by Talbot Mundy
That made it very easy for Norwood. He drew rein beneath the baobab tendril. He didn’t even have to stand in the saddle to reach it. The sais rode forward and took the reins. Norwood climbed the tendril, hand over hand, swung himself on to the wall, and walked forward. As he emerged out of the shadow of the overhanging trees, he saw O’Leary looking backward toward him. Norwood extended both arms and moved them slightly up and down. That was an order to O’Leary to patrol the road. Norwood wanted no witnesses. He walked forward along the wall, toward the kiosk, where Rundhia stood talking to Lynn.
Lynn saw him first. She looked startled and Rundhia faced about — for a moment speechless.
“You, is it!” he said. “What the devil do you mean, climbing walls at this hour of the night?”
“I came looking for you. No, it isn’t my ghost. They missed me. Did you hear the shooting? Aren’t you rather a duffer at choosing marksmen?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care a damn what you mean by that remark,” said Rundhia. “Get off the wall.”
“When I’m ready. Rundhia, what have you been saying about me?”
“You flatter yourself. I don’t care to talk about you.”
“What did you say to the Resident? He mentioned that you had called to see him.”
“Did he? Well, my conversation with the Resident was confidential.”
“So was mine, Rundhia. Say to me what you said to him.”
“You may go to the devil.” Rundhia glanced backward at Lynn, then sneered at Norwood: “People who pocket bribes are not entitled to—” It wasn’t exactly a haymaker. It was a right-handed wallop without any ringside pedigree, but with all the strength, contempt and anger of a clean-living man behind it, that landed on Rundhia’s chin like a gun going off. It brought a laugh from O’Leary, who couldn’t possibly have seen it. Rundhia reeled backward toward the garden as if pole-axed, out for the count. He did a forward knife-bend on the edge of the wall, and toppled backward into the darkness. The crash of shrubbery announced that he had fallen soft. Norwood glanced at Lynn then:
“Just a minute, please.”
He ran down the steps to take a look at Rundhia and dragged him out of the shrubbery on to the path. He made a rough estimate that no bones were broken and let him lie there. He returned up the steps and confronted Lynn.
“I suppose you’ve killed him.”
“Oh, no.”
They could see each other almost as distinctly as in full daylight. Lynn’s hair was a mass of spun gold. Her emotions, revealed on her face, her parted lips, her startled, questioning, proud eyes drove out of Norwood’s mind the few terse phrases that he had prepared. He said suddenly, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say:
“What are you doing in that make-up?”
“Why did you hit Rundhia?” she retorted. “Rundhia knew. He will remember why I hit him when he wakes up.”
“You should have hit me,” Lynn answered. “That was a cowardly blow. You gave him no warning. Are you sure you haven’t killed him?”
“I’m afraid he’ll live. Is it true, Miss Harding, that you told Rundhia about a packet of diamonds that you saw drop from my pocket this morning?”
“Yes.”
Norwood stared at her. She didn’t flinch. She continued speaking after a moment:
“That is why I wrote inviting you to come and see me. I wanted to tell you what I had done, and to explain how I came to do it, and to apologize.”
“I didn’t believe you had said it,” Norwood answered. “I came to—”
Lynn interrupted: “I did say it. It was my fault. I wish you had hit me, instead of Rundhia. I would have preferred that to the humiliation of being despised and of being—”
Rundhia moaned on the path in the darkness below.
“Captain Norwood, I must go and help Rundhia. Will you please let me pass?”
“No,” said Norwood. “I will shout for servants presently, to carry him to bed.”
“His nose may be bleeding!”
“Serve him right. I came to tell you—”
“I can’t bear to be told. I know. You’re too late, Captain Norwood. I have heard that what I said has got you into serious trouble. I am ashamed of it, if that is what you want to know. If you had read my—”
Norwood interrupted her. “What do you mean by too late?”
