The Bronze Bell

by Louis Joseph Vance

  CHAPTER V

  THE GOBLIN NIGHT

  Amber whistled low. "Impossible!" he said thoughtfully.

  Rutton had crossed to and was bending over a small leather trunk thatstood in one corner of the room. In the act of opening it, he glancedover his shoulder. "What?" he demanded sharply.

  "I was only thinking; there's something I can't see through in thatbabu's willingness to go."

  "He was afraid to stay."

  "Why?"

  Rutton, rummaging in the trunk, made no reply. After a moment Amberresumed.

  "You know what Bengalis are; that fellow'd do anything, brave anyordinary danger, rather than try to cross that sandbar again--if hereally came that way; which I am inclined to doubt. On the other hand,he's intelligent enough to know that a night like this in the duneswould kill him. Well, what then?"

  Rutton was not listening. As Amber concluded he seemed to find what hehad been seeking, thrust it hurriedly into the breast-pocket of hiscoat, and with a muttered word, unintelligible, dashed to the door andflung it open and himself out.

  With a shriek of demoniac glee the wind entered into and tookpossession of the room. A cloud of snow swept across the floor like aveil. The door battered against the wall as if trying to break it down.A pile of newspapers was swept from the table and scattered to the fourcorners of the room. The rug lifted beneath the table and flappedagainst it like a broken wing. The cheap tin kerosene lamp jumped asthough caught up by a hand; its flame leapt high and blue above thechimney--and was not. In darkness but for the fitful flare of the firethat had been dying in embers on the hearth, Amber, seeking thedoorway, fell over a chair, blundered flat into the wall, and stumbledunexpectedly out of the house.

  His concern was all for Rutton; he had no other thought. He ran alittle way down the hollow, heartsick with horror and cold with dread.Then he paused, bewildered. Other than the wan glimmer of the snow-cladearth he had no light to guide him; with this poor aid he could see nomore than that the vale was deserted. Whither in that white whirlingworld Rutton might have wandered, it was impossible to surmise. Indespair the Virginian turned back.

  When he had found his way to the door of the cabin, it was closed; ashe entered and shut it behind him, a match flared and expired in themiddle of the room, and a man cursed brokenly.

  "Rutton?" cried Amber in a flush of hope.

  "Is that you, Mr. Amber? Thank Gawd! Wyte a minute."

  A second match spluttered, its flame waxing in the pink cup ofDoggott's hands. The servant's head and shoulders stood out in dimrelief against the darkness.

  "I've burnt me 'and somethin' 'orrid on this damn' 'ot chimney," hecomplained nervously.

  He succeeded in setting fire to the wick. The light showed him barefootand shivering in shirt and trousers. He lifted a bemused red face toAmber, blinking and nursing his scorched hand. "For pity's syke, sir,w'at's 'appened?"

  "It's hard to say," replied Amber vaguely, preoccupied. He wentimmediately to a window and stood there, looking out.

  "But w'ere's Mr. Rutton, sir?"

  "Gone--out there--I don't know just where." Amber moved back to thetable. "You see, he had a caller."

  "A caller, sir--on a night like this?"

  "The man he came here to hide from," said Amber.

  "I knew 'e was tryin' to dodge somethin', sir; but 'e never told meaught about it. What kind of a person was 'e, sir, and what made Mr.Rutton go aw'y with 'im?"

  "He didn't; he went after him to...." Amber caught his tongue on theverge of an indiscretion; no matter what his fears, they were not yetbecome a suitable subject for discussion with Rutton's servant. "Ithink," he amended lamely, "he had forgotten something."

  "And 'e's out there now! My Gawd, what a night!" He hung in hesitationfor a little. "Did 'e wear 'is topcoat and 'at, sir?"

  "No; he went suddenly. I don't think he intended to be gone long."

  "I'd better go after 'im, then. 'E'll 'ave pneumonia ... I'll just jumpinto me clothes and--" He slipped into the back room, to reappear withsurprisingly little delay, fully dressed and buttoning a long ulsterround his throat. "You didn't 'appen to notice which w'y 'e went, sir?"

  "As well as I could judge, to the east."

