“I don’t know. It seems absurd, but I feel more at ease when we are all safe inside these walls. I can’t think how it is that we didn’t hear Miss Keeling start.”
“Oh, the escort did not come into the court, because Ismail Bakhsh would not open the gate, and we could not tell you she was going, for the servants said you were not to be interrupted.”
“That was Fath-ud-Din’s doing. It looks very fishy altogether. I hope it’s not a trap. I suppose there’s no possibility of stopping her now before she gets to the Palace?”
“Dear me, no!” said Lady Haigh, with conviction. “She ought to be on her way back by this time. No; it’s quite clear that we can do nothing.”
“Except await events,” said Stratford, drearily; and Lady Haigh remembered that she had left Sir Dugald alone for a long time, and returned to his side not much comforted.
In the meantime, Georgia had reached the Palace without mishap, and, on sending a message by one of the slaves, was welcomed at the door of the harem by Nur Jahan. To her dismay, she found the girl in deep mourning. She wore no jewels, her hair was unbraided, her dress was coarse and squalid, and her feet bare.
“What is the matter, Nur Jahan?” asked Georgia, anxiously. “Has anything gone wrong with the Queen or Rustam Khan, or is it your baby?”
“It is my father,” said Nur Jahan, in a hurried whisper, so low that Rahah was obliged to come quite close in order to translate what she said. “O doctor lady, hast thou not heard? He was seized eleven days ago, and thrown into prison, by order of our lord the King.”
“But he is not dead?”
“God knows,” said Nur Jahan. “It may even be that, but we have not heard it. We know not where he is, nor what has befallen him since he was taken away.”
Georgia gasped. This news was the death-blow to the hopes which the party at the Mission had been cherishing. It was evident that Jahan Beg had been arrested almost immediately after his last colloquy with Sir Dugald, and before he could take any steps with reference to sending a messenger to Fort Rahmat-Ullah, so that help was as far off as ever. Had the King and Fath-ud-Din discovered his visits to the Mission, or was it merely that the Vizier’s hatred had at last burst its bounds? She turned to ask Nur Jahan on what charge he had been arrested, but smiled at her own folly when she remembered that in this happy land there was neither Habeas Corpus Act nor penalty for false imprisonment.
“It is good of thee to come to us, O doctor lady,” said Nur Jahan. “The Queen has been wearying to hear thy voice. She said that thou hadst heard of our trouble and forsaken us; but I said that it was not so, for that where there was sorrow there wouldst thou be to comfort it.”
“Then the Queen is no more cheerful than she was?”
“How should she be, now that this new trial is come upon us? Her slaves and I have kept from her all that we could; but she guesses what we do not tell her. Only she has not wept, for she knows that would injure her eyes, and her heart longs to behold my son before she dies.”
“But have you pleaded with the King for your father’s life?”
“My mother has. She is his own cousin, and yet she went to him as a suppliant, and entreated mercy for her husband; but he refused to hear her, and the rabble of the city broke into her house and set it on fire. Then she took refuge here with her household, and we have waited in vain for news ever since.”
“But does your mother live here in the King’s house, and eat his bread, when he has treated her husband so badly?”
“What else could she do? Our lord the King is her uncle’s son. Where could she take refuge but in his house with his wife? He will suffer no harm to happen to her, for it is only against my father that he is wroth. But I will take thee to see my mother, O doctor lady, when thou hast first visited the Queen, for her heart is sad and it may cheer her to hear thy voice.”
They went on into the Queen’s room, and Georgia examined the bandages and found them intact. It was as yet too early to remove them in order to discover whether the operation had been successful, and she remarked to Nur Jahan that it would have been as well not to send for her until two or three days later, when she could have superintended their removal.
“But we have not sent for thee, O doctor lady,” said Nur Jahan in surprise.
“Not sent for me?” cried Georgia. “But I had a message from the Queen!”
Nur Jahan shook her head, and the Queen spoke in a weak, quivering voice—
“It is of my lord’s kindness, then, that we behold thee, O doctor lady. When he last visited me, I was mourning that we saw thee so seldom, and now he has brought thee hither.”
“I should certainly not have come for a day or two if I had known that there was no change,” said Georgia; “nor should I have obeyed a message from the King, even though sent in your name.” But the poor Queen’s evident pleasure in her society moved her to pity, and she talked cheerfully to her for a while before taking her leave.
There were a few directions as to various points of treatment to be given to Nur Jahan, and when these had been duly explained and a fresh bottle of medicine promised, Georgia rose to go. Nur Jahan led her down the passage and into another room, which was filled with women in mourning. They were all sitting on the floor round an elderly lady, whose grey hair was besprinkled with dust, and they relieved one another at intervals in uttering a few words of lamentation and then breaking into a low, prolonged wail. Georgia had no difficulty in guessing that this was the bereaved household of Jahan Beg, and she felt some delicacy in interrupting the mournful proceedings; but Nur Jahan led her in and presented her to her mother, and the wailing women made room for her in their circle. At first she was afraid that it might be considered only proper politeness to take down her hair and cast dust upon it as they were doing; but she was not long in discovering that the duty of mourning had become a little monotonous after ten days’ diligent performance of it, and that the ladies were not indisposed to welcome the slight relief and distraction which might be afforded by the foreigner’s visit.
Nur Jahan’s mother raised her head, shook the dust out of her eyes, and after surveying Georgia from head to foot with great interest, began the invariable catechism. Was the doctor lady married? How had she learned her wisdom? Where did she get her clothes? Why did she do her hair in that way? Had she a father, mother, brothers, sisters? What had brought her to Kubbet-ul-Haj? Had her family raised no objections to such an extraordinary proceeding? Was the Kaisar really a woman? Was it then true that in England the women ruled and the men obeyed? Why did the doctor lady wear no jewellery? Which member of the Mission was it that dealt in magical arts—herself, or the Envoy, or the doctor who was dead?
The Princess stopped at last for want of breath, and Georgia, having answered as many of the questions as she could remember, expressed the sorrow she had felt on account of the misfortune that had fallen upon Jahan Beg, adding a hope that he would soon be restored to liberty. From all sides came the answer that whatever happened to him would be his fate, which could not be averted; but when she asked presently to what cause his sudden arrest was to be attributed, a storm of passion swept over the crowd of women. It was all the doing of Fath-ud-Din—might he die unlamented in the flower of his age! might his children live but to disgrace him! and might the graves of his parents and grandparents be dishonoured, yea, those of his ancestors to the remotest generation! After this outburst they came to definite charges, the Princess speaking first, and one woman after another chiming in with corroborative evidence.
