But I still remained leaning over the gate, trying to face things and to realise the situation. I seemed to take no count of time; I felt as if I had been turned into a block of stone. If Ronnie could get the loan and pay the canteen money he would be relieved from an awful situation, though, from what I could gather, he would be obliged to leave the “Lighthearts.” (It was not a regiment in which a captain could exist upon his pay.) I would stay with him as long as possible, and see him through his trouble. He would probably exchange into the Indian Service and I would return home. That was the best side. On the other—the worst—supposing that Balthasar still remained hard as a stone? Ronnie would be tried by court martial and disgraced. I too would be disgraced and ruined socially. As for Brian Falkland, how could he marry a girl whose brother had been convicted of stealing? There must be an end to that, and I buried my face in my hands and rested my head upon the top bar of the gate. I believe I remained in this position for a long time, but at last I was disturbed by the ducks. They had disposed of their breakfast and were now quacking and waddling all round me, urgent that I should bestir myself and suffer them to pass forth.
CHAPTER XXII
PUNISHMENT
As I leant against the gate, with my head resting upon my arms, I felt bowed to the earth with abject misery and quaking fear. It was as if an impenetrable black cloud had suddenly descended on my life, and blotted out every gleam of hope and happiness. From this sort of hideous nightmare I was aroused not only by the ducks but also by a bugle call; the early-rising world of India would soon be afoot, and I wrenched myself back into the present actual moment and turned towards the bungalow, which faced a by-road. No one had noticed me so far, beyond a few passing market coolies and the tannyketch, whose affair it was to provide for the poultry.
As soon as I had entered my room I removed the revolver from its temporary hiding-place, and buried it in a large tub of hydrangeas that stood outside my door; then I threw off my dressing-gown and scrambled into bed. I usually rose early, and too soon Mary ayah would appear, bringing me tea and toast. Already I heard her anklets jingling, and feigned sleep. I endeavoured to make the pretence real, as a strenuous day and a dreadful ordeal lay before me, but I found it impossible to rest. My head seemed to throb and burn; I imagined I could feel it thumping on the pillow, and no wonder! My brain was racked in torture, striving to find some clear, straight road out of our difficulties—for Ronnie’s difficulties were mine. I lay thinking hard for nearly an hour, and then rose and felt considerably refreshed after my bath and breakfast. Ronnie had sent me a little note to say, “I expect to be on the ranges till four o’clock. He will be here about three.”
Evidently I would have to meet Balthasar alone. Perhaps after all it would be best. I spent the morning in making out a list of the contents of the bungalow in a long narrow bazaar book supplied by the cook. Pencil in hand, I carefully counted up our glass and china, our pictures, ornaments, furniture—even the very ducks—and in short everything available for “a sale,” for, of course, if Ronnie were now penniless, we must speedily shift our quarters.
All this business occupied my mind and kept me from thinking, yet now and then I was seized by a horrible sort of mental nausea. How was I to beg from Balthasar—to implore, to abase myself—and to succeed? As the dreadful hour approached my heart beat fast. Oh, how much I would have preferred to be about to face a surgical operation! However, I made a great effort to prepare for the ordeal and to look my best. I waved and re-dressed my hair, and selected a pretty pale blue summer muslin over silk far too smart for the occasion, but I knew it was becoming. As I looked in the glass I saw that my cheeks were unusually pink, my eyes unusually bright. Outwardly all was well; inwardly I was on the verge of a terrible outburst of tears, and tears were the last thing I must yield to, that was certain! Balthasar was not the sort of man who would be touched by these. I started violently as I heard the hoot of a motor, and rushed to my little medicine chest and fortified myself with a dose of sal volatile—a detestable expedient, but it might give me composure and courage—how badly I needed both!
When I entered the drawing-room our visitor was already in the veranda, and as he strutted in I instantly realised that here was the Balthasar of Silliram—truculent, overbearing and hateful.
“Is your brother here?” he asked, after our first greeting, rolling his eyes all over the room in search, no doubt, of Ronnie.
“No, he has been on the ranges all day,” I replied, “but I expect him home shortly.”
“He asked me to come and see him on most particular business.” Balthasar spoke with an injured air as he sat down and carefully hitched up the knees of his trousers. “Well, this is a nice affair,” he continued, “your brother has no doubt told you that he has been playing the very devil?”