Part 3 (2/2)

”Luckily Miss Ryder had the presence of mind to say nothing about it till we were alone in the hut, our hands untied. Then she gave it to me, and we found to our dismay that there was only one cartridge left.”

”How was that?” He spoke quickly, but there was no suspicion in his tone now.

”Miss Ryder explained that she had been practising shooting with her uncle and had forgotten to reload. But”--he paused--”even had it been fully charged, I'm afraid our fate would have been unchanged.”

Cheniston rose suddenly, took a few aimless steps across the floor, and then sank down on the bed again almost in his former position. In front of him Anstice stood motionless, his hands, clenched now, still in his pockets, his eyes the only live feature in the grey pallor of his face.

”Well!” Suddenly he threw back his head with a restless gesture, as though the strain of the interview was beginning to tell on him. ”After hearing our sentence we were taken back to our hut, there to await the moment of sunrise--of our death.”

”They gave you no food?” The question was almost futile in its triviality; but Anstice answered it quite naturally.

”Oh, yes, we were given food of a sort. Luckily I had a little flask of brandy, and once--at midnight--I persuaded Miss Ryder to take a few drops. She was splendidly brave throughout.”

There was a short silence. Both men felt that the crux of the interview was at hand; and each, in his way, was preparing himself for it.

”Well?” It was Cheniston who spoke first. ”The night wore on, I suppose, and you saw no hope of escape? But didn't you guess your absence would be remarked upon?”

”Of course. And we hoped against hope that someone would remember the Temple.”

”They did--in the end?”

”Yes, and made all possible speed to reach it. But by that time we had been taken away, there was no one to be seen, and of course all traces of us had absolutely disappeared.”

”Then how did they find you in the end?”

”The native servant who had talked of the wonders of the Temple to Miss Ryder was aghast when he found what harm his talk had done. It seems she had cured his little boy of some childish illness, and he simply wors.h.i.+pped her in consequence. So he was wild to rescue her, and after dispatching parties of searchers in every likely direction he suddenly recollected hearing of some mysterious High Priest in a tiny village in the hills, which was so securely hidden from observation that very few people knew of its existence.”

”Colonel G.o.dfrey said he would never have reached it without the guidance of some native,” said Cheniston thoughtfully. ”Would that be the man himself?”

”Yes. It seemed his father had known the way and had told him in direst secrecy how to reach the village; and when the officers were ready to start he went with them, and by some stroke of luck hit the right road at once, although the directions were fearfully complicated.”

”If only you had known----”

”Do you think I don't say that to myself day after day?” Anstice's brow was pearled with sweat. ”If I had had the faintest idea there was any chance of a rescue----”

”I know, I know!” The other man moved restlessly. ”Good G.o.d, man, I'm not condemning you”--Anstice flushed hotly--”I'm only saying what a pitiful mistake the whole thing was ... the tragedy might have been averted if only----”

”It's no use talking now.” Anstice's tone was icy. ”The thing's happened, the mistake is made and can't be unmade. Only, if you think _you_ could have let her fall into the hands of those fanatics--well, I couldn't, that's all.”

”She ... she asked you to ... to save her from that?” He hung on the other man's answer as though his own life depended upon it.

”Yes. I shouldn't have ventured to shoot her without her permission, you know!” In a moment he repented of the ghastly pleasantry into which exasperation had led him. ”Forgive me, Cheniston--the thing's got on my nerves ... I hardly know what I'm saying....”

Cheniston, who had turned a sickly white beneath his bronze, looked at him fiercely.

”I'm making all allowances for you,” he said between his teeth, ”but I can't stand much of that sort of thing, you know. Suppose you tell me, without more ado, the nature of the--the bargain between you.”

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