  Doggott took down a second ulster and a cap from pegs in the wall."I'll do my best to find 'im; 'e might lose 'imself, you know, with nolight nor nothin'."

  "And you?"

  "I'll be all right; I'll follow 'is footprints in the snow. I've a'andy little electric bull's-eye to 'elp me, in my pocket."

  "Are you armed, Doggott?"

  "By Mr. Rutton's orders, sir, I've carried a revolver for years. Youaren't thinkin' it's come to that, sir?"

  "I don't know.... If I was sure I wouldn't let you go alone," saidAmber, frowning. "It's only that Mr. Rutton may not want me about ... Iwish I knew!"

  "It'll be better, sir, for you to stay and keep the fire up--if youdon't mind my makin' so free as to advise--in case 'e's 'arf-froze when'e gets back, as is likely. But I'd better 'urry, 'specially if...."Doggott's color faded a little and his mouth tightened. "But I 'opeyou're mistyken, sir. Good-night."

  The door slammed behind him.

  Alone, and a prey to misgivings he scarce dared name to himself, Amberfrom the window watched the blot of light from Doggott's handlamp fadeand vanish in the storm; then, becoming sensible to the cold, went tothe fireplace, kicked the embers together until they blazed, and piledon more fuel.

  A cosy, crackling sound began to be audible in the room; sibilant jetsof flame, scarlet, yellow, violet, and green, spurted up from thedriftwood. Under the hypnotic influence of the comforting warmth,weariness descended upon Amber like a burden; he was afraid to closehis eyes or to sit down, lest sleep should overcome him for all hisintense excitement and anxiety. He forced himself to move steadilyround the room, struggling against a feeling that all that he hadwitnessed must have been untrue, an evil dream, akin to the wakingvisions that had beset him between the loss of Quain and the finding ofRutton. The very mediocrity of the surroundings seemed to discredit thetestimony of his wits.

  Unmistakably a camp erected for its owners' convenience during thehunting season, alike in design and furnishing the cabin was almostpainfully crude and homely. The walls were of rough-hewn logs fromwhich the bark had not been removed; the interstices were stopped onlywith coarse plaster; the partition dividing it into two rooms was ofpine, unpainted. In one corner near Rutton's trunk, a bed-hammock swungfrom a beam. The few chairs were plain and rude. There were two dealtables, a plate-rack nailed to the partition, and a wall-seat in thechimney-corner. On the centre table, aside from the lamp, were a coupleof books, some out-of-date magazines, and a common tin alarm-clockticking stolidly.

  In a setting so hopelessly commonplace and everyday, one act of a dramaof blood and fire had been played; into these mean premises the breathof the storm, as the babu entered, had blown Romance.... Incredible!

  And yet Amber's hand, dropping idly in his coat-pocket, encountered apriceless witness to the reality of what had passed. Frowning,troubled, he drew forth the ring and slipped it upon his finger; raysof blinding emerald light coruscated from it, dazzling him. With a lowcry of wonder he took it to the lamplight. Never had he looked upon sofine a stone, so strangely cut.

  It was set in ruddy soft gold, worked and graven with exquisite art inthe semblance of a two-headed cobra; inside the band was an inscriptionso worn and faint that Amber experienced some difficulty in decipheringthe word RAO (king) in Devanagari, flanked by swastikas. Aside from thestone entirely, he speculated, the value of the ring as an antiquewould have proven inestimable. As for the emerald itself, in itsoriginal state, before cutting, it must have been worth the ransom ofan emperor; much had certainly been sacrificed to fashion it in itspresent form. The cunning of a jewel-cutter whose art was lost beforeTyre and Nineveh upreared their heads must have been taxed by the task.Its innumerable facets reproduced with wonderful fidelity a humaneyeball, unwinking, sleepless. In the enigmatic heart o
f itsimpenetrable iris cold fire lived, cold passionless flames leaped anddied and leaped again like the sorcerous fire of a pythoness.

  To gaze into its depths was like questioning the inscrutable greenheart of the sea. Fascinated, Amber felt his consciousness slip fromhim as a mantle might slip from his shoulders; awake, staring wide-eyedinto the emerald eye, he forgot self, forgot the world, and dreamed,dreamed curiously....

