Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.
Preparing for a Start.
“Now look here, boy,” said Chumbley. “I grant the possibility of the Inche Maida having assisted in carrying off Helen, but we do not know that she did. What we do know is—”
“That she confessed—”
“Not to helping, or anything of the kind. She told us that she was another man’s wife by now.”
“Well, that shows that she was cognisant of the matter; and I say that we ought to make a clean breast of the affair.”
“Well, I’m such a pusillanimous coward, that I can’t screw myself up to doing anything of the kind. One can’t help feeling foolish over the matter. Hang it all, no, keep it quiet! We are in an out-of-the-way place certainly; but this is an awfully small marble of a world, and if we tell our story, it would get into the Straits Times, and from that into the Calcutta papers; and once there, the tit-bit of two officers being carried off by a wicked Eastern princess will soon run over to England, and go the round of the press. Why, hang it, man, we had better retire from the service!”
Hilton stood leaning half out of the window of their quarters listening to his friend.
“It would be awkward,” he said.
“Awkward’s nothing to it, my dear boy. And besides, you know what comes about if we make all known. Harley will consider that he is in duty bound to arrest the Inche Maida, or something of the kind, and then look at the consequences!”
“But the woman ought to be punished.”
“Yes, of course; but the punishment is coming. You see by her act she has shut herself out from all connection with the station, and I daresay if the truth is known she has collected her valuables and fled.”
“I hope she has,” replied Hilton, “for if steps are taken to arrest her, I should be, I confess, sorry for her to be caught.”
“Let it slide then,” cried Chumbley; “we can’t war against a woman. Come, you’ll oblige me, old fellow, greatly, by giving way.”
“What do you want me to do then?”
“A little ill that good may come: keep to our story of having been seized and not knowing where we were taken.”
Hilton nodded and looked thoughtful.
“You give way then?”
“Yes, I give way.”
“Hilton, old fellow, I’m much obliged. I know we shall have, perhaps, to do a little bit of invention, but it is invention to save a woman, and there is a lot of truth in it. Then, too, see how it saves us.”
“Still, I can’t help thinking that, if she had anything to do with carrying off Helen Perowne, she ought to be punished; and mind this, though I care nothing for Helen now, if it proves afterwards that she helped in that cruel affair, I’ll have no mercy upon her.”
“She had nothing to do with it, take my word,” said Chumbley, who had grown so excited that he forgot to drawl. “Here’s the case, depend upon it. She got to know that Murad meant to carry off Helen, and she thought that she would do the same by you.”
“Wretched creature!”
“Say silly child,” said Chumbley. “These people have half of them the cleverness and weak, petty ways of children combined.”
“Then you feel certain that Murad alone carried off Helen?”
“I lay a hundred to one he has. Harley’s right. When do we start?”
“In an hour’s time. The scoundrel has not been seen by any of his people in Sindang, so they say.”
“We shall have some warm work up there in the jungle.”
“No doubt of it; but we’ll rout the serpent out—Oh, here is Harley!”
The Resident was coming up hastily from the landing-stage, followed by a couple of soldiers leading a Malay between them.
“A prisoner, eh?” said Chumbley. “Well, his evidence will have to be taken with a pinch of salt. Now, Harley, what’s the news?”
“This fellow has come, saying that he bears an important message. I would not hear him till I had you two present.”
They went out into the veranda, took seats, and the man salaamed, and was asked his business.
He said that he had been charged with a message to the Resident by one of the Rajah’s women. It was to tell him that the lady Helen had been taken up the river to the Rajah’s shooting-house, and was kept there against her will.
“Are you sure of this,” said the Resident, hoarsely. “I have said,” replied the man, with dignity. “Have you seen her there?”
“Once only, master. She is kept shut closely up.”
“And when did you get this message?”
“It is nearly thirty days ago, master.”
“Then why did you not bring it sooner?”
“I came down the river by night in my little boat, master, and reached the town here; but found that I could not get near the Resident.”
“Why not?” said Mr Harley, sharply. “I am always to be seen.”
“You were watched, master; and I was watched.”
“Watched! Who watched me?”
“Murad’s men. They were everywhere.”
“Murad’s men? Watching?”
“Yes, master, it is true. They lay about in boats or idled, chewing their betel on the shore and landing-stage. They would seem to you like common people who had nothing to do, but they were all watching carefully the while.”
“And would they have stopped you?”
“Yes, master; they did.”
“Then you have kept this message all the time in spite of this?”
“Yes, master.”
“Without trying to deliver it?”
“No; I tried. I could not get to you or any I could trust unseen; but I know that you Englishmen are all friends, and that if I told one he would tell you, so I thought of the doctor.”
“And told him?” said the Resident. “No; I could not approach an Englishman at all. I waited my chance: two days had gone, and then, after much thinking, I made my plan.”
“Yes, be quick,” said the Resident, impatiently. “I pretended to be hurt.”
“Yes; and went to the doctor,” said Hilton. “Did you tell him?”
