CHAPTER VI
RED DAWN
Presently Amber rose and quietly exchanged dressing-gown and slippersfor his own shooting-jacket and boots--which by now were dry, thanks toDoggott's thoughtfulness in placing them near the fire.
The shabby tin clock had droned through thirty minutes since Rutton hadspoken his last word. In that interval, sitting face to face, and for alittle time hand in hand, with the man to whom he had pledged hishonour, Amber had thought deeply, carefully weighing ways and means;nor did he move until he believed his plans mature and definite.
But before he could take one step toward redeeming his word to Rutton,he had many cares to dispose of. In the hut, Rutton lay dead of poison;somewhere amongst the dunes the babu lay in his blood, shot todeath--foully murdered, the world would say. Should these things becomeknown, he would be detained indefinitely in Nokomis as a witness--if,indeed, he escaped a graver charge.
It was, then, with a mind burdened with black anxiety that he went toarouse Doggott.
The rear room proved to be as cheerless as the other. Of approximatelythe same dimensions, it too had been furnished with little regard foranything but the barest conveniences of camp-life. It contained a smallsheet-iron stove for cooking, a table, a rack of shelves, two chairs,and a rickety cot-bed in addition to another trunk. On the table a tinkerosene-lamp had burned low, poisoning the air with its bitter reek.On the cot Doggott sprawled in his clothing, his strainedposition--half reclining, feet upon the floor--suggesting anuncontemplated surrender to fatigue. His face was flushed and he wasbreathing heavily.
The Virginian stood over him for several minutes before he could bringhimself to the point of awakening the man to the news of Rutton'sdeath. Aware of that steadfast loyalty which Doggott had borne hismaster through many years of service, he shrank with conceivablereluctance from the duty. But necessity drove him with a taut rein; andfinally he bent over and shook the sleeper by the shoulder.
With a jerk the man sat up and recognised Amber.
"Beg pardon, sir," he muttered, lifting himself sluggishly; "I didn'tmean to fall asleep--I'd only sat down for a moment's rest. Has--hasanything gone bad, sir?" he added hastily, remarking with troubled eyesthe sympathy and concern in Amber's expression.
Amber looked away. "Mr. Rutton is dead, Doggott," he managed to saywith some difficulty.
Doggott exclaimed beneath his breath. "Dead!" he cried in a tone ofdaze. In two strides he had left Amber and was kneeling by Rutton'sside. The most cursory examination, however, sufficed to resolve hisevery doubt: the hanging head and arms, the livid face with its staringyet sightless eyes, the shrunken figure seeming so pitifully slight andunsubstantial in comparison with its accustomed strong and virilepoise, hopelessly confirmed Amber's statement.
"Dead!" whispered the servant. He rose and stood swaying, his lipsa-tremble, his eyes blinking through a mist, his head bowed. "'E alwayswas uncommon' good to me, Mr. Amber," he said brokenly. "It's a bit'ard, comin' this w'y. 'Ow--'ow did it--" He broke down completely fora time, and staggered away to the wall, there to stand with his headpillowed on his crossed forearms.
When he had himself in more control Amber told him as briefly aspossible of the head at the window and of its sequel--Rutton'sdespairing suicide.
Doggott listened in silence, nodding his comprehension. "I've alwayslooked for it, sir," he commented. "'E'd warned me never to touch thatsilver tube; 'e never said poison, but I suspected it, 'e being blueand melancholy-like, by fits and turns--'e never told me why."
Then, reverently, they took up the body and laid it out upon thehammock-bed, Doggott arranging the limbs and closing the eyes beforespreading a sheet over the rigid form.
"And now, what, Mr. Amber?" he asked.
Amber had returned to the table. He pondered his problems for some timebefore answering; a distasteful duty devolved upon him of questioningthe servant about his master's secrets, of delving into the mysterywhich Rutton had chosen always to preserve about himself--which,indeed, he had chosen to die without disclosing to the man whom he hadtermed his sole intimate. Yet this task, too, must be gone throughwith.
"Mr. Rutton spoke of a despatch-box, Doggott. You know where to findit?"
"Yes, sir."
