4
Not until they reached the hotel, until Chandra Lal flicked his whip and rolled away into the gloom, did either of the Englishmen speak.
"So you've known her before!" observed Kerth as they approached Trent's room.
Trent said, without surprise: "You heard?"
"Everything.... I'll drop over and find out about the Bombay trains; join you in a moment."
As Kerth moved toward the central building, Trent unlocked the door. After he switched on the light, his first act was to open his bag and insert his hand into the pocket where he had left the piece of coral. His fingers trembled, for he felt that he was questioning for the identity of Manlove's slayer; trembled—and groped in an empty pocket.
For several seconds he stood motionless, trying to adjust himself to the situation. When he came into full sentience, he looked carefully through the bag. He even searched his pockets. But the oval was not to be found.... Some one had entered his room; stolen it. The realization burned like acid into his brain. But if—
His mental inquest was cut short as a knock announced Kerth.
"Message for you," said the latter, extending a telegram.
Trent hastily tore it open; read:
"Party fitting description bought ticket for Mughal Sarai last night. Khansammah at dâk bungalow says she asked questions about you and Manlove. Following up clue. Nothing new. Urqhart."
A sense of disappointment smote him. First Chatterjee; then the oval; now this! A series of blind alleys.
He applied a match to the telegram and watched it burn.
"Train leaves in an hour and a half," Kerth volunteered, taking a seat and staring inquisitively at the ashes as they fluttered to the floor.
"How'd you suspect the wine?" Trent enquired, unbuttoning his tunic.
"It's my business to suspect. I emptied the cup under the divan and, afterwards, expected any minute to see it seeping out. As it is, I'm not sure she didn't smell a mouse. Gad! The way she pulled back my eyelids!"
Trent hung his tunic on a chair. "Don't object if I get comfortable, do you?" he asked. "Rather done up; awake all last night, you know."
Kerth waved his slim hand. "Go ahead; I'll have to pack up shortly." Then, as Trent undressed: "This Sarojini, she's a shrewd one, major, and I don't envy you the task of matching blades with her. However, you gained a point on her to-night. I was rather surprised that she gave in so easily; not so sure, either, that there isn't a trick in it." He laughed easily. "Oh, I'll wager she has a bag of tricks! And do you think she was telling the truth when she said Chavigny has nothing to do with this Order of the Falcon?"
Trent, stripped but for one garment, propped himself against two pillows, pencil and pad in hand.
"I'm sure I don't know," he returned, making a notation. "Pardon me for taking a few notes; 'fraid I'll forget 'em. No, don't go.... About Chavigny: why should she say he isn't, if he is?"
"To confuse you." Kerth drew out a silver cigarette case. "Have a smoke? And what d'you suppose she meant by saying the jewels could be spirited out of India under the protection of the S. S.?" Kerth searched from pocket to pocket for a match. "Have you a light, major?"
Trent's hand moved involuntarily to his side; then he motioned toward his tunic.
"In the pocket."
And he continued to write as Kerth reached into the pocket of his coat. He read the notes he had made:
Who the deuce would want the pendant? Answer: if a name is engraved inside, it would be very valuable to the owner. Yet the fact that the coral was found in M.'s hand doesn't prove conclusively that its owner is the murderer.
He looked up as Kerth extended a lighted match, took it and held it to his cheroot.
"Thanks"—briefly.
"Do you think," interrogated Kerth, "you could find her lair without a guide?"
Trent smiled. "Hardly."
"I'd take oath that her man, Chandra Lal, led us along the same street twice! Oh, she's a wily one! And the way she had us taken into the room while it was dark!"
He puffed on his cheroot and Trent continued to jot down notes.
"Furthermore," Kerth drawled, "why doesn't she want you to read those instructions until to-morrow? Some catch in it."
Conversation languished, and presently Kerth drew out his watch and observed: "Nearly midnight. I'll have to be moving on."
He rose and extended his hand.
"I'll take a room at a native serai in Bombay—for atmosphere—and meet you at the station. Until then, good luck!"
In the doorway he paused. He looked particularly satanic at that moment, and again Trent was not quite sure that he liked him.
"Bombay, major!" were his parting words. And the door closed behind him.
