One Maid's Mischief

“A prisoner, eh?” said Chumbley. “Well, his evidence will have to be taken with a pinch of salt. Now, Harley, what’s the news?”

“This fellow has come, saying that he bears an important message. I would not hear him till I had you two present.”

They went out into the veranda, took seats, and the man salaamed, and was asked his business.

He said that he had been charged with a message to the Resident by one of the Rajah’s women. It was to tell him that the lady Helen had been taken up the river to the Rajah’s shooting-house, and was kept there against her will.

“Are you sure of this,” said the Resident, hoarsely. “I have said,” replied the man, with dignity. “Have you seen her there?”

“Once only, master. She is kept shut closely up.”

“And when did you get this message?”

“It is nearly thirty days ago, master.”

“Then why did you not bring it sooner?”

“I came down the river by night in my little boat, master, and reached the town here; but found that I could not get near the Resident.”

“Why not?” said Mr Harley, sharply. “I am always to be seen.”

“You were watched, master; and I was watched.”

“Watched! Who watched me?”

“Murad’s men. They were everywhere.”

“Murad’s men? Watching?”

“Yes, master, it is true. They lay about in boats or idled, chewing their betel on the shore and landing-stage. They would seem to you like common people who had nothing to do, but they were all watching carefully the while.”

“And would they have stopped you?”

“Yes, master; they did.”

“Then you have kept this message all the time in spite of this?”

“Yes, master.”

“Without trying to deliver it?”

“No; I tried. I could not get to you or any I could trust unseen; but I know that you Englishmen are all friends, and that if I told one he would tell you, so I thought of the doctor.”

“And told him?” said the Resident. “No; I could not approach an Englishman at all. I waited my chance: two days had gone, and then, after much thinking, I made my plan.”

“Yes, be quick,” said the Resident, impatiently. “I pretended to be hurt.”

“Yes; and went to the doctor,” said Hilton. “Did you tell him?”

“If my masters will let me tell my story,” said the man, with dignity, “it will be best.”

Mr Harley made a sign to his companions to be silent, and the man went on:

“I looked about for a house where I fancied I should not be watched, and went to a lady, saying I was badly hurt, and asking that she would fetch the doctor to me.”

“Why did you not tell her your message?”

“She talked too much – I was afraid,” said the man, quietly. “But she took compassion on me and went to fetch the doctor. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘my task is done.’ But my enemies were too watchful, and soon after my messenger to the doctor had gone, six men entered the house; I was seized, gagged, and carried off to a boat, and rowed away. They questioned me, but I was dumb; and then they kept me prisoner till two days back, when I escaped and came down here.”

“Then why were you not kept back from approaching me this time?” said the Resident, sternly.

“I know not, master, only that those who watched are gone. The place was full of Murad’s men before. Now they are not.”

“He is right,” said Hilton. “Murad has taken the alarm. He knows by his spies that the game is up.”

“Could you take us to this place?” said the Resident.

“I could; but I wish to live,” said the Malay. “I have a wife.”

“You mean that Murad’s people would slay you if you led us there?”

The Malay bowed.

“You may trust to the English power,” said the Resident, sternly. “If what you say be correct, Murad’s reign is at an end, and you may depend upon us for protection. Will you lead us to the place where this lady is shut up?”

“If the English chief will promise me protection.”

“You shall be protected,” said the Resident, quietly; “and you shall be well rewarded.”

The Malay bowed again.

“What do you think?” said the Resident, turning to Hilton, and speaking in French, to make sure that the Malay did not understand.

“I think the man is right, and I would take him for guide; but all the same, we know what these people are: it may only be a treacherous, misleading plan.”

“We must be well on the alert as to that,” replied the Resident. “I think the man is honest.”

“So do I,” said Chumbley, “for there is no temptation for him to have been otherwise.”

“Stay with those two men,” said the Resident, addressing the Malay; “we are going with an armed expedition directly, and you shall be our guide.”

The man was led away, and the Resident watched him intently as he went out.

“Yes, I think the Malay is honest,” he said quickly. “Are you fellows ready?”

“Yes; we only wait your orders,” replied Hilton. “I am fidgeting to be off.”