The servant brought from Rutton's leather trunk a batteredblack-japanned tin box, which, upon exploration, proved to containlittle that might not have been anticipated. A bankbook issued by thehouse of Rothschild Freres, Paris, showed a balance to the credit ofH.D. Rutton of something slightly under a million francs. There wasAmerican money, chiefly in gold certificates of large denominations, tothe value of, roundly, twenty thousand dollars, together with a handfulof French, German and English bank-notes which might have brought inexchange about two hundred and fifty dollars. In addition to thesethere was merely a single envelope, superscribed: "To be opened inevent of my death only. H.D.R."
Amber broke the seal and read the enclosures once to himself and asecond time aloud to Doggott. The date was barely a year old.
"For reasons personal to myself and sufficient," Rutton had written, "Ichoose not to make a formal will. I shall die, probably in the nearfuture, by my own hand, of poison. I wish to emphasise this statementin event the circumstances surrounding my demise should appear toattach suspicion of murder upon any person or persons whatever. I am awidower and childless. What relations may survive me are distant andwill never appear to claim what estate I may leave--this I know. Itherefore desire that my body-servant, Henry Doggott, an Englishcitizen, shall inherit and appropriate to his own use all my propertyand effects, providing he be in my service at the time of my death. Tofacilitate his entering into possession of my means, whatever they maybe, without the necessity of legal procedure of any kind, I enclose acheque to his order upon my bankers, signed by myself and bearing thedate of this memorandum. He is to fill it in with the amount remainingto my credit upon my bank-book. Should he have died or left me,however, the disposition of my effects is a matter about which I amwholly careless."
The signature was unmistakably genuine--the formal "H.D. Rutton" withwhich Amber was familiar. It was unwitnessed.
The Virginian put aside the paper and offered Doggott the blank chequeon Rothschilds'. "This," he said, "makes you pretty nearlyindependently rich, Doggott."
"Yes, sir." Doggott took the slip of paper in a hand that trembled evenas his voice, and eyed it incredulously. "I've never 'ad anything likethis before, sir; I 'ardly know what it means."
"It means," explained Amber, "that, when you've filled in that blankand had the money collected from the Rothschilds, you'll be worth--withwhat cash is here--in the neighbourhood of forty five thousand poundssterling."
Doggott gasped, temporarily inarticulate. "Forty-five thousandpounds!... Mr. Amber," he declared earnestly, "I never looked fornothin' like this I--I never--I--" Quite without warning he was quietand composed again. "Might I ask it of you as a favour, sir, to lookafter this"--he offered to return the cheque--"for a while, till I canmyke up my mind what to do with it."
"Certainly." Amber took the paper, folded it and placed it in hiscard-case. "I'd suggest that you deposit it as soon as possible in aNew York bank for collection. In the meantime, these bills are yours;you'd better take care of them yourself until you open the bankingaccount. I'll keep Mr. Rutton's bank-book with the cheque." He placedthe book in his pocket with the singular document Rutton had called his"will," and motioned Doggott to possess himself of the money in thedespatch-box.
"It'll keep as well in 'ere as anywheres," Doggott considered,relocking the box. "I 'aven't 'ardly any use for money, except, ofcourse, to tide me over till I find another position."
"What!" exclaimed Amber in amaze.
"Yes, sir," affirmed Doggott respectfully. "I'm a bit too old to chyngemy w'ys; a valet I've been all my life and a valet I'll die, sir. It'stoo lyte to think of anything else."
"But with this money, Doggott--"
"Beg pardon, sir, but I know; I could live easy like a gentlema
n if Iliked--but I wouldn't be a gentleman, so what's the use of that? Icould go 'ome and buy me a public-'ouse; but that wouldn't do neither.I'd not be 'appy; if you'll pardon my s'ying so, I've associated toolong with gentlemen and gentlemen's gentlemen to feel at ease, so tospeak, with the kind that 'angs round publics. So the w'y I look at it,there's naught for me but go on valeting until I'm too old; after thatthe money'll be a comfort, I dares'y.... Don't you think so, sir?" "Ibelieve you're right, Doggott; only, your common-sense surprises me.But it makes it easier in a way...." Amber fell thoughtful again.
"'Ow's that, sir--if I m'y ask?"
"This way," said Amber: "Before he died, Mr. Rutton asked me to do hima service. I agreed. He suggested that I take you with me."
"I'm ready, sir," interrupted Doggott eagerly. "There's no gentlemanI'd like to valet for better than yourself."