  The crash of the door closing behind him brought him to the right-aboutin a panic flutter. He glared stupidly for a time before comprehendingthat Rutton and Doggott had returned. How long they had been absent hehad no means of reckoning; the interval might have been five minutes oran hour in duration. The time since he had stooped to examine the ringwas as indefinite; but his back was aching and his thoughts were drowsyand confused. He had a sensation as of being violently recalled to adull and colourless world from some far realm of barbaric enchantment.His brain reeled and his vision was blurred as if by the flash andglamour of many vivid colours.

  With an effort he managed to force himself to understand that Ruttonwas back. After that he felt more normal. His thoughts slid back intotheir accustomed grooves.

  If there were anything peculiar in his manner, Rutton did not remarkit. Indeed, he seemed unconscious, for a time, of the presence eitherof Amber or of Doggott. The servant relieved him of his overcoat andhat, and he strode directly to the fire, bending over to chafe and warmhis frost-nipped hands. Unquestionably he laboured under the influenceof an extraordinary agitation. His limbs twitched and jerked nervously;his eyebrows were tensely elevated, his eyes blazing, his nostrilsdilated; his face was ashen grey.

  From across the room Doggott signalled silence to Amber, with aforefinger to his lips; and with a discretion bred of long knowledge ofhis master's temper, tiptoed through into the back room and shut thedoor.

  Amber respected the admonition throughout a wait that seemed endless.

  The tin clock hammered off five minutes or more. Suddenly Ruttonstarted and wheeled round, every trace of excitement smoothed away.Meeting Amber's gaze he nodded as if casually, and said, "Oh, Amber,"quietly, with an effect of faint surprise. Then he dropped heavily intoa chair by the table.

  "Well," he said slowly, "that is over."

  Amber, without speaking, went to his side and touched his shoulder withthat pitifully inadequate gesture of sympathy which men so frequentlyemploy.

  "I killed him," said Rutton dully.

  "Yes," replied Amber. He was not surprised; he had apprehended thetragedy from the moment that Rutton had fled him, speechless; thefeeling of horror that he had at first experienced had ebbed, mergedinto a sort of apathetic acknowledgment of the inevitable.

  After a bit Rutton turned to the table and drew an automatic pistolfrom his pocket, opening the magazine. Five cartridges remained in theclip, showing that two had been exploded. "I was not sure," he saidthoughtfully, "how many times I had fired." His curiosity satisfied, hereloaded the weapon and returned it to his pocket. "He died like adog," he said, "whimpering and blaspheming in the face of eternity ...out there in the cold and the night.... It was sickening--the sound ofthe bullets tearing through his flesh...."

  He shuddered.

  "Didn't he resist?" Amber asked involuntarily.

  "He tried to. I let him pop away with his revolver until it was empty.Then...."

  "What made you wait?"

  "I didn't care; it didn't matter. One of us had to die to-night; heshould have known that when I refused to accompany him back to ... Iwas hungry for his bullet more than for his life; I gave him everychance. But it had to be as it was. That was Fate. Now...." He pausedand after a little went on in a more controlled voice. "Quaintlyenough, if there's anything in the theory of heredity, David, my handshave been stained with no man's blood before to-night. Yet my forebearswere a murderous lot.... Until this hour I never realised how swift anduncontrollable could be the impulse to slay...."

  His voice trailed off into silence and he sat staring into theflickering flames that played about the driftwood. Now and again hislips moved noiselessly.

  With a wrench Amber pulled himself together. He had been mentally awitness to the murder--had seen the Bengali, obese, monstrous, flabby,his unclean carcass a gross casing for a dark spirit of iniquity andtreachery, writhing and whining in the throes of death.... "Rutton," hedemanded suddenly, without premeditation, "what are you going to do?"

  "Do?" Rutton looked up, his eyes perplexed.

  "Why, what is there to do? Get away as best I can, I presume--seekanother hole to hide in."

  "But how about the law?"

