"One would be glad to believe that you are right, Miss Boucicault," he said courteously. "If only the dastardly coward could be got hold of——"
"I believe I know who he is," she interrupted in a hard quick way, which was new to her. "Ayeshi, Major Tristram's servant, has disappeared. He had some money which the Rajah gave him for his education, and he has stolen it and gone. I saw him that night when he came and told us that father had been found. I saw blood on his hand."
Dr. Martin hesitated an instant, as though in two minds as to his answer. Finally he looked up with a professional twinkle.
"Feminine intuition again! Well, since you've got so far on your own, Miss Boucicault, I might as well tell you that your surmise is shared by others. I met Captain Compton at the dâk-bungalow, and he told me there's a hue and cry after this said Ayeshi. Only it's to be kept quiet. I understand the boy was a sort of protégé of Major Tristram's, and there's a general opinion that, unless it's necessary, the latter is not to be told. He's pretty weak still, and it's something of a shock to get one of your pet theories bowled over in that way."
Anne's eyes sank to her clasped hands.
"Is Major Tristram better?" she asked.
"Fine. Well round the corner. But I fancy it must have been touch and go with him. That fair-haired woman—Miss Fersen, isn't that the name?—seems to have fought every inch of the ground." He reflected pleasurably for a minute. "Well, that's the sort of nurse a man wants on his death-bed—a real fighter and worth looking at to boot—something to make life worth struggling for. Great dancer, isn't she? Well, I'm a sort of back-number that never catches up, and there's always a different star on the horizon when I get home on leave, and even then I only get a glimpse. My people hang out in a God-forsaken spot in Yorkshire." He rambled on for a time with a man's affable, crushing indifference as to whether his listeners are bored or otherwise, but finally, chilled by Mrs. Boucicault's enigmatic smile and Anne's white silence, he got up.
"Well, I'll be getting along to the club——"
Mrs. Boucicault remained seated.
"Would you spare me a minute, Dr. Martin? A little trouble of my own—a bruise, a mere nothing, still perhaps you would look at it. Anne, run away, would you?"