CHAPTER III
LINFORTH'S DEATH
Luffe had taken a large bare low-roofed room supported upon pillars forhis council-chamber. Thither he conducted his visitor. Camp chairs wereplaced for himself and Major Dewes and Captain Lynes. Cushions wereplaced upon the ground for his visitor. Luffe took his seat in themiddle, with Dewes upon his right and Lynes upon his left. Dewes expectedhim at once to press for information as to Linforth. But Luffe knew verywell that certain time must first be wasted in ceremonious preliminaries.The news would only be spoken after a time and in a roundabout fashion.
"If we receive you without the distinction which is no doubt your due,"said Luffe politely, "you must remember that I make it a rule not towelcome visitors at night."
The visitor smiled and bowed.
"It is a great grief to his Highness Wafadar Nazim that you put so littlefaith in him," replied the Chilti. "See how he trusts you! He sends me,his Diwan, his Minister of Finance, in the night time to come up to yourwalls and into your fort, so great is his desire to learn that theColonel Sahib is well."
Luffe in his turn bowed with a smile of gratitude. It was not the time topoint out that his Highness Wafadar Nazim was hardly taking the coursewhich a genuine solicitude for the Colonel Sahib's health wouldrecommend.
"His Highness has but one desire in his heart. He desires peace--peace sothat this country may prosper, and peace because of his great love forthe Colonel Sahib."
Again Luffe bowed.
"But to all his letters the Colonel Sahib returns the same answer, andtruly his Highness is at a loss what to do in order that he may ensurethe safety of the Colonel Sahib and his followers," the Diwan continuedpensively. "I will not repeat what has been already said," and at once hebegan at interminable length to contradict his words. He repeated theproposals of surrender made by Wafadar Nazim from beginning to end. TheColonel Sahib was to march out of the fort with his troops, and hisHighness would himself conduct him into British territory.
"If the Colonel Sahib dreads the censure of his own Government, hisHighness will take all the responsibility for the Colonel Sahib'sdeparture. But no blame will fall upon the Colonel Sahib. For the BritishGovernment, with whom Wafadar Nazim has always desired to live in amity,desires peace too, as it has always said. It is the British Governmentwhich has broken its treaties."
"Not so," replied Luffe. "The road was undertaken with the consent of theKhan of Chiltistan, who is the ruler of this country, and Wafadar, hisuncle, merely the rebel. Therefore take back my last word to WafadarNazim. Let him make submission to me as representative of the Sirkar, andlay down his arms. Then I will intercede for him with the Government, sothat his punishment be light."
The Diwan smiled and his voice changed once more to a note of insolence.
"His Highness Wafadar Nazim is now the Khan of Chiltistan. The other,the deposed, lies cooped up in this fort, a prisoner of the British,whose willing slave he has always been. The British must retire fromour country. His Highness Wafadar Nazim desires them no harm. But theymust go now!"
Luffe looked sternly at the Diwan.
"Tell Wafadar Nazim to have a care lest they go never, but set their footfirmly upon the neck of this rebellious people."
He rose to signify that the conference was at an end. But the Diwan didnot stir. He smiled pensively and played with the tassels of his cushion.
"And yet," he said, "how true it is that his Highness thinks only of theColonel Sahib's safety."
Some note of satisfaction, not quite perfectly concealed, some sly accentof triumph sounding through the gently modulated words, smote uponLuffe's ears, and warned him that the true meaning of the Diwan's visitwas only now to be revealed. All that had gone before was nothing. Thepolite accusations, the wordy repetitions, the expressions of goodwill--these were the mere preliminaries, the long salute before thecombat. Luffe steeled himself against a blow, controlling his face andhis limbs lest a look or a gesture should betray the hurt. And it waswell that he did, for the next moment the blow fell.
"For bad news has come to us. Sahib Linforth met his death two days ago,fifty miles from here, in the camp of his Excellency Abdulla Mahommed,the Commander-in-Chief to his Highness. Abdulla Mahommed is greatlygrieved, knowing well that this violent act will raise up a prejudiceagainst him and his Highness. Moreover, he too would live in friendshipwith the British. But his soldiers are justly provoked by the violationof treaties by the British, and it is impossible to stay their hands.Therefore, before Abdulla Mahommed joins hands with my master, WafadarNazim, before this fort, it will be well for the Colonel Sahib and histroops to be safely out of reach."
Luffe was doubtful whether to believe the words or no. The story might bea lie to frighten him and to discourage the garrison. On the other hand,it was likely enough to be true. And if true, it was the worst news whichLuffe had heard for many a long day.
"Let me hear how the accident--occurred," he said, smiling grimly at theeuphemism he used.
"Sahib Linforth was in the tent set apart for him by Abdulla Mahommed.There were guards to protect him, but it seems they did not watch well.Huzoor, all have been punished, but punishment will not bring SahibLinforth to life again. Therefore hear the words of Wafadar Nazim, spokennow for the last time. He himself will escort you and your soldiers andofficers to the borders of British territory, so that he may rejoice toknow that you are safe. You will leave his Highness Mir Ali behind, whowill resign his throne in favour of his uncle Wafadar, and so there willbe peace."
"And what will happen to Mir Ali, whom we have promised to protect?"
The Diwan shrugged his shoulders in a gentle, deprecatory fashion andsmiled his melancholy smile. His gesture and his attitude suggested thatit was not in the best of taste to raise so unpleasant a question. But hedid not reply in words.
