Ghundi’s grave voice was suddenly heavy with despair.
“Master, she is here. The air about us cries it to all who breathe.”
“Absolutely sickening, what?” agreed the Honourable Tony. “Jockey Club, I understand. I picked up her beastly little handkerchief on the beach path, coming back from the boat—it’s fairly sopped in it. Here, catch—I was going to send it back to her, but God knows when it would reach her. The Great One might fancy it; compliments of the season—corking souvenir, what?”
Ghundi stared down at the wet white ball in his clenched fist.
“Master—I was told tosearch——”
“And that’ll be about all ofthat,” remarked the Honourable Tony. A peculiarly ingratiating smilecurved the corners of his lips, and he took both hands from his pockets and made an expressive gesture toward the long windows above the water. “A little more chatter like that and out you go to the crocodiles. Come on now, cut along like a nice chap—my head’s buzzing no end, and I’m mad for sleep. I’ll have my tea at seven on the tick. And some of that jolly stickypreserve——”
The dark, troubled face was lit suddenly by a smile, gleaming white as a benediction, grave and tender and indulgent.
“Where you go,” said Ghundi, “there may I be to serve you! Farewell, little master.”
He turned back to the dancing lights below him with a sharp word of command, and as quietly as he had come was gone, passing silently down the rickety steps into the night. There was a swift murmur of protest from the waiters, quelled; the light shuffle of feet; the rustle of parted leaves—silence. The Honourable Tony stood for a moment listening for any echo of the small dying sounds—whistled the opening bars of “Where Do We Go From Here, Boys?” twice over with fine accuracy and restraint, shoved open the bedroom door, and yielded himself unreservedly to joyous retrospection.
“My word, fairly neat, eh, Daisy? What price the bit about the handkerchief? And the buzzinghead, what? I swear I had no idea I’d be so good. Fancy what a loss to the stage—or Scotland Yard—no, no, more sport keeping out of Scotland Yard; well, then, so that’s that. Now what?”
There was a small sound that might have been a shiver, and a whisper, strange and lonely as a dream, answered him.
“Now then, farewell, Honable Tonee.”
“Farewell? Thinking of leaving me, Daisy?”
“Yes. Now I am thinkin’—of leavin’ you.”
“My poor kid, you’ll shiver your pretty teeth out if you keep up like this; I swear I ought to be drawn and quartered for a thumping brute. After all, it isn’t as much of a lark for you as it is for me, is it? Now just whatarewe going to do about you?”
“Honable Tonee, eet ees not for me I shiver; eet ees for you. Becaus’ you do not onnerstan’—becaus’ you laff—becaus’ you do not know that all, all ees end. That is mos’ terrible—that you who are good an’ great an’ love’ by all those Saints do not know that eet ees end. Of all those Saints and you I ask pardon—I ask pardon, pardon that thees I have done toyou——”
“My dear little lunatic, you’ve done nothing in the world to me; the blighter knows that if he laid a finger on me he’d be as good as cutting his throat. While I’m not much given to swanking about it,half of the big sticks in England are my cousins and my uncles and my aunts, and though it’s rather a grief to us all, they’d simply chew him up if he administered as much as a scratch to anything as sacred as a Bolingham hide. No, I’m a good deal righter than rain and you take a weight off my mind about the sentiments of all those Saints; the question before the house is, what about you?”
“Me? Oh, me, eet ees no mattair. Me, I am through.”
“Daisy, I’m just a bit afraid you’re right. We might as well face the fact at the start that I’m no match for the entire Imperial army, even if an important item of their defence does consist of green panties. You wouldn’t consider chucking it?”
“How, chuckin’?”
“You don’t think that Manuelo would understand if you took the two last wives’ jewelsand——”
“Ah,” moaned the little voice in the darkness, “that ees a wicked, that ees a black an’ ogly thing to say. Me, I am no good—me, I am no good at all—but that you should have nevair say tome——”
“My dear,” said the Honourable Tony gently, “you’re as good as gold, and I’m a black-hearted scoundrel that Manuelo ought to flog from here tohis tin mines. In this world or the next, he has my congratulations; tell him from me that he’s a lucky devil, won’t you? Now then, I’m off for the other room. I’ll light the lamp, and give a cracking good imitation of an earnest reader for the benefit of any callers. In case it doesn’t meet with the proper applause—just in case, you know—here’s the revolver. You might bolt the door after I’m gone; that way you’ll have any amount of time. Not going to be lonely, are you? You can hear me just as well as though I still were in the room. Moreover, I’m leaving a lady to take care of you.”
“A ladee?”
“The Duchess of Bolingham. Feel this little black frame? Well, she’s in there; hold on tight to her. You two are going to adore each other.”
“No, but I do not onnerstan’; what, what ees thees?”
“This is my mother, Daisy; her first name is Biddy. I think she’s going to want you to call her by her first name.”
“But she ees daid, your mothair?”