"But there will be dangers, Doggott--I don't know precisely what.That's the rub: we'll have to travel half-way round the world and faceunknown perils. If Mr. Rutton were right about it, we'll be lucky toget away with our lives."
"I'll go, sir; it was 'is wish. I'll go with you to India, Mr. Amber."
"Very well...." Amber spoke abstractedly, reviewing his plans. "But,"he enquired suddenly, "I didn't mention India. How did you know----?"
"Why--I suppose I must 'ave guessed it, sir. It seemed so likely,knowing what I do about Mr. Rutton."
Amber sat silent, unable to bring himself to put a single question inregard to the dead man's antecedents. But after a pause the servantcontinued voluntarily.
"He always 'ad a deal to do with persons who came fromIndia--niggers--I mean, natives. It didn't much matter where we'dbe--London or Paris or Berlin or Rome--they'd 'unt 'im up; some 'e'dgive money to and they'd go aw'y; others 'e'd be locked up with in 'isstudy for hours, talking, talking. They'd 'ardly ever come the same onetwice. 'E 'ated 'em all, Mr. Rutton did. And yet, sir, I always 'ad asuspicion--"
Doggott hesitated, lowering his voice, his gaze shifting uneasily tothe still, shrouded figure in the corner.
"What?" demanded Amber tensely.
"I alw'ys thought per'aps 'e was what we call in England a man ofcolour, 'imself, sir."
"Doggott!"
"I don't mean no 'arm, sir; it was just their 'ounding him, like, and'is being a dark-complected man the syme as them, and speakin' theirlanguage so ready, that made me think it. At least 'e might 'ave 'ad alittle of their blood in 'im, sir. Things 'd seem unaccountableotherwise," concluded Doggott vaguely.
"It's impossible!" cried Amber.
"Yes, sir; at least, I mean I 'ope so, sir. Not that it'd myke anydifference to me, the w'y I felt towards 'im. 'E was a gentleman, whiteor black. I'd've died for 'im any d'y."
"Doggott!" The Virginian had risen and was pacing excitedly to and fro."Doggott! don't ever repeat one word of this to man or woman--whileyou're faithful to the memory of Mr. Rutton."
The servant stared, visibly impressed. "Very good, Mr. Amber. I'llremember, sir. I don't ordinarily gossip, sir; but you and him being sothick, and everything 'appening to-night so 'orrible, I forgot myself.I 'ope you'll excuse me, sir."
"God in Heaven!" cried the young man hoarsely. "It can't be true!" Heflung himself into his chair, burying his face in his hands. "Itcan't!"
Yet irresistibly the conviction was being forced upon him that Doggotthad surmised aright. Circumstance backed up circumstance within hisknowledge of or his experience with the man, all seeming to proveincontestably the truth of what at the first blush had seemed soincredible. What did he, Amber, know of Rutton's parentage or historythat would refute the calm belief of the body-servant of the dead man?Rutton himself had consistently kept sealed lips upon the subject ofhis antecedents; in Amber's intercourse with him the understanding thatwhat had passed was a closed book had been implicit. But it had neveroccurred to Amber to question the man's title to the blood of theCaucasian peoples. Not that the mystery with which Rutton had evershrouded his identity had not inevitably of itself been a provocationto Amber's imagination; he had hazarded many an idle, secret guess atthe riddle that was Rutton. Who or what the man was or might have beenwas ever a field of fascinating speculation to the American, but hiswildest conjecture had never travelled east of Italy or Hungary. He hadalways fancied that one, at least, of Rutton's parents had been anative of the European Continent. He had even, at a certain time whenhis imagination had been stimulated by the witchery of "Lavengro" and"The Romany Rye," gone so far as to wonder if, perchance, Rutton werenot descended from Gipsy stock--a fancy which he was quick to dismissas absurd. Yet now it seemed as if he had not been far wrong; ifDoggott were right--and Amber had come to believe that the valet wasright--it was no far cry from the Hindu to the Romany, both offshootsof the Aryan root.
And then Amber's intelligence was smitten by a thought as by a club;and he began to tremble violently, uncontrollably, being weakened byfatigue and the strain of that endless, terrible night. A strangled cryescaped him without his knowledge: "Sophia!"