“If you had answered my letter—” Lynn’s lips were trembling. She was choking. “Rundhia—” She couldn’t continue. She felt like crying, and she’d be damned if she would. Suddenly she controlled herself and looked straight in his eyes: “Captain Norwood. If you please. I must go and look after Rundhia. Will you let me get by?” Norwood didn’t move: “What did you say in your letter?” he asked.
“If you despised me too much to read it, why ask that now? I know you got the letter. It was sent by one of the Maharanee’s messengers, who came back and said he had given it to you. He said you tore it up; he saw you do it.”
“Did the messenger tell you that?”
“He told Rundhia.”
“Oh,” said Norwood.
O’Leary whistled, in the distance, somewhere between the kiosk and the palace front gate. Rundhia groaned again. By the noise, he appeared to be helping himself to his feet by holding on to the shrubbery. Norwood called to him:
“Are you all right, Rundhia?”
“You go to hell,” said Rundhia’s voice from the darkness. “I’m going to have you arrested.” Rundhia’s footsteps went staggering away in the direction of the palace.
Norwood faced Lynn again: “Sorry. I’m in a hurry. Would you like me to see you as far as the palace steps?”
“Oh, no. Thank you.”
“Well, look here: I wrote you a letter, just in case I didn’t find you. I brought it with me. Will you take it now and read it later? It’s quite important. Perhaps you’ll give me an answer next time we meet.”
“If we do meet,” Lynn answered. “Why should we? Good-bye.”
“So long. Don’t forget my letter, will you? I didn’t expect to find you alone, so I wrote what I thought you wouldn’t care to have me say in other people’s presence. I said exactly what I think.”
Lynn paused on her way to the head of the steps. O’Leary whistled again, twice this time.
“So long,” Norwood repeated. “See you as soon as I can.”
Lynn spoke abruptly: “One moment, Captain Norwood. You say you have said what you think of me in this letter? I said what I thought of myself and of you, in my letter to you. You tore mine up.”
She tore up Norwood’s letter. She scattered its fragments into the darkness.
“Good-bye!”
“Careful down those steps,” said Norwood. “See you later.”
“Why?” Lynn answered.
Norwood swung himself down from the wall, by the baobab tendril. He swung himself on to his horse and was off at a gallop. O’Leary had whistled three times. That meant “urgent.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
THE horses and their riders were invisible in the shadow where the high wall curved away from the moonlight. O’Leary spoke hoarsely:
“That must ha’ been a snorter! You could ha’ heard that punch halfway to Delhi. Who did you hit?”
“Mind your own business. Why did you whistle?”
“Stoddart sent a man from camp to overtake you. He gave the message to me. He said there’d come a sweeper, running like hell, from Mrs. Harding in the guesthouse. She says she has to see you in a hurry, it’s important, and won’t you come quick?”
“What’s become of the sweeper?”
“He lit out. He said all’s quiet at the palace.”
“Nothing else new?”
“No.”
Norwood thought a second: “You go to the Residency. Ask to see the Resident in person. Give your message to nobody else. Here — here’s my card. Send that in. Ask the Resident to stand by the phone and expect a call from me at any minute.”
“Do I kno
w anything, if he asks?”
“No. Look here, O’Leary: I know what I’m going to do, but I don’t know what will happen. You follow the Resident to the palace. Slip in through the gate after him and watch for that Bengali doctor. Hold him, if you catch him coming out or going in. When you see me coming out of the palace, if I hold up my right hand, let him go. If I hold up both hands, turn him over to the gate guard. You’ve no police power, remember. So be careful.”
Norwood was off at full gallop, with the sais hard after him, before O’Leary could answer. He drew rein at the palace gate and was delayed there for a moment or two by an argument between the commander of the gate guard and an Indian contractor, who had turned up with a motor truck for Mrs. Harding’s luggage and a car for Mrs. Harding. Because Norwood was in uniform, the contractor appealed to him:
“Sir, I am refused admission. Sir, I have an order from the American lady, Mrs. Harding, to collect her luggage and to convey her to the station. It is a long way and a bad road. She has already paid me. I fear we shall not catch the midnight train unless—”
The commander of the gate guard drew Norwood aside: “It is his honor the Resident’s wish,” he said quietly.