“There is much to be done first. Let us go now and see Perowne, I promised to communicate with him before we left. You have not seen him yet?”

“No.”

They walked down to the landing-place, where the Resident’s large boat was being well manned, and ammunition and rations for three or four days were being stored. There a small boat was waiting, and they were paddled across, to walk up to Mr Perowne’s, both Hilton and Chumbley starting, as they saluted the merchant, to see what a change his late troubles had wrought upon his personal appearance.

He shook hands with the officers in a quiet, grave way, and then stood looking in a vacant manner out of the window and across the lawn towards the river.

“We must not start without Bolter,” said the Resident, sharply, as if the idea had just crossed his mind. “Any news of him?”

“No,” said Hilton; “we have heard nothing; but are you sure that he has not returned?”

“He would not have returned without reporting himself,” replied the Resident, who, like Mr Perowne, seemed to have grown older and more hollow of cheek.

“I am quite ready to start,” said Mr Perowne, in an absent manner. “They tell me, Mr Hilton, you were seized that same night, and carried up the river. Are you sure that my Helen was not taken to the same place?”

“I am certain, Mr Perowne,” said Hilton, gravely. “The best answer to that is the presence of Mr Chumbley and myself. We should not have come away and left an English lady in such a situation.”

The Resident cast a keen, inquiring look at Hilton, and Mr Perowne went on feebly:

“No, no, of course not; but I thought I’d ask, Mr Hilton. I’ve had a deal of trouble lately; and my head is very bad.”

“Let us go across to the doctor’s,” said Mr Harley. “There is the chance of his being back. I really feel that, urgent as our necessities are, we must not start without him.”

“We ought to have him,” replied Hilton. “We are sure to have some wounded.”

“And wounds are awful in this climate, if not attended to at once.”

“Yes,” assented the Resident. “Will you come with us, Perowne?”

“No,” said that gentleman, dreamily. “I shall stay until the expedition starts.”

Mr Perowne seated himself upon a low stool, and buried his face in his hands, looking so utterly prostrate, that the Resident crossed to his side, bent down over him and whispered:

“For heaven’s sake, be hopeful! I am straining every nerve to get the expedition off!”

“But you are so long – so long!” moaned the wretched man.

“Do not you reproach me,” said Mr Harley. “Have some pity for my position. I am even now going beyond my tether in what I am doing; and I hardly dare take a party of men up in this jungle without a doctor with us! Perowne, on my honour, I am burning to go to Helen’s help; but I am tied down by red tape at every turn. You don’t know what such a position as mine really is!”

“Go and see if Bolter has come back,” said Mr Perowne, coldly.

“Yes,” said the Resident, to himself, “if not, we must go without him.”

The Resident turned away, beckoning Hilton to follow; and leaving Chumbley sitting with the stricken father, they went towards the doctor’s cottage.

Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen.

Jeopardy

Helen caught the sound of the oars at the same moment as the doctor, and he heard her draw a spasmodic breath as she started up in her dread and seized his arm, clinging to it convulsively.

The doctor rose, and shading his eyes, gazed down the stream, but there was no prahu as yet in sight; and he then glanced to left and right for a hiding-place beneath the overhanging trees.

A glance, however, showed him that there was not shelter enough here to cover a boat of half the size; and in despair as to what he should do, he turned to the Malays, who evidently read his perplexity, and shook their heads.

They might have turned the boat and tried to get beyond where they knew the prahu would stop and turn, but that would have taken hours, and they must have been either overtaken or seen long before they had reached the spot.

“Nothing but impudence will do it,” thought the doctor, and he turned sharply to Helen. “Lie down in the boat my dear, and trust to me,” he whispered.

“Doctor,” she moaned passionately, “kill me, but don’t let me fall again into that wretch’s hands!”

“Is this Helen Perowne?” thought the doctor, as with patient trust she submitted to him as he laid her back in the bottom of the boat, threw the great green branches overboard, and covered her loosely with the waterproof sheet, upon which he tossed his macintosh; and then quickly changing the cartridges once more, he coolly sat up, watched his opportunity, after telling the Malays to paddle smoothly, and brought down a handsome green parrot from a bough overhanging the river.

