“You will pursue them?” continued the Rajah. “Tell me, by your laws do you kill this man for what he has done?”
“We do not think there is any need of pursuit, sir,” replied Mr Harley, quietly; “we fear that there has been an accident.”
“I have brought down two nagas, and two smaller boats,” cried the Rajah, eagerly. “There are a hundred of my people waiting. Shall I send them to follow, or will you give them your commands? They are your slaves until this is done.”
The Resident stood thinking for a minute or two, and the Rajah turned from him impatiently.
“We lose time!” he cried, angrily. “Mr Perowne, you do not speak. Tell me—you are her father—what shall I do?”
Mr Perowne held out his hand, which the Rajah seized.
“Thank you, Rajah,” he said simply; “but we must be guided by wisdom in what we do. Mr Harley will speak directly. He is trying to help us. I cannot say more,” he faltered. “I am crushed and helpless under this blow.”
“Tut, mon! don’t give way!” whispered old Stuart, going to his side. “Keep a stout hairt and all will be well.”
A couple of hours of indecision passed away, for the coming of the Rajah had thrown them off the track. They had had one scent to follow, and, however blindly, they were about to attempt it, but were now thrown back upon two other lines—the one being the suggestion of an accident; the other of elopement.
The hot day was wearing on, and the boatmen were returning boat by boat, but without the slightest information, not even a vague suggestion upon which hope could be hung. Still, nothing more had been done—nothing seemed possible under the circumstances; and a general feeling of despondency was gathering over the little community, when a new suspicion dawned in the Resident’s mind, and he blamed himself for not having thought of it before.