Caravans By Night Part 17

Trent stared at the blank panels for a moment; then, while he ran his fingers through his hair, he glanced over his notes:

Something queer about this Chavigny. May not belong to Order, but he's not to be overlooked. Last alias was Gilbert Leroux, Kerth said. Kerth is a downy bird. Gilbert Leroux. Names mean nothing. Sarojini took particular pains to empress it upon me that Chavigny is _non compos mentis_. Therefore, he isn't. He's something. What? And--Sarojini is a connection of the Nawab of Jehelumpore--the jewels of the Nawab were among those stolen.

Find out if she was in Jehelumpore at time of theft.

Then he tore off the slip of paper, crumpled it and held a corner to his cheroot. When the blaze lapped up to his fingers he let the paper fall to the floor, then swung his feet over the edge of the bed and reached for his tunic. From the inside pocket he removed the long envelope Sarojini Nanjee had given him. It was sealed and its white surface invited inspection. He made a movement to open it; hesitated. Why not?

As Kerth suggested, there might be a trick--and he knew only too well that she was not above chicanery. But he did not open it; slipped it under his pillow.

A glance at his wrist-watch. He procured his revolver; snapped open the breech; inspected the cartridges; clicked it shut; placed it beneath the pillow with the envelope. Then he switched off the light and lay with his cheroot's end glowing in the darkness.

The discovery of the symbol of the Order revealed another side to the mystery surrounding Manlove's death, and during the ride back to the hotel he had constructed a new theory--a theory that he reviewed now.

The a.n.a.logy between the Swaying Cobra and the woman of the cobra-bracelet did not escape him. One suggested the other. Surely it was plausible to surmise that Sarojini was the veiled woman, although he was at a loss to find a convincing motive for her presence at Gaya.

However, Colonel Urqhart's telegram stated that the woman had made inquiries about him--and what other woman was interested? Further proof was offered by the fact that the mysterious woman left Gaya on the night of the tragedy for Mughal Sarai, the junction for Benares. Finally, there was the coral pendant-stone. Sarojini had called it the "symbol"

of the Order; therefore, only a member of that mysterious band was likely to possess it, and had not she admitted she was a member? And the pendant-stone was stolen--evidently for the reason that engraved inside was the name of its owner. Sarojini was in Benares; it was logical to a.s.sume, then, that some one in her employ had entered his room and removed the condemning evidence.

But, on the other hand, there were elements to upset this theory. Clues indicated that Manlove was stabbed at the bungalow and carried to the temple-ruins. Could a woman do that? Under the stress of circ.u.mstances, yes. But why move the body--unless to hide it? Or had Manlove been mortally wounded at the house and gone of his own volition to the ruins before his death? Possible--but he could conjecture no cause for such action.

And there was Chatterjee. Since the receipt of the telegram telling of his death, Trent was of the opinion that the native knew something about the crime and for that reason was killed. Had Chatterjee gone to the bungalow that night, grief-crazed and believing Trent responsible for his child's death, to administer primitive justice? Had he witnessed the crime and fled? Of course, there was the possibility that Chatterjee's death might have been a coincidence--the termination of a quarrel between him and another native. Yet Trent was not inclined to lay great importance upon this, as he considered, meager explanation and his thoughts returned to the woman.

He could fix the guilt upon neither Sarojini Nanjee nor Chatterjee. Of the two, he least suspected the native. He knew the woman to be unscrupulous--whether to the point of murder he was uncertain. True, it may not have been deliberate murder. She might have gone to the bungalow for (again) a mysterious reason; might have been discovered by Manlove.... But the glove did not exactly fit. Nor had he any concrete reason to believe her the woman of the cobra-bracelet--or to believe the woman of the cobra-bracelet involved. That the latter had worn a heavy veil, surrounded her, in his eyes, with an aura of mystery. This he realized, and gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Nevertheless, the coral pendant linked Sarojini with the crime; suggested that even though she did not actually commit the deed, she was undoubtedly implicated.

All of which did not clear the mystery; instead, bewildered him the more and kept suspicion, like the needle of a compa.s.s, wavering between Chatterjee, Sarojini Nanjee, the woman of the cobra-bracelet (if she were not Sarojini) and a person unknown.

His cheroot had burned low, and he got up and flung it away, and made sure the door was secure before he returned to the bed; then he relaxed and lay staring up into the darkness--darkness that was hotter because of the thick mosquito-curtain--until he fell asleep.

5

Trent returned to consciousness gradually, as a diver rising from the bottom of the sea. He was aware of another presence in the room before he was completely awake, and he strained at the threads of sleep that still entangled him.

The first proof of a presence in the hot, dark void that enclosed him was the sound of repressed breathing. He felt, now at the helm of his faculties, a movement under his pillow--realized it was a _hand_, a hand that withdrew stealthily, that belonged to a dark figure crouched outside the mosquito-curtain. A turban and shoulders were silhouetted upon the gray rectangle of a window. He sensed eyes upon him, cat-like eyes that saw despite the darkness.

