The keys were not to be had, and to the astonishment of the peeping servants, the door of the dufta was taken off its hinges and Mr. Lepell and Salwey entered in the wake of two men in blue coats and red turbans—in other words, constables. The desk was opened, also the press. These did not yield much, but thanks to a hint from Abdul Buk, the rug was lifted, and the trap door laid bare. Everything necessary to incriminate Mrs. Chandos was found in this secret hiding-place. Their owner looked on in silence, but her pocket handkerchief was torn into rags, and in her eyes sat two devils. The bulk of the papers were carried into Mr. Chandos' smoking-room, and subsequently examined at leisure.
Yes, these were the books of "Saloo"; there were her webs, there were her flies. There were receipts, there were letters from Abdul Buk, replying to certain instructions; there were bags of rupees and notes, the ledgers disclosed receipts for very large sums invested in various ways. Mrs. Chandos had followed her effects with hysterical screams, precisely like some bird of prey whose nest had been robbed! Finally, she stood in the middle of the room, unashamed, furious—and at bay. Mr. Lepell, Salwey, Dominga and Verona were present, as well as poor old Mrs. Lopez, who cowered in a corner muttering to herself and weeping audibly.
When these proofs of guilt and rapacity, cruelty and avarice had been exposed, Mr. Chandos turned to his wife, and said in a shaky voice:
"So, for twenty years you have secretly carried on your father's trade. Whilst your children have lacked education and common necessaries, you have hoarded money and been the ruin of hundreds. And I thought, till to-day, that I was beyond the reach of shame! I thought that after long penance I might once more venture out and face the world. My cousin is dead and, as Mr. Lepell is aware, I have been summoned to England to take up my place there as head of the family. Since Nicky is gone, there is no heir to come after me; but for the sake of my girls I had almost decided to claim my own. This," turning fiercely on her, "I will never do now. Do you suppose I will put such a woman as you in my aunt's place? No, I will let my name be called across the seas in vain. I will live and die out here—an obscure Anglo-Indian."
At the name of Charne, and the news of her husband's succession to the property, Mrs. Chandos' face changed, her eyes lit up like beacons.
"Bah! you old guddah!" she cried, "these men have stuffed your head with silly nonsense; if I did take interest, what harm? I traded with my own money. As to Charne—since you are hanging back, I will go to England, and claim it for you."
From many years of terrible experience her husband knew that she invariably carried out her threats, and in a sudden transport of fear and fury he snatched the picture of Charne off the wall, smashed the glass, and destroyed the sketch.
"Idiot!" jeered his wife, "you will be sorry for that to-morrow. You have broken your fetish!"
"And these papers," he said, dragging a packet from a drawer, "are the proofs of my identity." He held them towards his wife, and then with a sudden, furious energy, tore them into shreds, and scattered them over the floor.
"Charne is only mine for life," he gasped breathlessly, "the place is strictly entailed. For the rest of my days I live here—because of you. I am sorry for the girls; and of all my children, I am most sorry for Verona."