“No business of mine,” said Norwood. “May I leave my horses inside the gate?”
The great gate clanged behind him. He walked to the guesthouse. Mrs. Harding was no longer recumbent on pillows on the chaise longue. She seemed even to have partially recovered from her lameness. She was seated bolt upright on one of her trunks, on the garden path, in front of the verandah door.
“So you’ve come!” she remarked. “Well, I supposed you would. You are the only gentleman in Kadur.”
Norwood grinned. “Who has been kidding you?”
“There’s no understanding you English,” she retorted. “Why don’t you use your title?”
“I haven’t one.”
“But your brother is an Earl, isn’t he? So you’re an Honorable, aren’t you?”
“That is not what you inferred at our last interview.”
“Well, I didn’t know who you are. How could I? I have a letter for you, from Lynn. But the envelope was addressed to me. I have thought it over, and I suppose she must have put it into the wrong envelope by mistake, because I have received no answer to my letter to her. Here it is.”
Norwood stepped on to the verandah to read it by the light from the window.
Dear Captain Norwood, I am feeling ashamed and so sorry that I hardly know what to write. Won’t you please call as soon as you can and let me explain. I mentioned, without thinking, something that occurred this morning. To my horror, I have now learned that what I said has been repeated, and that the result may be — I can’t write it! Please, Captain Norwood, please believe that what I said was merely thoughtless; and that what I have heard about you I refuse to believe. I know you are an honorable man. Please help me to undo my very bad mistake. I will be waiting for you at the palace. Won’t you call as soon as possible?
Lynn Harding.
Norwood returned to Mrs. Harding. “How long have you had this?”
“Don’t try any of that hoity-toity arrogance on me!” she retorted. “I’m a Harding, I’ll have you understand! I sent a messenger for you because—”
“I came to use your telephone,” he interrupted.
“May I?”
“No. It’s useless.”
Norwood looked startled: “You mean out of order?”
“It has silver-plated thingummies, but the operator can’t speak English. It’s worse than Europe.”
“Is the phone in the living-room?”
Norwood was gone before she could answer. He dashed into the house, seized the phone and gave the Residency number. Then he lowered his voice:
“That you, sir? Norwood speaking from the guesthouse. Can you come to the palace?... Yes, I know you told me to keep away. But I’m a ghost. I’m supposed to be dead.... You say you’d heard it already? My God, they were quick!... No, no, I wasn’t hurt. The point is this, sir: they are betting even money in the bazaar that the Maharajah won’t outlive the night. I suspect poison.... What’s that?... Well, for one thing, I know for a fact that Mrs. Harding has been given poisoned toast to make her vomit.... Well, sir, obviously to keep her away from the niece.... Yes, yes, I have that letter. I’ve just read it.... If I’m not too late, and I don’t think I am, I’m going in to upset someone’s apple-cart.... Yes, sir, I understand that. But if I’m mistaken, you can say I did it off my own hook in disobedience to orders. Can you think of an excuse for coming at this hour of the night?... All right, then I’ll go ahead.”
He hung up, thought for a couple of seconds and then returned to Aunty Harding.
“Thanks,” he said. “Good night. I’m in a hurry.”
“Stop! Come back. Captain Norwood, I didn’t send for you to use my telephone! Here are my trunks, and I can’t get anyone to wait on me. I can’t get away and I can’t go back in! I paid a contractor in advance, and he hasn’t turned up. Please do something.”
“Were you running out on Lynn?” Norwood asked her.
“Captain Norwood, how dare you say that!”
“Were you?”
“No, I was not! I was bluffing.”
“Uh-huh. Shall I tell her you were bluffing?”
