Olga's rapt face relaxed. She smiled at him—a very loving, comprehending smile. "Yes, I see it when you put it like that, Nick, of course. It is only just at first Death seems so staggering—such a plunge into the dark."
"But there is nothing in the dark to frighten us," Nick said. "If some of us died and some didn't, it would be terrible, I grant. But we are all going sooner or later. No one is left behind for long. To my mind there's a vast deal of comfort in that. It doesn't leave much time for grousing when we simply can't help moving on."
She squeezed his hand. "I wonder where I'd be without you, Nick."
Nick's grin flashed magically across his face. "I'm only a man, kiddie," he observed, "and I seem to have been gassing somewhat immoderately. However, them's my sentiments, and you can take 'em or leave 'em according to fancy."
Thereafter for a space they talked of Violet, touching no tragic note, recalling her as an absent friend. Olga dwelt fondly upon the thought of her, scarcely realizing her loss. The new life she had entered had done much to soften the blow when it should fall. Here in a strange land she did not feel her friend's death as she would inevitably have felt it at Weir. Circumstances combined with Nick's sheltering presence to lift the weight which otherwise must have pressed heavily upon her. Moreover, the longer she contemplated the matter, the more completely did she realize that it had not come to her with the force of a sudden calamity. Deep within her she had carried a nameless dread that had hung upon her like an iron fetter. She had longed—yet trembled—to know the truth. Now that burden seemed lifted from her, and she was conscious of relief. Before, she had feared she knew not what; but now she feared no longer. She was weary beyond measure, too weary for grief or wonder, though she did ask Nick, faintly smiling, why they had kept the truth from her for so long.
"I should have found it easier if I had known," she said.
But Nick shook his head with the wisdom of an old man. "You weren't strong enough to know," he said.
She did not contest the point, reflecting that Nick, with all his shrewdness, was but a man, as he himself admitted.
She asked him presently, somewhat haltingly, if he would give her the details of her friend's death. "Max was there, I know. But he never tells one anything. It was one of the reasons why I never got on with him."
A hint of the old resentment was in her tone, and Nick smiled at it. "Poor old Max! You always were down on him, weren't you? But there is really nothing to tell, dear. She just went to sleep, and her heart stopped. They said it was not altogether surprising, considering her state of health."
"Who said?" questioned Olga.
"Sir Kersley Whitton and Max. Max sent for him, you know."
"Oh, did he? Yes, I remember now. I saw him just for a moment." Again her brow contracted. "Oh, I wish I could remember everything clearly, Nick!" she said.
"Never mind, my chicken! Don't try too hard!" Cheery and reassuring came
Nick's response. "Don't you think you have thought enough for one day?
Shall we tell Kasur to order the horses, and go for a canter?"
She turned beside him. "Yes, I shall like that. But—why did you say I was always hard on Max?"
"The result of observations made," he answered lightly.
She smiled with a hint of wistfulness, and said no more. The child Olga would have argued the point. The woman Olga held her peace.
Undoubtedly Nick had stepped off his pedestal that day. She loved him none the less for it, but she wondered a little.
And Nick, philosopher and wily tactician, grinned at his fallen laurels and let them lie. He had that day accomplished the most delicate task to which he had ever set his hand. Behind the mask of masculine clumsiness he had subtly worked his levers and achieved his end. And he was well satisfied with the result.
Let her pity his limitations after a woman's immemorial fashion! How should she recognize the wisdom of the serpent which they veiled?
CHAPTER VI
CHRISTMAS MORNING
It was the strangest Christmas Day Olga had ever known, but she certainly had no time to be homesick.
She was roused by Nick scratching seductively at her window from the verandah, and, admitting him, she found him waiting to present a jeweller's box which contained a string of moonstones exquisitely set in silver. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and she was delighted with it.
Through the medium of her ayah she had purchased a carved sandal-wood box from the bazaar for Nick, which she now presented, modestly hoping he didn't hate the smell.
"I adore it," declared Nick, sniffing it loudly. "It's just the East to me. I shall steep my ties in it. Many thanks, Olga mia! Thine ancient uncle values the gift for the sake of the giver." He kissed her, and sat down on the edge of the bed, dangling his feet in a pair of violently coloured Oriental slippers. "I see His Excellency has sent us a thing like a clothes-basket full of fruit. Very kind of him, but a trifle overwhelming. There is no mail in yet, but some local parcels have arrived which the khit is sorting with the face of a judge. Ah, here comes your little lot!" as the ayah softly opened the door. "Shall I remove myself?"
"Of course not, Nick! Smoke a cigarette while I open them. They can't be anything very much."
The ayah, smiling broadly, laid two parcels on the table by Olga's bedside. A third one, which was very small, she dropped with a mysterious gesture into her hand.
"What can this be?" questioned Olga. "Sambaji, what is it?"
But Sambaji shook her head. "Miss sahib, how should I know?"
Olga suddenly turned crimson. She held out the tiny packet to Nick.
"You open it!" she said. "I'm sure it's something I don't want."
Nick made no movement to take it! "Sorry, dear. Two hands are better than one," he said.
Sambaji withdrew, still smiling.
Olga looked at the thing in the palm of her hand. She was trembling a little. "I don't want it, Nick," she said almost piteously.
Nick was heartless enough to laugh.
"Don't!" she pleaded, real distress in her tone. "Can't I send it back unopened?"
"Whom do you propose to send it to?" asked Nick, still chuckling.
She smiled faintly in spite of herself. "It's pretty certain where it comes from, isn't it?"
"Is it?" said Nick.
"Well, isn't it?" she persisted, still dubiously eyeing the unwelcome gift.
"I really can't say. But I don't see why you should be afraid of it in any case. To judge by the size of it, I shouldn't say it could be a very dangerous explosive."
She smiled again with obvious reluctance, and began to study the address on the packet. It was written in a very minute hand.
There followed a pause; then with abrupt resolution Olga's fingers began to work at the outer covering.
Nick watched her, amusement on his yellow face. "I'm not quite sure that two hands are better than one when they shake like that," he observed. "Ah, here comes the dedication!" as a tiny strip of paper fluttered from Olga's fingers. "It reminds me—vividly—of my own courtship. Quite sure you don't want me to go?"
"Nick!" she protested, with burning cheeks. "It's very horrid of you to laugh. Do you know what it is?"
"I can almost guess," he said, as a small leather case emerged from the paper. "I've seen 'em before."
Olga opened the case. It was lined with white velvet, and in the centre of it there flashed and glittered a diamond and emerald ring.
