Part 61 (1/2)

They are idle words when the heart is full of forebodings. Grace Arbuthnot was finding them so but a few hundred yards away, though she stood calmly saying them to herself.

'There can be no fear!' she said. 'Why should they do him an injury?'

'Why, indeed?' echoed Sir George with an inward groan, born of wider experience of what men can do in such times as these; 'but what _can_ have become of the child?'

He had returned home but a few moments before--and far later than he had antic.i.p.ated, owing to a raid which had been made on Chris Davenant's and Mr. Lucanaster's bungalows, which had ended in the burning of both--to find the whole household distracted.

For Jerry had disappeared; he was not to be found anywhere, neither was his Mohammedan _chupra.s.si_, nor his Hindoo bearer; both men who wors.h.i.+pped the child, who would to all appearance have given their lives for him.

For an instant Sir George's face had cleared at this information; but it had clouded again at the utter incomprehensibility of the whole affair. Lesley had put the child to bed before she had gone out on her cycle. He had then been quite happy, and was to play with his soldiers on 'The Land of Counterpane' till he felt sleepy. That was the last that had been seen of him. Needham, the maid, who worked in the next room, had heard no disturbance. She had been in and out of other rooms, naturally, but not for long. Grace had given a look in about eight o'clock, had seen the nightlight burning as usual--a little dimmer, perhaps--and, Jerry not having called to her, she had not risked disturbing him. Then had come the dinner-party. People had stayed late; and after they had gone she and Lesley had sat up talking, expecting every instant to hear Sir George return;--growing a little anxious as time went on, until, about half an hour ago, Captain Lloyd--who had gone off after the guests had left to see what news he could pick up--had come back with such good accounts, that Grace had sent Lesley to her bed.

Then, not till then, the child's absence was discovered. How long he had been absent, none could tell, for the only two servants likely to know, the two who never left him day or night, were gone also.

They had hunted everywhere: Nevill Lloyd had run back to the club to give the alarm to the men he had left there a few minutes before, Grace had made every inquiry of the other servants; but, she suggested, perhaps a man accustomed to cross-examining native witnesses might get at some clue--'There is nothing else to be done for the moment,'

a.s.sented Sir George briefly. 'You had better leave me to do it, Grace--if you are here, they will be remembering what they said _to you_.'

So Lesley and Grace--the latter still repeating those words: 'There can be no fear! Who would hurt the child? Why should they choose him, of all others?'--went and waited in the verandah overlooking the Garden Mound, for the first hint of Nevill Lloyd's return. And yet, while Grace said the words, she was conscious that there might be a reason.

If some one wanted to force their hand about that unlucky letter--the letter that now meant the worst, since the troops _had_ been sent for, the promise of no coercion broken at the very beginning; unavoidably of course, yet none the less disastrously, if that letter became public property.

And Lesley's mind, also, was not without its sting of remorse added to its anxiety, as she stood in the fast-lightening dawn looking out into the dim shadows for hint or sign. Ought she to have told Grace why her cycle ride had been so long? Yet _that_ made no difference to _this_, and a knowledge of the truth would only take from Grace a belief that had made her glad.

No! she could not tell her now! She would wait till Jerry returned--if he did return!

Oh! what could have become of the child?

'Jerry! Jerry!' she called almost involuntarily, and with the cry came back a memory of that midnight chase after the boy.

And with that, came the thought of Jack Raymond and his warning--'He takes it too hard, dear little chap.' She laid her hand quickly on Grace Arbuthnot's wrist. 'I believe I know!' she said, starting to run.

'Come! Let us find Budlu first.'

But she was too late; as they rounded the carriage-drive, and saw on the grey sky of dawn above the blossoming trees the flagstaff with its drooping flag ready to welcome the sun as ever, there was a sound of voices, of laughter, from the ruins. And the next moment Nevill Lloyd, catching sight of them, was tearing across the lawns to meet them, shouting as he ran--

'It's all right, Lady Arbuthnot! Raymond ran the little beggar to earth in five minutes. He was up on the top of the tower with his _chupra.s.si_, his bearer, and Budlu the caretaker, and the young imp had got my whole sporting-magazine too! By Jove! if I'd only known _that_, I might have guessed--but Raymond did----

Grace, who had pulled up, felt the relief almost worse than the suspense; yet she kept calm.

'Lesley!' she said, 'run back and tell Sir George.'

'Let me!' cried Nevill Lloyd. 'Or stay! I'd better go and stop the search-parties.'

So, with light hearts and feet, they left Grace alone to meet the little procession that was coming across the dim lawns. Rather a crestfallen little procession--Jerry, full of yawns and but half awake, led by Jack Raymond, and followed by guilty figures carrying the sporting magazine.

'He is very sorry to have made you so anxious,' said Jack Raymond, grave with difficulty, 'but I have promised you won't scold him, because he meant well. He thought it was a mutiny, and he went to guard the flag.'

'And I did guard it!' put in Jerry aggrievedly, 'afore I went to sleep.

For they comed to pull it down--didn't they?' He turned sharply to his henchmen.