'Yes,' answered Sir George, who had stopped his writing to admire his wife and think how happy and handsome she looked, and how glad he was for her sake that the strain and anxiety was over, as it seemed to be, 'it is rather curious how everything is falling into line. It is always the "first step" in India, of course, and so it was only to be expected that things would settle into march time after a bit. But Jehân Aziz's death and this finding of the pearls has disposed of that story, for Burkut Ali, the doctors say, isn't likely to live, and the girl is certainly a thief, whatever else she may be. And it disposes of the pestilent fellow who wrote that threatening letter also.' He paused. 'Then Kenyon was only telling me this morning what an extraordinary quieting effect that incident in Mai Kâli's temple has had. Of course, we haven't got to the bottom of it quite. No one will give evidence, because of the miracle; but the fact remains that the prophecy was fulfilled.'
'Then there is the bridge business,' said Grace thoughtfully. 'Has anything new cropped up?'
Sir George shook his head, then frowned. 'Not about that, beyond the fact that the engine-driver is quite certain he heard singing, and that of course points to the loafer Ellison; and as he was Davenant's foreman of works, the two were likely to be together. But--but,' he frowned again, and let his hand busy itself impatiently with a pile of papers, 'there is something else. You know, we wondered how the troops got here so soon. Well, there is something odd about the telegram. Times don't tally, and it seems another telegram was sent direct to the station to detain the up-mail, pending orders. It came in--"urgent"--just as the train was in, and the station-master--he is a native--got flurried and sent up, with the telegram we know about--at least I suppose so--to cantonments for further orders, when, of course, the commandant jumped at the chance. And now the station-master can't find the wire, isn't sure if it ever was written out, as he was in the telegraph-office at the time waiting for the up-signals. And there is no trace of it this end. Nothing but the telegraph--form I gave Kenyon to fill in, and which he sent to the railway-office. But there, again, the time doesn't tally with Kenyon's recollections, and though the order is identical the wording is slightly different, for he put in something about stopping the night-mail, which isn't in the wire the commandant received. That part seems to have been made into a separate order and construed into the up-mail. But that may be due to the baboos; a couple of greater fools never were. They seem to know nothing; especially the one here. Kenyon says the clocks may have been wrong; but I can't help wondering. Davenant seems to have known something, and he was seen at his works after dusk; if he had been another sort of fellow--but it is impossible! There isn't one Englishman in a thousand, let alone a native, who would take such a responsibility. I wouldn't, and I don't know any one who would; at any rate who would, and then keep quiet when it was successful--for it was! It made all the difference: as I've told Kenyon, he has the entire credit; but for him we should have had a row.'
'But if you hadn't given him the telegram----'
Sir George shook his head in honest obstinacy. 'I never meant it to be used; I didn't believe in the danger. As I told Mr. Raymond, he was right, and I was wrong; so that is an end of it, my dear.'
He seemed quite satisfied, especially when his wife stooped suddenly, and kissed the top of his head; though he wondered, as she left the room, if he was really getting a little bald! not so much because her lips had thrilled him, but because he was observant enough to have noticed that a partially bald head is provocative of wifely kissing. Still, even that evil had to be faced in the cause of empire, and so the honest gentleman took up his pen and continued the report of recent affairs which he was writing, and in which the credit of saving the situation was given unstintingly not to himself, but to others; for Sir George was a gentleman.
Grace, however, though she was a lady, and despite that kiss of approval, felt a trifle annoyed. It was very nice of George to minimise his part in the business; yet when all was said and done, he had consented to give the order--consented almost in defiance of the official programme. The more she thought of it, the more aggrieved she felt for him; and so, when she found Lesley alone in the school-room, she sought her sympathy, explained the whole position at great length, and wound up by the appeal--
'Now, do you see what right Mr. Kenyon has to all the credit?'
Lesley had so far managed to keep a calm sough without much difficulty; at the present moment, however, something seemed wrong with her work, for she was very busy with it at the window.
'No!' she said at last, 'I don't!' and then she repeated the remark with palpable resentment: 'Certainly not! He had nothing to do with it--nothing at all.'