"Hullo!" said Nick.
Olga looked up at him with gleaming eyes. "Nick! How—how dare he!"
"It is pretty daring certainly," agreed Nick. "It's a valuable trifle—that."
Olga closed the case with a resolute snap. "I shall send it back at once."
"Hadn't you better read the dedication?" suggested Nick.
She took up the strip of paper, stretched it out, frowned at it. The writing on this also was minute. After a moment she read it out. "'Dum spiro spero. N.W.' Just as I thought!"
"Do you know what it means?" asked Nick.
She shook her head vigorously. "And I don't want to know."
"Oh, that's a pity," he said. "Pray let me enlighten your ignorance. It means, 'While I breathe I hope'—a very proper sentiment which does the young man infinite credit."
"I can't imagine how you can laugh," said Olga fierily, tearing the strip to fragments. "Can't you see I'm really angry?"
"My dear child, that's why!" chuckled Nick. "It's the best thing I've seen for a long time. The young man has all my gratitude. He has done more for my little pal than I with the best intentions could ever do myself."
She stretched out her hand to him then with a little smile. "Nick, you silly old boy! Well, tell me what to do!"
"Quite sure you don't like him?" questioned Nick.
"No. I do like him." Olga's smile deepened. "But I think it was outrageous of him to send me this thing. And I shall have to tell him so."
"I should," said Nick. "You will have ample opportunities when we get to Khantali. Take the thing with you and give it back to him there. Afterwards, if it seems necessary, I'll tell him to moderate the pace if you like. But the boy's a gentleman. I don't think it will be necessary." He smiled at her quizzically. "I knew it was coming, Olga mia. I can smell a love affair fifty miles away. But I shouldn't be persuaded to have him if I were you. He's altogether too young for matrimony by about ten years. Let him wait for Peggy Musgrave to grow up. He will be of a marriageable age by that time."
Olga laughed, and turned to her other parcels. Nick's worldly wisdom struck her as being a little funny when she knew herself to be so infinitely wiser than he.
She found the two remaining packets to contain presents from the Musgraves, some beautiful Indian embroidery from Daisy and a pair of little Hindu gods in carved ivory from Will. Nick stopped to admire these, and then betook himself to his own room to dress.
Left alone, Olga took up the ring-case once more, and slowly opened it. The stones glinted in the morning light, the diamonds white and intense, the emeralds piercingly green. She wondered why he had chosen emeralds; they seemed to her to belong to something in which he had no part. At the back of her mind there hovered a vague, elusive something like an insect on the wing. Suddenly it flashed into her full consciousness, and her eyes widened and grew dazed. She saw not the shimmering iridescence of the stones, but a darting green dragon-fly which for one fleeting instant poised before her vision and the next was gone. A sharp shudder assailed her. She closed the case….
When she met Nick again there was no trace of agitation about her. She seated herself behind the coffee-pot, and told him she had decided to go to church.
"I congratulate you," said Nick. "So have I."
They were half-way through breakfast when there came the ring of spurred heels on the verandah.
"Hullo!" said Nick. "Enter amorous swain!"
The colour leaped to Olga's face. She said nothing, and she certainly did not smile a welcome when Noel's brown face peered merrily in upon them.
"Happy Christmas to you, good people! May I come and break my fast, with you? I've been all round the town and this is the last port of call."
"Come in by all means!" said Nick. "Have you brought your harp?"
Noel clapped a free and easy hand upon his shoulder. "No, I haven't. I can't harp on a full heart alone. I've tied the Tempest to your garden palings. I hope he won't carry 'em away, for I can't pay any damages, being broke in every sense of the word! Good-morning, Olga! I'm calling everyone by their Christian names this morning in honour of the day. It's my birthday, by the way; hence my romantic appellation."
He dropped into a bamboo-chair and stretched out his arms with a smile of great benignity.
"I've even been to see Badgers," he said. "He was in his bath and didn't want to admit me. However, I gained my end, I generally do," said Noel complacently, with one eye cocked at Olga's rigidly unresponsive face.
"Who is Badgers?" asked Nick.
"Why, the C.O. of course. I didn't find him in at all a Christmas spirit; but it was beginning to sprout before I left. I say, I hope you are providing lots of beef for our consumption, Nick. It's the first Christmas I've spent out of England, and I don't want to be homesick. Any form of indigestion rather than that!" He turned suddenly upon Olga. "Why does the lady of the ceremonies preserve so uncompromising an attitude? I feel chilled to the marrow."
She controlled her blush before it could overwhelm her, and very sedately she made answer. "I am not feeling very pleased with you; that's why."
"Great heaven!" said Noel. "What on earth have I done?"
"You might have the decency to let me finish my breakfast in peace," protested Nick. "My appetite can't thrive in a stormy atmosphere."
Noel turned to him, smiling persuasively. "Can't you take your breakfast into the garden, old chap? I want to thresh this matter out at once. I'm sure you have your niece's permission to retire."
But at that, Olga rose from the table. "Suppose we go into the garden,
Mr. Wyndham," she said.
Noel sprang up with a jingle of spurs. "By all means!"
"Get a hat, Olga!" said Nick.
She threw him a fleeting smile and departed.
Noel propped himself against the window-frame and waited. He did not appear greatly disconcerted by the turn of events. Without an effort he conversed with Nick on the chances of the forthcoming polo-match.
When Olga came along the verandah a minute later he stepped out and joined her with a smile.
They passed side by side down the winding path that led to the cypress walk. Olga's face was pale. She looked very full of resolution.
"I am quite sure you know what I am going to say," she said very quietly at length.
"You haven't wished me a happy Christmas yet," remarked Noel, still smiling his audacious smile. "Can it be that?"
Olga's face remained grave. "No," she said. "I don't feel friendly enough for that."
"I say, what have I done?" said Noel.
She stopped and faced him, and he suddenly saw that she was very nervous. She held out to him a little packet wrapped in tissue-paper.
"Mr. Wyndham," she said, speaking rapidly to cover her agitation, "you couldn't seriously expect me to accept this, whatever your motive for sending it. Please take it back, and let me forget all about it as quickly as possible!"
Noel's hand clasped hers instantly, packet and all. "My dear girl," he said softly, "don't be upset,—but you're making a mistake."
She looked up, meeting the Irish eyes with a tremor of reluctance. In spite of herself, she spoke almost with entreaty. For there was something about him that stirred her very deeply. "Please don't make things hard!" she said. "You know you have no right. I never gave you the smallest reason to imagine I would take such a gift from you."