  "The law? Why need it ever be known--what has happened to-night? I cancount on your silence--I have no need to ask. Doggott would die ratherthan betray me. He and I can dispose of--it. No one comes here at thistime of the year save hunting parties; and their eyes are not upon theground. You will go your way in the morning. We'll clear outimmediately after."

  "You'd better take no chances."

  Suddenly Rutton smote the table with his fist. "By Indur!" he sworestrangely, his voice quavering with joy; "I had not thought of that!"He jumped up and began to move excitedly to and fro. "I am free! Nonebut you and I know of the passing of the Token and the delivery of themessage--none can possibly know for days, perhaps weeks. For so muchtime at least I am in no danger of--"

  He shut his mouth like a trap on words that might have enlightenedAmber.

  "Of what?"

  "Let me see: there are still waste places in the world where a man maylose himself. There's Canada--the Hudson Bay region, Labrador...."

  A discreet knock sounded on the door in the partition, and it wasopened gently. Doggott appeared on the threshold, pale and careworn.Rutton paused, facing him.

  "Well?"

  "Any orders, sir?"

  "Yes; begin packing up. We leave to-morrow."

  "Very good, sir."

  "That is all to-night."

  "Yes, sir. Good-night. Good-night, Mr. Amber." The man retired and atintervals thereafter Amber could hear him moving about, apparentlyobeying orders.

  Rutton replenished the fire and stood with his back to it, smilingalmost happily. All evidence of remorse had disappeared. He seemedmomentarily almost light-hearted, certainly in better spirits than hehad been at any time that night. "Free!" he cried softly. "And by thesimplest of solutions. Strange that I should never have thought beforeto-night of--" He glanced carelessly toward the window; and it was asif his lips had been wiped clean of speech.

  Amber turned, thrilling, his flesh creeping with the horror that he haddivined in Rutton's transfixed gaze.

  Outside the glass, that was lightly silvered with frost, somethingmoved--the spectral shadow of a turbaned head--moved and was stationaryfor the space of twenty heartbeats. Beneath the turban Amber seemed tosee two eyes, wide staring and terribly alight.

  "God!" cried Rutton thickly, jerking forth his pistol.

  The shadow vanished.

  With a single thought Amber sprang upon Rutton, snatched the weaponfrom his nerveless fingers, and, leaping to the door, let himself out.

  The snow had ceased; only the wind raved with untempered force.Overhead it was blowing clear; through rifts and rents in thefast-moving cloud-rack pale turquoise patches of moonlit sky showed,here and there inlaid with a far shining star. The dunes were coldlya-glimmer with the meagre light that penetrated to the earth and wascast back by its white and spotless shroud.

  But Amber, at pause a few paces beyond the doorstep, his forefingerready upon the trigger of the automatic pistol, was alone in thehollow.

  Cautiously, and, to be frank, a bit dismayed, he made a reconnaissance,circling the building, but discovered nothing to reward his pains. Thesnow lay unbroken except in front of the cabin, where the traces offeet existed in profuse confusion; Amber himself, Rutton, Doggott, thebabu, and perhaps another, had passed and repassed there; the trailthey had beaten streamed out of the vale, to the eastwards. Only,before the window, through whi
ch he had seen the peering turbaned head,he found the impressions of two feet, rather deep and definite, toespointing toward the house, as though some one had lingered there,looking in. The sight of them reassured him ridiculously.

  "At least," he reflected, "disembodied spirits leave no footprints!"

  He found Rutton precisely as he had left him, his very attitude anunuttered question.

  "No," Amber told him, "he'd made a quick getaway. The marks of his feetwere plain enough, outside the window, but he was gone, and ... somehowI wasn't over-keen to follow him up."

  "Right," said the elder man dejectedly. "I might have known Chatterjiwould not have come alone. So my crime was futile." He spoke withoutspirit, as if completely fagged, and moved slowly to the door. "I don'twant another interruption to-night," he continued, shooting the bolts.He turned to the windows, "Nor peeping Toms," he added, drawing theshade of one down to the sill.

  Amber started for him in a panic. "Get away from that window, Rutton!For the love of heaven don't be foolhardy!"

  Rutton drew the second shade deliberately. "Dear boy!" he said with hisslow, tired smile, "I'm in no danger personally. Not a hair of my headwill be touched until...." Again he left his thought half-expressed.

