going back toEngland in a month."

  "Yes," Ralston objected. "But you have not yet started, and if the manfollowed you from Calcutta to Peshawur, he may follow you from Peshawurto Bombay."

  Mrs. Oliver drew back with a start of terror and Ralston instantly tookback his words.

  "Of course, we will take care of you on your way south. You may rely onthat," he said with a smile. "But if you could bring yourself to stayhere for a day or two I should be much obliged. You see, it is impossibleto fix the man's identity from a description, and it is really importantthat he should be caught."

  "Yes, I understand," said Violet Oliver, and she reluctantlyconsented to stay.

  "Thank you," said Ralston, and he looked at her with a smile. "There isone more thing which I should like you to do. I should like you to rideout with me this afternoon through Peshawur. The story of last night willalready be known in the bazaars. Of that you may be very sure. And itwould be a good thing if you were seen to ride through the city quiteunconcerned."

  Violet Oliver drew back from the ordeal which Ralston so calmlyproposed to her.

  "I shall be with you," he said. "There will be no danger--or atall events no danger that Englishwomen are unprepared to face inthis country."

  The appeal to her courage served Ralston's turn. Violet raised her headwith a little jerk of pride.

  "Certainly I will ride with you this afternoon through Peshawur," shesaid; and she went out of the room and left Ralston alone.

  He sat at his desk trying to puzzle out the enigma of the night. The morehe thought upon it, the further he seemed from any solution. There wasthe perplexing behaviour of Mrs. Oliver herself. She had been troubled,greatly troubled, to find her window unbolted on two successive nightsafter she had taken care to bolt it. Yet on the third night she actuallyunbolts it herself and leaving it unbolted puts out her light and goes tobed. It seemed incredible that she should so utterly have forgotten herfears. But still more bewildering even than her forgetfulness was theconduct of the intruder.

  Upon that point he took Linforth into his counsels.

  "I can't make head or tail of it," he cried. "Here the fellow is in thedark room with his cords and the thick cloth and the pad. Mrs. Olivertouches him. He knows that his presence is revealed to her. She is withinreach. And she stands paralysed by fear, unable to cry out. Yet he doesnothing, except light a match and give her a chance to recognise hisface. He does not seize her, he does not stifle her voice, as he couldhave done--yes, as he could have done, before she could have uttered acry. He strikes a match and shows her his face."

  "So that he might see hers," said Linforth. Ralston shook his head. Hewas not satisfied with that explanation. But Linforth had no other tooffer. "Have you any clue to the man?"

  "None," said Ralston.

  He rode out with Mrs. Oliver that afternoon down from his house to theGate of the City. Two men of his levies rode at a distance of twentypaces behind them. But these were his invariable escort. He took nounusual precautions. There were no extra police in the streets. He wentout with his guest at his side for an afternoon ride as if nothingwhatever had occurred. Mrs. Oliver played her part well. She rode withher head erect and her eyes glancing boldly over the crowded streets.Curious glances were directed at her, but she met them without agitation.Ralston observed her with a growing admiration.

  "Thank you," he said warmly. "I know this can hardly be a pleasantexperience for you. But it is good for these people here to know thatnothing they can do will make any difference--no not enough to alter themere routine of our lives. Let us go forward."

  They turned to the left at the head of the main thoroughfare, and passedat a walk, now through the open spaces where the booths were erected, nowthrough winding narrow streets between high houses. Violet Oliver, thoughshe held her head high and her eyes were steady, rode with a flutteringheart. In front of them, about them, and behind them the crowd of peoplethronged, tribesmen from the hills, Mohammedans and Hindus of the city;from the upper windows the lawyers and merchants looked down upon them;and Violet held all of them in horror.

  The occurrence of last night had inflicted upon her a heavier shock thaneither Ralston imagined or she herself had been aware until she hadridden into the town. The dark wild face suddenly springing into viewabove the lighted match was as vivid and terrible to her still, as anightmare to a child. She was afraid that at any moment she might seethat face again in the throng of faces. Her heart sickened with dread atthe thought, and even though she should not see him, at every step shelooked upon twenty of his like--kinsmen, perhaps, brothers in blood andrace. She shrank from them in repulsion and she shrank from them in fear.Every nerve of her body seemed to cry out against the folly of this ride.

  What were they two and the two levies behind them against the throng?Four at the most against thousands at the least.

  She touched Ralston timidly on the arm.

  "Might we go home now?" she asked in a voice which trembled; and helooked suddenly and anxiously into her face.

  "Certainly," he said, and he wheeled his horse round, keeping close toher as she wheeled hers.

  "It is all right," he said, and his voice took on an unusualfriendliness. "We have not far to go. It was brave of you to have come,and I am very grateful. We ask much of the Englishwomen in India, andbecause they never fail us, we are apt to ask too much. I asked too muchof you." Violet responded to the flick at her national pride. She drewherself up and straightened her back.

  "No," she said, and she actually counterfeited a smile. "No. It'sall right."