Noel was still smiling; but there was nothing impudent about his smile. Rather he looked as if he wished to reassure her. "How did you know where it came from?" he said.
The colour she had been so studiously restraining rushed in a wave over her face. "Of course—of course I knew! Besides, there was a line with it."
"May I see the line?" said Noel.
She stared at him, her agitation increasing. What right had he to be so cool and unabashed?
"I tore it up," she said.
"What for?" said Noel.
Her eyes gleamed momentarily. "I was angry."
"Angry with me?" he questioned.
"Yes."
"Does it make you angry to know that a man cares for you?" he said.
Her eyes fell before the sudden fire that kindled in his with the words.
"Don't!" she said rather breathlessly. "Please don't!"
"You ought to be sorry for me," he whispered, "not angry."
She turned her face aside. "Of course—that—would not make me angry. Only—only—you had no right to—to send me—a present—a valuable present."
"And if I didn't?" said Noel.
She looked at him in sheer astonishment. He still held her hand with the packet clasped in it.
"What if I am not the delinquent after all?" he said.
"What do you mean?" Her eyes met his again, wide and incredulous.
"What if I tell you that this packet—whatever it contains—did not come from me?"
He asked the question with a faint smile that set some chord of memory vibrating strangely in her soul. But she could not stop to wrestle with memory then. His words demanded her instant attention.
"Not come from you!" she repeated, as one dazed. "But it did! Surely it did!"
"Most surely it didn't!" said Noel.
She freed her hand and opened it, gazing at the subject of their discussion almost with fear. "Mr. Wyndham!"
"Call me Noel!" he said. "There's nothing in that. Everybody does it.
And don't be upset on my account! It was a perfectly natural mistake.
I'm deeply in love with you. But—all the same—this present did not
come from me."
"It had your initials," she said, still only half believing.
"Then it was probably a hoax," said Noel.
"Oh, no! That's not possible. It—it—you see, it's valuable." Olga's voice was almost piteous.
"I say, don't mind!" he said. "It's just some other fellow's impudence. I'll kick him for you if I get the chance. You're quite sure about my initials?"
"Quite," she said.
"And what else was there?"
She frowned, "Only a Latin motto."
"Tell me!" he said persuasively.
She continued to frown. "It was 'Dum spiro spero.'"
"Great Scott!" he said. "Do you think I should have been as presumptuous as that? I should have just said, 'With Noel's love,' and you wouldn't have had the heart to fling it back again."
She smiled, not very willingly. "I can't understand it at all."
"I can," he said boldly. "I've known there was another fellow, ever since the first night I met you. But I've been hoping against hope that he didn't count. Does he count then?"
Olga turned sharply from him. She was suddenly trembling. "No!" she whispered.
He drew a step nearer to her. "Olga—forgive me—is that the truth?"
She controlled herself and turned back to him. "There is no one in India who would have sent me this," she said. "I can't account for it—in any way. Please forgive me for accusing you of what you haven't done. And—and—"
She stopped short, for he had caught her hands in an eager, boyish clasp. "Olga, don't—there's a dear!" he begged with headlong ardour. "I don't love you any the less because I didn't do it. I believe myself it's a beastly hoax, and I'm just as furious as you are. But, I say, can't we found a partnership on it? Is it asking too much? Pull me up if it is! I don't want to be premature. Only I won't have you sick or sorry about it, anyhow so far as I am concerned. You were quite right in thinking that I loved you. I do, dear, I do!"
"But you mustn't!" she said. She left her hands in his, but the face she raised was tired and sad and unresponsive. "I feel a dreadful pig, Noel," she said, speaking as if it were an effort. "I almost made you say it, didn't I? And it's just the one thing I mustn't let you say. You're so nice, so kind, such a jolly friend. But you're not—not—not—"
"Not eligible as a husband," suggested Noel.
"Don't use that horrid adjective!" she protested. "You make me feel worse and worse."
He laughed, his sudden, boyish laugh. "No, but there's nothing to feel bad about, really. And you didn't make me say it. I said it because I wanted to. Also, you're not bound to take me seriously. I'm not always in earnest—as you may have discovered. Look here, you've warned me off. Can't we talk about something else now?"
"If you're sure you don't mind," she said, smiling rather wistfully.
He cocked his eyebrows humorously. "Of course I mind. I mind enormously. But that's of no consequence. By the way, I suppose your funny little uncle isn't given to playing practical jokes?"
"Nick? Why no!" Olga surveyed him in astonishment. "Nick is the soul of wisdom," she said.
"Is he though?" Noel looked amused. "I must get him to give me a few hints," he observed. "I wonder if he has left any breakfast. You know, I haven't had any yet."
"Oh, let us go back!" said Olga turning. "And please do forget all about this tiresome misunderstanding! Promise you will!"
He waved his hand. "The subject is closed and will never be reopened by me without your permission. At the same time, let me confess that I have presumed so far as to procure a small Christmas offering for your acceptance. You won't refuse it, will you?"
Olga looked up dubiously; but the handsome young face that looked back would only laugh.
"What is it?" she said at length.
Gaily he made answer. "It's a parrot—quite a youngster. I picked him up in the bazaar. He isn't properly fledged yet, but he promises well. I'm keeping him for a bit to educate him. But if you won't have him, I shall wring his neck."
"I'm sure you wouldn't!" she exclaimed.
He continued to laugh, though her face expressed horror. "And you will be morally responsible; think of that! It's tantamount to being guilty of murder. Horrible idea, isn't it? You—who never in your life killed so much as a moth! Hullo! What's up?"
For Olga had made a sudden, very curious gesture, almost as if she winced from a threatened blow. Her face was white and strained; she pressed her hands very tightly over her heart.
"What's up?" he repeated, in surprise.
She gazed at him with the eyes of one coming out of a stupor. "I don't know," she said. "I had a queer feeling as if—as if—" She paused, seeming to wrestle with some inner, elusive vision. "There! It's gone!" she said, after a moment, disappointment and relief curiously mingled in her voice. "What were we talking about? Oh, yes, the parrot! It's very kind of you. I shall like to have it."
"I've christened it Noel," he remarked, with some complacence. "It's a
Christmas present, you see."
"I see," said Olga, beginning to smile. "And you are teaching it to talk?"
"I'm only going to teach it one sentence," he said.
"Oh, what is it?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "I don't think I'd better tell you."
"But why not?"
"It'll make you cross."
