And standing behind him was Old Moses. His hand was resting on something up by Sir Gardnor’s collar band. He was straining at it. And then Harold saw what it was. Only the handle was showing. The rest of the long paper-knife was hidden; pegged down somewhere inside.
As Harold made for him, Old Moses turned. It was not the Old Moses that Harold knew. This one was mad, quite mad. His lips were drawn back from his yellow, stumpy teeth; and his eyes were staring. He kept his black hand clasped firmly round the handle of the knife.
He was strong, too; stronger than Harold would have believed possible. Ancient as he was, he fought back. When Harold grappled with him, the thin, claw-like fist closed tighter. As they struggled, the cutting-edges see-sawed back and forth, opening up the wound.
Then Harold looked up. In the far corner of the marquee, he saw that Lady Anne was standing.
A moment later, the entrance flap was jerked aside, and Major Mills arrived. He had been making one of his surprise patrols when he heard the scream, and the whole length of the camp had been between him. In running for it, he had fallen over one of his own trip-wires. Late and therefore ashamed of himself, he was breathless and gasping as he burst in.
But he was still able to sum things up. Also, he knew how to deal with natives. He already had his revolver in his hand. And, spinning it in the air like a juggler, he caught it by the barrel and brought the butt-end down on the bare, leather-looking skull in front of him.
The whole action was neat, speedy and efficient. Old Moses collapsed instantly. But Major Mills was not yet finished. Taking off his tie, he turned Old Moses face downwards and, kneeling on his buttocks, bound his hands together behind his back, straining at the knots so that no amount of struggling would undo them. That completed, Major Mills removed his belt, and strapped it tightly round the spiny ankles.
Then, because he was a humane man who had only been doing his duty, he thrust out his foot and rolled Old Moses over onto his side, so that he should not suffocate.
But he was too late to save Sir Gardnor. He had already slumped over sideways. Quite slowly, his head fell forward and he collapsed onto his desk, his outstretched arm upsetting the crystal-and-silver inkwell, the pen tray, the holder with all the paper clips.
Across the marquee, Harold saw that Sybil Prosser, her wispy hair dishevelled into a halo and wearing a grotesque magenta bed-jacket that didn’t button-up properly, was standing over by Lady Anne. She had her arm round her, and was trying to lead her away. But Lady Anne did not move. She stood where she was, her hands covering up her face.
After that first scream, she had been entirely silent.
Captain Webber, neatly turned out for that time of night, had now joined them. He had his professional-looking medical bag with him. Stepping rather self-consciously over the bound body of Old Moses, he went straight across to the desk in brisk, bedside fashion and reached for the pulse in the outstretched wrist that had upset the inkwell.
Harold and Major Mills stood watching him. After a few seconds they saw him frown and, bending forward, thrust his hand under Sir Gardnor’s shirt, feeling for his heart. When he had withdrawn his hand, he stood back for a moment. He might have been getting ready simply to take the patient’s temperature. Instead, he began gingerly fingering round the wound where the knife had entered. Then, pressing down hard on Sir Gardnor’s shoulder with his left hand, he removed the dagger, like an experienced wine-steward drawing a stiff cork. The pattern of engraving on the blade showed up bright and scarlet.
‘Better get him on the floor,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d give me a hand, would you?’
It was not easy. In life, Sir Gardnor had been a heavy man; and, in death, he was clumsy. He bumped rather than was laid upon the ground. But immediately Captain Webber was professionally at work again. This time it was his ear that he placed up against Sir Gardnor’s chest. He stayed there motionless for some time, listening.
And this was the moment when Lady Amie opened her eyes again. She dropped her hands and stood there, staring at the empty desk. It seemed, at first, that she could not understand. Then she saw Sir Gardnor’s body sprawled out on the rug, and Captain Webber crouching over him.
‘What have you done to him?’ she began asking.
Captain Webber placed his two hands stiffly in the small of his back, and got up. He went over to his bag and took out a hypodermic syringe. Something had told him that, if it was Lady Anne who had screamed, he might be needing it.
