“What are we to do?” he cried in despair. “It’s not for myself—God knows it’s not for myself—but those poor women!”
Georgia’s face rose up before him—not an uncommon occurrence in these days—and he ground his teeth as he remembered the dead man’s warning. He was powerless, and he knew it. What could four Englishmen, with Kustendjian and the little handful of native servants, do against a whole nation? How could they defend the helpless women who had come to Kubbet-ul-Haj trusting in their protection?
“At any rate,” said Dick, clenching his fist involuntarily, “if they strike at her they shall strike me first!”
Presently Stratford came back with Sir Dugald, to whom he had explained hastily the doctor’s suspicions of the night before. Sir Dugald’s arrival and his immediate grasp of the situation did something to lessen the tension in the minds of the two younger men, an effect which was enhanced by the prompt and decisive orders which he proceeded to give.
“I shall send you to the Palace with Kustendjian, Stratford, to tell the King exactly what has happened, and to insist that it shall be inquired into immediately. There is no such thing as an inquest here, of course, but I suppose we had better leave the body for the present as you found it, in case they send some one to see how things were.”
“But what about punishing the murderers, sir?” asked Dick, eagerly.
“Who are the murderers?” responded Sir Dugald.
“What is your opinion, sir?”
“My opinion is the same as yours and Stratford’s—that poor Headlam was poisoned at Fath-ud-Din’s dinner; but you must see for yourself that it is absolutely impossible for us to prove it. Fath-ud-Din will say that the servants murdered their master in order to steal his property. Why otherwise should they have looted the place and decamped?”
“Because they were afraid of being suspected,” suggested Dick.