Sophia Farrell, the woman he had promised to wed, nay even the woman heloved with all his being--a half-breed, a mulatto! His mind sickenedwith the horror of that thought. All the inbred contempt of theSoutherner for the servile races surged up to overwhelm his passion, tomake it seem more than impossible, revolting, that the mistress of hisdreams should be a creature tainted by the blood of a brown-skinnedpeople. Though her mother had been of noble Russian family, as herfather had declared; though her secret were contained in his knowledgeand Farrell's alone, and though it were to be preserved by them everinviolate--could he, David Amber, ever forget it? Could he make her hisbride and take her home to his mother and his sisters inVirginia--offer them as daughter and sister a woman who, though shewere fairer than the dawn, was in part a product of intermarriagebetween white and black?
His very soul seemed to shudder and his reason cried out that the thingcould never be.... Yet in his heart of hearts still he loved her, stilldesired her with all his strength and will; in his heart there was nowavering. Whatever Rutton had been, whatever his daughter might be, heloved her. And more, the honour of the Ambers was in pledge, holdinghim steadfast to his purpose to seek her out in India or wherever shemight be and to bear her away from the unnamed danger that threatenedher--even to marry her, if she would have him. He had promised; hisword had passed; there could now be no withdrawal....
An hour elapsed, its passing raucously emphasised by the tin clock.Amber remained at the table, his head upon it, his face hidden by hisarms, so still that Doggott would have thought him sleeping but for hisuneven breathing.
On tiptoe the man-servant moved in and out of the room, making readyfor the day, mechanically carrying out his dead master's lastinstructions, to pack up against an early departing. His face was graveand sorrowful and now and again he paused in the midst of hispreparations to watch for an instant the sheeted form upon thehammock-bed, his head bowed, his eyes filling; or to cast a sympatheticglance at the back and shoulders of the living, his new employer. Inhis day Doggott had known trouble; he was ignorant of the cause, butnow intuitively he divined that Amber was suffering mental tormentindescribable and beyond his power to assuage.
At length the young man called him and Doggott found him sitting up,with a haggard and careworn face but with the sane light of a mindcomposed in his eyes.
"Doggott," he asked in an even, toneless voice, "have you evermentioned to anybody your suspicion about Mr. Rutton's race?"
"Only to you, sir."
"That's good. And you won't?"
"No, sir."
"Have you," continued Amber, looking away and speaking slowly, "everheard him mention his marriage?"
"Never, sir. 'E says in that paper 'e was a widower; I fancy the ladymust have died before I entered 'is service. 'E was always a lonelyman, all the fifteen year I've been with 'im, keepin' very much to'imself, sir."
"He never spoke of a--daughter?"
"No, sir. Didn't 'e say 'e was childless?"
"Yes. I merely wondered.... Tell me, now, do you know of any letters orpapers of his that we should destroy? If there are any, he would wishus to."
"'E never 'ad many, sir. What letters 'e got 'e answered right away anddestroyed 'em. There was a little packet in 'is trunk, but I see that'sgone."
"He burned it himself this evening. There's nothing else?"
"Nothing whatever, sir."
"That's all right, then. We have nothing to do but ... see that he'sdecently buried and get away as soon as we can. There's no time tolose. It's after four, now, and as soon as it's daylight----You musthave a boat somewhere about?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Rutton 'ad me 'ire a little power launch before 'e camedown. It's down by the bayside, 'alf a mile aw'y."
"Very well. The wind is dying down and by sunrise the bay will be safeto cross--if it isn't now. These shallow waters smoothe out veryquickly. We'll--"
He cut his words short and got up abruptly with a sharp exclamation:"What's that?"
Doggott, too, had heard and been startled. "It sounded like a gun-shot,sir, and a man shouting," he said, moving toward the door.
But Amber anticipated him there.
As he stepped out into the bitter-cold air of early morning, hereceived an impression that a shadow in the hollow had been alarmed byhis sudden appearance and had flitted silently and swiftly out upon thebeaten eastward path. But of this he could not be sure.
He stood shivering and staring, waiting with attentive senses for arepetition of the sound. The wind had indeed fallen, and the world wasvery still--a hush that overspread and lay unbroken upon the deep,ceaseless growling of the sea, like oil on water. The moon had set andthe darkness was but faintly tempered by the starlight on the snow--orwas it the first wan promise of the dawn that seemed to quiver in theformless void between earth and sky?
In the doorway Doggott grew impatient. "You don't 'ear anything, sir?"
"Not a sound."