“Don’t you dare! If you know where she is, you bring her here. If she refuses, you may say I will sit here until she does come, if I die of waiting. You may say, if you like, that I’m sorry I spoke severely. Lynn behaved abominably, and you know it. But I’m her aunt. I forgive her. Say that. What are you waiting for? Do you think if I could walk, I wouldn’t be in that palace this minute!”
“Better go inside, or you’ll be bitten by mosquitoes. Shall I help you in?”
“No. Here I sit until I see Lynn.”
“All right. So long. See you later.”
Norwood strode away into the darkness toward the broad drive leading to the palace front door.
Chapter Thirty
RUNDHIA was punch drunk. All the physical fight had been knocked out of him. He knew his nose was bleeding. He knew Lynn was in Norwood’s grasp. That Norwood had escaped death was a staggerer almost worse than the punch on the jaw. For the moment, he could think of nothing but Norwood. Like a man in the ring, who is almost out on his feet, he obeyed the instinct to deliver a foul blow.
He reeled and staggered, gradually recovering, along a short cut toward his own palace. As his nerves and muscles recovered, so did his brain. He began to think a little clearly. By the time he reached his palace and had sent for the Bengali doctor, his nose had ceased bleeding and he needed nothing more than a bath and a change of clothing. There were plenty of servants to lay out clean clothes. He talked to the Bengali doctor in the bathroom, where the shower drowned the sound of their voices. Even so, he spoke English, lest one of the valets should overhear.
“Now listen. Don’t answer me, or I’ll have you hanged. Damn you, I mean that. I’m desperate. Thanks to your letting me down in a pinch and refusing to have anything to do with it, the attack on Norwood was bungled.”
“He is alive? I heard they killed him.”
“Do I look as if they’d killed him! He’s on the rampage. I’m going to get him.”
“Careful!”
“Watch your own step. If you fail to kill your man tonight, up goes your number! Is the old fool mulling over his stamp albums?”
“Yes. His Highness is studying stamps. He has with him that stamp salesman from Lahore, who can speak nothing but Punjabi, but can swindle without speaking at all.”
“All right, I’ll talk English to him. The old sheep shall do one useful thing before he dies. You have the poison ready?”
“Yes, but this is a crisis,” the Bengali answered. “Are you in a fit condition to control a crisis? To me, you seem very nervous. Let me feel your heart-beat. Why not postpone this until tomorrow?”
“Because tomorrow the old sheep might change his will. I’ve had a
warning from the Resident. By the day after tomorrow, they might already have vetoed my succession to the throne. If he’s already dead they’ll let me succeed, to save themselves trouble. So poison the old sheep tonight, and take your money and go to the devil. I hope I never see you again. If you fail, I’ll take damned good care you hang!”
“There is no risk of failure, unless you are too excited and behave suspiciously.”
“Yes, there is,” said Rundhia. “You do as I tell you. Be a little late with his tonic, so that he drinks it greedily. I’m going in to see him now. After I come out, you wait until someone else goes in to see him.”
“But if no one goes?”
“I will take care that someone does go. If you give it to him in someone else’s presence, it will look more innocent. Will he be able to speak after he drinks it?”
“No. It will paralyze his nerves immediately.”
“How long will it take him to die?”
“Perhaps ten minutes. Perhaps less. It will appear to be heart failure.”
“Very well then. Where’s your needle? Give me a strong shot.”
“No. Not too strong. You must not get the habit. After this, you will need your faculties and self-control, if we are not to be found out. I will give you just sufficient to steady your nerves.” Rundhia held out his arm for the shot. He dressed in a hurry and walked to the palace. He was refused admission to the Maharajah’s study, until he fumed and threatened so violently that at last the frightened door attendant screwed up courage to disobey orders and go in and announce him. Rundhia followed the attendant, pushed him back out of the room, and slammed the door.
The Maharajah stared, noted the expression on Rundhia’s face and made a warning gesture toward the Punjabi stamp salesman.
“Can he understand English?” Rundhia demanded.
“I believe not.”