The beat of the prahu’s oars ceased on the instant, and coolly telling the Malays to make for the fallen bird, the doctor retrieved it, and threw it carelessly upon the waterproof sheet, full in view for anyone passing to see.

“Let the boat drift down,” he said to the Malays; and then to Helen: “Don’t be alarmed: I am shooting birds.”

He had hardly reloaded before another opportunity presented itself, and he shot a brilliantly-plumaged trogon, which he was in the act of picking from the water where it had fallen as the stream bore them full in view of the same large prahu that had passed them when making his way up the main river.

The doctor took hardly any notice of the prahu but carefully shook the water from his specimen and smoothed its plumage, giving just a casual glance at the long row-boat, whose swarthy crew were watching his acts; and then, as the stream swept them by, he reloaded, and sat with the butt of his gun upon his knee, apparently looking out for another specimen.

All the same, though, he had an eye for the prahu, whose crew were evidently canvassing his presence there; but he seemed to be so occupied with his old practice of collecting brightly-plumaged birds – a habit for which he was well known – that no one thought of stopping him, and a bend in the river soon separated them from the enemy.

The doctor laid down his gun, and after satisfying himself by a glance that the trees completely shut out all view, he raised the covering from the half-suffocated girl, who lay pale and panting there.

“The danger has passed,” he whispered; then, turning to the boatmen: “Now,” he cried, “row for your lives!”

They needed no further incentive, but bent to their work, sending the sampan surging through the water; and the stream being rapid here, they made good way, the prahu having, fortunately for them, thoroughly loosened the tangled water-weeds that otherwise would have hindered their flight.

The doctor listened to the beat of the prahu’s oars, which seemed to grow more distant. Then the noise stopped, and recommenced in a different way, the beat sounding short and choppy.

“What does that mean?” he muttered, thoughtfully; but he smoothed his brow as he saw that Helen was watching him intently.

Suddenly he started, for he read the meaning of the sounds, which did not grow more distant.

“They are not satisfied,” he said to himself, “and are coming after us. The prahu cannot turn; the river is too narrow here, and they are backing water.”

He tried to doubt his own words; but as they entered upon a long straight portion of the river, down which they glided rapidly, he gazed back, and just as they neared the end of the reach he saw the prahu in full pursuit.

“Paddle hard,” he cried; “they must not overtake us. Quick! get round out of sight: we shall get on better in the sharp windings, and leave her more behind.”

He was not sure of this, but hoped it would be the case; and he was in the act of hoping this when —bang! – there was a sharp report from a lelah on board the prahu, and a pound ball came skipping along the surface of the stream, splashed up the water a few yards away, and then crashed in amongst the dense jungle-growth to the left.

“Paddle, my lads, paddle away!” shouted the doctor; and the men toiled on, every muscle seeming to stand out of their bronze arms, and the veins starting in neck and brow as they obeyed his words, till the boat seemed as if it were skimming like a bird over the surface of the stream.

“That’s right! Good! good!” he cried, in the Malay tongue. “I never saw boat worked so well before.”

His words seemed to give the men fresh strength, and they forced the sampan on with renewed force. The water rattled and surged beneath her bows, and so good was the speed they now made, that in another minute they would have been out of sight, when a second shot from the prahu’s gun came skipping along, and this time aimed so well, or so cleverly winged by fate, that it struck the flying boat, cutting a great piece out of her gunwale.

“Pooh! that’s nothing. Never mind the shot!” cried the doctor, coolly. “I’ll wager a new silk sarong, to be fought for by gamecocks, that they could not do that again. Dip your paddles deep, my lads; paddle away, and we’ll soon leave them far enough behind.”

The bend of the river that they had turned gave them some slight chance of escape, and the men worked better and with less display of nervous hesitation. Bank and trees shut them now from the sight of the marksmen on board the prahu, and there is less difficulty in toiling at the paddle when you know that no one is taking careful aim at your back.

The moment they were out of sight of the prahu’s crew the doctor stood up in the boat, one moment urging on the men, the next searching the shores for some satisfactory hiding-place – some inlet or opening among the trees into which the sampan might be thrust with some little chance of its escaping the keen eyes of their pursuers, who would be pretty well on the alert for such a trick as this. There were trees overhanging the stream in plenty, but as far as he could see the foliage was not sufficiently dense to be trusted at a time like this; and feeling at last that their only chance of safety was by making for and reaching the main river, he kept on encouraging the men, and in the pauses speaking words of comfort to Helen Perowne.