Olga laughed. Somehow she could not help feeling indulgent. Moreover, the interview was nearly at an end, for they were nearing the bungalow, and Nick's white figure was visible on the verandah.
"In that case," she said, "you had better not educate it any further."
"Oh, it won't make you cross on the bird's lips," Noel assured her.
"Has it got lips?" she asked. "What a curious specimen it must be!"
"I say, don't laugh!" he besought her, with dancing eyes. "It's not a joke, I assure you. I'll tell you what I'm teaching it to say if you like. But I shall have to whisper it. Do you mind?"
Again she found him hard to resist, albeit she did not want to yield.
"Well?" she said.
They were close to the bungalow now. Noel came very near. "Of course you can wring the little brute's neck if it displeases you," he said, "but it's a corky youngster and I don't much think you will. He's learning to say, 'I love you, Olga.'"
Olga looked up on the verge of protest, but before she could utter it Nick's gay, cracked voice hailed them from above; and Noel, briskly answering, deprived her of the opportunity.
CHAPTER VII
THE WILDERNESS OF NASTY POSSIBILITIES
When Nick heard of the mistake that had been made, he raised his eyebrows till he could raise them no further and then laughed, laughed immoderately till Olga was secretly a little exasperated.
They did not have much time for discussing the matter, and for some reason Nick did not seem anxious to do so. If he had his own private opinion, he did not impart it to Olga, and, since he seemed inclined to treat the whole affair with levity, she did not press him for it. For she herself was regarding matters very seriously.
Noel's candid adoration was beginning to assume somewhat alarming proportions, and she had a feeling that it was undermining her resolution. She was not exactly afraid, but she did not feel secure. He appealed, in some fashion wholly inexplicable, to her inner soul. His very daring attracted her. By sheer audacity he weakened her powers of resistance. And yet she knew that he would not press her too hard. With all his impetuosity, he was so quick to understand her wishes, so swift to respond to the curb. No, he would not capture her against her will. But therein she found no comfort. For he was drawing her by a subtler method than that. His boyish homage, his winning ardour, these were weapons that were infinitely harder to resist. There was scarcely a woman in Noel Wyndham's acquaintance who had not at one time or another felt the force of his fascination. He exerted it instinctively, often almost unconsciously, and now that he had deliberately set himself to attract he wielded his power with marvellous effect. His warmth, his gaiety, his persistence, all combined to make of him a very gallant knight; and Olga was beginning to find that it hurt her to resist the magnetism by which he held her. And yet—and yet—deep in the soul of her she knew how little she had to give. That haunting memory which yet invariably eluded her made her vaguely conscious that far down in the most secret corner of her heart was a locked door which would never open to him. She herself scarcely knew what lay behind it, but none the less was it sacred. Not even to Nick—trusted counsellor and confidant—would that door ever open; perhaps to none….
The Christmas service roused her somewhat from the contemplation of her perplexities, and after it there were friends to greet—Colonel Bradlaw and his merry little wife, Will Musgrave, Daisy, and the radiant Peggy.
They made a cheery crowd as they assembled in the hot sunshine before Nick's bungalow a little later and discussed their final arrangements for the picnic at Khantali.
The Bradlaws had a waggonette, and Daisy and Peggy were to drive with them. Noel had a dog-cart in which he boldly announced that Olga must accompany him.
Olga wanted to ride, but Nick declared that this would overtire her, adding with a grin that he would occupy the back seat in the dog-cart if Noel had no objection.
Noel grinned also, and expressed his delight; but at the last moment a couple of his brother-subalterns came up and took forcible possession of Nick, protesting that such a celebrity could not be permitted to take a back seat and insisting that he should travel in the place of honour in their dog-cart. Nick, finding himself outnumbered, submitted with no visible discomfiture, and the procession, being completed by about a dozen equestrians, finally started with much laughter and badinage upon the long, rough journey through the jungle to Khantali.
The khitmutgar watched the start with grave, inscrutable eyes and finally turned back into the bungalow with the aloofness of a dweller in another sphere. The all-pervading Christmas cheer seemed to have gone to the sahibs' heads already. Perhaps he wondered in what condition they would return.
"I say, you don't mind?" said Noel coaxingly, as they drew ahead along the dusty road.
And Olga answered lightly, "I'm not going to mind anything or think of anything serious all day long."
He laughed. "I'm with you there. It's a jolly world, isn't it? And it's a shame to spoil it. As a matter of fact, I tried to get Peggy for a companion, but her mother wouldn't hear of it. I am too headlong and Peggy is too precious."
Olga laughed. "The Rajah was talking about a man-eating tiger at
Khantali only the other day."
"Oh, yes, there is one too. But I'm afraid we are not very likely to come across him."
"Afraid! Do you want to then?"
Noel's eyes shone with enthusiasm. "I'm just aching to get a shot at one of these creatures. I've never so much as seen one in the wild yet. If the Rajah gets up an expedition I hope he'll take me along."
"He asked me if I would go," said Olga.
"Did he though? Very affable of him! I hope you said No!"
She laughed at his tone. "Well, yes, I did. But it was only because I didn't think I should like it."
"Not like a tiger-hunt!" ejaculated Noel.
She coloured a little. "Do you really like seeing things die?"
"Oh, that!" said Noel. "You're squeamish, are you? No, I'm never taken that way myself. That is in great part why I came here. I hoped—everyone thought—there was going to be some sort of shindy. But—I suppose it's the result of your clever little uncle's tactics—it seems to have fizzled out. Very satisfactory for him no doubt, but rather rough luck on us."
"Was there really any danger?" Olga asked.
"Oh, rather! The city was simply swarming with budmashes, and it was said that the priests had begun to preach a jehad against the British raj. Then there was a bomb found on the parade-ground one night, close under the fort. It would have blown a good many of us sky-high if it had exploded, and damaged the fort as well. Badgers was quite indignant. You see the fort has just been painted and generally smartened up in anticipation of General Bassett coming this way. He is expected on a tour of inspection in a few weeks, and we naturally want to look our best when the officer commanding the district is around. Hence the righteous wrath of Badgers!"
"I never heard of all this," said Olga, from whose ears the seething unrest of the State had been studiously kept by Nick.
"No?" said Noel. "Well, there's no chance now of any fun here. I'm pinning all my hopes on the possibility of a shine on the Frontier."
Olga looked at his brown, alert face with its restless Irish eyes, and understood. "You never think of the horrid part, do you?" she said.
He laughed, and flicked his whip at a wizened monkey-face that peered at them round the bole of a tree. "What do you mean by the horrid part?"