Fath-ud-Din robbed the treasury and deceived the King, ground the faces of the honest poor, and kept the lawless rabble in his pay. He meant to place his nephew, Antar Khan, on the throne after his father, instead of the rightful heir, Rustam Khan, to whom God had granted such a promising son as showed he was intended to be king. He had a daughter who was supposed to be the most beautiful child in Ethiopia, and he was bringing her up in the country in a fortress of his own, where no one could see her, intending (such was the height of his presumption) to marry her to Antar Khan when she was old enough. And for her guardian there he had an old woman—a sorceress, who could destroy by her magic arts any undesirable stranger that might happen to approach the fortress, for she was one of the remnant of the Poisoners, a tribe of vagrants so noted for their evil deeds that the last King of Ethiopia had swept them almost out of the land. But this woman still remained, and that she worked at her old trade for Fath-ud-Din’s benefit there was no doubt, for did not all his enemies die mysteriously, and no man could tell who had hurt them? To this old woman had descended the evil secrets of the whole tribe, and she knew of poisons and antidotes with which no one else in the world was acquainted.
The women were so eager in their denunciations of the Grand Vizier that Georgia’s voice was unheeded when she tried to interrupt them, for the story of the witch and her poisons had recalled to her mind the recent events at the Mission, and she was anxious to know where the old woman was to be found. But the untiring accusers were hurrying on with a catalogue of other crimes committed by Fath-ud-Din, and they were only checked by a voice from the doorway.
“Dost thou not fear, O wife of Jahan Beg, thus with thy women to speak evil of those in authority? The arm of the Vizier has power to reach even to the house of the King.”
“The cat may seize the mouse, O mother of Antar Khan,” replied the Princess with dignity, “but the mouse may squeak.”
The intruder laughed contemptuously and waddled into the room between the rows of women, who had risen at her entrance. She was still a young woman, and might have been considered beautiful but for her exceeding stoutness (a quality, however, which is not considered a defect in Ethiopia), and she was dressed with the utmost magnificence which Kubbet-ul-Haj could show. Rich satins of varying colours, Kashmir shawls, and transparent gauzes were heaped upon her person in a way which declared them to be intended for display rather than for use; her eyelids were blackened, and her hands and lips reddened, and she was literally loaded with jewels. Several women followed her, in one of whom Georgia recognised the girl who had shouted across the courtyard to her on the last occasion of her visiting the Palace, and these also had donned all their finest possessions in preparation for paying this call. It was the direst insult to come dressed in such a style for a visit which was nominally one of condolence; but Nur Jahan’s mother dissembled her wrath, and invited the young Queen to take a seat on the divan, while her attendants grouped themselves around her. When the visitor was comfortably settled, and had been accommodated with a pipe, she favoured Georgia with a prolonged stare.
“Thou art the English doctor-woman?” she asked, so insolently that her maids giggled at the tone.
“I am,” returned Georgia, looking her over calmly.
“Why hast thou never visited me, to eat bread in my chamber?”
“I have never received an invitation,” said Georgia.
Antar Khan’s mother turned to her attendants.
“Hear the doctor lady!” she cried. “She is waiting for an invitation, instead of sending humbly to ask that she might be allowed to kiss the Queen’s feet!”
Not considering that so self-evident a fact called for comment, Georgia remained silent, which her assailant was unable to do.
“Think not that I came here to see thee,” she said.
“Oh, not at all,” said Georgia, pleasantly; and there was a suspicious tremble in Rahah’s voice as she translated the answer.
“Because, if I desire it, I shall be able to see thee continually from henceforth,” pursued the Queen. “But,” she added, with deep meaning, “I shall not desire it. I would not have thee in my sight.”
Georgia lifted her eyebrows slightly at this enigmatic and apparently uncalled-for remark, an action which seemed to irritate her opponent very much. She leaned forward when she spoke next, and her tone was full of menace.
“Thou art here—in the Palace.”
“I believe so,” returned Georgia, in some surprise.
“But how wilt thou depart hence—and when?”
“In a few minutes, and as I came, I suppose.”
The Queen laughed shrilly, and her women joined their voices with hers.
“Thou wilt never leave the Palace, O doctor lady. Before thou canst return to thy people there is a life to be given for thine, and who is there that will lay down his life for thee? Thou hast neither husband nor father nor brother, and what man is there that will give his life for a woman that is not even of his house?”
Georgia’s heart was in her mouth as the full import of the words dawned upon her; but she turned quietly to Nur Jahan’s mother.
“I never care to prescribe for patients in public,” she said. “Would it be possible for me to see the Queen in a separate room, with, perhaps, one of her attendants?”
A thrill of expectation went round the circle as Rahah translated the words with much emphasis. Georgia singled out an old woman standing behind the Queen.
“Tell me, O my mother,” she said, “whether thou hast long observed these symptoms in thy mistress? Is she often like this? Speak freely, for I cannot hope to cure her unless I know the truth.”
“Is the doctor-woman saying that I am mad?” burst forth the Queen, glaring round at her attendants, whose faces assumed immediately an expression of pious horror, although they were unable to answer in the negative. “I will show thee whether I am mad, thou infidel daughter of a dog!” she cried. “My lord shall give thee into my hands, and thou shalt know what I have wit to do.”
“I think not,” said Georgia with a smile, as her fingers closed on the butt of the little revolver she carried in a special pocket. Her feelings were so highly wrought that it was easier for her at the moment to smile than to speak, but the smile seemed to rouse her adversary to fury. She burst into a storm of threats and revilings such as Rahah declined to translate; but Georgia gathered the impression that any one who was so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of Antar Khan’s mother would have little mercy to hope for, and might well welcome death as the chief blessing on earth. She rose and folded herburkaaround her, and addressed the Princess.
“I fear my presence merely excites the patient,” she said, “and therefore I will go now. Perhaps I shall be able to see her another day when she is quieter, and there are not so many people present.”
“Yes, go!” echoed the Queen and her women. “Go, if thou canst!”
Accompanied by Nur Jahan, and followed by Rahah, Georgia walked down the passage to the door. As had been the case on the previous occasion, the litter was not there. Turning to Nur Jahan, Georgia asked her to send one of the slave-girls to summon it.
“O doctor lady,” whispered Nur Jahan, fearfully, “it is no use. There is evil intended against thee. Come back and remain in the chamber of my lord’s mother. It may be that they would not dare to drag thee from her presence.”
“Are you also turning against me, Nur Jahan? Send the woman at once, if you please. I shall not stay here.”
Tremblingly Nur Jahan obeyed, while the young Queen and her women, who had followed them out, laughed and jeered.
“Never again wilt thou enter the litter, O doctor lady. It is well to give orders, but it is ill when they are not obeyed.”
Nevertheless, after a delay of a few minutes, the litter appeared, to Georgia’s own astonishment, and the utter stupefaction of the Ethiopian women. Georgia’s spirits rose as she stepped into it, followed by Rahah, and she allowed herself to think that the Queen’s mysterious threats and extraordinary conduct had been part of a spiteful joke.
As the morning hours passed on, the feeling of uneasiness at the Mission grew in intensity. Although Georgia’s visits to the Palace were rarely less than two hours in duration, and another hour must be allowed for the journey thither and the return, she had not been gone an hour and a half before Lady Haigh began to appear from the sick room at intervals of ten minutes, and inquire whether she had not come back yet. The men waited on the terrace, too full of anxiety to settle to any occupation, and the servants watched them furtively as they went about their duties. Whether the uneasiness was due to the Vizier’s threat, or to a feeling that the tension which had so long existed had nearly reached breaking-point, every one seemed to be conscious that there was danger in the air.
