"No, madam, but I will ride to the next station and endeavour to procure one," replied the crafty little man. Then turning to the ayah, said, "I should have been called in sooner. The Sahib must be sent for without delay," and after leaving a few instructions, left the room. He knew that death must soon ensue, and was determined to be absent on Sir Lexicon's arrival under the pretence of doing all in his power to procure European medical assistance. As he passed through the women's apartment he said to them, "I am going for a European doctor. Of course, I shall not find one. You understand? You have done your work completely. She will die at sunset. You had better send for a missionary or priest, and have her buried as soon as possible. Let the grave be dug under the palm trees, on the south side of the plantation, and have all done decently and in order, and the master will attach no blame to any one or have any suspicion that foul play has been used, then you can easily persuade him to allow the body to remain there."
The native doctor was right. The unhappy woman never saw the rising of another sun, and in the white sands, beneath the waving palms, where the hyena prowled and the wild jackall barked hoarsely through the night, lies the mortal remains of this ambitious woman, who thus fell a victim to the jealous and revengeful passions of those by whom she had been surrounded by her unscrupulous husband.
The third day after the ball, Captain Snaffle again presented himself at Lady Chutny's bungalow, and was informed that her ladyship had left town, and would, in all probability be absent some weeks. The fashionable world was in a great commotion at this unexpected event. They could not understand it. To leave town at the height of the season, and just as she had achieved so great a triumph as her last ball was allowed to be, it was quite inexplicable. It was talked of, canvassed over, and commented upon, at the band stand, race course, conversaziones, and mess room, for several days, and, in fact, until the mystery was cleared up by a startling denouement.
"I say, Snaffle, old fellow, who the deuce is she? You know, or I am much mistaken. I saw you making great play, and coming it rather heavy with her on the night of the ball. I watched you both for some time. You two have met before under different circumstances. I wager my chestnut mare against your bay colt that I am right. Will you say done?" and Harry Racer, of the Fusiliers, here produced his book in hopes of entering a bet.
"Not quite so fast Racer, my boy. There is no mystery in the matter, no subject for a wager. We have met before, I knew it while talking to her, but could not remember where. I recollect all now. Whether she recognized me or not, I cannot tell. She is a very clever woman. If you will say nothing about it, I will tell you all I know."
"Not I! not I," replied Racer, half despondingly at the prospect of being able to enter a wager in his betting book disappearing.
"Well then," continued Snaffle, "she was a Mrs. Fraudhurst, a widow governess and companion to a rich heiress, niece of Sir Jasper Coleman of Vellenaux in Devonshire. How she got out here, and in what way she managed to hook Sir Lexicon, I cannot imagine, but I will find it all out at our next interview, depend upon it."
"Stop! By Jupiter! Did you say governess, Baronet, name Coleman, place, Vellenaux, Devonshire? Here's a go! Not a word. Here, Ramsammy, bring the fyle of English newspapers from the library, quick." The papers were handed to him, and, selecting Bell's Life, Harry Racer commenced reading the following paragraph:—
"Frightful railway accident. Death of Sir Ralph Coleman of Vellenaux,
Devonshire. Startling disclosures. Stolen Will. Heiress defrauded.
Flight from the country of accomplice, the family governess. Full
particulars in our next issue."
"That's her, the planter's lady. Large as life and twice as natural. The thing is as clear as mud in a wine glass. All plain and smooth as a three mile course. The mystery is solved. She recognized you at the ball, saw that you were mystified, but would, doubtless, remember her if you met again. You call the next morning. She refuses to see you on the plea of indisposition. Takes the alarm, bolts off the course, and makes for the open country, where she, doubtless, intends to remain until she hears that you are safe on your road to Secunderabad; and now, old fellow, what are you going to do? There is money to be made out of this matter if you are not too squeamish," and here Racer tipped a knowing wink to his friend of the Lancers.