With a stealth that proved that the intruder was no novice, but of the school of thieves that graduate well-nigh perfect adepts in the art of silent movement, the silhouette receded from the bed. Trent realized that in all probability his revolver had been placed beyond reach; attack by surprise was impossible because of the mosquito-curtain. So he lay there, undecided, scarcely breathing; and, after a moment, he let his hand slide slowly, cautiously, toward his pillow.

The silhouette halted; was motionless.

Trent's hand touched the seam of the pillow and pressed underneath. It encountered steel.

The silhouetted turban was moving again--toward the door.

Trent gripped the revolver. He turned on his side noisily and sighed, as though in sleep. At the sounds, the dark figure stepped swiftly to one side of the window, thus vacating the gray rectangle.

Trent waited no longer. He raised the mosquito-curtain and jumped. And the thing he apprehended happened. His head and shoulders became enmeshed in the netting. Cursing his awkwardness, he rent the fabric with a downward sweep of his hand. As he leaped through the opening, he saw the door flung wide, saw the man plunge out.

He pressed the trigger--and it snapped harmlessly.

"d.a.m.n!" he spat out, knowing the weapon had been tampered with.

Again he pressed the trigger; again that absurd click.

Meanwhile the door slammed. The crash awakened him to the fact that the thief was escaping, and he dashed across the room and threw open the door. As he emerged, a figure disappeared behind the far corner.

He rushed in pursuit, his bare feet padding upon the stone flags. At the end of the portico he halted sharply, almost colliding with something in white--a something that appeared, as if by magic, from behind a suddenly opened door; that came to a standstill as abruptly as he, and gasped.

"Oh!"

Words died in Trent's throat. The girl, whom he recognized as she of the bronze hair, wore a long white garment, and her hair fell in heavy braids over her shoulders; her hands were at her throat.

For a moment they stood and stared, both speechless. Then:

"Oh!" she repeated, with a hysterical little laugh. "You frightened me!

I woke up and--" She swallowed with difficulty. Her eyes dropped to her nightdress, she threw a significant look toward him and darted into her room.

Not until he heard the key turn in the lock did he remember the very substantial reason for his presence on the portico--and then that reason was nowhere in sight, but was, he surmised, at a safe distance, laughing at the awkwardness of all sahibs in general and one sahib in particular.

His face burning, and not altogether from the heat, he returned to his room. The glowing hands of his wrist-watch pointed to nearly two o'clock.

When he switched on the light it shone on six cartridges lying upon the table--cartridges that deft fingers had removed from his revolver and left to mock him. It was no mystery how the thief had managed to get in, for he knew that entrance could be effected with the aid of a master key, but it did puzzle him that neither his money nor the contents of his bag were touched. He suspected, however, now that he had time to review the affair, that the intruder had not come bent on loot, but after one particular thing--and when he a.s.sured himself that that thing was safe under his pillow, he guessed that his awakening had prevented the man from making away with it.

As he held up the envelope, he was once more seized by an impulse to open it. But, as before, he placed the tempting object under the pillow.

Then he returned the cartridges to the breech, and, after propping a chair against the door, turned off the light and stretched himself upon the bed.

Again a wave of mystery had lapped up and touched him, and receded without leaving a hint of the power that energized it. He could not suspect Sarojini Nanjee, for he saw no reason why she should have the envelope stolen. Other hands were at work.

But thoughts and questions did not harry him long. He felt certain that he need not fear another intrusion that night, and when drowsiness returned he yielded to it.

6

The next morning at _burra hazri_, or "big breakfast," he found himself searching the dining-hall for the bronze-haired girl; but she was not there, nor did she appear during the meal.

When he returned to his room he discovered a letter under the door, and tore it open with quickened interest as he recognized the handwriting and inhaled the delicate fragrance of sandalwood.

GREETINGS!

You will no doubt be surprised when I inform you that instead of going to Bombay, you will go to Calcutta. The address of the place to which you are to report is set forth in the packet I gave you, and which you, being a man of honor, have not read ere you receive this. I told you Bombay last night because one can never be sure there are no ears listening, even in one's own house.

Your bearer, Rawul Din (who, I a.s.sure you, is worthy of the confidence you impose in him) will by this time be on his way to Bombay, which inconvenience to you I regret exceedingly.

However, you shall have a servant. One Tambusami, an excellent bearer, will meet you in Calcutta. Regarding your own man, Rawul Din: he is, I am sure, a most obedient servant and will carry out your instructions by waiting in Bombay.

Meanwhile, I trust you will have a most pleasant journey and will grow in both wisdom and prosperity.

Your humble servant,

SAROJINI NANJEE

When Trent finished reading the letter he smiled. He felt no anger, nor even chagrin; he was amused; he could picture with what satisfaction she penned that missive. She was as full of tricks as a street-juggler, this Swaying Cobra. Whether she discovered Kerth's true ident.i.ty or only suspected he might act as a listening-post for the Intelligence Department, he did not know; he knew only that Sarojini Nanjee had outwitted the Government in the first move of the game.