She lay back utterly prostrate, but turned her eyes to the doctor with an imploring gaze that he read easily enough, interpreting it to mean – “Save me from these wretches, or shoot me sooner than I shall fall into their hands!”

“I mean to save you, my dear,” he said to himself; but all the same, he examined the cartridges in his gun, and his fingers played with the trigger, as he listened intently to the sounds of pursuit.

“I’d give something for this to be the cutter of a frigate, well manned with jacks and with half a dozen of our red-coats in the stern sheets. I don’t think we should be showing them how fast we could run away at a time like this. But one must show them a little strategy sometimes.”

He looked back, but they were still well out of sight of the prahu, the heavy beat of whose oars seemed to come from close behind the trees, though it was still some distance away.

He scanned this bank – the other bank – but now the trees seemed thinner, and the chances of hiding successfully to grow less; and for a moment something like despair crept into the doctor’s heart.

But he was too well used to emergencies to fail at critical moments; and, bracing himself up, the momentary despairing feeling was gone.

“Is there no end to this wretched river?” he cried, half aloud; and he gave his foot an impatient stamp, which started the men afresh just as they had slackened their efforts, and once more they went on toiling along the narrow, winding stream, the tortuous way seeming to grow more intricate minute by minute, and fortunately for them, as their little boat skimmed round the turns, while the prahu’s passage was ponderous and slow.

But every now and then some straight piece of the river would give the enemy his chance, and the rowers forced the prahu along, so that she gained ground.

There was no mistaking it, and the doctor’s fingers tightened upon his gun, as he saw how rapidly his pursuers were gaining; while his own men were becoming terribly jaded by their tremendous efforts, and moment by moment their strokes were losing force.

Worse still, as he gazed back, he could see that something was going on in the bows of the prahu, and he needed no telling what it was – they were again loading and training their heavy gun; and “if,” the doctor thought, “they wing us now, our chances are gone!”

It was not a pleasant thing to do, to stand there offering himself as it were for a target to the next shot; but this did not occur to the doctor, who kept his ground, and the next moment there was a puff of white smoke from the prahu’s side.

Volume Three – Chapter Sixteen.

Blind as a Mole – is said to be

“Poor Perowne seems nearly heartbroken,” said the Resident, as they went down the path; and then bitterly, the words slipping out, incidental upon one or two remarks of Hilton’s – “He seems to suffer more than you.”

“I feel as much hurt at Miss Perowne’s abduction as does any man at the station,” said Hilton, hotly; “but if you mean, Mr Harley, that I am not grieving like a suitor of this lady should, you are quite right.”

“Quite right?” said the Resident, quickly.

“I said quite right,” replied Hilton, sternly; “every pretension on my part was at an end before the night of that unfortunate party.”

“I beg your pardon, Hilton,” cried the Resident, warmly. “I am not myself. I ought not to have spoken in so contemptibly mean a way. Bear with me; for what with my public duties, and the suspense and agony of this affair, my feelings have at times been maddening.”

“Bear with you, yes!” said Hilton, warmly. “Harley, I sympathise with you. I do indeed, and believe me, I will be your right hand in this matter; but we have had so little chance of talking together. Tell me what has been done.”

“Comparatively nothing,” replied the Resident. “I have been helpless. I have had my suspicions; but, situated as I was, I could not act upon suspicion only; and when, to satisfy myself, I have tried diplomatic – as we call mean, but really underhanded – means by spies to find out if there was anything wrong, every attempt has failed.”

“You have sent out people to search then?”

“Scores!” cried the Resident; “but in the majority of cases I feel certain that I have only been paying Murad’s creatures; and when I have not, but obtained people from down the river, the cunning Malays have blinded them to the facts.”

“I see.”

“Then Murad himself, he has been indefatigable with his help.”

“To throw you off the scent,” said Hilton.

“Exactly. Then there was the finding of the stove-in boat, and portions of the dresses of those who apparently occupied her – everything pointing to some terrible accident. What would the authorities have said had I, on the barest suspicion, seized upon Murad and charged him with this crime? A public official cannot do that which a private individual might attempt.”