At length the shouts of running footmen at the outer gates announced an arrival of importance, and a sigh of relief broke from the watchers on the terrace. Miss Keeling had returned in safety after all, but this was the last time that she should leave the Mission unaccompanied, and confide herself to the tender mercies of the sovereign of Ethiopia and his Ministers. But the shouts were not followed by the usual sounds of the creaking open of the ponderous gates and the rush of feet into the courtyard as the litter was carried up to the steps; but only by a parleying between Ismail Bakhsh and some one outside, which was audible in the inner court owing to the loud tones in which it was conducted, although the actual words could not be distinguished. Presently a servant approached the group through the archway.
“Highness,” he said, addressing Stratford, “there are two lords outside, belonging to the King’s court, who desire to speak with the Sahibs, but they will not come inside the gate.”
“Whence this exceeding caution?” said Stratford, as he descended the steps. “They have never displayed any reluctance to come in before.”
No one replied to his observation, and he went towards the gate, the other men following him, with Lady Haigh, uninvited and unnoticed, close at their heels. One of the doors was opened as they advanced, and they found themselves face to face with their old friend, the official who had met them on their first arrival in the city, and introduced them to their present quarters. Now he looked uneasy and as though ashamed of the business on which he had come, while at his side was a hard-faced, eager man, whom the English recognised as one of Fath-ud-Din’s chief supporters among the Amirs.
“Peace be upon you!” said Stratford.
“And upon thee be peace!” was the stereotyped reply.
“Will you not enter and eat bread with us?” asked Stratford.
“My lord’s servants are commanded not to enter his house, nor yet to break bread with him and his young men,” returned the official, “for their errand demands haste. Is the gracious lord, the Queen of England’s Envoy, yet recovered of his sickness?”
“No, he is still indisposed, and I am here in his place,” said Stratford, restraining his impatience with an effort.
“Will my lord command his own servants to withdraw a space?” pursued the ambassador, evidently embarrassed, “for I have to mention one who belongs to the great lord’s household.”
Stratford signed to the servants to withdraw a little, but intimated that Dick and Fitz were equally interested with himself in the matter now to be disclosed, while Kustendjian was necessary as interpreter. This having been made clear, they waited with breathless eagerness, for the ambassador seemed very much at a loss for words.
“My lord knows,” he said at last, “that the English doctor lady came this day to visit the household of our lord the King?”
“I know that she received an urgent message in the Queen’s name entreating her to come to the Palace, and that she hastened thither at once,” said Stratford. The official seemed to find a difficulty in proceeding, and his colleague took up the tale.
“However that may be,” he said, “the doctor lady is now in the hands of our lord the King.”
“And how is that, pray?” asked Stratford. “Since when has the King of Ethiopia adopted the plan of getting women into his power by false messages, and then kidnapping them?”
“In dealing with enemies and infidels, our lord the King pays more heed to the end than to the means,” said the Amir.
“So it seems,” said Stratford, drily; “but does he fight with women?”
“Nay,” said the official, plucking up courage to speak again; “he fights with men, and therefore it is that we are here.”
“The King is evidently in need of money, and requires a ransom,” said Stratford, turning to the rest, and speaking with an airy confidence which he was far from feeling. “How much does he want?” he asked of the messengers.
“Our lord desires not money, nor does he war with women,” repeated the Amir. “In exchange for the woman he requires a man.”
A gasp from Fitz, an exclamation from Dick, and a stifled cry from Lady Haigh warned Stratford of the effect which the announcement of the King’s demand had produced on his friends. He himself felt a certain relief—almost akin to the “stern joy” of the warrior—in the conviction that the crisis for which he had been looking had at last arrived, and his voice rang out clearly as he asked, “And who is it that the King requires?”
“My lord must see,” said the old official reluctantly, “that our lord the King desires him who is chief in authority among you to be sent to him, that he may make the treaty with him which the Queen of England desired when she sent her servants hither.”
“But we have no stronger wish than that the King should sign that very treaty,” objected Stratford.
“But my lord’s treaty is not the King’s treaty,” was the unanswerable reply of the ambassador.
“And if the man you desire should go to the Palace, and yet refuse to sign the King’s treaty, what then?” asked Stratford.
“It is not for the health of any man to withstand our lord the King,” was the evasive answer.
“But if—if the man was not given up,” broke in the agitated voice of Fitz from behind, “what would happen to the lady?”
“Oh, the woman would die—in a little while,” was the instant reply of the Amir, delighted to perceive his opportunity. “Not by the hands of the King’s executioners—that would be a man’s death. No; women can deal with women. There are certain in our lord the King’s household who bear no love to the doctor lady. I do not say that they would kill her; but she would not live very long in their hands—a day, perhaps, or it may be two. And it would not be an easy death.”
“For God’s sake, Stratford, put a stop to this!” muttered Dick, hoarsely, his face convulsed with rage. “Tell them I will go.”
“Unless,” pursued the Amir, apparently heedless of the interruption, although his greedy eyes had not missed the slightest change in the expression of any of the faces before him, “the woman should find favour in the eyes of our lord the King. Then she would live for a time. Afterwards it would be much the same; but whether——”
But the alternative which he had been about to state was left unuttered, for Dick sprang forward and dealt him a blow which stretched him on the ground.
Dick sprang forward and dealt him a blow which stretched him on the ground.
Dick sprang forward and dealt him a blow which stretched him on the ground.
“Say that again if you dare!” he growled, standing over him with clenched fists; but the Amir, evidently considering that discretion was the better part of valour, submitted to be helped up and brushed by his attendants, after which he retired to the rear, Dick turning contemptuously on his heel and resuming his post beside Stratford.
“Let not my lord heed the sayings of that man,” entreated the old official, “for he has an evil tongue and loves to stir up strife.”
“Then is what he says not true?” asked Stratford, sternly. And, divided between a desire to maintain the effect produced and the fear of Dick’s fist, the ambassador preferred to take refuge in silence.
“We will consult together upon the matter and let you know our decision presently,” said Stratford, after waiting in vain for an answer. “If you will not enter, the servants shall spread carpets at the gate for you.”
The official expressed his gratitude for the courtesy, and the little party of English retired to the inner court in silence, a silence which was broken by Fitz as soon as they reached the terrace.
“What do you intend to do?” he demanded of Stratford, glaring at him with eyes still full of the horror inspired by what he had just heard.
“Don’t ask me!” said Lady Haigh, taking the question as addressed to herself; and sitting down at the table, she began to sob heavily. “I shall become a gibbering idiot if this sort of thing goes on,” she wailed.
“I don’t know what you wanted to pretend to discuss things for,” said Dick, gruffly. “What’s the good of fooling about with consultations when I told you I was going?”