Very deliberately, he filled the syringe up to the two c.c. mark, and went over to her.
It was Sybil Prosser whom he addressed.
‘Would you mind holding the sleeve back?’ he said.
Then he beckoned to Harold.
‘We’ll carry her through,’ he said. ‘And be careful to keep her head up. Miss Prosser had better sit with her. She’ll be out for quite some time. Better that way.’
When they got back to the Governor’s quarters, the A.D.C was there.
Naked to the waist and in his pyjama trousers, he was standing over Sir Gardnor’s body.
Not that he was of much use to anyone. All that he was doing was looking down, and saying ‘Oh, my God, my God.’ His distress was genuine all right: he was crying.
Harold noticed, too, how unkempt he was. Everyone’s hair gets mussed-up and tangled in the night, but the A.D.C.’s was disgraceful. It had bits of grass and sand in it as though he had been sleeping in the open. And his bare chest had scratch-marks all down it as though he had been playing with a kitten.
Major Mills did not seem to be particularly impressed by the crying.
‘Where were you when it happened?’ he asked.
The A.D.C. rounded on him.
‘What the hell did happen?’ he demanded.
‘You ought to know,’ Major Mills told him. ‘You were his A.D.C, weren’t you?’
The A.D.C. looked down at the big body lying sprawled there, and said, ‘Oh, my God,’ again.
‘I asked you a question,’ Major Mills reminded him.
The A.D.C. was breathing in very deeply. That wasn’t like him either. He was in perfect physical condition, and he was behaving like an old man who had just been running upstairs.
‘Where were you?’ Major Mills repeated.
The A.D.C. turned round and faced him.
‘I don’t have to tell you,’ he said. ‘You’re not a policeman.’
It was a most extraordinary reply, and Major Mills took note of it. He went red in the face, redder even than his natural colour.
‘As the officer responsible for security,’ he said, realising as he uttered them how singularly empty the words sounded, ‘I could have you arrested.’
But that was too much. The A.D.C. found Major Mills’s manner insufferable. He wasn’t going to have any over-promoted infantryman addressing him in that fashion.
‘You can do what you bloody well like,’ he replied. ‘It’s too late now, anyhow.’
He turned his back on Major Mills as he said it. Then he knelt down and took hold of Sir Gardnor’s hand in his. When he got up, he pushed his lock of hair into place, brushed the back of his hand across his cheek where the tears were showing and walked away without another word, simply leaving them there.
Major Mills raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m going after him,’ he said. ‘He’s still got his revolver. Or should have. He’d be better without it.’
Captain Webber looked down at the body.
‘We’ve got to get him up onto the bed,’ he said. ‘He can’t stay there all night.’
He paused.
‘And we’ll need help,’ he added. ‘We nearly dropped him last time, remember.’
It was a little unnerving when they reached the bed. Sir Gardnor sank onto it so naturally, and the bed creaked so convincingly, that they might have been helping him into it when drunk.
When they left him, Sir Gardnor was simply a large, vague shape under one of the Residency sheets. His face was entir
ely covered.
Captain Webber paused for a moment.
‘Was he a religious man?’ he asked. ‘It’s quite usual to leave a Bible lying on top, you know. That is, if you’ve got one handy.’
Chapter 27
Outside the marquee, the Signals Officer was hanging round trying to attract Harold’s attention.
‘You’ll be wanting to get through to base, won’t you?’ he asked. ‘You give me the message and I’ll do what I can. I’m not promising anything, mind you. They aren’t usually receiving at this hour.’
He glanced down at his watch as he was speaking. It showed ten minutes past one.
‘Where’s Major Mills?’ he asked.
The Signals Officer winked back at him.
‘Directing operations. State of siege,’ he said.
It was then that it occurred to Harold that, with Sir Gardnor dead and the A.D.C. in disgrace, he was the senior civilian member of the party. He found himself rather enjoying the sensation. And, when the Signals Officer handed him a pad of blank forms, he accepted it.