Hilton walked on by his side, very moody and thoughtful.

“I have felt suspicious of this cunning villain all along; and I do not feel quite satisfied that the Inche Maida has not been playing into his hands. But what could I do – on suspicion merely! Even now, had he not absented himself from Sindang, we could hardly venture upon this expedition. In spite of what we have heard, he may be innocent.”

“My head upon it he is guilty!” cried Hilton, fiercely: “and if we do bring him to book – ”

The Resident looked at his companion curiously, for the young officer ceased speaking, and he saw that there was a fixed, strange look in his eye, and that his lips were drawn slightly from his teeth.

“If we do bring him to book,” said the Resident, quietly, “he shall suffer for it.”

“Suffer!” cried Hilton, excitedly. “Look here, Harley, I vow to you now that if Helen Perowne offered me her hand to-morrow, and asked me to marry her, I should refuse; but all the same, I’d strike down the man who offered her the slightest insult; and as for this Murad, if we run him to earth, and he is guilty, I’ll shoot him like a dog.”

“Leave that revolver alone,” said the Resident, quietly, as unconsciously Hilton took the weapon from its pouch at his belt and began turning the chambers round and round.

The young officer hastily thrust the weapon back and tightened his belt. By that time they had reached the doctor’s house, where, upon entering, they found little Mrs Bolter looking flushed and annoyed, and opposite to her Mrs Barlow, the picture of woe.

“Has he come back?” said the Resident, hastily, after the customary salutations.

“No, he has not come back,” said Mrs Bolter, rather excitedly.

“Alas! no, he has not returned,” said Mrs Barlow, in tragic tones. “I fear we shall never see him more.”

“Are you speaking of Dr Bolter, madam?” said the Resident, wonderingly.

“Of the doctor, sir? No!” cried Mrs Barlow, indignantly, “but of the chaplain.”

“Oh!” said the Resident, and a feeling of compunction entered his breast to think how small a part Mr Rosebury had seemed to play in this life-drama, and how little he had been missed.

“Captain Hilton,” said little Mrs Bolter, taking the young officer aside to the window, while her visitor was talking to Mr Harley, “it’s a shame to trouble you with my affairs directly you have come out of trouble yourself, and just as you are very busy, but if someone does not take that woman away I shall go mad!”

“Go mad, Mrs Bolter?”

“Yes; go mad – I can’t help it. I’m worried enough about the disappearance of my poor brother Arthur; then I am forsaken in the most cruel way by my husband; and as if that was not enough, and just when I am imagining him to be suffering from fever, or crocodiles, or Malay people, or being drowned, that dreadful woman comes and torments me almost to death.”

“What, Mrs Barlow? Well, but surely, if you give her a hint – ”

“Give her a hint, Captain Hilton! I’ve asked her to go over and over again; I’ve ordered her to go – but it’s of no use. She comes back and cries all over me in the most dreadful way.”

“But why? – what about?”

“She has got a preposterous notion in her head that she is in love with my poor brother, and that he was very much attached to her because he called upon her once or twice. It’s really dreadful, for I don’t believe my brother ever gave her a thought.”

“You must reason with her, Mrs Bolter,” said Hilton, who could not help feeling amused.

“It is of no use: I’ve tried, and all I get for my pains is the declaration that she must give me the love that she meant for my brother. She says she shall make her will and leave all to me, for she shall die soon; and the way in which she goes on is horrible.”

“Well, it must be a nuisance where you don’t care for a person,” said Hilton.

“Nuisance: it’s unbearable! And now I’m talking to you about it, and very absurd you must think me; but if I didn’t relieve my mind to somebody I’m sure I should go mad. But won’t you come into the drawing-room?”

“Certainly,” said Hilton.

“I came out here to speak to her,” continued little Mrs Bolter; “because if she gets into my little drawing-room, she takes a seat, and I can never get her out again. Perhaps,” she whispered, “she’ll go as soon as she has said all she wants to Mr Harley.”

Hilton followed the little troubled body into the drawing-room, and then started and turned hot as he saw Grey Stuart rise to her feet, and stand there, looking deadly pale.