“We can all go up in the motor,” said Brian promptly, “it will take us there in five minutes. Please get in, Mrs. Hodson,” and he made room for her.
Without a second’s hesitation she accepted his offer, sat down beside me, and seized my hand. Then I knew for certain that the matter was serious; people invariably took me by the hand when tragedy was approaching.
“Tell me,” I whispered with dry lips.
“We have been searching for you since three o’clock. There was a bad outbreak this afternoon in your brother’s ward. Several notorious characters fell upon others with whom they had a blood feud; they fought with their spades and mallets, and one powerful brute, a Moplah, wrenched off his irons and battered a warder to death. Your brother fought like ten heroes—so much for an English gentleman! Finally he overpowered the ringleader, but a cowardly blow on the back of his head struck him to the ground at the very moment when the riot was quelled. I am afraid Captain Lingard is badly hurt; he is in the infirmary, and besides the jail doctor we have sent for the civil surgeon. All that is possible has been done. He has a fine constitution and may recover—while there is life, there is hope.” She paused for breath and added, inconsequently: “I am thankful that Captain Falkland is here.”
For my own part I felt so utterly crushed that I was speechless. A five minutes’ run had brought us to the jail, and at the entrance we were met by Mr. Hodson. We followed him in dead silence into the infirmary, and there, on a low cot behind a screen, we found Ronnie. One glance was sufficient to tell me that he had received his death blow. He would very soon be free!
Two doctors were with him, a half-caste nurse was hovering about, and the chaplain had been summoned. Yes, these good kind people had done all that was possible. I could see by his eyes that Ronnie recognised me; with an effort he said, in a strange, far-away voice: “It’s the order of release, Sis—and the best way out of it.”
“No, no, Ronnie, don’t say that,” I protested as I sank on my knees beside him.
“Yes,” he continued faintly, “I’ve nothing to live for; nothing to leave—not even a name. Don’t put it on the stone—and nothing to wish for”; with a feeble gesture he beckoned to Brian, and laid my hand in his; in a scarcely audible whisper, he added, “but this.”
Then he slowly closed his eyes and relapsed into unconsciousness. Within half an hour the unfortunate soul of Ronald Lingard had effected its escape.
We heard full details of the outbreak and of Ronnie’s heroic courage and exertions; how he and two or three convicts and one warder held the whole gang at bay, and how by desperate gallantry he had saved the lives of two venerable Brahmans from Conjeveram, forfeiting his own in the effort.