“Excuse me,” said Stratford, “you are quite mistaken. I am going.”
Lady Haigh ceased her sobs and looked at him in astonishment, while Dick uttered an inarticulate exclamation. Fitz alone retained the power of speech.
“Let me go, Mr Stratford,” he entreated. “Not you; you can’t be spared. My life isn’t of any value; but every one here depends on you in this fix. I would do anything for Miss Keeling, and be proud to do it. You will let me go, won’t you? It doesn’t signify what happens to me.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Anstruther!” said Stratford, good-humouredly. “There is plenty for you to do yet. Don’t you see that when the King has demanded the man in authority, he is scarcely likely to be willing to accept you instead? You are pretty well known in Kubbet-ul-Haj, certainly; but although Fath-ud-Din might be glad to welcome you as a fellow-victim with me, he would hardly regard you with favour as a substitute.”
“What are we to do without you, Mr Stratford?” asked Lady Haigh, piteously. “Sir Dugald left everything in your charge.”
“We must trust that the King will prove to be less bloodthirsty than his ministers,” he answered. “I am not without hopes of making him listen to reason. Still, one must prepare for the worst, of course. North, if you will come with me to the office a minute, I will give you the keys and the seal, and just put you in the way of things a little.”
Dick followed him in silence; but when they had entered the office he shut the door and put his back against it.
“Look here, Stratford,” he said, “you have got to let me go. It is my right, I tell you. I—I love her.”
“Of course you do,” returned Stratford. “I have seen that for some time. That is why I am glad that you will be left to look after her. You will have your work cut out for you if you are to get back to Khemistan after this——”
“Stratford,” said Dick earnestly, “listen to me. This is my business, and it is very unfriendly of you, though you mean well, to try to take it from me. I intend to go.”
“Excuse me,” said Stratford, “but it is my business too. No, I am not hinting at cutting you out, old man—I couldn’t do it if I would. My reason for going is totally unconnected with Miss Keeling, except in so far as her danger has brought things to a climax. I am not going to sign Fath-ud-Din’s treaty; but neither do I intend to be killed if I can help it. I shall take our treaty with me, and if I leave the Palace alive I shall bring that treaty out with me, signed. You will observe that it is not for Miss Keeling that I am risking my life, but simply on a matter of business. I stake my life against the treaty, and if I keep the one I gain the other. Of course, if I fail I lose both. Now do you see it?”
“But I could look after the treaty just the same,” urged Dick.
“No, you couldn’t. You are not a diplomatist, North; you are a soldier, and tact is not exactly your strong point. I know that you could die like a hero; but you don’t shine in statecraft, and I am anxious that no dying shall be necessary, if that is possible. You understand? It is a matter of personal moment to me to get this treaty signed, and I ask you, as a favour, to waive your claim to sacrifice yourself for Miss Keeling.”
“Oh, hang it all!” burst forth Dick. “When you put it in that way, Stratford, what can a man do but make a fool of himself, and let you go? It’s my right, and you take away from me my only chance of showing her that I would die for her, though I can’t manage to please her. But we have rubbed through a good deal together, you and I—oh, there, you can go.”
“Thanks, old man; I thought I knew your sort. That’s settled, then. By the bye, if they should put an end to me it is just possible that they might have some one there capable of imitating my writing. They must have seen my signature on notes and things of that kind. Well, if I sign any treaty you will find the words run into one another, so that theEgertonis joined to theStratford. That is the test of genuineness, do you see?”
“All right.”
“I leave you in charge of everything here, of course. I am very much afraid that Jahan Beg must have come to grief, so don’t depend upon him any longer. You won’t be able to leave the Mission yourself now, of course; but if you can get one of the servants to venture, send him off to Fort Rahmat-Ullah. The absence of news ought to have put them on the alert, and if they have any sense they will be preparing a rescue expedition already; but you can’t count on that. If you see the faintest chance of getting every one off safely, I charge you most solemnly to seize it at once, without waiting to see what has become of me. Such a message as this means war to the knife, and you must take any opportunity that offers of an escort, for to fight your way through Ethiopia would be an impossibility, with the women and the Chief to guard, and no horses. Perhaps Hicks might join forces with you, if you approached him in a proper spirit, and he would be a real acquisition, for he has a good number of armed servants, and has seen something of Indian fighting on the Plains. If he doesn’t see it, you may have to stand a siege here until relief arrives; but what you are to do about food I don’t know. I can’t attempt to give you directions. All I say is, if the worst comes to the worst, leave me and the treaty alone, and escape as best you can.”
“All right,” said Dick again.
“Here are the keys. Young Anstruther will show you how the papers are arranged. And, by the bye, if I don’t come back, send my things to my sister, Mrs Rowcroft, Branscombe Vicarage, Homeshire, and tell her how it was. She is the only near relation I have, and we haven’t met for nearly twenty years.”
They left the office together, and returned to the terrace.
“Mayn’t I go, Mr Stratford?” cried Fitz, starting up to meet them.
“Certainly not. I told you that before.”
“Mightn’t I come with you, then? We could fight back to back, you know.”
“No, thanks. But I will borrow that large old-fashioned pistol of yours, if you have no objection. You will probably not see it again in any case, so don’t lend it me if it is a favourite.”
Fitz was off immediately, and Stratford turned to Lady Haigh.
“You will think me an unconscionable borrower,” he said, “but there is a miniature revolver of Sir Dugald’s for the loan of which I should be most grateful. It is smaller than any of ours, and easier to hide.”
“I will tell Chanda Lal to look it out at once,” said Lady Haigh, and went to find the bearer.
“Now, Mr Kustendjian, I should like our treaty, please,” said Stratford. “You have nearly finished the second copy of it, I think?”
“Nearly,” said the Armenian, whose English seemed almost to have forsaken him under the influence of horror. “You will have need of me, Mr Stratford?”
“No, indeed. I will take no one into danger with me. Thank you, Anstruther,” as Fitz reappeared with a large brass-mounted pistol. “I will load it simply with powder, I think. It will be less dangerous if it should happen to go off in my coat-pocket. There! How does that look?”
“It sticks out a good deal,” said Fitz, surveying the coat critically. “Any one could see that you had a pistol in that pocket.”
“That is exactly the impression I wish to produce. One thing more you can do for me, Anstruther. Just rummage among the stores, and see whether you can find any description of food that has a good deal of nourishment in very small compass.”
Fitz departed again, and presently Lady Haigh returned with the little revolver, which Stratford loaded carefully and slipped up his left coat-sleeve. Dick and Kustendjian watched him curiously and with respect. It was evident that he had some plan in his head, but neither of them could divine what it was. A minute or two later Fitz came up the steps with a box of meat lozenges in his hand, and presented it to him.
“Will these do, Mr Stratford?” he asked. “They were the smallest things I could find. There were tinned soups, of course, and chocolate; but I thought these would have more nourishment in them.”