The opening of the message was easy. In Roman capitals, he wrote ‘ACTING CHIEF SECRETARY TOP PRIORITY IMMEDIATE’. But that was where he began to run into difficulties. He had never sent a Service telegram before. But he didn’t want to keep the Signals Officer waiting, didn’t want to reveal what an amateur he was. He lettered on. ‘PAINFUL DUTY INFORM YOU HIS EXCELLENCY GOVERNOR DIED REPEAT DIED SUDDENLY 0300 HOURS THIS MORNING STOP CAUSE OF DEATH STAB WOUNDS STOP PERSONAL SERVANT QUOTE OLD MOSES UNQUOTE UNDER CLOSE ARREST STOP INVESTIGATIONS CONTINUING STOP LADY ANNE UNDER TREATMENT FOR SHOCK STOP RETURNING IMMEDIATELY SIGNED HAROLD STEBBS.’
It was only when he had finished it that he wondered whether, with Service telegrams, it was really necessary to save money by cutting down the wording.
But the Signals Officer read it out approvingly.
‘That’s the ticket,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to get through to them now. Won’t be easy because they’re not expecting us. Probably all shut down by now.’
It came as sweet relief to get back into bed again and, in the darkness, to ease off the strapping of the bandage. Captain Webber had bound it round too tight: he could feel the wad of lint pressing right down into his eyeball.
He had just arranged the pillow under his good cheek when he heard Major Mills calling him. The voice sounded eager and excited.
‘You awake?’ Major Mills was asking. ‘Got some news for you.’
Harold switched on the battery-lamp beside his bed.
‘Come in,’ he said.
There was a bottle of whisky and a jug of water on the folding table.
Major Mills helped himself to a drink. The very fact that he didn’t blurt out his piece of news immediately showed that it was something big, something that would be worth waiting for.
‘Aaah,’ he said as he put his glass down. ‘I think I’ve earned that.’
Under his left arm he was carrying a bundle wrapped round in a hand towel. The royal ‘G.R.’ showed up in reverse at one corner. He was hugging the bundle to him.
‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ he asked.
Major Mills tapped it with his forefinger.
‘That’s what Old Moses was using,’ he said. ‘Key piece of evidence. Have to come up at the trial. Just going over to get the doctor to identify it. He’s the one who pulled it out, you know.’
He paused.
‘Probably got his fingerprints all over it,’ he added in a lunatic flash of sudden insight.
Harold still felt sure that this was not the piece of news that had brought Major Mills to his bedside: he could see that the Major was now squaring himself up to deliver it.
‘Just as well I had that roll-call,’ he announced. ‘There’s a man missing.’
‘One of yours?’ Harold asked him. Major Mills shook his head.
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Household. One of the kitchen boys. No sign of him. Must have slipped out past the sentries. Don’t like the look of it.’
Harold raised himself up higher in his bed.
‘Which one?’ he asked.
‘New boy,’ Major Mills replied. ‘Wasn’t in the lot I vetted. Last minute arrangement. Never seen him before this trip. Tall, coffee coloured fellow.’
Harold leant back again against the pillow. He had just remembered those scratch-marks down the A.D.C.’s chest.
‘Pretty big kitten,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing,’ Harold told him. ‘Just something that crossed my mind.’
Major Mills looked worried for a moment, wondering if Harold was all right. But the other piece of news was too big to be kept back any longer. Light-headed or not, Harold was going to hear.
‘And there’s something else you don’t know,’ he said. ‘Something I’ve only just found out.’
‘Such as?’
‘It was Old Moses who signed him on,’ Major Mills replied. ‘Said he was one short. None of the others had ever met him before. Or, at least, that’s what they say.’
‘And you think the two of them were in it together?’
Major Mills nodded.
‘Looks like it,’ he said. ‘Damn suspicious making a bunk for it.’
He broke off to pour himself another drink, and smacked his lips over it.
‘Old Moses could tell you what’s behind it all,’ he went on. ‘That’s for certain. Only he won’t talk. Gone silent, or something.’