She hesitated.
He turned his gay face to her. "Do you mean the hardships or the actual fighting?"
She gave a little shudder. Even in that brilliant warmth of sunshine she was conscious of a sense of chill. "I mean—the killing," she said. "It seems to me one could never forget that. It—it's such a frightful responsibility."
"It's all part of the game," said Noel. "I couldn't kill a man on the sly. But when the chances of being killed oneself are equal—well, I don't see anything in it."
"I see." Olga was silent a moment; then, with a curious eagerness: "And was that what you were thinking of that night when you told Peggy that sometimes it was the only thing to do?" she asked. "Forgive my asking! But I've wondered often what you meant by that."
"Great Scott!" said Noel, with a frown of bewilderment. "What night?
What were we talking about?"
She explained with a touch of embarrassment. "It was the night I arrived. Don't you remember I came upon you hearing her say her prayers?—in fact you were saying them with her. I liked you for doing that," she said simply.
"Thank you," said Noel with equal simplicity. "I remember now. The kiddie said something about it being wicked to kill people, didn't she?"
"Yes. And you said—it was just before I interrupted you—you said that sometimes it was the only thing to do."
Noel nodded. "I remember. Well, can't you imagine that? Don't you agree that when a man is fighting for his country, or in defence of someone, he is justified in slaying his enemies?"
Olga was frowning also, the old, troubled frown of perplexity. "Oh, of course, when you put it like that," she said; then put her hand to her head with a puzzled air. "But that wasn't quite what I meant."
"What did you mean?" said Noel.
She shook her head. "I don't quite know. It's difficult to express things. Whenever I try to discuss anything I always seem to lose the thread."
Noel grinned boyishly. "Good for me! You'd jolly soon floor me if you didn't. Look at that parroquet, I say! He flashes like an emerald, and see that imp of a monkey! He's actually daring to rebuke us for trespassing. I call this road a disgrace to the State, don't you? If I were the Rajah—by the way, the Rajah isn't coming, is he?"
Olga thought it possible. She knew he had been asked, but he had not returned any definite reply. She hoped he would be prevented.
"Oh, don't you like him?" said Noel. "I detest him myself. That's partly why I'm so keen on smashing his team to-morrow. He's a slippery customer, he and that wily old dog Kobad Shikan. They'd erupt, the two of them, if they dared and overwhelm us all. But—they daren't!" And Noel turned his face upwards, and laughed an exceeding British laugh.
"I wonder how you know these things," said Olga, watching him.
"What? I don't know 'em of course. I'm only assuming," said Noel. "I only play about on the surface, as it were, and draw my own conclusions as to the depths. It's quite a fascinating game, and nobody's any the worse or the wiser."
"And you think Kobad Shikan untrustworthy?" questioned Olga.
"My dear girl, could anyone with any sense whatever think him anything else? Could he have run the show for so many years if he had been anything less than a crafty old schemer? Oh, you bet he hasn't been Prime Minister and Lord High Treasurer all this time for nothing. What does Nick think of him?"
"Nick never discusses any of them." Olga was considerably astonished by these revelations. "I thought it was fairly plain sailing," she said.
"Did you though? Well, Nick is a genius, as everyone knows. He is probably in the thick of everything, and knows all that goes on. He'll be a C.S.I. before he's done."
"Oh, do you think so?" said Olga, with shining eyes.
"Rather! It's pretty evident. You wait till old Reggie comes along, and ask him. He is a great backer of Nick's. So am I," said Noel modestly. "I'd back him against all the Kobad Shikans in the Empire."
This, as Noel had doubtless foreseen, proved a fruitful topic of conversation and lasted them during a considerable part of their drive. Nearly the whole of the way lay through the jungle, here and there narrowing to little more than a track over which great forest-trees stretched their boughs. It was all new country to Olga, and the quiet, sunless depths as they advanced, held her awe-struck, spellbound. She gazed into the thick undergrowth with half-fearful curiosity. Once, at a sudden loud flapping of wings, she started and changed colour.
"There must be so many wild things there," she said.
"Teeming with 'em," said Noel. "We've come along at a rattling pace.
Shall we pull up and wait for the rest to turn up?"
But Olga did not want to linger on the jungle-road. "Besides we've got most of the provisions," she pointed out. "And I want to get things arranged a little before anyone comes."
They pressed on, therefore, past glades, obscure and gloomy, where the flying-foxes hung in branches from the trees, and the little striped squirrels leaped and scuttled from bough to bough, where the blue jays laughed with abandoned mirth and the parroquets squabbled unceasingly, and cunning monkey-faces peered forth, grimaced, and vanished.
"This place is full of critics," declared Noel. "Can't you feel the nasty remarks they're making?"
Olga laughed and slightly shivered. "It isn't a very genial atmosphere, is it? But I think we must be nearly there. Doesn't that look like a break in the trees ahead?"
She was right. They were coming to a clearing in the jungle. Gradually it opened before them. The trees gave place to shrubs, and the shrubs to tall kutcha-grass which Olga viewed with deep suspicion.
"How easily a tiger could hide there!" she said.
Noel laughed aloud. "I daresay the brute's a myth, but in any case they never come out in the day-time. Are you really nervous, or only pretending?"
She was not pretending, but she did not tell him so. The kutcha-grass was very thick, quite impenetrable. It stretched like a solid wall on each side of them for a considerable distance—a choked wilderness of coarse weed that grew higher than their heads.
"I say, what a charming spot!" said Noel. "Did Nick choose it for the scenery, do you think, or the excellence of the road?"
They were bumping in and out of dusty holes with a violence that threatened repeatedly to overturn them altogether.
Olga laughed rather hysterically. "I'm sure the champagne will be quite unmanageable after all this shaking up. And just look what a lather your horse is in!"
"It's a case of the wicked uncle and the lost babes over again," declared Noel. "It also smacks of The Pilgrim's Progress. Old Bunyan would have made some good copy out of this. He'd have dubbed you Mistress Timorous and me Master Overbold."
Olga laughed again more naturally. Noel could be very wholesome and reassuring when he liked.
"And this beastly jungle-grass," he proceeded, "is the Wilderness of Nasty Possibilities. Hold up, Tinker, my lad, and get out of it as fast as you can!"
Tinker was obviously most anxious to comply. He bent all his sweating energies to the task. The road—if such it could be called—bent in a wide curve through the high grass. As they gradually rounded this, it became evident that that stage of the journey was nearly over. The thick walls opened out. They had a glimpse of wider country ahead dotted with mango-trees.