"You will tell Wafadar Nazim that we will know how to protect hisHighness the Khan, and that we will teach Abdulla Mahommed a lesson inthat respect before many moons have passed," Luffe said sternly. "As forthis story of Sahib Linforth, I do not believe a word of it."
The Diwan nodded his head.
"It was believed that you would reply in this way.
"Therefore here are proofs." He drew from his dress a silver watch upon aleather watch-guard, a letter-case, and to these he added a letter inLinforth's own hand. He handed them to Luffe.
Luffe handed the watch and chain to Dewes, and opened the letter-case.There was a letter in it, written in a woman's handwriting, and besidesthe letter the portrait of a girl. He glanced at the letter and glancedat the portrait. Then he passed them on to Dewes.
Dewes looked at the portrait with a greater care. The face was winningrather than pretty. It seemed to him that it was one of those faces whichmight become beautiful at many moments through the spirit of the woman,rather than from any grace of feature. If she loved, for instance, shewould be really beautiful for the man she loved.
"I wonder who she is," he said thoughtfully.
"I know," replied Luffe, almost carelessly. He was immersed in the secondletter which the Diwan had handed to him.
"Who is it?" asked Dewes.
"Linforth's wife."
"His wife!" exclaimed Dewes, and, looking at the photograph again, hesaid in a low voice which was gentle with compassion, "Poor woman!"
"Yes, yes. Poor woman!" said Luffe, and he went on reading his letter.
It was characteristic of Luffe that he should feel so little concern inthe domestic side of Linforth's life. He was not very human in hisoutlook on the world. Questions of high policy interested and engrossedhis mind; he lived for the Frontier, not so much subduing a man's naturalemotions as unaware of them. Men figured in his thoughts as theinstruments of policy; their womenfolk as so many hindrances or aids tothe fulfilment of their allotted tasks. Thus Linforth's death troubledhim greatly, since Linforth was greatly concerned in one greatundertaking. Moreover, the scheme had been very close to Linforth'sheart, even as it was to Luffe's. But Linforth's
wife was in England, andthus, as it seemed to him, neither aid nor impediment. But in that he waswrong. She had been the mainspring of Linforth's energy, and so much wasevident in the letter which Luffe read slowly to the end.
"Yes, Linforth's dead," said he, with a momentary discouragement. "Thereare many whom we could more easily have spared. Of course the thing willgo on. That's certain," he said, nodding his head. A cold satisfactionshone in his eyes. "But Linforth was part of the Thing."
He passed the second letter to Dewes, who read it; and for a while bothmen remained thoughtful and, as it seemed, unaware for the moment of theDiwan's presence. There was this difference, however. Luffe was thinkingof "the Thing"; Dewes was pondering on the grim little tragedy whichthese letters revealed, and thanking Heaven in all simplicity of heartthat there was no woman waiting in fear because of him and trembling atsight of each telegraph boy she met upon the road.
The grim little tragedy was not altogether uncommon upon the Indianfrontier, but it gained vividness from the brevity of the letters whichrelated it. The first one, that in the woman's hand, written from a houseunder the Downs of Sussex, told of the birth of a boy in words at oncesacred and simple. They were written for the eyes of one man, and MajorDewes had a feeling that his own, however respectfully, violated theirsanctity. The second letter was an unfinished one written by the husbandto the wife from his tent amongst the rabble of Abdulla Mahommed.Linforth clearly understood that this was the last letter he would write."I am sitting writing this by the light of a candle. The tent door isopen. In front of me I can see the great snow-mountains. All the uglinessof the lower shale slopes is hidden. By such a moonlight, my dear, mayyou always look back upon my memory. For it is over, Sybil. They arewaiting until I fall asleep. I have been warned of it. But I shall fallasleep to-night. I have kept awake for two nights. I am very tired."
He had fallen asleep even before the letter was completed. There was amessage for the boy and a wish:
"May he meet a woman like you, my dear, when his time comes, and love heras I love you," and again came the phrase, "I am very tired." It spoke ofthe boy's school, and continued: "Whether he will come out here it is tooearly to think about. But the road will not be finished--and I wonder. Ifhe wants to, let him! We Linforths belong to the road," and for the thirdtime the phrase recurred, "I am very tired," and upon the phrase theletter broke off.
Dewes could imagine Linforth falling forward with his head upon hishands, his eyes heavy with sleep, while from without the tent the patientChiltis watched until he slept.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"They cast a noose over his head," replied the Diwan, "dragged him fromthe tent and stabbed him."
Dewes nodded and turned to Luffe.
"These letters and things must go home to his wife. It's hard on her,with a boy only a few months old."
"A boy?" said Luffe, rousing himself from his thoughts. "Oh! there's aboy? I had not noticed that. I wonder how far the road will have gonewhen he comes out." There was no doubt in Luffe's mind, at all events, asto the boy's destiny. He turned to the Diwan.
"Tell Wafadar Nazim that I will open the gates of this fort and marchdown to British territory after he has made submission," he said.
The Diwan smiled in a melancholy way. He had done his best, but theBritish were, of course, all mad. He bowed himself out of the room andstalked through the alleys to the gates.
"Wafadar Nazim must be very sure of victory," said Luffe. "He wouldhardly have given us that unfinished letter had he a fear we shouldescape him in the end."
"He could not read what was written," said Dewes.
"But he could fear what was written," replied Luffe.
As he walked across the courtyard he heard the crack of a rifle. Thesound came from across the river. The truce was over, the siege wasalready renewed.