“Quite right,” said Stratford; “they are the very thing. Is that the treaty, Mr Kustendjian? I think my preparations are complete, then. You will say good-bye to the Chief for me when he is better, Lady Haigh?”
“Must you go?” whispered Lady Haigh, hoarsely, as she held his hand.
“I must,” he said. “If I should escape, Sir Dugald’s work will have been completed. You will like to remember that.”
“I shall ride to the Palace with you,” said Dick, as they went down the steps.
“It will be just as well, for you will be able to escort Miss Keeling back. It would be a pity for them to keep her in their hands after all.”
Another interruption met them as they emerged from the archway into the outer court. Waiting for them there, with his hand lifted to the salute, was old Ismail Bakhsh the gatekeeper, a former trooper of the Khemistan Horse, the celebrated force to which Dick was attached, and which had been raised in the first instance by Georgia’s father, General Keeling.
“Will my lord tell his servant,” he asked Stratford, “whether it is true what they are saying among the servant-people, that my lord goes to the Palace to give his life for the doctor lady’s?”
“It is true,” answered Stratford.
“Let my lord listen to his servant, for it is not fitting that my lord should accept death for the sake of one who has no claim on him. I served for ten years under Sinjāj Kīlin the general, and I will go in my lord’s place, because I have eaten of Sinjāj Kīlin’s salt, and it is not right that his daughter should come to shame or harm while Ismail Bakhsh lives.”
“Your loyalty to your old general is only what I should have expected from you, Ismail Bakhsh, but the King demands my presence, and not another’s.”
“But would my lord sacrifice himself for a woman—and that woman not even of his house?”
“I would do it for a woman, Ismail Bakhsh, and so would any of us, when we would not do it for a man.”
“It is the way of the English,” said Ismail Bakhsh, thoughtfully, with grieved surprise in his tone. “That my lord should give his life for his lord, the Envoy of the Empress, would be no great matter—but for a woman!”
Stratford laughed.
“Not only I, but all three of us, Ismail Bakhsh, would have given our lives rather than that a hair of the doctor lady’s head should be injured.”
“God forbid!” said Ismail Bakhsh, piously. “Let not my lord speak such words in the hearing of the scum of the earth out yonder, or there will be none, either of English men or women, to see Khemistan again.”
“You observe that, North?” said Stratford. “Any undue display of chivalrous sentiments here is likely to land you deeper in difficulties, so keep them to yourself. Chivalry is at a discount in Kubbet-ul-Haj.”
They mounted their horses, and accompanied the ambassadors back to the Palace, half-a-dozen armed servants following them, in case the King should show a disposition to claim Dick’s life as well as that of Stratford in exchange for Georgia. When the greater part of the journey had been accomplished, and the frowning walls of the Palace courtyard were just in sight, they met the well-known procession of slaves and soldiers guarding the litter, which had so often come to the Mission to fetch the doctor lady.
“Evidently they sent off a swift messenger to tell them that we accepted the terms, and the King is anxious to show that he confides in our good faith,” said Stratford. “Funny mixture, isn’t he? Well, you will turn back here, North, I suppose? There is no particular use in your coming on further.”
“Let me go instead of you,” entreated Dick once more.
“My dear fellow, haven’t I wasted enough breath on you yet? I thought we had threshed all that out long ago, and that you were quite convinced. By the bye, now that we are abreast of the litter, it might be as well for you to make sure that Miss Keeling really is inside. It would be irritating to be fooled now.”
Doggedly Dick pushed his way through the guards, and raised the curtain of the litter, in spite of the loud protests of the slaves. He was fully prepared for a trick; but the eyes which looked up at him through the lattice-work of theburkawere unmistakably Georgia’s, and it was undeniably Rahah who flung herself forward to draw the curtain close again, with a shrill rebuke to the slaves for letting some drunken wretch approach the litter.
“Why, Major North, is it you?” asked Georgia, in astonishment. “Is anything the matter?”
“Not much—not exactly,” he stammered. “I—he—we fancied it might be safer if I turned up to escort you home.”
“It was very kind of you,” said Georgia, gratefully. “We had rather a fright at the Palace; but I will tell you about it presently.”
“Yes—very well,” he muttered incoherently, and, drawing the curtain again, turned to Stratford; but his lips refused to perform their office. Stratford held out his hand.
“Good-bye, old man,” he said. “God help you with the job you will have in hand now.”
“God bless you, Stratford!” burst from Dick. “I wish with all my soul that I was in your place at this moment.”
He wrung Stratford’s hand, and turned silently to follow the litter with the servants, while the ambassadors and their prisoner rode on towards the Palace.
“How shall I ever tell her?” was the question which agitated Dick’s mind as they neared the Mission. He knew enough of Georgia to feel sure that, if she been made acquainted with the terms of the King’s ultimatum, she would promptly have gone back to the Palace, and refused to allow any one else to be sacrificed for her, and he quailed under the anticipated necessity of informing her of what had been done. But he was saved this duty, for as he entered the Mission courtyard Mr Hicks came hurrying to meet him.
“Well, Major,” he exclaimed, “the King has been playing it pretty low down on you, I guess. I’m always glad to look on at a fair fight, and it don’t so much matter to me which of the chaps gives the other beans so long as everything is done on the square. But when it comes to getting hold of a woman, and by threatening to torture her, working on a man’s highest feelings to make him give himself up instead, you may bet largely that I don’t stand in with doings of that stamp—no, sir! The moment I heard a rumour of what was going on I made my darkies fly around, and in just half no time I had everything fixed up to come here. You may count on me as a fair shot with a Winchester or a six-shooter if it comes to fighting, and if old Fath-ud-Din and I catch sight of each other, one of us is bound to send in his checks, or I’ll never look a woman in the face again. Your nation and mine are not always sweet to each other, sir; but if there’s any question of a woman in danger, you may count upon Jonathan to the last drop of his blood.”
“Much obliged,” muttered Dick; but under his breath he grumbled, “I wish that voice of yours wasn’t quite so loud.”
Georgia was being helped out of the litter at the moment, and as she reached the ground she cast a quick, apprehensive glance about her. Her hand was on Dick’s arm; Fitz was coming through the archway, and Kustendjian was visible on the verandah of the Durbar-hall. Ismail Bakhsh and his subordinates stood by the gate, looking at her with disapproving eyes, silent and grim, and her mind filled up in a moment the gaps in Mr Hicks’ speech. A sob broke from her as she stood gazing from one to the other; then her hand dropped from Dick’s arm, and, gathering herburkaaround her, she passed on into the inner court. Dick followed, with a vague notion of saying something to comfort her; but at the foot of the steps she turned and faced him.
“You let Mr Stratford go to the Palace in exchange for me—youlet him?” she asked sharply, and waited for his answer with breathless anxiety.
“I tried to prevent him—he would go,” stammered Dick.
“Youlet him sacrifice himself to save me? If anything happens to him I will never, never speak to you again as long as I live!” and she turned her back on him and fled up the steps. He stood looking after her, stupefied.