‘What have you done with him?’ Harold asked.
Major Mills allowed himself a little smile of self-congratulation.
‘Under lock-and-key,’ he said. ‘In one of the trucks. Posted an armed guard round it. For all we know—’ here Major Mills dropped his voice to a whisper—‘there may be more of’ em in it. Not taking any chances.’
He re-adjusted the bundle under his arm.
‘Got a patrol out looking for the other fellow,’ he added. ‘Shouldn’t be far away.’
Chapter 28
Because no one had really been able to get to sleep again, they were all nervy, irritable and on top of each other when they met next morning. And, with Old Moses locked up and the kitchen boy gone a.w.o.l, even breakfast itself was in confusion.
Major Mills was the first at the table and Harold sat down beside him. It was by then a few minutes after five, and already the sun was up and in full fury. Because it was still early, the striped awning provided no protection. Uninterrupted, the heat and the glare came slanting in underneath it.
Major Mills shifted his chair back a little.
‘My God, it’s going to be a hot one,’ he said.
They were joined almost immediately by Captain Webber. He came out of the marquee, opposite, thoroughly hang-dog and despondent-looking.
At the sight of Major Mills, he seemed relieved.
‘I say,’ he said, ‘I’ve just been in there.’
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he was speaking.
‘It’s like an oven. Won’t be nice later. Can you lay on a burial party?’
Major Mills finished the cup of lukewarm coffee he was drinking.
‘Give me time to get my patrols back first,’ he said.
His mouth was full of grounds, and he ran his tongue backwards and forwards across his teeth to clean them.
‘Shouldn’t be long now. Probably picked him up already. Better see if they’ve sent a runner.’
Still licking his teeth, Major Mills got up and left them.
Captain Webber leant forward.
‘I’m not too keen on moving Lady Anne,’ he said. ‘Not in her condition. Ought to keep her absolutely quiet. She’s my responsibility, you know.’
‘Is she worse?’
Captain Webber was playing with his spoon, balancing it lengthwise across the rim of his cup.
‘She’s still under sedation,’ he said, ‘and I’m going to keep her that way. If she came to, she might do anything.’
‘Can’
t Sybil Prosser look after her?’
‘She can so long as I keep her under. I don’t know after that.’
He jabbed his finger down on the end of the handle as he said it, and caught the spoon as it cart-wheeled up into the air.
‘Out of her mind when she came to just now,’ he finished up. ‘Simply wasn’t with us.’
‘Will she be all right?’
Captain Webber wiped away a brown stain that the spoon had made on his jacket.
‘Not my department,’ he replied. ‘Hospital-case, really.’
‘Then hadn’t we better get her there?’
‘It’s fifty-fifty,’ Captain Webber told him. ‘I can’t give her proper attention out here. On the other hand, the journey may be too much for her. Might just as well toss up for it.’
He pursed his lips and seemed to be considering.
‘There’s still H.E.,’ he added. ‘Can’t take him with us. Not in this heat. Mustn’t go upsetting the driver.’
Harold shook his head.
‘He’d be furious if he thought we were just leaving him here,’ he said. ‘Simply furious. He’d feel it was lacking in respect or something.’
This time Captain Webber merely shrugged his shoulders.
‘I’m not in charge of transport,’ he replied. ‘It’s up to the Major. But if you really want to move him, you’d better be quick about it. It’s not too pleasant even now, over there in that marquee.’
He broke off for a moment because the Signals Officer was bearing down on them. He had one of his own message envelopes in his hand.
‘Just come in,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t raise anybody earlier. But they came back quick enough. It’s their reply.’
Harold held out his hand for it, but the Signals Officer kept the envelope from him.
‘It’s addressed to the A.D.C.,’ he said. ‘Marked “Personal and Immediate”.’
‘Well?’
‘I’ve tried him,’ the Signals Officer replied. ‘And he won’t take it. Says he’s not up to it, or something. Sounded pretty low to me.’
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