  "But if that fellow out there was Chatterji's companion----!"

  "He undoubtedly was. But you don't understand; my life is notthreatened--yet."

  "Chatterji fired at you," Amber argued stubbornly.

  "Only when he found it was his life or mine. I tell you, David, if ourenemy in the outer darkness were the babu's brother, he would not toucha hair of my head unless in self-defense."

  "I don't understand. It's all so impossible!" Amber threw out his handshelplessly, "Unbelievable! For God's sake wake me up and tell me I'vehad a nightmare!"

  "I would that were so, David. But the end is not yet."

  "What do you mean by that?" demanded Amber, startled.

  "Simply, that we have more to endure, you and I. Consider thelimitations of the human understanding, David; a little while ago Ipromised to ask your aid if ever the time should come when I might befree to do so; I said, 'That hour will never strike.' Yet already it ishere; I need you. Will you help me?"

  "You know that."

  "I know.... One moment's patience, David." Rutton glanced at the clock."Time for my medicine," he said; "that heart trouble I mentioned...."

  He drew from a waistcoat pocket a small silver tube, or phial, anduncorking this, measured out a certain number of drops into a silverspoon. As he swallowed the dose the phial slipped from his fingers andrang upon the hearthstone, spilling its contents in the ashes. Apungent and heady odour flavoured the air.

  "No matter," said Rutton indifferently. "I shan't need it again forsome time." He picked up and restored the phial to his pocket. "Now letme think a bit." He took a quick turn up the room and down again. Amberremarked that the medicine was having its effect; though the brillianceof Rutton's eyes seemed somewhat dimmed a dull flush had crept into hisdark cheeks, and when he spoke it was in stronger accents--with amanner more assured, composed.

  "A mad dance," he observed thoughtfully: "this thing we call life. Wemeet and whirl asunder--motes in a sunbeam. To-night Destiny chose tothrow us together for a little space; to-morrow we shall be irrevocablyparted, for all time."

  "Don't say that, Rutton."

  "It is so written, David." The man's smile was strangely placid. "Afterthis night, we'll never meet. In the morning Doggott will ferry youover--"

  "Shan't we go together?"

  "No," said Rutton serenely; "I must leave before you."

  "Without Doggott?"

  "Without Doggott; I wish him to go with you."

  "Where?"

  "On the errand I am going to ask you to do for me. You are free toleave this country for several months?"

  "Quite. I corrected the final galleys of my 'Analysis of SanskritLiterature' just before I came down. Now I've nothing on my mind--orhands. Go on."

  "Wait." Rutton went a second time to the leather trunk, lifted the lid,and came back with two small parcels. The one, which appeared tocontain documents of some sort, he cast negligently on the fire, withthe air of one who destroys that which is no longer of value to him. Itcaught immediately and began to flame and smoke and smoulder. The otherwas several inches square and flat, wrapped in plain paper, without asuperscription, and sealed with several heavy blobs of red wax.

  Rutton drew a chair close to Amber and sat down, breaking the sealsmethodically.

  "You shall go a long journey, David," he said slowly--"a long journey,to a far land, where you shall brave perils that I may not warn youagainst. It will put your friendship to the test."

  "I'm ready."

  The elder man ripped the cover from the packet, exposing the back ofwhat seemed to be a photograph. Holding this to the light, its faceinvisible to Amber, he studied it for several minutes, in silence, atender light kindling in his eyes to soften the almost asceticausterity of his expression. "In the end, if you live, you shall win arich reward," he said at length. He placed the photograph face downupon the table.

  "How--a reward?"

  "The love of a woman worthy of you, David."

  "But----!" In consternation Amber rose, almost knocking over his chair."But--Great Scott, man!"

  "Bear with me, David, for yet a little while," Rutton begged. "Sitdown."

  "All right, but----!" Amber resumed his seat, staring.

  "You and Doggott are to seek her out, wherever she may be, and rescueher from what may be worse than death. And it shall come to pass thatyou shall love one another and marry and live happily ever after--justas though you were a prince and she an enchanted princess in a fairytale, David."