"Hooray!" sang out Noel. "We return to civilization!"
But it was not a very populous civilization which they were approaching. They came within view of a domed temple indeed, but it was a temple set among ruins. There was no sign of any inhabitant, near or far.
"There's a well somewhere," said Olga. "Nick said we were to camp there."
"So be it!" said Noel. "It's Nick's funeral. Let us find his precious well!"
They emerged from the jungle-road with relief, and approached a group of mango-trees. These led in a somewhat broken grove to the temple which stood amidst stunted palms and cypresses. The mid-day sun was fierce, and the shade of the mangoes was welcome. For about a hundred yards they travelled over a road that was nearly choked by stones and grass, and then somewhat unexpectedly they discovered the well.
It was plainly very ancient, its round stone mouth crumbling with age. All about it and over its edges grew the coarse grass. It must have been many years since native women had foregathered there to discuss the affairs of forgotten Khantali. Above it, on rising ground, stood the temple, domed, mysterious, deserted.
"A place for satyrs to dance in, what?" suggested Noel. "We ought to have come here by moonlight. Let's get down and investigate. The others can't be far behind."
"Yes, let us fix on a place before they come!" said Olga. "It will save such a lot of discussion."
"Excellent notion! I'll tie up Tinker to one of these trees. I don't call this a very promising site for a bean-feast," said Noel, wrinkling his nose. "It's so beastly stuffy."
"Yes, we will try the temple first," said Olga. "It stands higher. There will be much more air there."
They descended. There was still no sign of the rest of the party. "I
expect they gave us a start to keep out of the beastly dust," said Noel.
"They'll be here directly. Nick has pitched on a secluded corner anyhow.
I shouldn't think the foot of man had trodden it for a thousand years."
Olga laughed. "I wonder. It's better than the jungle, isn't it? I don't feel nearly so creepy here."
"What price tigers?" grinned Noel.
"Oh, I've got over that," she declared. "But I didn't like your
Wilderness of Nasty Possibilities."
He flashed her a merry look. "You ought not to be afraid with Master
Overbold by your side. As for the tiger, we may meet him yet."
"Oh, no, we shan't!" she asserted with confidence. "It would be too ludicrously like a fairy-tale."
"Horribly ludicrous!" said Noel. "Well, come along and look for him!"
So side by side they started.
CHAPTER VIII
THE SOUL OF A HERO
The way was exceedingly rough and here and there almost overgrown with coarse weeds. Near the temple, the ground ascended fairly steeply, and the path narrowed so that it was impossible to walk abreast.
"Wonder if there are any of those jolly little karaits about," speculated Noel. "If you don't mind, I'll go first."
"I believe I saw a scorpion!" said Olga, as he took the lead.
He laughed at her over his shoulder. "Or a lizard! Stick to it, Mistress
Timorous! You'll develop a taste for adventure soon."
"Oh, I'm not a coward really," she protested. "At least I never used to be!"
"You are the sweetest girl in the world," said Noel, in a tone that reduced Olga to instant and uncompromising silence.
She could not refuse his hand, however, when he paused to help her over the rough places. It was an utter impossibility to be ungracious to Noel for long. He was far too seductive.
They reached the top of the ascent and found themselves close to the temple. The place was a ruin. Blocks of stone, that once had been part of its structure, were scattered in all directions; and, advancing, they presently stumbled upon the monstrous head of a broken idol.
"This is the temple of Dagon," said Noel dramatically. "I don't think it's a very suitable place for a picnic. One might find bits of human sacrifices about and that would spoil the appetite."
"Oh, don't be gruesome!" Olga besought him. "Let's go in, as we are here."
They crossed the stone-strewn space through the shadowy cypresses, and entered under the dome. The place was dark and very eerie. Their footsteps echoed weirdly, and instantly there ensued a wild commotion overhead of owls and flying-foxes.
Olga started violently, and Noel looked upwards with a laugh that echoed and echoed in sinister repetition.
"What a ghastly place!" whispered Olga, as it died away at last.
The whisper was taken up and repeated from wall to wall till the further darkness swallowed it. Olga's hand went out instinctively and closed upon Noel's arm. Her nerves were not strung to this.
Almost before she knew it, he had drawn her to him, and slipped the arm about her. She looked up swiftly to protest, but the words were never spoken. They died upon her lips. For even as she opened them to speak there came an awful sound from the darkness.
It began deep and low, swelling in volume till it filled the building, reverberating from stone to stone, vibrating along the broken floor—a growl rising to a furious snarl—the unmistakable voice of an angry beast.
Olga stood as one petrified, feeling the arm around her tighten to a grip, but too lost in horror to take any note thereof. Staring widely into the darkness before them, she saw two points of light, red, ominous, advancing as it were by swift stealth out of the deep shadow.
At the same moment, Noel by a sudden, wholly unexpected movement thrust her behind him.
"Go!" he said. "Go for your life! Get back to Tinker and warn the rest!
I'll keep the brute from following you."
His voice was short and authoritative; it held compulsion. In that moment of emergency he was a boy no longer, but a man, cool and strong and undismayed—a man to command obedience.
"Go quickly!" he said. "Remember it's up to you to warn them. This other is my job. Good-bye!"
He spoke without turning his head; yet the very brevity of his speech seemed to give her strength. Mechanically, she moved to obey.
Later she never remembered passing out of that place of horror. She went, hardly knowing what she did. The sudden smiting of the sunshine between the cypress boughs was the first she knew of having left the temple behind her. As one stricken blind, she moved, too stunned for panic.
And then—how it happened she was utterly unable to realize—as if he had dropped from the sky a man stood suddenly in her path.
He wore a pith helmet dragged forward over his eyes, and she was too dazzled by the sun to see his face. But there was something—something in his gait, his figure, his attitude—that sent a wild thrill through her, waking her to vivid, pulsing life. With an incoherent cry she clutched him by the arm.
"The tiger!" she gasped. "The tiger!"
"Where?" he said.
She pointed back over her shoulder, her eyes dilated, anguished. "In the temple,—and Noel is there! He will be killed!"
In a single movement he had freed his arm and was gone. She heard his feet racing over the stones, and she turned up her face to the blinding sunshine and frantically prayed….
Minutes—or could it have been only seconds?—passed. From below her came Tinker's frightened neigh. She could hear him stamping in the undergrowth. But she had no further thought of going to him. That spot with all its terrors held her chained.
