Part 55 (1/2)

'Will you come here, please?' Jack Raymond said to her quietly. 'You'll find a pencil and paper, I expect, on the table--and where is the cipher telegram--oh, there!--that will do. Now, _baboo_, telegraph that right, will you? Miss Drummond, if you will look over and tick the letters off as he signals them, and _let me know when he makes a mistake_, I'll--I'll settle it!'

He drew the revolver out of his pocket as he spoke, and stood to one side to let those two pa.s.s to the instrument. 'Of course, _baboo_,' he continued, 'the lady, who--unfortunately for you--can signal, could do it herself, but I prefer that you should do what you are told. Do you understand?'

The greyness and the greenness became almost deathlike. And Lesley Drummond's colour forsook her also. Would it be a death-warrant she would have to give by looking up and saying 'Wrong'? It might be.

His face--the face she was accustomed to see so careless--looked stern enough now even for that. Yet it might be needful. This treachery--there had not been time to exchange a single word about it--might mean so much. But _he_ would know how much, and so be able to judge.

Yet as she bent over the telegram, ticking the--to her--unmeaning cipher off, letter by letter, she felt that her heart echoed that uneven shudder of the handles; and she felt that Jack Raymond's eyes upon her, as he watched for a sign, were like the eyes of fate. Would she have to give that sign? And if so, what would happen? There was no thought of pity _for the man_, in her mind, only a great dread, a horrible apprehension, of this responsibility _for herself_. Yet it must be so; she knew that, though the words, 'Don't--don't, please, don't--oh! don't be a fool,' came constantly to the very verge of her lips.

'Is that all?' asked Jack Raymond, when a longer pause than usual came.

She felt quite sick and giddy with relief as she nodded--for even now she feared lest a look up might be construed into a sign.

'I ought to have told you-before you began--that his sort aren't obstinate,' he went on observantly. 'There is no fear of--of that--Miss Drummond! So now, please, for the station-master. And I think it will be better to tell them not to wire back. There are evidently railway men in this affair; besides, we mustn't risk being found out too soon, must we? So ”extreme caution” and ”utmost secrecy” is our game--the great thing is to get the troops started before we _are_ found out.'

Found out! Lesley had hardly realised that view of the matter as yet, and the thought gave her a qualm. Yet she went on checking the _baboo's_ signals and the brief answers that were asked for, just to show that the orders were understood.

When that was over, Jack Raymond looked at the _baboo_ distastefully, then turned to the girl--'I'm puzzled what to do with him,' he said in French; whereat the _baboo_ seemed to give up all hope of escape and sank in a dejected heap on the floor, rocking himself backwards and forwards, and murmuring, 'I quite innocent man--oh, my lord! innocent as suckling babes,' until Jack bid him be quiet.

'It is no use wasting time by trying to find out how far he is in it.

He would only lie, and I know enough for the present. As I told you coming along, the danger is in the native regiment refusing to keep order, if they are _asked_ to do so. That would be mutiny, and the knowledge of the penalty would make the men reckless, and there might--excuse me--be the devil of a row; What we want to do is to avoid the necessity for asking them, by having other men available. They won't be wanted before ten o'clock at earliest--the rush on the hospitals was to be about midnight. The Fareedabad fellows should be here, at latest, by nine--plenty of time! And if we let Sir George and Co. know what we have done by, say, eight o'clock, that should do. It is no use giving ourselves away too soon, and the thing we have to make certain of is that the Fareedabad men do come up to time. Now, I could tie the _baboo_ up and lock the door on him, but how am I to guard against the likelihood of fellow-conspirators coming to look after him?

_They_ might get to sending telegrams; they may be sending them now through the other office for all I know, in which case they must be stopped here. At any rate, this man must have been on his guard against any communication with Fareedabad, or he would not have been so sharp.

In fact, if we had gone to the Post Office, he would never have repeated our message: for, as I told you, the only wire to Fareedabad is the railway one. _That_, I expect, is why he was on duty. However, I'm inclined to think we had best stop here, for a time, and make certain. Of course, if one of us could stop and the other go, it might be best. But I can't do without you--a message might come through any moment and I should be in _his_ hands, the brute!--he thought himself quite safe, and would have been, but for you! You locked the door, didn't you?'

He walked over to it, however, to make sure of the fastening, and then pushed the heavy office table across it. 'They may have duplicate keys, and I don't want them inside,' he explained. Then he stood for a moment looking at the girl--'I m awfully sorry; but you won't mind, I know. I wonder if there is a cus.h.i.+on anywhere to make you more comfortable. No!

but a ledger will be better than the bare floor.' He took one or two and placed them behind the table. 'Now, if you don't mind sitting down there, where I can see you and n.o.body else can--even if we have to open the shutter--that will do nicely.' Then he turned to the heap in the corner. 'Now get up, _baboo-jee_,' he said politely, 'and resume your duties; you can sit on that stool. If anybody comes along, keep quiet, and don't open the shutter till I give the signal. Then you can transact business as usual. But mind, if you try it on again, the Miss-_sahiba_ will warn me, and I will--warn you.'

He laid the revolver ostentatiously on the table, then--borrowing the _baboo's_ comforter, which was hanging on a peg--he sat down at the table in a beautifully _baboo_-esque att.i.tude with his legs twined round his chair.

'Will I do?' he asked gravely of Lesley when he had finished making himself a smoking-cap out of black transfer-paper, and she could not help laughing softly.

'I a.s.sure you it is very serious, he said, smiling also; 'and I'm awfully sorry to keep you; but you ought to get back in time for dinner.'

'Dinner!' she echoed, a trifle hurt, 'surely dinner----'

'Is a minor matter? Never! Besides, I hope to G.o.d we are both going to have a _good_ dinner to-night; for that means--success. There is no earthly reason why there _should_ be a row, you know. If we see this through, and the troops come up to time----' he paused, lost in his own previsions. 'Well,' he said finally, 'we had better not talk. A native's bare feet are more inaudible than our whispers, and it won't do to be found out. So--steady it is for an hour or so.'

An hour! Lesley's heart sank after the first ten minutes. They seemed interminable to her, seated on the ledgers behind the table. She could just see Jack Raymond at the other end of it, his head down on his crossed arms. Was he dozing? As likely as not; he was just that sort; while her nerves were quivering. The action had been well enough; the excitement of that had carried her with it; but now----? What if Mr.

Raymond's estimate of the danger had been excessive? He had once, long ago, fired on a mob in too great haste. At least Government had thought so. What had possessed her, in a moment, to trust his judgment absolutely--to cast in her lot with his, as it were, unreservedly? She blushed even in the darkness, that was fast obscuring all things, at the thought----

'You had better light the lamp, _baboo_. There is one, isn't there? by your desk,' came his voice calmly.

Then he was not asleep!

'And he was very kind. But if they were found out? If they asked her why she had done this thing, what would she answer? What _could_ she say to Grace Arbuthnot, who had been wiser; even though she had loved----

The lamp flared up under the _baboo's_ trembling fingers and showed her face.

'You poor child!' came his voice again, 'I'm bitterly sorry; but it can't be long now; and--and let's hope for that good dinner!'