“The Rajah must, I am sure,” cried Mr Perowne, “be at the bottom of this terrible affair. Mr Harley!” he cried, passionately, “I can bear this no longer, and I insist—I demand of you, as one of her Majesty’s representatives—that you send troops up to the village at once!”
“I have thought of all this, Mr Perowne,” said the Resident, “but that would be a declaration of war, and I should not feel justified in taking such a step without authority from the Governor.”
“I do not care!” cried the father, frantically. “War or no war, I demand that, instead of waiting in this cold-blooded way, you have the place searched! This outrage must be due to the Rajah!”
There was a low hum of excitement in the room, as all eagerly watched for the Resident’s reply to what seemed to be, but was not—a just demand.
“I would gladly do as you wish, Mr Perowne,” he replied, “the more readily because it is what my heart prompts; but I must have some good grounds—stronger than mere suspicion—before I can do more than ask the aid of Murad, who is, as you know, a friendly Prince. Again, I must ask you to consider my position here, and my stringent instructions to keep on good terms with this Rajah. Recollect, sir, once again, to do what you propose would be interpreted by the Malays as an act of war. I have the whole community to study as well as your feelings, sir—as well,” he added, in a low voice, only heard by Grey Stuart, “as my own.”
“But my child—my child!” groaned Mr Perowne.
“I have done what I could, sir; sent messengers at once to Murad asking his aid, and whether any of his people can give us help.”
“You did not accuse him then?” said Mr Stuart.
“How could I, sir, on suspicion? No, I have done what is best.”
“But it is horrible!” cried Mr Perowne. “The thought of her being in the power of this unprincipled man is more than I can bear.”