  "I asked more than I had a right to ask," he continued remorsefully. "Iam sorry. I have lived too much amongst men. That's my trouble. Onebecomes inconsiderate to women. It's ignorance, not want of good-will.Look!" To distract her thought
s he began to point her out houses andpeople which were of interest.

  "Do you see that sign there, 'Bahadur Gobind, Barrister-at-Law, CambridgeB.A.,' on the first floor over the cookshop? Yes, he is the genuinearticle. He went to Cambridge and took his degree and here he is backagain. Take him for all in all, he is the most seditious man in the city.Meanly seditious. It only runs to writing letters over a pseudonym in thenative papers. Now look up. Do you see that very respectablewhite-bearded gentleman on the balcony of his house? Well, hisdaughter-in-law disappeared one day when her husband was away fromhome--disappeared altogether. It had been a great grief to the oldgentleman that she had borne no son to inherit the family fortune. Sonaturally people began to talk. She was found subsequently under thefloor of the house, and it cost that respectable old gentleman twentythousand rupees to get himself acquitted."

  Ralston pulled himself up with a jerk, realising that this was not themost appropriate story which he could have told to a lady with theoverstrained nerves of Mrs. Oliver.

  He turned to her with a fresh apology upon his lips. But the apology wasnever spoken.

  "What's the matter, Mrs. Oliver?" he asked.

  She had not heard the story of the respectable old gentleman. That wasclear. They were riding through an open oblong space of ground dottedwith trees. There were shops down the middle, two rows backing upon astream, and shops again at the sides. Mrs. Oliver was gazing with aconcentrated look across the space and the people who crowded it towardsan opening of an alley between two houses. But fixed though her gaze was,there was no longer any fear in her eyes. Rather they expressed a keeninterest, a strong curiosity.

  Ralston's eyes followed the direction of her gaze. At the corner of thealley there was a shop wherein a man sat rounding a stick of wood with aprimitive lathe. He made the lathe revolve by working a stringed bow withhis right hand, while his left hand worked the chisel and his right footdirected it. His limbs were making three different motions with anabsence of effort which needed much practice, and for a moment Ralstonwondered whether it was the ingenuity of the workman which had attractedher. But in a moment he saw that he was wrong.

  There were two men standing in the mouth of the alley, both dressed inwhite from head to foot. One stood a little behind with the hood of hiscloak drawn forward over his head, so that it was impossible to discernhis face. The other stood forward, a tall slim man with the elegance andthe grace of youth. It was at this man Violet Oliver was looking.

  Ralston looked again at her, and as he looked the colour rose into hercheeks; there came a look of sympathy, perhaps of pity, into her eyes.Almost her lips began to smile. Ralston turned his head again towards thealley, and he started in his saddle. The young man had raised his head.He was gazing fixedly towards them. His features were revealed andRalston knew them well.

  He turned quickly to Mrs. Oliver.

  "You know that man?"

  The colour deepened upon her face.

  "It is the Prince of Chiltistan."

  "But you know him?" Ralston insisted.

  "I have met him in London," said Violet Oliver.

  So Shere Ali was in Peshawur, when he should have been inChiltistan! "Why?"

  Ralston put the question to himself and looked to his companion for theanswer. The colour upon her face, the interest, the sympathy of her eyesgave him the answer. This was the woman, then, whose image stood beforeShere Ali's memories and hindered him from marrying one of his own race!Just with that sympathy and that keen interest does a woman look upon theman who loves her and whose love she does not return. Moreover, there wasLinforth's hesitation. Linforth had admitted there was an Englishwomanfor whom Shere Ali cared, had admitted it reluctantly, had extenuated herthoughtlessness, had pleaded for her. Oh, without a doubt Mrs. Oliver wasthe woman!

  There flashed before Ralston's eyes the picture of Linforth standing inthe hall, turning over the cords and the cotton pad and the thick cloth.Ralston looked down again upon him from the gallery and heard his voice,saying in a whisper:

  "It can't be he! It can't be he!"

  What would Linforth say when he knew that Shere Ali was lurking inPeshawur?

  Ralston was still gazing at Shere Ali when the man behind the Prince madea movement. He flung back the hood from his face, and disclosing hisfeatures looked boldly towards the riders.

  A cry rang out at Ralston's side, a woman's cry. He turned in his saddleand saw Violet Oliver. The colour had suddenly fled from her cheeks. Theywere blanched. The sympathy had gone from her eyes, and in its place,stark terror looked out from them. She swayed in her saddle.

  "Do you see that man?" she cried, pointing with her hand. "The man behindthe Prince. The man who has thrown back his cloak."

  "Yes, yes, I see him," answered Ralston impatiently.

  "It was he who crept into my room last night."

  "You are sure?"

  "Could I forget? Could I forget?" she cried; and at that moment, the mantouched Shere Ali on the sleeve, and they both fled out of sight intothe alley.

  There was no doubt left in Ralston's mind. It was Shere Ali who hadplanned the abduction of Mrs. Oliver. It was his companion who had failedto carry it out. Ralston turned to the levies behind him.

  "Quick! Into that valley! Fetch me those two men who were standingthere!"

  The two levies pressed their horses through the crowd, but the alley wasempty when they came to it.