The Man from Brodney's Part 26

She decided to give him as good as he sent in this brief battle of folly; it mattered little who came off with the fewest scars, for in a fortnight or two they would go their separate ways, no better, no worse for the conflict. And, after all, it was very dull in these last days, and he was very attractive, and very brave, and very gallant, and, above all, very sensible. It required three days of womanly indecision to bring her to this way of looking at the situation.

They rode together in the park every morning, keeping well out of range of marksmen in the hills. A sense of freedom replaced the natural reserve that had marked their first encounters in this little campaign of tenderness; they gave over being afraid of each other. He was too shrewd, too crafty to venture an open declaration; too much of a gentleman to force her hand ruthlessly. She understood and appreciated this considerateness. Their conflict was with the eyes, the tone of the voice, the intervals of silence; no touch of the hand--nothing, except the strategies of Eros.

What did it matter if a few dead impulses, a few crippled ideals, a few blasted hopes were left strewn upon the battlefield at the end of the fortnight? What mattered if there was grave danger of one or both of them receiving heart wounds that would cling to them all their lives?

What did anything matter, so long as Prince Karl of Brabetz was not there?

One night toward the end of this week of enchanting rencontres--this week of effort to uncover the vulnerable spot in the other's armour--Genevra stood leaning upon the rail which enclosed the hanging garden. She was gazing abstractedly into the black night, out of which, far away, blinked the light in the bungalow. A dreamy languor lay upon her. She heard the cry of the night birds, the singing of woodland insects, but she was not aware of these persistent sounds; far below in the gra.s.sy court she could hear Britt conversing with Saunders and Miss Pelham; behind her in the little garden, Lady Deppingham and Browne had their heads close together over a table on which they were playing a newly discovered game of "solitaire"; Deppingham and Mrs. Browne leaned against the opposite railing, looking down into the valley. The soft night wind fanned her face, bringing to her nostrils the scent of the fragrant forest. It was the first night in a week that he had missed coming to the chateau.

She missed him. She was lonely.

He had told her of the meeting that was to be held at the bungalow that night, at which he was to be asked to deliver over to Rasula's committee the papers, the receipts and the memoranda that he had acc.u.mulated during his months of employment in their behalf. She had a feeling of dread--a numb, sweet feeling that she could not explain, except that under all of it lay the proud consciousness that he was a man who had courage, a man who was not afraid.

"How silly I am," she said, half aloud in her abstraction.

She turned her gaze away from the blinking light in the hills, a queer, guilty smile on her lips. The wistful, shamed smile faded as she looked upon the couple who had given her so much trouble a week ago. She felt, with a hot flash of self-abas.e.m.e.nt, as if she was morally responsible for the consequences that seemed likely to attend Lady Deppingham's indiscretions.

Across the garden from where she was flaying herself bitterly, Lady Deppingham's husband was saying in low, agitated tones to Bobby Browne's wife, with occasional furtive glances at the two solitaire workers:

"Now, see here, Brasilia, I'm not saying that our--that is, Lady Deppingham and Bobby--are accountable for what has happened, but that doesn't make it any more pleasant! It's of little consequence _who_ is trying to poison us, don't you know. And all that. _They_ wouldn't do it, I'm sure, but _somebody_ is! That's what I mean, d'ye see? Lady Dep--"

"I _know_ my husband wouldn't--couldn't do such a thing, Lord Deppingham," came from Drusilla's stiff lips, almost as a moan. She was very miserable.

"Of course not, my dear Drusilla," he protested nervously. Then suddenly, as his eye caught what he considered a suspicious movement of Bobby's hand as he placed a card close to Lady Deppingham's fingers: "Demme, I--I'd rather he wouldn't--but I beg your pardon, Drusilla! It's all perfectly innocent."

"Of course, it's innocent!" whispered Drusilla fiercely.

"You know, my dear girl, I--I don't hate your husband. You may have a feeling that I do, but----"

"I suppose you think that I hate your wife. Well, I don't! I'm very fond of her."

"It's utter nonsense for us to suspect them of--Pray don't be so upset, Drusilla. It's all right----"

"If you think I am worrying over your wife's _harmless_ affair with my husband, you are very much mistaken."

Deppingham was silent for a long time.

"I don't sleep at all these night," he said at last, miserably. She could not feel sorry for him. She could only feel for herself and _her_ sleepless nights. "Drusilla, do--do you think they want to get rid of us? We're the obstacles, you know. We can't help it, but we are.

Somebody put that pill in my tea to-day. It must have been a servant. It couldn't have been--er----"

"My husband, sir?"

"No; my wife. You know, Drusilla, she's not that sort. She has a horror of death and--" he stopped and wiped his brow pathetically.

"If the servants are trying to poison any of us, Lord Deppingham, it is reasonable to suspect that your wife and my husband are the ones they want to dispose of, not you and me. I don't believe it was poison you found in your tea. But if it was, it was intended for one of the heirs."

"Well, there's some consolation in that," said Deppy, smiling for the first time. "It's annoying, however, to go about feeling all the time that one is likely to pa.s.s away because some stupid a.s.s of an a.s.sa.s.sin makes a blunder in giving--"

The sharp rattle of firearms in the distance brought a sudden stop to his lugubrious reflections. Five, a dozen--a score of shots were heard.

The blood turned cold in the veins of every one in the garden; faces blanched suddenly and all voices were hushed; a form of paralysis seized and held them for a full minute.

Then the voice of Britt below broke harshly upon the tense, still air: "Good G.o.d! Look! It is the bungalow!"

A bright glow lighted the dark mountain side, a vivid red painted the trees; the smell of burning wood came down with the breezes. Two or three sporadic shots were borne to the ears of those who looked toward the blazing bungalow.