"It's cruel cold, Mr. Amber. 'Adn't you better come inside, sir?"
"I suppose so." He abandoned hope disconsolately and returned to thehut, his teeth inclined to chatter and his stomach assailed byqualms--premonitions of exhaustion in a body insufficiently nourished.
Doggott, himself similarly affected, perhaps, was quick to recognisethe symptoms. "I'll get a bite of breakfast, sir," he suggested; "you'aven't 'ad enough to eat, and 'unger's tyking 'old of you. If you'llpardon my saying so, you look a bit sickly; but a cup of hot coffee'llset that right in a jiffy."
"Thank you, Doggott; I believe you're right. Though disappointment hasa good deal to do with the way I look. I'd hoped it might be Mr. Quaincome to look for me."
Doggott disappeared to prepare the meal, but within five minutes asecond gun-shot sounded startlingly near at hand. The Virginian'sappearance at the door was coincident with a clear hail of "Aho-oy,Amber!"--unmistakably Quain's voice, raised at a distance of not overtwo hundred yards.
Amber's answering cry quavered with joy. And with a bear-like rushQuain topped the nearest dune, dropped down into the hollow, and wasupon him.
"By the Lord Harry!" he cried, almost embracing Amber in his excitementand relief; "I'd almost given you up for good and all!"
"And I you," said Amber, watching curiously and somewhat distrustfullya second man follow Quain into the vale. "Who's that?" he demanded.
"Only Antone. We've him to thank. He remembered this old camp here--I'dcompletely forgotten it--and was sure you'd taken refuge in it. Comeinside." He dragged Amber in, the Portuguese following. "Let's have alook at you by the light. Lord! you seem to be pretty comfortable--andI've been worrying myself sick for fear you--" He swept the room withan approving glance which passed over Doggott and became transfixed asit rested upon the hammock-bed with its burden; and his jaw fell."What's this? What's this?" He swung upon Amber, appraising withrelentless eyes the havoc his night's experience had wrought upon theman. "You look like hell!" he exploded. "What's up here? Eh?"
Amber turned to Doggott. "Take Antone out there with you and keep himuntil I call, please. This is Mr. Quain; I want to talk with himundisturbed.... But you can bring us coffee when it's ready."
Quain motioned to Antone; the Portuguese disappeared into the back roomwith Doggott, who closed the communicating door.
"You first," said Amber. "If you've fretted about me, I've been crazyabout you--what time I've had to think."
Quain deferred to his insistence. "It was simple enough--and damnedhard," he explained. "I caught the _Echo_ by the skin of my teeth, theskimmy almost sinking under me. She was hard and fast aground, but Imanaged to get the motor going and backed her off. As soon as that wasall right we got a wave aboard that soused the motor--like a fool I'dleft the hatch off--and short-circuited the coil. After that there washell to pay. I worked for half an hour reefing, and meanwhile we wentaground again. The oar broke and I had to go overboard and get wet tomy waist before I got her off. By that time it was blowing great gunsand dead from the beach. I had to stand off and make for themainland--nothing else to do. We beached about a mile below thelighthouse and I had the four-mile tramp home. Then after I'd thawedout and had a drink and a change of clothes, we had to wait two hoursfor the sea to go down enough to make a crossing in the launchpracticable. That's all for mine. Now you? What's that there?"
"A suicide; a friend of mine--the man Rutton whom we were discussingthe night I came down. And that's not half. There's a man out theresomewhere, shot to death by Rutton--a Bengali babu.... Quain, I'velived in Purgatory ever since we parted and now ... I'm about done."
He was; the coming of Quain with the ease of mind it brought hadsnapped the high nervous tension which had sustained Amber. He was nowon the edge of collapse and showed it plainly. But two circumstancesaided him to recover his grip upon himself: Quain's compassionateconsideration in forbearing to press his story from him, and Doggott'sopportune appearance with a pot of coffee, steaming and black. Two cupsof this restored Amber to a condition somewhat approaching the normal.He lit a cigarette and began to talk.
For all his affection for and confidence in his friend, there werethings he might not tell Quain; wherefore he couched his narrative inthe fewest possible words and was miserly of detail. Of the coming ofthe babu and his going Amber was fairly free to speak; he suppressedlittle if any of that episode. Moreover he had forgotten to remove theToken from his finger, and Quain instantly remarked it and demanded anexplanation. But of the nature of the errand on which he was to go,Amber said nothing; it was, he averred, Rutton's private business. Nordid he touch upon the question of Rutton's nationality. Sophia Farrellhe never mentioned.