  "I must say you seem pretty damn' sure about it!"

  "It must be so, David; it shall be so! I am an old man--older than youthink, perhaps--and with age there sometimes comes something strangelyakin to the gift of second-sight. So I know it will be so, though youthink me a madman."

  "I don't, indeed, but you.... Well! I give it up." Amber laugheduneasily. "Go on. Where's this maiden in distress?"

  "In India--I'm not sure just where. You'll find her, however."

  "And then----?"

  "Then you are to bring her home with you, without delay."

  "But suppose--"

  "You must win her first; then she will come gladly."

  "But I've just told you I loved another woman, Rutton, and besides--"

  "You mean the Miss Farrell you mentioned?"

  "Yes. I--"

  "That will be no obstacle."

  "What! How in thunder d'you know it won't?" Amber expostulated. A faintsuspicion of the truth quickened his wits. "Who is this woman you wantme to marry?"

  "My daughter."

  "Your daughter!"

  "My only child, David."

  "Then why won't my--my love for Sophia Farrell interfere?"

  "Because," said Rutton slowly, "my daughter and Sophia Farrell are thesame.... No; listen to me; I'm not raving. Here is my proof--her latestphotograph." He put it into Amber's hands.

  Dazed, the younger man stared blankly at the likeness of the woman heloved; it was unquestionably she. Fair, sweet, and imperious, her facelooked up to his from the bit of cardboard in his hands; the direct andfearless eyes met his--eyes frank, virginal, and serene, beautiful withthe beauty of a soul as unsullied and untroubled as the soul of achild.

  He gasped, trembling, astounded. "Sophia...!" he said thickly,colouring hotly. He was conscious of a tightening of his throatmuscles, making speech a matter of difficulty. "But--but--" hestammered.

  "Her mother," said Rutton softly, looking away, "was a Russiannoblewoman. Sophia is Farrell's daughter by adoption only. Farrell wasonce my closest friend. When my wife died...." He covered his eyes withhis hand and remained silent for a few seconds. "When Sophia was leftmotherless, an infant in arms, Farrell offered to adopt her. Because Ibecame, about that time, aware of this horror that has poisoned
mylife--this thing of which you have seen something to-night--I acceptedon condition that the truth be never revealed to her. It cost me thefriendship of Farrell; he was then but lately married and--and Ithought it dangerous to be seen with him too much. I left England,having settled upon my daughter the best part of my fortune, retainingonly enough for my needs. From that day I never saw her or heard fromFarrell. Yet I knew I could trust him. Last summer, when my daughterwas presented at Court, I was in London; I discovered the name of herphotographer and bribed him to sell me this." He indicated thephotograph.

  "And she doesn't know!"

  "She must never know." Rutton leaned forward and caught Amber's hand ina compelling grasp. "Remember that. Whatever you do, my name must neverpass your lips--with reference to herself, at least. No one must evensuspect that you know me--Farrell least of all."

  "Sophia knows that now," said Amber. "Quain and I spoke of you onenight, but the name made no impression on her. I'm sure of that."

  "That is good; Farrell has been true. Now ... you will go to India?"

  "I will go," Amber promised.

  "You will be kind to her, and true, David? You'll love her faithfullyand make her love you?"

  "I'll do my best," said the young man humbly.

  "It must be so--she must be taught to love you. It is essential,imperative, that she marry you and leave India with you without a day'sdelay."

  Amber sat back in his chair, breathing quickly, his mouth tense. "I'lldo my best. But, Rutton, why? Won't you tell me? Shouldn't I know--I,who am to be her husband, her protector?"

  "Not from me. I am bound by an oath, David. Some day it may be that youwill know. Perhaps not. You may guess what you will--you have much togo on. But from me, nothing. Now, let us settle the details. I've verylittle time." He glanced again at the shoddy tin clock, with a slightbut noticeable shiver.

  "How's that? It's hours till morning."

  "I shall never see the dawn, David," said Rutton quietly.

  "What--"

  "I have but ten minutes more of life.... If you must know--in a word:poison.... That I be saved a blacker sin, David!"

  "You mean that medicine--the silver phial?" Amber stammered, sick withhorror.