“She cares for him, and I never guessed it,” he muttered to himself. “I might have saved him for her, and I have let him go and get himself killed by those fiends yonder!”
Throughout that long day, Dick worked with feverish activity at anything that offered itself as an outlet for his energies, without cherishing the least hope that his friend’s sanguine anticipations of a possible change for the better in the attitude of the King and Fath-ud-Din would be realised. It was his opinion that the worst had come to the worst, and that as soon as Stratford had met his death at the Palace, a general attack upon the Mission premises would take place, with the view of making it appear that all the members of the expedition had been murdered in a popular tumult. With this cheering prospect in view, he prepared the building for defence, instructed the servants afresh as to their respective duties in case of an assault, and placed the stands of arms where their contents could most readily be seized on an emergency. Fearing that an attempt might be made to starve the Mission into a surrender, he bought up all the provisions which the country-people brought in, and even induced them by liberal payments to sell him a supply of corn which they had intended to dispose of in the city market.
Having thus made preparations for resisting a siege as well as a sudden assault, he was forced by his very need of occupation to take somewhat wider views, and to consider the improbable possibility of evacuating the place safely. Accordingly he summoned Ismail Bakhsh, and, setting before him the facts of the case, asked whether he would undertake the dangerous task of conveying a message to Fort Rahmat-Ullah. He did not attempt to minimise the risks to be incurred; but the old soldier was faithful to his salt, and consented to attempt the journey in disguise. His trained eye had enabled him to observe the features of the route traversed on the journey to more purpose than his younger companions had done, and he was persuaded that if he were once safely outside the walls he could make his way to the frontier without much difficulty—provided, of course, that his absence was not discovered, and a hue and cry set on foot. A certain addition to his pension in case of his success, and compensation to his family if he was killed, were agreed upon, and Ismail Bakhsh retired, leaving Dick to face the inaction which he had been combating all day.
He could not think of anything else to do, beyond going the round of the walls at absurdly short intervals and seeing that the servants were keeping a good look-out; and the more personal troubles, which he had been trying to keep at bay, crowded upon him and would not be put aside. The day had cost him both his friend and the woman whom he loved—and who loved that friend. The miserable irony of the situation seemed to mock him afresh whenever he tried to face it. Georgia loved Stratford, and Stratford had gone to his death to save her—yet not because he loved her, but because he saw in the action a chance of doing a good stroke of business—while he, who would willingly have died for Georgia’s sake, remained alive, to meet the grief and anger which she would naturally feel at his having allowed his friend to sacrifice himself for her.
Wretched as the outlook appeared to Dick, however, it is a question whether it was not even more dreary for Georgia, since his conscience was clear, and hers was not. She could not rid herself of the conviction that if she had done as Lady Haigh advised, and declined to go to the Palace without first consulting Stratford, he might even now be free and in comparative safety, while if he had given her leave to go, she would not have had herself to reproach for his untoward fate. It was so unlike her usual practice to act on the impulse of a moment of irritation, as she had done in this case, that she asked herself what could have made her refuse so decidedly even to communicate to the gentlemen her intention of visiting her patient. She had not far to seek for an answer. It was Dick whose opposition she had feared. She had been so obstinately determined not to appear in the slightest degree willing to ask either his opinion or his advice, after the words he had uttered in the heat of their discussion, that she had sacrificed his friend and hers to her wounded pride.
Nor was the realisation of this fact her sole punishment. Whatever Dick might think, she had no illusions as to the frame of mind in which Stratford had gone to the Palace. His story she had early heard from Lady Haigh, with the addition of the significant remark that he was never likely to marry now, and it had given her a distinct thrill of pleasure when she found that this faithful lover was willing to be her friend on the footing she liked best. The greater number of her medicalconfrèresin London, and of the many men whose friendship she had gained and kept since her hospital days, had been content to accept her terms and to meet her on the equal ground of comradeship. Some there had been, as Mabel had told Dick, who were anxious to go further, and had been courteously though firmly repulsed; but Stratford was not one of these. He had made a friend of her as if she had been a man, she thought, and he had sacrificed himself for her in exactly the spirit he would have exhibited if Lady Haigh had been in danger, and not Miss Keeling. She knew well enough that there was no personal feeling whatever in his case, but it was different with Dick. Why had he allowed Stratford to go instead of going himself? He did care for her—at least, she had begun to think so until his plain speaking of a week ago had created the breach between them. But now she was on the horns of a dilemma. Either he could not care for her, since he had left it to another man to give his life to save hers, or else, if he did care for her, he was a coward who was willing to shelter himself behind the other man’s self-sacrifice. But Dick’s past record was sufficient to put the latter supposition beyond the bounds of possibility, and Georgia was thrown back upon the former. He could not care for her, and she cared for him. To the woman whose heart had never been touched before, the thought was almost unendurable in the shame it brought with it.
And she had sent Stratford to his death! What would there have been in the slight humiliation—more fancied than real, after all—involved in asking his leave as head of the party before quitting the Mission, compared with the overwhelming remorse and misery which now oppressed her? She recalled the threats launched against herself by Antar Khan’s mother, and sobbed and shuddered at the thought that the tortures of which the mere mention had been considered sufficient to terrify herself were now being inflicted on another, and by her fault. Lady Haigh, who came wandering in and out of her room like a restless ghost, could offer her no comfort, since the best they could hope for was that Stratford was dead already, cut down by the guard in some conflict provoked by himself, and that he had thus died without either torture or indignity. The two women could not endure to talk, could not even pray; they could only weep in concert and exchange half-uttered surmisings which were worse than certainties.
The day wore away, and Mr Hicks, who had spent the greater part of it busily and happily in passing all the rifles in review, cleaning them and adjusting the mechanism, came to Dick, as he sat brooding gloomily over the state of affairs in the office, and represented mildly but firmly that the whole party would be the better for some dinner. He had put up with the absence of tiffin under the painful circumstances of his visit, he said; but he could not see that because one poor fellow had got wiped out all the rest must necessarily starve. Thus reminded that he had taken no food since breakfast-time, Dick awoke to a perception of the duties of hospitality, and apologising to Mr Hicks for the inconvenience and discomfort to which he had been subjected, ordered the meal to be served at the usual hour. It was a very small and lugubrious company that met in the dining-room. Dick had sent a message to the ladies, asking whether they would appear at table, but no answer was returned; and Mr Hicks was the only person who possessed an appetite. He did his best to worry his hosts into eating something, but he was not very successful; and at last Fitz left the table suddenly, muttering something about the flag, which he feared had not, in the general confusion, been hauled down as usual at sunset. As the noise of his hurrying footsteps on the stones of the terrace died away, another sound became audible—the blare and din of native music, the shrill cries of triumph of women, and the approaching tread of a multitude.
“It’s coming at last!” cried Dick, springing up from his seat and buckling on his sword. “You know your post, Hicks?”
“Wait a minute, Major,” said Mr Hicks. “Doesn’t it strike you that this is rather a new way of conducting an attack?”