Nevertheless, he said enough to render Quain thoughtful.... "You're seton this thing, I suppose?" he asked some time after Amber hadconcluded.
"Set upon it, dear man? I've no choice. I must go--I promised."
"Of course. That's you, all over. Personally, I think it'll turn out afool's errand. But there's something you haven't told me--I'm not assenough to have missed that and no doubt that influences you."
"I've told you everything that, in honor, I could."
"Hmm--yes; I dare say...." Quain scowled over the problem for sometime. "It's plain enough," he asserted forcibly: "that man was involvedin some infernal secret society. Just how and why's the question. ThinkI'll have a look at him."
Amber would have protested, but thought better of it and held his peacewhile Quain went to the hammock-bed, turned back the sheet, and forseveral minutes lingered there, scrutinising the stony, upturned face.
"So!" he said, coming back. "Here's news that'll help you some. Youwere blind not to see it yourself. That man's--was, I should say--aRajput." He waited for the comment which did not come. "You knew it?"
"I ... suspected, to-night."
"It's as plain as print; the mark of his caste is all over him. Butperhaps he was able to disguise it a little with his manner--alive;undoubtedly, I'd say. He was a genius of his kind--a prodigy; a mentalgiant. That translation of the 'Tantras'--
--! Wonderful!... Well, he'sgone his own way: God be with him.... When do you want to start?"
"As soon as possible--sooner. I've not a day to lose--not an hour."
"Urgent as that, eh?" Quain peered keenly into his face. "I wish I knewwhat you know. I wish to Heaven I might go with you. But I'm marriednow--and respectable. If I ''ear the East a-callin'' and daren'tanswer, it's my own fault for ever being fool enough to have heard it.Well...." He proceeded to take charge of the situation with hismasterful habit. "The morning train leaves Nokomis at seven-thirty. Youcan make that, if you must. But you need sleep--rest."
"I'll get that on the train."
"'Knew you'd say that. Very well. This is Tuesday. The _Mauretania_--orthe _Lusitania_, I don't know which--sails to-morrow. You can catchthat, too. It's the quickest route, eastwards--"
"But I've decided to go west."
"That means a week more, and you said you were in a hurry."
"I am; but by going westwards it's barely possible I may be able totransact or wind up the business on the way."
As a matter of fact Amber was hoping the Rolands, with Sophia Farrell,might linger somewhere _en route_, remembering that the girl haddiscussed a tentative project to stop over between steamers atYokohama.
"Very well," Quain gave in; "you're the doctor. Now as for things here,make your mind easy. I'll take charge and keep the affair quiet.There's no reason I can see for its ever getting out. I can answer formyself and Antone; and the two of us can wind things up. That manRutton is at peace now--'chances are he'd prefer a quiet grave here onthe island. Then that devilish babu--he doesn't count; Antone and I'llget him under the ground in a jiffy. No one ever gets over here but me,now; come summer and there'll be a few wanderers, but by that time....The dunes'll hold their secrets fast: be sure of that. Finally, if anyone round here knows about this place being occupied, your departure'llbe public enough to make them think it's being abandoned again. Keepyour hat-brim down and your coat-collar up at the station; and they'llnever know you aren't Rutton himself; and you'll have Doggott to backup the deception. So there'll be no questions asked.... Get ready nowto trot along, and I'll take care of everything."
"There's no way of thanking you."
"That's a comfort. Call Doggott now and tell him to get ready. Youhaven't much time to lose. I'd land at the lighthouse dock, if I wereyou, and take the short-cut up to the station by the wood road. If youland at Tanglewood, Madge'll hold you up for a hot breakfast and makeyou miss your train. I'll cook up some yarn to account for yourdefection; and when you get back with your blooming bride you can tellher the whole story, by way of amends."
Amber wheeled upon him, colouring to the brows. "My bride! What do youmean by that? I said nothing--"
Quain rubbed his big hands, chuckling. "Of course you didn't. But I'mwise enough to know there's bound to be a woman in this case. Besides,it's Romance--and what's a romance without a woman?"
"Oh, go to thunder," said Amber good-naturedly, and went to giveDoggott his orders.