Suddenly from behind her there came a loud report—a nerve-shattering sound. She whizzed round. He had a gun, then. She had not seen that he had a gun.
But what had happened? What? What? She was trembling so that she could barely stand, yet she forced her quaking limbs to move. Back she stumbled, back through the glaring sunlight. Once she fell, and saw a lizard—or was it a scorpion?—flick from her path. And then she was up again, panting, sobbing, utterly unnerved, but struggling with all her failing strength to reach the ruined temple, to see for herself what lay there.
An awful silence brooded across the stony space. It was as though a curse had fallen upon it. She tried to lift her voice, to call to Noel, to make some sound in the stillness. But her throat was powerless.
She thought he must be dead. She thought that her brain had tricked her, that she had only dreamed of the coming of the second man, had dreamed of the gun-shot, had dreamed all but those dreadful gleaming eyes coming stealthily nearer and nearer out of the dark.
Again she tried to call, and again piteously she failed. She reached the temple staggering, her hands stretched gropingly before her. And even as she did so, the silence was rent by a sound that convinced her wholly that she was indeed dreaming—a sound that echoed and echoed through the gloom, making her pulses leap again in spite of her—the sound of a ringing British laugh.
She fell against the broken marble of the doorway, her hands pressed fast over her face. She was struggling with herself, consciously striving to nerve herself to go in and find his dead body. Of any personal danger she was past thinking. Had the tawny body of their enemy sprung out upon her then she would scarcely have known fear.
And so when Noel came suddenly to her, caught her hands into his own, making her look up, his brown face bent close to hers, she simply gazed at him uncomprehendingly, not believing that she saw him.
Swift concern flashed into his eyes. He drew her to him and held her in his arms. "Olga,—Olga dear, don't you know me?" he said. "You've had a beastly fright, haven't you? But the brute's dead, and no one else is any the worse. There, there! It's all right. Did you think I was killed and eaten?"
He was holding her closely now. His voice came softly, on a winning note of tenderness, into her ear. "And would you have cared—would you have cared—darling—if I had been?"
But she leaned against him quivering and speechless, unresisting, unresponding.
He held her for a space in silence, patting her shoulder reassuringly. But it was not in him to be silent for long. After a few seconds he was speaking again with cheery confidence.
"Let's get out of this ghastly place! The rest of the party must be coming along now. It was a nasty experience, wasn't it? But you're getting better, eh? That chap with the gun came up just in time to save my bacon. You saw him, didn't you?"
"Yes," she whispered feebly.
His arms relaxed a little. He looked down into her face. "Better now?"
With an effort she answered him. "Yes,—getting better."
"Can you walk?" he said. "Or shall I carry you?"
That roused her somewhat. "Oh, let me walk!" she said; and, after a moment: "Forgive me for being foolish! It—it was the shock. I shall be all right now. Just let me hold your arm."
He gave it, still looking at her in a fashion which she was at no loss to understand. Instinctively she sought to divert his attention. "Tell me what happened! Who—who was the man with the gun?"
His expression changed a little. A momentary shadow crossed his face. He answered her with a touch of restraint. "Oh, he's a fellow I've met before. You'll see him again, I daresay. He has been chasing around after this infernal tiger since early morning. Had a shot at the brute once and wounded him. Been hunting for him ever since."
"All alone?" asked Olga in amazement.
Noel nodded. "Cracked thing to do, but as he's bagged his game I suppose he'll do it again."
"And what is he doing now?" asked Olga, as they descended the narrow path.
"Oh, he was going to clear out. He was awfully disgusted that the skin wasn't worth having. And there wasn't much of the head left." Noel made a face. "I shouldn't advise any of our picnic party to go near that beastly temple. It's a deal too sacrificial just now. Hullo! Here come some of 'em at last! You'll be glad to get back under Nick's wing."
He smiled at her quizzically, and Olga smiled back reassured. But reaching the lower ground, she detained him for an instant.
"Noel," she said rather haltingly, "there are some things beyond words, and—and I think this is one of them. But I shall never forget what you did. It—it was—magnificent."
"Great Scotland!" said Noel. He spoke banteringly, but she could not meet his eyes. "And you think I could have done anything else?"
She smiled rather wistfully. "Not you—perhaps," she said. "But it was fine of you all the same."
"And you're—not sorry—I wasn't eaten?" he suggested.
She gave him her hand with a gesture half-appealing. "We won't talk about it," she said. "It just won't bear talking about."
Her voice trembled a little but she was plainly anxious that he should not notice it. He stood a moment silent, holding her hand. From the direction of the jungle-road there came the sounds of the approaching party—the rattle of hoofs and jingle of bells mingling with laughing voices and gay shouts. It seemed incredible that a bare ten minutes had elapsed since their own arrival upon the scene.
Noel's hand tightened a little upon hers. He bent with a certain serious gallantry that became him well, and carried it to his lips.
"My lady's wishes shall be obeyed always," he said gravely.
She knew that he meant her to ascribe a full meaning to his words. And she let herself be reassured, for that she knew him now to possess the soul of a hero.
CHAPTER IX
THE MAN WITH THE GUN
In after-days when Olga looked back upon the rest of that Christmas picnic, she could remember very little in detail of what took place. Her mind was so fully occupied with the adventure in the ruined temple that the events immediately following it made but a slight impression upon her.
That they lunched at length by the ancient well, that Nick and the Musgraves petted and made much of her, that Noel considerately amused himself with the care and entertainment of Peggy, all these things she was able afterwards vaguely to recall, but none of them remained vividly in her memory.
During the afternoon she rested, with Daisy sitting by her side and Nick smoking a few yards away, until presently the Rajah rode up unescorted and occupied Nick's attention for the remainder of the time. He came and shook hands with Olga later and congratulated her on her escape, but his manner seemed to her perfunctory and somewhat absent. Remembering Noel's words, she wondered what schemes were developing behind those dusky eyes.
Her thoughts, however, did not dwell on him; they were curiously active in another direction. Over and over again she saw herself stumbling over the stones under the cypresses and finding herself all-suddenly face to face with a man in a pith helmet. She was haunted by the thought of him, though she had not in the glare discerned him fully. She had seen him as one sees a shadow on a sheet, a momentary impression, suggestive but wholly elusive, capable of stirring her to the depths but yet too vague to grasp.