"They've killed Chase!" burst from the stiff lips of Bobby Browne.

"d.a.m.n them!" came up from below in Britt's hoa.r.s.e voice.

CHAPTER XIX

CHASE COMES FROM THE CLOUDS

For many minutes, the watchers in the chateau stared at the burning bungalow, fascinated, petrified. Through the mind of each man ran the sudden, sharp dread that Chase had met death at the hands of his enemies, and yet their stunned sensibilities refused at once to grasp the full horror of the tragedy.

Genevra felt her heart turn cold; then something seemed to clutch her by the throat and choke the breath out of her body. Through her brain went whirling the recollection of his last words to her that afternoon: "They'll find me ready if they come for trouble." She wondered if he had been ready for them or if they had surprised him! She had heard the shots. Chase could not have fired them all. He may have fired once--perhaps twice--that was all! The fusilade came from the guns of many, not one. Was he now lying dead in that blazing--She screamed aloud with the thought of it!

"Can't something be done?" she cried again and again, without taking her gaze from the doomed bungalow. She turned fiercely upon Bobby Browne, his countryman. Afterward she recalled that he stood staring as she had stared, Lady Deppingham clasping his arm with both of her hands. The glance also took in the face of Deppingham. He was looking at his wife and his eyes were wide and gla.s.sy, but not with terror. "It may not be too late," again cried the Princess. "There are enough of us here to make an effort, no matter how futile. He may be alive and trapped, up--"

"You're right," shouted Browne. "He's not the kind to go down with the first rush. We must go to him. We can get there in ten minutes. Britt!

Where are the guns? Are you with us, Deppingham?"

He did not wait for an answer, but dashed out of the garden and down the steps, calling to his wife to follow.

"Stop!" shouted Deppingham. "We dare not leave this place! If they have turned against Chase, they are also ready for us. I'm not a coward, Browne. We're needed here, that's all. Good G.o.d, man, don't you see what it means? It's to be a general ma.s.sacre! We all are to go to-night. The servants may even now be waiting to cut us down. It's too late to help Chase. They've got him, poor devil! Everybody inside! Get to the guns if possible and cut off the servants' quarters. We must not let them surprise us. Follow me!"

There was wisdom in what he said, and Browne was not slow to see it clearly. With a single penetrating glance at Genevra's despairing face, he shook his head gloomily, and turned to follow Deppingham, who was hurrying off through the corridor with her ladys.h.i.+p.

"Come," he called, and the Princess, feeling Drusilla's hand grasping her arm, gave one helpless look at the fire and hastened to obey.

In the grand hallway, they came upon Britt and Saunders white-faced and excited. The white servants were clattering down the stairways, filled with alarm, but there was not one of the native attendants in sight.

This was ominous enough in itself. As they huddled there for a moment, undecided which way to turn, the sound of a violent struggle in the lower corridor came to their ears. Loud voices, blows, a single shot, the rus.h.i.+ng of feet, the panting of men in fierce combat--and then, even as the whites turned to retreat up the stairway, a crowd of men surged up the stairs from below, headed by Baillo, the major-domo.

"Stop, excellencies!" he shouted again and again. Bobby Browne and Deppingham were covering the retreat, prepared to fight to the end for their women, although unarmed. It was the American who first realised that Baillo was not heading an attack upon them. He managed to convey this intelligence to the others and in a moment they were listening in wonder to the explanations of the major-domo.

Surprising as it may appear, the majority of the servants were faithful to their trust, Baillo and a score of his men had refused to join the stable men and gardeners in the plot to a.s.sa.s.sinate the white people. As a last resort, the conspirators contrived to steal into the chateau, hoping to fall upon their victims before Baillo could interpose. The major-domo, however, with the wily sagacity of his race, antic.i.p.ated the move. The two forces met in the south hall, after the plotters had effected an entrance from the garden; the struggle was brief, for the conspirators were outnumbered and surprised. They were even now lying below, bound and helpless, awaiting the disposition of their intended victims.

"It is not because we love you, excellencies," explained Baillo, with a sudden fierce look in his eyes, "but because Allah has willed that we should serve you faithfully. We are your dogs. Therefore we fight for you. It is a vile dog which bites its master."

Browne, with the readiness of the average American, again a.s.sumed command of the situation. He gave instructions that the prisoners, seven in number, be confined in the dungeon, temporarily, at least. Bobby did not make the mistake of pouring grat.i.tude upon the faithful servitors; it would have been as unwise as it was unwelcome. He simply issued commands; he was obeyed with the readiness that marks the soldier who dies for the cause he hates, but will not abandon.

"There will be no other attack on us to-night," said Browne, rejoining the women after his interview with Baillo. "It has missed fire for the present, but they will try to get at us sooner or later from the outside. Britt, will you and Mr. Saunders put those prisoners through the 'sweat' box? You may be able to bluff something out of them, if you threaten them with death. They--"

"It won't do, Browne," said Deppingham, shaking his head. "They are fatalists, they are stoics. I know the breed better than you. Question if you like, but threats will be of no avail. Keep 'em locked up, that's all."

Firearms and ammunition were taken from the gunroom to the quarters occupied by the white people. Every preparation was made for a defence in the event of an attack from the outside or inside. Strict orders were given to every one. From this night on, the occupants of the chateau were to consider themselves in a state of siege, even though the enemy made no open display against them. Every precaution against surprise was taken. The white servants were moved into rooms adjoining their employers; Britt and Saunders transferred their belongings to certain gorgeous apartments; Miss Pelham went into a Marie Antoinette suite close by that of the Princess. The native servants retained their customary quarters, below stairs. It was a peculiar condition that all of the native servants were men; no women were employed in the great establishment, nor ever had been.