While they waited for the servant to pack his handbag--it being obviousthat to take the trunks with them was not feasible; while Quain was tocare for Amber's things at Tanglewood until his return fromIndia--Quain was possessed by an idea which he was pleased to christenan inspiration.
"It's this," he explained: "what do you know about Calcutta?"
"Little or nothing. I've been there--that's about all."
"Precisely. Now _I_ know the place, and I know you'll never find thisgoldsmith in the Machua Bazaar without a guide. The ordinary,common-or-garden guide is out of the question, of course. But I happento know an Englishman there who knows more about the dark side of Indiathan any other ten men in the world. He'll be invaluable to you, andyou can trust him as you would Doggott. Go to him in my name--you'llneed no other introduction--and tell him what you've told me."
"That's impossible. Rutton expressly prohibited my mentioning his nameto any one in India."
"Oh, very well. You haven't, have you? And you won't have to. I'll takecare of that, when I write and tell Labertouche you're coming."
"What name?"
"Labertouche. Why? You don't know him."
"No; but Rutton did. Rutton got that poison from him."
Quain whistled, his eyes round. "Did, eh? So much the better; he'llprobably know all about Rutton and'll take a keener interest."
"But you forget--"
"Hang your promise. I'm not bound by it and this is business--blackerbusiness than you seem to realise, Davy. You're bent on jumpingblindfold and with your hands tied into the seething pool of infamy andintrigue that is India. And I won't stand for it. Don't think for aninstant that I'm going to let you go without doing everything I can tomake things as pleasant as possible for you.... No; Labertouche is yourman."
And to this Quain held inflexibly; so that, in the end, Amber, unableto move him, was obliged to leave the matter in his hands.
A sullen and portentous dawn hung in the sky when the little party leftthe cabin. In the east the entire firmament was ensanguined withsinister crimson and barred with long reefs of purple-black clouds inmotionless suspense. Upon the earth the red glare fell ominously; theeastern faces of the snow-clad dunes shone like rubies; westward theshadows streamed long and dense and violet. The stillness was intense.
A little awed, it may be, and certainly more than a little depressed,they left the hollow by the beaten way, the Portuguese Antone leadingwith a pick and spade, Amber and Quain following side by side, Doggottwith his valise bringing up the rear. Beyond the hollow the tracksdiverged toward the bay shore; and presently they came to the scene ofthe tragedy.
Between two sandhills the Bengali lay supine, a huddled heap of garishcolour--scarlet, yellow, tan--against the cold bluish-grey of snow. Aveil of unmelted flakes blurred his heavy, contorted features and hissmall, black eyes--eyes as evil now, staring glassily up to the zenith,as when quickened by his malign intelligence. About him were manyfootprints, some recently made--presumably by his companion. Thelatter, however, kept himself discreetly invisible.
At a word from Quain the Portuguese paused and began to dig. Quain,Amber, and Doggott went on a little distance, then, by mutual consent,halted within sight of Antone.
"I wouldn't leave him if I were you," Amber told Quain, nodding back atthe Portuguese. "It mightn't be safe, with that other devil skulkinground--Heaven knows where."
"Right-O!" agreed Quain. His hand sought Amber's. "Good-bye, and God bewith you," he said huskily.
Amber tightened his clasp upon the man's fingers. "I can't improve onthat, Tony," said he with a feeble smile. "Good-bye, and God be withyou." He dropped his hand and turned away. "Come along, Doggott."
The servant led the way baywards. Behind them the angry morning blazedbrighter in the sky.
In the sedge of the shore they found a rowboat and, launching it,embarked for the power-boat, which swung at her mooring in deeperwater. When they were aboard the latter, Doggott took charge of themotor, leaving to Amber the wheel, and with little delay they were inmotion.
As their distance from the shore increased Amber glanced back. Theisland rested low against the flaming sky, a shape of empurpledshadows, scarcely more substantial to the vision than the rack of cloudabove. In the dark sedges the pools, here and there, caught the lightfrom above and shone blood-red. And suddenly the attention of theVirginian was arrested by the discovery of a human figure--a manstanding upon a dune-top some distance inland, and staring steadfastlyafter the boat. He seemed of extraordinary height and very thin; uponhis head there was a turban; his arms were folded. While Amber watchedhe held his pose, a living menace--like some fantastic statue bulkingblack against the grim red dawn.