“Why, what else could it be?” asked Dick.
The American turned aside, and would not meet his eye as he answered—
“Well, if they have put an end to the poor fellow, I would bet my last red cent that they would carry his remains about in procession to show the people—to show us, too, for the matter of that—and it won’t be a pretty sight for the ladies to see, any way.”
“Good gracious, no!” cried Dick. “Say nothing to them at present, Hicks. We will just order the servants to their posts without troubling the ladies, and then watch from the gate and see what happens.”
They went down into the outer courtyard, sent the servants to their appointed places without any noise or confusion, and took their stand at the window over the gateway, where they were joined by Fitz and Kustendjian. They stood there, waiting breathlessly, for some minutes, each man’s hand on his weapon, while behind them the fierce eyes and gleaming blades of Ismail Bakhsh and his subordinates reflected the glare of the torches which were now beginning to appear at the end of the winding street. Nearer and nearer came the crowd, apparently all mad with joy, leaping, dancing, tearing off clothes and flinging them on the ground, waving torches, shouting, singing, and yelling. Some looked up at the window as they passed it, and it seemed to the little band of white men standing there that their gestures became intolerably derisive, and that their faces took on a fiendish grin as they massed themselves in the street beyond the Mission and waited—in so far as those still pressing upon them from behind would allow them to wait. Dick felt his heart thumping against his ribs; he was aware that Kustendjian had sat down in a corner and hidden his face from the horror he expected to see, that Fitz was leaning against the wall with white lips and staring eyes, and that Mr Hicks was uttering spasmodic exhortations at momentary intervals—“Steady, boys! Keep up; don’t let ’em see you wilt. Never give in!”—such as bespoke rather, perhaps, the turmoil of his own mind than his estimate of the state of feeling of his companions.
“Soldiers!” murmured some one, and a squadron of cavalry defiled slowly past, saluting as they came level with the window—a piece of mockery for which Dick cursed them in his heart. Then more torches, more musical instruments, more excited people, banners, dancing-girls, gliding and posturing to the sounds of the music, with their long coloured scarfs twirled daintily on the tips of their outspread fingers; and then two men riding alone, wearing robes of honour. As they reached the gate they paused and waited; then one of them looked up, and in tones of extreme calmness addressed the group at the window.
“You don’t mean to keep me here all night, North, do you? Mr Anstruther, I give you my word of honour that I am not a ghost yet.”
How they got down the stairs and opened the gate none of them ever knew, but in another minute Stratford was among them, unhurt, and indulging in a little chaff by way of maintaining his own composure.
“I wonder you didn’t shoot me when I looked up just now, North. If ever I saw murder in a man’s eye, I saw it in yours then. Mr Hicks, you have as keen a scent for a battle as any vulture. The way you turn up when you think we are likely to be in trouble is positively pathetic. I have some further use for my arm, Anstruther, if you have finished wringing my hand off. Peace be with you, Ismail Bakhsh! I fear you are disappointed that there is to be no fighting to-night?”
“My lord is pleased to jest,” said Ismail Bakhsh, reprovingly, as he directed the closing of the gate. The processionists outside had turned back, and were marching homewards amid a fresh outburst of minstrelsy, with the man who had accompanied Stratford at their head. No one thought of asking who he was, nor, indeed, of paying the slightest attention to affairs outside, as Stratford was assisted, quite unnecessarily, to dismount, and escorted through the archway into the inner court. But he was not to arrive altogether unheralded. Brought to his senses by Stratford’s commonplace greeting, Fitz had dashed across the court and up to the terrace, the only man who remembered in the excitement of the moment that the joyful news ought not to be allowed to burst suddenly upon the ladies. The fresh hope in his voice—a hope to which they had been strangers for what seemed interminable hours—roused them from their lethargy of grief, and they came out into the verandah with tear-stained faces and ruffled hair, both looking as though they had cried until they could cry no more.
“Good news, Lady Haigh!” panted Fitz. “Miss Keeling, they haven’t murdered him after all. He is not a bit hurt. He will be here in a minute. He’s here now!”
This method of breaking the news, though strictly gradual, could scarcely be called gentle, and Lady Haigh and Georgia stood staring at Fitz without understanding him in the least. Seeing this, he tried a new plan, the first that recommended itself to his excited mind.
“Aren’t you going to put on your best things to greet the hero in, Miss Keeling? He’s dressed up to the eyes himself. You never saw such a get-up—most awfully swagger. You will never be able to keep him in countenance.”
“Oh, you absurd boy!” cried Georgia, and she sat down at the top of the steps and laughed wildly.
“Fetch me a jug of water, Mr Anstruther,” said Lady Haigh, sternly. “You are getting into a way of going into hysterics, Georgia, and I mean to break you of it. This is the second time I have caught you at it since we came to Kubbet-ul-Haj, and it’s not professional.”
“Professional?” echoed Georgia, beginning to laugh again; “it is the circumstances that are unprofessional, not I. Besides, I am not in the least hysterical. Thank you—a little water—please—Mr Anstruther.”
The water, applied internally, and not as Lady Haigh had intended, proved efficacious, and when Stratford and the rest approached the terrace, Georgia had recovered her composure. She met Stratford as he mounted the steps, and held out her hand to him. Dick, seeing the action, turned his eyes away, and listened in sick terror for what would follow. After all, Stratford had the right to win her now if he chose to exercise it. But if he did not choose? Would he humiliate Georgia by repulsing her before them all? But Dick need not have been afraid. Even his jealous ear could detect in her tones merely the amount of feeling natural and unavoidable under the circumstances, although her eyes were swimming with tears as she said—
“I can never thank you enough for what you have done to-day, Mr Stratford. If I don’t seem as grateful as I ought to be, you must only think that I can’t blame myself properly for my foolishness and obstinacy in going to the Palace without leave as I did, since it gave you the opportunity of doing such a deed of heroism.”
Every word went to Dick’s heart, as, alas! it was meant to do. He waited anxiously to hear Stratford say that he had gone to the Palace merely as a speculation of his own, and that Miss Keeling had had very little to do with the matter, but the words did not come. Stratford was not the man to hurt a woman’s feelings gratuitously by an uncalled-for rebuff, however true its nature, and he answered at once—
“You are too kind, Miss Keeling. I assure you that there was an eager competition for the honour of helping you out of your little predicament. Anstruther was bent on going; and as for North, I had to keep him back almost by main force. He was only restrained at last by a combination of definite orders, personal entreaties, and solemn assurances that my going was for the greater good of the Mission.”
Georgia’s eyes were raised to Dick’s for a moment, and the expression in them said, “You might have told me!” But his eyes met hers with a steady hostility, which revived all the bitter feelings which had tormented her during the day.
“I am afraid I did you an injustice, then, Major North,” she remarked, sweetly. “You must take into account the circumstances of the moment, and kindly forgive my hasty words. I am only a woman, you know.”
