"By purchasing it,—we don't receive stolen goods."
"Of course, I know that. The reason I ask is, that I gave it to a lady, and I'm sure it's the same."
"No doubt, and the lady sold it. If you wish, I can give you her name. She was staying at Hooper's Gardens; she said she did not care about the pattern, and accepted two hundred and fifty rupees."
Geoffrey bowed, and walked out of the shop, feeling surprisingly crestfallen; and all the way back to Panjeverram, he proved a silent companion. Somehow or other, after this discovery, the magic of Lena Villars lost its hold upon his memory.
He had now been a fortnight at the big bungalow, and was enrolled as one of the household, joined in all their games and interests con amore, and was even accepted by the fox-terrier, and Francis—who had ceased to regard him with an air of scornful disparagement.
It was much too hot for any exertion in the daytime, the heat was fierce, all nature seemed somnolent; even the sparrows were in retirement, and ugly flying foxes, hung torpid, and motionless in their hundreds, from the banyan trees. Of an evening, the Smith family revived. There were cards, puzzle games, and music on the gramophone; and Mrs. Dixon occasionally obliged with an Irish song; she had still a sweet haunting voice, and accompanied herself vigorously on the concertina. Subsequently there was family service,—an institution unfamiliar to Mallender. Major Rochfort read a chapter and some prayers to his household, which included Francis, Anthony and several Catholic servants,—and then the day for the young people was closed.
Although Mallender was adopted as one of the family, consulted about domestic affairs, domestic animals, and education, he did not intend to remain a fixture at the Nabob's House. On the contrary, he was in a condition of acute unrest; not only was he hoping for tidings from Jaffer and Co., but was pinning a certain amount of faith on Francis,—who according to his employer, had friends and relatives in all parts of the Presidency, and the details of every well-known, or even merely guessed at, scandal, or disappearance, at his finger-ends. It was a fact, that Francis and Anthony were laying their heads together, and elaborating a wonderful itinerary for Anthony's master.
One sweltering day just after tiffin, Mota brought in the dâk. She gave several letters to her father, and the Madras Mail to Geoffrey. After picking out the most interesting items of news, his eye fell casually on "Arrivals at Spencer's Hotel. Mrs. Rochfort and maid."
Could it be Rochfort's wife? He was about to draw attention to this announcement, when a glance at his friend restrained him. He was reading a letter; his colour had turned a greyish white, and great beads of perspiration rolled down his face.
"Good Lord, Mallender, she has come out! and I'm done!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "This letter, forwarded from the estate, is four days old. Sophy has been four days at Spencer's Hotel. Here—read it," and as he offered the letter, the paper rattled in his hand.