  "Yes. Don't be alarmed; it's slow but sure and painless, dear boy. Itworks infallibly within half an hour. There'll be no agony--merely thedrawing of the curtain. Best of all, it leaves no traces; adiagnostician would call it heart-failure.... And thus I escape that."He nodded coolly toward the door.

  "But this must not be, Rutton!" Amber rose suddenly, pushing back hischair. "Something must be done. Doggott--"

  "Not so loud, please--you might alarm him. After it's all over, callhim. But now--it's useless; the thing is done; there's no knownantidote. Be kind to me, David, in this hour of mine extremity. There'smuch still to be said between us ... and in seven minutes more...."

  Rutton retained his clutch upon Amber's hand; and his eyes, theirlustre dimmed, held Amber's, pitiful, passionate, inexorable in theirentreaty. Amber sat down, his soul shaken with the pity of it.

  "Ah-h!" sighed Rutton. Relieved, the tension relaxed; he releasedAmber's hand; his body sank a little in the chair. Becoming consciousof this, he pulled himself together.... "Enter India by way ofCalcutta," he said in a dull and heavy voice. "There, in the MachuaBazaar, you will find a goldsmith and money-lender called Dhola Baksh.Go to him secretly, show him the ring--the Token. He will understandand do all in his power to aid you, should there be any trouble aboutyour leaving with Sophia. To no one else in India are you to mention myname. Deny me, if taxed with knowing me. Do you understand?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Never mind--but remember these two things: you do not know me and youmust under no circumstances have anything to do with the police. Theycould do nothing to help you; on the other hand, to be seen with them,to have it known that you communicate with them, would be theequivalent of a seal upon your death warrant. You remember themoney-lender's name?"

  "Dhola Baksh of the Machua Bazaar."

  "Trust him--and trust Doggott.... Four minutes more!"

  "Rutton!" cried Amber in a broken voice. Cold sweat broke out upon hisforehead.

  The man smiled fearlessly. "Believe me, this is the better way--theonly way.... Some day you may meet a little chap named Labertouche--aqueer fish I once knew in Calcutta. But I daresay he's dead by now. Butif you should meet him, tell him that you've seen his B-Formula workflawlessly in one instance at least. You see, he dabbled in chemistryand entomology and a lot of uncommon pursuits--a solicitor byprofession, he never seemed to have any practice to speak of--and heinvented this stuff and named it the B-Formula." Rutton tapped thesilver phial in his waistcoat pocket, smiling faintly. "He was a goodlittle man.... Two minutes. Strange how little one cares, when it'sinevitable...."

  He ceased to speak and closed his eyes. A great stillness made itselffelt within the room. In the other, Doggott was silent--probablyasleep. Amber noted the fact subconsciously, even as he was aware thatthe high fury of the wind was moderating. But consciously he was boweddown with sorrow, inexpressibly racked.

  In the hush the metallic hammering of the mean tin clock rang loud andharsh; Amber's heart seemed to beat in funeral time to its steady,unhurried, immutable ticking.

  It was close upon two in the morning.

  "Amber," said Rutton suddenly and very clearly, "you'll find a will inmy despatch box. Doggott is to have all I possess. The emeraldring--the Token--I give to you."

  "Yes, I--I--"

  "Your hand.... Mine is cold? No? I fancied it was," said the mandrowsily. And later: "Sophia. You will be kind to her, David?"

  "On my faith!"

  Rutton's fingers tightened cruelly upon his, then relaxed suddenly. Hebegan to nod, his chin drooping toward his breast.

  "The Gateway ... the Bell...."

  The words were no more than whispers dying on lips that stilled as theyspoke. For a long time Amber sat unmoving, his fingers imprisoned inthat quiet, cooling grasp, his thoughts astray in a black mist ofmourning and bewilderment.

  Through the hush of death the tin clock ticked on, placidly,monotonously, complacently. In the fireplace a charred log broke with acrash and a shower of live cinders.

  Out of doors something made a circuit of the cabin, like a beast of thenight, stealthy footsteps muffled by the snow: _pad--pad--pad_....

  In the emerald ring on Amber's finger the deathless fire leaped andpulsed.