Dick bit his lip, and tried hard to think of something cutting to say. Was it fair that this woman, who had treated him so unfairly—no, not unfairly, cruelly—well, not exactly cruelly, slightingly—no, not that, carelessly, perhaps—should also have the power of making him writhe in this way? And he loved her! He had even told Stratford so! How Stratford must be laughing at him in his sleeve at this moment! All this passed through his mind as he stood staring dumbly at Georgia until Lady Haigh, who had caught the look in his eyes, pushed her gently aside, and addressed herself to the hero of the occasion.
“And you escaped without signing their treaty?” she asked.
“I did not sign it, certainly,” he replied.
“And what about our treaty?” asked Fitz, eagerly.
“There is our treaty—signed,” returned Stratford, with a queer gleam in his eyes as he laid the parchment on the table. “When the Chief gets better he will find that his work was not all in vain, Lady Haigh.”
Lady Haigh blushed afterwards to remember that she was ready to kiss Stratford there and then in the first flush of her delight at the news; but she restrained herself sufficiently to do no more than wring his hand without a word. The rest were examining the treaty, which bore Stratford’s signature and another, as well as the King’s seal and that of the Grand Vizier.
“But that is not Fath-ud-Din’s signature,” said Kustendjian, who was looking at the parchment from the other side of the table.
“No,” said Stratford, drily; “it is Jahan Beg’s.”
“Jahan Beg’s?” was echoed, in tones of astonishment.
“Yes; he has succeeded Fath-ud-Din as Grand Vizier. You have a good deal to hear; but I should like some dinner first, if there is any going.”
“Have you had nothing but meat lozenges all day, Mr Stratford?” asked Fitz, laughing; and every one adjourned to the dining-room, where the dishes, which had been left untasted half an hour before, were still on the table. Everything was cold, of course, and the servants were in despair; but the makeshift meal was the most cheerful that had taken place during the whole sojourn of the Mission in Kubbet-ul-Haj, and when it was over, the party returned to the terrace, and demanded clamorously of Stratford that he should tell his story.
“It is rather long, and I am afraid you will find it a little tedious,” he said, throwing away his cigarette; “but I can assure you that the experience was much more tedious to go through than to talk about. Well, no attempt was made to molest me when I got to the Palace, and I started off as usual in the direction of the hall of audience. Generally, as you know, when we have gone to the Palace, there have been a lot of chamberlains and fellows to clear a path for us and bring us to the King, but to-day I had to elbow my way through the crowd that was hanging about. It was a sign that times were changed; but that wasn’t all, for, before I had got half-way through the mob, I felt a pull at my coat-tail, and when I could put my hand there, I found that I had been eased of my pistol. However, as I had put the pistol into that pocket for the express purpose of having it seen and stolen, I didn’t mind much. When I got to the door of the audience-chamber, the guard made a fuss about letting me in; but I said that the King had sent for me, and I meant to see him. When they saw that I would stand no nonsense, they let me pass, and I found the King and Fath-ud-Din, as I had hoped, in the room in which they had tried to bribe the Chief to sign their treaty. It is quite small, you remember, and the walls are solid, without any of the lattice-work panels you see in the big hall. The windows are high up, and all the open carving is of stone, and not of wood. It was another score for me that the King thought fit to treat me as a criminal, and didn’t invite me to come close to him, so I chose my position, and camped in the corner in a line with the door, and opposite to the King’s divan. Of course this was nominally in order that what we said should not be overheard outside. They brought in coffee; but I refused to taste it, for I didn’t see any advantage in being poisoned at the very outset, and there was no object in keeping on the mask of friendliness any longer.”
“Wait a minute,” said Dick. “How did you manage everything without an interpreter?”
“I got out my best Ethiopian for the occasion, and when that failed we had recourse to Arabic,” returned Stratford. “The King and Fath-ud-Din can both talk it pretty well when they like, as you know. Well, when war had once been declared by my refusing the coffee, we sat for hours arguing. It was intimated to me pretty clearly at the beginning that if I didn’t sign their treaty, I should not leave the Palace alive; but when they saw that that didn’t seem to affect me to any appreciable extent, they began to add inducements on the other side. They offered me money and precious stones—quite a comfortable little fortune, I should think—rising by degrees until either their tempers or their purses gave way. Then, evidently thinking that my obstinacy arose from a fear that the rest of you would split upon me, they offered to put every one else belonging to the Mission out of the way, and to send me back to Khemistan as a conquering hero, returning with the best treaty I could manage to obtain. When they found that wouldn’t do, they offered me Jahan Beg’s office and property if I would only sign. I was to disappear from the ken of mortals outside Ethiopia, of course, and they would represent that the Mission had all been carried off by a pestilence, leaving only the treaty behind them. Their ideas as to English credulity are distinctly Arcadian. Well, all this time the servants kept bringing in sweetmeats and sherbet and fruit; but I would not touch anything, though I was abominably thirsty, for I remembered what Miss Keeling had said about some poison that destroyed the will, and I didn’t want to be hocussed into signing. Then they started on a fresh tack, and had in a crowd of dancing-girls——”
“The temptation of St Egerton!” cried Fitz, hugely delighted. “Were they very fascinating, Mr Stratford?”
“You might possibly have found them so,” returned Stratford, coolly; “but my tastes don’t happen to lie in that direction. I endured their performances for some time, and then they began to get tiresome. It was rather hard on the poor things, I know, for they were doing their level best; but I yawned aggressively, and suggested that we should go back to business. They bundled the girls out, and I found that the King and Fath-ud-Din had about reached the end of their patience. They took to threats now, and discoursed movingly for some time on the subject of tortures, with a strictly personal application. Fath-ud-Din did most of the talking; but when the King thought that his language was lacking in vigour, he added a few stronger touches to the picture. At last I remarked that this was all very interesting, but it wasn’t business, and that set them off. The King stamped on the floor, and immediately the curtain over the door was pulled aside, and a gang of the most villainous-looking negroes I ever saw filed in. ‘Seize that white devil,’ said Fath-ud-Din, ‘and let our lord the King behold your skill.’ That was all very well, but there were two sides to the question. ‘Stop,’ I said to the foremost black fellow as he turned towards me—‘cross that line in the floor at your peril!’ He laughed. I believe they thought I meant to take it fighting; but that was not my game at all. In a rough-and-tumble fight with those niggers I should have gone under in no time, and I didn’t exactly see being pulled to pieces with red-hot pincers to make a holiday for the King and Fath-ud-Din. I had slipped the little revolver down my sleeve and into my right hand, and I had some extra cartridges in my left, and as the man set his foot on the line I had pointed at, I shot him straight off. It was rather a strong thing to do; but it was my only chance. The other black fellows drew back as the first man fell forward on his face, his arms almost touching the King, and Fath-ud-Din opened his mouth to yell out to the guard; but I spoke first, slipping in another cartridge into the chamber I had fired. ‘I have six shots here without reloading,’ I said. ‘The next two are for the King and the Grand Vizier, as soon as either of them moves or speaks; the rest are for the first four men that cross this line.’”