“Dead? That’s the most idiotic description of Biddy; however, there may be something in what you say, though you’ll never get her to admit it. Now, then, quite all right? Sure? Good-bye, little Daisy.”
“Honable Tonee.”
He had to bend his head to catch that faint and wavering whisper.
“Yes?”
“Honable Tonee, becaus’ thees room eet ees so black an’ still—not, not that I am a-frighten, but becaus’ thees room eet ees so black an’ still, would you be so vairy kin’ to kiss me good-bye? Manuelo—Manuelo, he would onnerstan’. You do not think that ladee would be angery?”
The Honourable Tony bent his bright head to the dark one, and laid his gay lips swiftly and surely on the small painted mouth.
“That lady would be terrible in anger if I didn’t. Daisy, what nice perfume! Nicest I ever smelled in all my life. I’m going to get bottles and bottles of it. All right now, little thing? Good-night then—Biddy, you look after her; show her all the prettiest places up there—mind the two of you keep out of mischief! Slip the bolt behind me, Daisy.”
With a last touch on her hair, light and caressing as his voice, he was gone through the darkness. He pulled the door to behind him noiselessly, and stood leaning against it for a moment with bowed head, listening. Silence—a faint patter of feet—the heavy grating of the bolt driven home. He raised his head.
“Good girl!” said the Honourable Tony clearly.
He swung across to the table, felt for the matches, and lit the lamp deftly and swiftly, pulling the long chair into its friendly aura and distributing the cushions with a rapid dexterity that belied the lethargy that he had maintained tigers incapable of disturbing. But then, a little wind had just passed through the quiet room—a little wind that blew in heavy with darkness and fragrance and something else—heavy with a distant murmur of voices, and far-off footsteps coming nearer through the night. It passed as it came, but the flame in the lamp flickered and burned brighter, and the flame that danced in the eyes of the gentleman reclining in the long chair flickered and burned brighter, too, though they were discreetly lowered over the account of a highly unsavory Bazaar murder in a two-month-old paper from Singapore. Even when the footsteps were on the rickety stairs he continued to read; even when they were on the threshold he only bent his head a little lower, intent and absorbed; even when the knocks rang out, ominous and insistent, he did not lift those dancing eyes. He flipped over the first page of the Singapore paper with a dexterous thumb and finger, and lifted his voice in welcome leavened with surprise.
“Come in!” called the Honourable Tony tothose who stood in darkness. And the door opened and they came in.
First there came a small, plump, swarthy gentleman in immaculate white linen of an irreproachable cut. He had small neat feet shod in the shiniest of patent-leather boots, and small fat hands adorned with three superb emeralds, and a set of highly unpleasant little cat whiskers curling into a grizzled gray at the ends. About his throat was a scarlet watered ribbon from which dangled a star as glittering as a Christmas tree ornament, and about his head was wound a turban of very fine red silk pierced by a brooch in which crouched another emerald large as a pigeon egg, flawed and sinister and magnificent. In one fat little hand he held a pair of white kid gloves and a small handkerchief badly crumpled; in the other a swagger stick of ebony banded with smooth gold. He walked on the tips of his patent-leather toes, and behind him came ten gigantic figures in incredible green uniforms with gold-laced jackets that were debtors to the Zouaves, and fantastic caps strapped under their chins reminiscent of the organ-grinder’s monkey and the dancing vaudeville bellboy. Lanterns light as bubbles swung from their great paws and in the gilded holsters at their waists the mother-of-pearl handles of the famous automatics gleamed like the Milky Way.They padded behind their master, silent as huge cats, and smiled at one another like delighted children. His Imperial Majesty, the Sultan Bhakdi, accompanied by the Royal Body Guard, was making a call on the British Adviser.
The British Adviser rose easily to his feet.
“Your Majesty!” he saluted, with precisely the correct inflection of gratified amazement.
“Excellency!” His Majesty’s accent was a trifle more British than the Honourable Tony’s, but he purred in his throat, which is not done. “We were alarmed by the good Ghundi’s report of your health. You suffer?”
“Oh, Ghundi’s overdone it!” protested the Honourable Tony, all courteous regret, but the carved dimples danced. “I’m no end sorry that you’ve had all this bother. It’s frightfully decent of you to give it a thought; nothing in the world the matter but a rather stiff nip of fever. I was going to turn in in another minute, and sleep it off. I beg any number of pardons for this costume; it’s hardly one that I’d have chosen for such an honour.”
“Hardly!” agreed the Sultan cordially. “Hardly! However, as the visit was unheralded, and as the defects of the costume may be so easily remedied, we dismiss it gladly. Come, we waive formality; we have been bored most damnablywithout you and the excellent bridge. The mountain comes to Mahomet; my good Mahomet, on with your boots, on with your coat, and out with your cards. We will drive off this pestilential fever with three good rubbers and four good drinks. Ahmet will fetch your coat. It is in your room? Ahmet!”