Trent stared at the blank panels for a moment; then, while he ran his fingers through his hair, he glanced over his notes:
Something queer about this Chavigny. May not belong to Order, but he's not to be overlooked. Last alias was Gilbert Leroux, Kerth said. Kerth is a downy bird. Gilbert Leroux. Names mean nothing. Sarojini took particular pains to empress it upon me that Chavigny is non compos mentis. Therefore, he isn't. He's something. What? And—Sarojini is a connection of the Nawab of Jehelumpore—the jewels of the Nawab were among those stolen. Find out if she was in Jehelumpore at time of theft.
Then he tore off the slip of paper, crumpled it and held a corner to his cheroot. When the blaze lapped up to his fingers he let the paper fall to the floor, then swung his feet over the edge of the bed and reached for his tunic. From the inside pocket he removed the long envelope Sarojini Nanjee had given him. It was sealed and its white surface invited inspection. He made a movement to open it; hesitated. Why not? As Kerth suggested, there might be a trick—and he knew only too well that she was not above chicanery. But he did not open it; slipped it under his pillow.
A glance at his wrist-watch. He procured his revolver; snapped open the breech; inspected the cartridges; clicked it shut; placed it beneath the pillow with the envelope. Then he switched off the light and lay with his cheroot's end glowing in the darkness.
The discovery of the symbol of the Order revealed another side to the mystery surrounding Manlove's death, and during the ride back to the hotel he had constructed a new theory—a theory that he reviewed now. The analogy between the Swaying Cobra and the woman of the cobra-bracelet did not escape him. One suggested the other. Surely it was plausible to surmise that Sarojini was the veiled woman, although he was at a loss to find a convincing motive for her presence at Gaya. However, Colonel Urqhart's telegram stated that the woman had made inquiries about him—and what other woman was interested? Further proof was offered by the fact that the mysterious woman left Gaya on the night of the tragedy for Mughal Sarai, the junction for Benares. Finally, there was the coral pendant-stone. Sarojini had called it the "symbol" of the Order; therefore, only a member of that mysterious band was likely to possess it, and had not she admitted she was a member? And the pendant-stone was stolen—evidently for the reason that engraved inside was the name of its owner. Sarojini was in Benares; it was logical to assume, then, that some one in her employ had entered his room and removed the condemning evidence.
But, on the other hand, there were elements to upset this theory. Clues indicated that Manlove was stabbed at the bungalow and carried to the temple-ruins. Could a woman do that? Under the stress of circumstances, yes. But why move the body—unless to hide it? Or had Manlove been mortally wounded at the house and gone of his own volition to the ruins before his death? Possible—but he could conjecture no cause for such action.
And there was Chatterjee. Since the receipt of the telegram telling of his death, Trent was of the opinion that the native knew something about the crime and for that reason was killed. Had Chatterjee gone to the bungalow that night, grief-crazed and believing Trent responsible for his child's death, to administer primitive justice? Had he witnessed the crime and fled? Of course, there was the possibility that Chatterjee's death might have been a coincidence—the termination of a quarrel between him and another native. Yet Trent was not inclined to lay great importance upon this, as he considered, meager explanation and his thoughts returned to the woman.
He could fix the guilt upon neither Sarojini Nanjee nor Chatterjee. Of the two, he least suspected the native. He knew the woman to be unscrupulous—whether to the point of murder he was uncertain. True, it may not have been deliberate murder. She might have gone to the bungalow for (again) a mysterious reason; might have been discovered by Manlove.... But the glove did not exactly fit. Nor had he any concrete reason to believe her the woman of the cobra-bracelet—or to believe the woman of the cobra-bracelet involved. That the latter had worn a heavy veil, surrounded her, in his eyes, with an aura of mystery. This he realized, and gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Nevertheless, the coral pendant linked Sarojini with the crime; suggested that even though she did not actually commit the deed, she was undoubtedly implicated.
All of which did not clear the mystery; instead, bewildered him the more and kept suspicion, like the needle of a compass, wavering between Chatterjee, Sarojini Nanjee, the woman of the cobra-bracelet (if she were not Sarojini) and a person unknown.
His cheroot had burned low, and he got up and flung it away, and made sure the door was secure before he returned to the bed; then he relaxed and lay staring up into the darkness—darkness that was hotter because of the thick mosquito-curtain—until he fell asleep.