Even to her own secret heart she could not account for the wild suspicion to which that lightning glimpse had given birth. The man was probably a very ordinary Briton under ordinary circumstances. That he had a breadth of shoulder that imparted the impression of power and somewhat discounted his height, that his first appearance had been so leisurely that he might have been strolling in an English garden—the sauntering vision flashed across her as she had often seen it, hands deep in pockets, and stubby brier-pipe between his teeth—that his brevity of speech had impelled her to clearness of brain and prompt reply—all these were but incidents that might have characterized the coming of any stranger. And yet whenever she recalled any one of these details, she found her heart beating up against her throat as though it would choke her.
And why had he disappeared so suddenly, this stranger with the gun? How she wished she had had the presence of mind to turn back into the temple to find him! Why had Noel spoken of him with such evident restraint? Had he been under orders so to speak? She almost resolved to ask him, but realized immediately that for some reason she could not. Besides, had he not said she would see him again? And when she saw him—when she saw him—again she had to still the tumult of her heart—doubtless she would tell herself how utterly unreasonable her agitation concerning him had been. She would make the acquaintance of a total stranger and wonder how he had ever reminded her of the one man in her world who alone had had the power to move her thus.
So, over and over again she reassured herself, considering the matter and dismissing it, only to admit it over and over again for further consideration.
Nick made unflattering comment upon her jaded appearance when the time came to return, and bundled her unceremoniously into the Musgraves' dog-cart before Noel could put in a claim. Olga was in some sense relieved, for she did not want to talk, and Daisy fully understood and left her in peace during the drive back to Sharapura.
The brief twilight came upon them just before they reached their destination, and when they stopped before the bungalow it was nearly dark. The stately khitmutgar was waiting for them, and helped Olga to descend. He stood by with massive patience while the Musgraves bade her farewell and drove away; then with extreme dignity he addressed her.
"There is a strange sahib in the drawing-room, who waits to see the
Miss sahib," he said.
Olga's heart gave a wild bound. "To see me? What name, Kasur?"
"Miss sahib, he gave no name. 'She knows me,' he said. 'I will announce myself.'"
Olga turned to the verandah steps, as if drawn thereto by some unseen magnetic force. Sedately Kasur followed.
"Will the Miss sahib await the return of Ratcliffe sahib?" he suggested decorously.
She turned at the head of the steps. Her eyes were alight, feverish. She was strung to so high a pitch of excitement that she scarcely knew what she did.
"No, I can't wait," she threw back to him. "But Ratcliffe sahib will be in directly. Tell him when he comes." And with that she was gone, running swiftly, as one who obeys an urgent call.
The lamps were alight in the drawing-room and the glare streamed out across the verandah. It dazzled her as she entered, but yet she did not pause. Not till that moment did she realize how great a void the absence of one man had made in her life. Not till that moment did she understand the reason of the crushing sense of loss which for so long had been with her. Perhaps she did not fully understand it then, but there was no hiding the sudden rapture of gladness at her heart. It pierced her almost with a sense of pain, and with it came a stabbing certainty that this was no new thing—that sometime, somewhere, she had felt it all before.
He was on his feet lounging against the mantelpiece as she entered, but he straightened himself to meet her, and dazzled though she was, she saw his outstretched hand.
As it closed upon her own, she found her voice, though panting between tears and laughter. "Max! You—you!"
"A happy Christmas to you!" said Max.
He grasped her hand very firmly. How well she remembered that strong restraining grip! How often had she felt the controlling magic of it! Once she had even hotly resented it; but to-day—to-day—
She saw his mouth go up at one corner in the old, quizzing way. "'If my heart by signs can tell—'" he began, and ended, openly smiling, "I should almost dare to fancy you were—well, shall we say not annoyed?—to see me."
"Annoyed!" she laughed, still struggling with an outrageous desire to cry.
He looked at her critically. "You haven't grown any plumper since I saw you last, fair lady. Do you live on air in these parts? You will be flattered to hear that your resemblance to the great Nick is more pronounced than ever. Where is he, by the way? I hope he hasn't been eaten by a tiger, though I scarcely think any tiger, would be such a fool as to expect to find any nourishment in him."
"Oh, don't be horrid!" she said, laughing more naturally. "That's too gruesome a joke after what happened this afternoon."
"I wasn't joking," said Max. "I'm a serious-minded person. And what did happen this afternoon—if it isn't indiscreet to ask?"
She raised her eyes to his in astonishment. "But you were there!" she said.
"Who told you so?" demanded Max.
"I saw you myself, I spoke to you. I told you about—about Noel being in the temple—with the tiger." She halted a little over the explanation.
Max smiled at her—a curious smile that seemed to express relief. "I didn't think you recognized me in a helmet," he said. "Yes, I was there. I'd been on the brute's track since daybreak. I'm told that it's the proper thing to let natives do all the stalking in this country. But to my mind that's half the fun. Gives the tiger a sporting chance, too."
"You were actually hunting it all by yourself!" said Olga, with a quick shudder.
Her hand still lay in his; he gave it a sudden sharp squeeze. "Don't shiver like that! It's a sign of too vivid an imagination. Yes, I was all on my own, and enjoyed it. It was my first tiger too. I've learned quite a lot about the Indian jungle to-day. What made Nick choose the haunts of a man-eater for his Christmas party? Was it one of his little jokes?"
"We didn't believe in the man-eater," said Olga, beginning to make subtle efforts to recover possession of her hand. "There hadn't been one so near for years, and Nick said he thought it was bunkum."
"There," said Max, "he did not display his usual shrewdness of intelligence. Where is the little god by the way?"
"He's following on with Noel. They stopped behind to finish packing."
Max's fingers closed more firmly upon hers, so that without open resistance she could not free herself. "Noel seems to have developed into quite a picturesque cavalier," he observed impersonally.
He was watching her, she knew; and over her face there ran a great wave of colour. She was furiously aware of it even before she saw his faint smile. Desperately she sought to turn the subject.
"Why didn't you come back to us when the tiger was dead?" she said. "Why didn't you let Noel tell me you were there?"
She caught the old glint of mockery in his eyes as he made reply. "As you have foreseen, fair lady," he observed, "one answer will suffice for both questions. It was not my turn just then. Moreover, you knew I was there."
"I wasn't absolutely sure," she protested quickly. "I thought it probable that I had made a mistake."
"Didn't you expect to see me?" he asked her coolly.
She stared at him. "How could I? I never dreamed of your being in
India."
He passed the question by. "And yet you were the only person in India whom I took the trouble to inform of my arrival."
Her eyes widened. "What can you mean?"
"Didn't you get a message from me this morning?" he asked.
"From you?" she said incredulously.
"I sent you a message," said Max.