A spasm crossed Chermside's face, and he dug the nails of his right hand into the palm as though he restrained some emotion with difficulty. "There was no time limit mentioned in my engagement with the Maharajah," he said hoarsely. "Nor did his Highness inform me that he had had my debts assigned to him. He gave me to understand that he had paid them."
Levison emitted a tantalizing laugh. "That's where the wily Hindoo had you on toast," he rejoined. "A wise precaution in case you should for any reason throw him over, as it begins to look as if you meant to. Your little affair with the lady seems to blow hot and cold, Mr. Chermside, which is why I'm pressing you a bit. Not that I'm 'ard-'earted by any means. Take till to-morrow night to think it over, and then, if you can give me a definite assurance that it will be all right in a week or so, I'll 'old my 'and."
Leslie Chermside breathed a sigh of relief. "Very well," he said, "by that time I may have news for you. Where shall we meet? It had better be somewhere where there is no risk of our being overheard."
The Jew glanced round the lonely landscape. Even at mid-day the marsh was deserted in favour of the superior attractions of the shore, the golf links, and the tennis field.
"We couldn't better this," he said. "There'll be a moon up, and there won't be a soul about at ten o'clock."
"That will suit excellently. I will meet you here at ten o'clock to-morrow night," replied Chermside. "And now as I am going on to lunch at the Manor House——"
"You will be glad to get rid of yours truly," Mr. Levison interrupted. "Righto! Mr. Chermside. I'll go back the way we came, hoping that you will enjoy a sumptuous meal, and afterwards get a chance to put in some vicarious courtship. So long."
He turned on his heel, waving a be-ringed hand of insanitary aspect, and Leslie Chermside strode forward along the grassy footpath. His brows were knitted in a frown, and from time to time he shook his broad shoulders as though to free himself from an influence that oppressed the natural vigour of his strong frame.
He was well aware that he stood at the parting of the ways, with the disadvantage of not knowing where either of the two roads open to him would lead, except that they pointed to dishonour and misery. It was nearly three months now since he had been summoned to the Maharajah's presence in the tawdry palace at Sindkhote, and had been offered by his employer a way of escape from the bonds that held him in exile, in a position little better than that of a tinselled head flunkey—an appanage of Bhagwan Singh's barbaric splendour.
The task set him had been revolting enough; it had filled him with loathing for the gross libertine who was his tempter; but, homesick for England and wretched in the miserable life he was leading, he had in reckless humour yielded, hating himself while doing so even more than the sardonic prince who was sending him home to England to commit such an outrage on an Englishwoman. After all, he had told himself, he didn't know the girl. Very likely she had brought her fate on herself by flirting with Bhagwan Singh in London. So he pledged himself to the foul errand, and sailed by the next mail-boat with a letter of introduction to Travers Nugent.