“But sure they are all dead against Shahbaz!”
“That’s merely another proof of the man’s cunning. Bayard has persuaded himself that Shahbaz is so steeped in plots he can’t eat his pillau without some ulterior object, while his poor simple brother and nephews, beguiled by his subtlety, are innocent lambs asking to be shorn. Lambs, indeed! much more like wolves, they look to other people.”
“Then you think there’s danger?” Eveleen’s eyes were sparkling.
“I do think so, and I’ll tell you why. Perhaps it will make you more contented to stay indoors, as you are told. The city is swarming with Arabits, whose demeanour is as uncivil as they dare, though for the moment they are held in check. Through some extraordinary blindness, Bayard don’t see them—as a danger, at any rate. Not an armed man in the streets, he writes to the General. They all have their swords and shields—what does he expect of ’em? muskets and revolving pistols? Their matchlocks are close at hand, I haven’t a doubt. And all our spies bring in word of fresh bands—either concealed at a convenient distance from the city, or pressing towards it from all quarters. Kamal-ud-din alone, they say, has assembled ten thousand men, and is approaching by forced marches. And here are we allowing ourselves to be played with, while precious time—every day of which augments the Arabit hosts—is lost!”
“Now I wonder why wouldn’t you tell Bayard that?” asked Eveleen curiously.
“Do you think I haven’t?” he laughed shortly. “I try to bring the reports to his notice, but he has no eye for ’em—too much engrossed with the unmerited sufferings of that crew at the Fort. I wonder what will be their next expedient for gaining time? He will allow himself to be taken in by it, I’ll wager, through sheer remorse at having conquered ’em so far!”
But perhaps the Khans thought their hold on Colonel Bayard was wearing a little thin. At any rate, their next step was taken entirely without his assistance. When he opened his desk in the morning, that he might take the draft treaty with him to the Fort, the treaty was gone—without any sign of violence, or even the forcing of the lock. In this the thieves had overreached themselves. There were only two keys to the desk, one of which was in Colonel Bayard’s own possession, the other in that of his Munshi. The Munshi was a Qadirabad man, and had returned to his home there when his employer left Khemistan for Bombay, so that the Khans had had some three months in which to exert upon him the various methods of persuasion in which they excelled. Arrested promptly, he was so grievously surprised and terrified that he made a full confession. For a handsome consideration, he had unlocked the desk in the night and turned his back for a moment, then locked the desk again, having seen and heard nothing. That was all he knew, but the work had all to be done again.
For once, however, Colonel Bayard refused to take the part of his gentle protégés. To corrupt his servant and break into his house, that they might destroy the draft they had signed of their own free will, was too much even for him. The treaty was gone, but in durbar that day he took a high tone which brought the Khans to heel like whipped dogs. They apologised piteously for the misdeed of some unnamed retainer, who had been led away by the hope of helping his masters to bribe the Munshi and steal and destroy the paper. They had known nothing of the crime, they declared, and to prove it they would set their seals the very next day to the treaty itself—not a mere draft this time, but the whole of Lord Maryport’s requirements. Having made this tremendous concession, it would not have been the Khans if they had not promptly endeavoured to nullify it by demanding that Gul Ali should have the Turban restored to him; otherwise, they said, it was quite unnecessary to make a new treaty, since they had never broken the old one. But Colonel Bayard was still sufficiently disgusted and disillusioned to reply with a curt negative, and returned with his staff to the Residency through streets ominously filled with a sullen throng, who surged up to the very horses of the escort, and muttered curses on the Farangis.
When they went to the Fort the next day, there was not a man of the Mission who did not feel doubtful whether he would ever return. The crowds in the streets were larger and more menacing, and it was with the utmost difficulty that a passage was forced through them. The demeanour of the guards and attendants showed a scarcely veiled insolence, and round the walls of the audience-chamber were ranged a small army of wild-looking Arabits, armed to the teeth. After their long acquaintance, the Khans ought to have known Colonel Bayard better, for this suggestion of physical force was the one thing needed to stiffen his temper. He refused even to enter the durbar-hall till the additional guards were withdrawn, and declined to be placated by the suggestion that they were there to do honour to the treaty. The Khans were evidently flurried by his coldness, and affixed their seals in some haste, Gul Ali only pausing to remark in heartrending tones that he had laid his life and honour and everything he had at the feet of the British, and they had taken it all away. Colonel Bayard’s generous heart responded instantly to the plaint of ill-usage, and he spoke impulsively. He could do nothing in the matter of the Turban—he only wished he could—but he would beg Sir Henry Lennox to visit Qadirabad and hear what the Khans had to say, in the hope that he might accord as an act of grace what could not be given as a right.
The effect of his hasty speech was electrical. The Khans broke into radiant smiles, and Khair Husain modestly expressed their unworthiness to welcome the shining presence of the Bahadar Jang. His gestures were so emphatic as almost to seem extravagant, and Brian, by a meaning look, directed his brother-in-law’s attention to a slight confusion among the servants at the door. The trays of sherbet were just being brought in, which were the signal for the conclusion of the interview, and as far as the two men, watching without appearing to do so, could see, they were hastily carried out again and then brought in a second time—or possibly others substituted. What was the reason? Poison was the first thought in the minds of both, and it seemed as though it was also in that of Khair Husain, for in a rather marked way he drank from his cup first, and then passed it to Colonel Bayard. The Englishman had seen nothing of the by-play, and accepted the honour as a mere graceful compliment, but it seemed to Richard and Brian that Khair Husain directed an eye towards them as he drank. When they left the audience-chamber, they were surprised to find a band of Arabit horsemen drawn up facing their own troopers. Little Hafiz Ullah Khan, the youngest of the princely family, who was escorting them to the gate, explained volubly—