“If my masters will let me tell my story,” said the man, with dignity, “it will be best.”
Mr Harley made a sign to his companions to be silent, and the man went on:
“I looked about for a house where I fancied I should not be watched, and went to a lady, saying I was badly hurt, and asking that she would fetch the doctor to me.”
“Why did you not tell her your message?”
“She talked too much—I was afraid,” said the man, quietly. “But she took compassion on me and went to fetch the doctor. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘my task is done.’ But my enemies were too watchful, and soon after my messenger to the doctor had gone, six men entered the house; I was seized, gagged, and carried off to a boat, and rowed away. They questioned me, but I was dumb; and then they kept me prisoner till two days back, when I escaped and came down here.”
“Then why were you not kept back from approaching me this time?” said the Resident, sternly.
“I know not, master, only that those who watched are gone. The place was full of Murad’s men before. Now they are not.”
“He is right,” said Hilton. “Murad has taken the alarm. He knows by his spies that the game is up.”
“Could you take us to this place?” said the Resident.
“I could; but I wish to live,” said the Malay. “I have a wife.”
“You mean that Murad’s people would slay you if you led us there?”
The Malay bowed.
“You may trust to the English power,” said the Resident, sternly. “If what you say be correct, Murad’s reign is at an end, and you may depend upon us for protection. Will you lead us to the place where this lady is shut up?”
“If the English chief will promise me protection.”
“You shall be protected,” said the Resident, quietly; “and you shall be well rewarded.”
The Malay bowed again.
“What do you think?” said the Resident, turning to Hilton, and speaking in French, to make sure that the Malay did not understand.
“I think the man is right, and I would take him for guide; but all the same, we know what these people are: it may only be a treacherous, misleading plan.”
“We must be well on the alert as to that,” replied the Resident. “I think the man is honest.”
“So do I,” said Chumbley, “for there is no temptation for him to have been otherwise.”
“Stay with those two men,” said the Resident, addressing the Malay; “we are going with an armed expedition directly, and you shall be our guide.”
The man was led away, and the Resident watched him intently as he went out.
“Yes, I think the Malay is honest,” he said quickly. “Are you fellows ready?”
“Yes; we only wait your orders,” replied Hilton. “I am fidgeting to be off.”
“There is much to be done first. Let us go now and see Perowne, I promised to communicate with him before we left. You have not seen him yet?”
“No.”
They walked down to the landing-place, where the Resident’s large boat was being well manned, and ammunition and rations for three or four days were being stored. There a small boat was waiting, and they were paddled across, to walk up to Mr Perowne’s, both Hilton and Chumbley starting, as they saluted the merchant, to see what a change his late troubles had wrought upon his personal appearance.
He shook hands with the officers in a quiet, grave way, and then stood looking in a vacant manner out of the window and across the lawn towards the river.
“We must not start without Bolter,” said the Resident, sharply, as if the idea had just crossed his mind. “Any news of him?”
“No,” said Hilton; “we have heard nothing; but are you sure that he has not returned?”
“He would not have returned without reporting himself,” replied the Resident, who, like Mr Perowne, seemed to have grown older and more hollow of cheek.
“I am quite ready to start,” said Mr Perowne, in an absent manner. “They tell me, Mr Hilton, you were seized that same night, and carried up the river. Are you sure that my Helen was not taken to the same place?”
“I am certain, Mr Perowne,” said Hilton, gravely. “The best answer to that is the presence of Mr Chumbley and myself. We should not have come away and left an English lady in such a situation.”
The Resident cast a keen, inquiring look at Hilton, and Mr Perowne went on feebly:
“No, no, of course not; but I thought I’d ask, Mr Hilton. I’ve had a deal of trouble lately; and my head is very bad.”
“Let us go across to the doctor’s,” said Mr Harley. “There is the chance of his being back. I really feel that, urgent as our necessities are, we must not start without him.”
“We ought to have him,” replied Hilton. “We are sure to have some wounded.”
“And wounds are awful in this climate, if not attended to at once.”
“Yes,” assented the Resident. “Will you come with us, Perowne?”
“No,” said that gentleman, dreamily. “I shall stay until the expedition starts.”
Mr Perowne seated himself upon a low stool, and buried his face in his hands, looking so utterly prostrate, that the Resident crossed to his side, bent down over him and whispered:
“For heaven’s sake, be hopeful! I am straining every nerve to get the expedition off!”
“But you are so long—so long!” moaned the wretched man.
“Do not you reproach me,” said Mr Harley. “Have some pity for my position. I am even now going beyond my tether in what I am doing; and I hardly dare take a party of men up in this jungle without a doctor with us! Perowne, on my honour, I am burning to go to Helen’s help; but I am tied down by red tape at every turn. You don’t know what such a position as mine really is!”
“Go and see if Bolter has come back,” said Mr Perowne, coldly.
“Yes,” said the Resident, to himself, “if not, we must go without him.”
The Resident turned away, beckoning Hilton to follow; and leaving Chumbley sitting with the stricken father, they went towards the doctor’s cottage.