The Honourable Tony moved more swiftly than Ahmet. He laid one hand on the handle of the bedroom door, but he did not turn it.
“I’m absolutely sick over making such an ass of myself,” he said with pleasing candour. “But I do honestly feel too rotten bad to last out even a hand. I’ll be fit as a fiddle in the morning, and entirely at Your Majesty’s disposal; but for to-night I’m going to ask you to excuse me.”
“But to-night we will most certainly not excuse you,” His Imperial Majesty replied amiably. “No, no, on the contrary. Rather not, as you say. To-night, Excellency, we are quite through. We have been culpably lenient and indulgent in the past; we have overlooked one hundred stupid impertinences and five hundred impertinent stupidities, but your bridge—your bridge was impeccable and we have long desired to perfect our game. Now, however, you outreach our patience. Stand aside, I beg you. When Ahmet fetches your Excellency’s coat and your Excellency’sboots, he will also fetch your Excellency’s lady.”
The Honourable Tony gave a shout of astounded delight.
“My hat!” he cried. “But this is simply gorgeous. All this time that I’ve been ragging you you’ve been plotting a bloody revenge?”
“Revenge,” replied His Imperial Majesty, with an impatient flick of the white gloves, “is an incident. I wish the woman. Stand aside!”
“It’s a dream,” decided the Honourable Tony, cocking his head with Epicurean satisfaction. “No, by Heaven, it’s better than a dream. Just what are you going to do if I don’t stand aside?”
“Shoot you where you stand. Come, come—we are over-patient.”
The Honourable Tony sighed beatifically, as one whose cup of joy was full to overflowing.
“Oh, come now, if you ask me, you’re dashed impatient. Shooting me down in this damn casual way—what d’you think the British Government’s going to make of it?”
“Nothing,” replied the British Government’s loyal ally blandly. “Nothing whatsoever. In due time the proper authorities will be informed that you were lost overboard on an expedition after crocodiles, and owing to the unfortunate proclivities of those depraved reptiles, your body was not recovered. I do not imagine that the loss will afflictthe Government so deeply as you imagine.”
The Honourable Tony’s manner changed abruptly from enchanted amusement to the cold insolence of a badly spoiled young man dismissing his valet.
“And that’s enough,” he said. “Take your army and be off. You’re dashed amusing, but you overdo it. If an apology from you were worth the breath you draw, I’d have one out of you for the country that I represent and its representative. As it is, I give you fair warning to clear out; I’m about fed up.”
“Till I count three to stand aside,” remarked His Imperial Majesty conversationally, abandoning the royal “we” as though it were no longer necessary in so informal a discussion, “I shall regret the bridge.”
“You can count to three thousand if you can get that far,” the Honourable Tony informed him politely. “But while you’re about it you might remember that we’re in the twentieth century, not the Adelphi Theatre.”
“We are in Asia,” said His Imperial Majesty. “Life is good, Excellency, and Death, I am told, is a long and dreary affair. The woman is not worth it—a gutter rat out of the music halls. It is her good fortune to amuse me. Stand aside, I beg!”
“My mother was from the music halls,” said the Honourable Tony. “I have half a mind to mop up the floor with you before I turn in.”
“You are a brave man,” said His Imperial Majesty equably. “And a fool.” He turned to the black and emerald giants, and they quivered slightly. “Attention!”
The giants ceased quivering and stood very straight.
“Ready!” said Bhakdi softly. The pearl-handled automatics flashed like jewels.
“Aim!” said Bhakdi with a flick of the handkerchief toward the slim figure framed in the doorway.
“You ought to be jolly grateful to me for teaching you all those nice words,” remarked the figure reproachfully. “They sound simply corking when you snap ’em out like that.”
“I count,” said Bhakdi. “One.”
“I wish you could see yourselves,” said the Honourable Tony admiringly. “For all the world like a lot of comic-opera pirates panting to get into the chorus when the tenor says ‘go.’ ‘For-I’m-the-big-bad-black-faced-chief’—you know the kind of thing.”
“Two,” said Bhakdi.
“I say, youaregoing it!” cried the British Adviser. In the gleam from the lanterns his hairwas ruffled gold and his eyes black mischief. “Aren’t you afraid of its being a bit of a let-down to the Imperial Guard after all this?”
“Three!” said Bhakdi, and he flicked the handkerchief again. “Fire!”
There was a rip and a rattle of sound along the green line—from the other side of the bolted door there came a faint reply, precise and sharp as an echo. The Honourable Tony sagged forward to his knees, still clutching at the handle, his face lit with an immense, an incredulous amazement.
“By God!” he whispered. “By God, you’ve done it!”
And suddenly in the lean curve of his cheek the dimples danced once more, riotous and unconquered.
“I say,” he murmured, “I say, Biddy, that’s—that’s a good one! Comic opera, what? That—that’s a good one—onme——”
His fingers slipped from the door, and he was silent.