One Maid's Mischief

“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.

“Miss Stuart!” he exclaimed.

She made an effort to control herself, but her strength was not superhuman; and coming forward, she took Hilton’s extended hand, looked at him with her lips quivering, and then burst into a loud fit of sobbing.

“We thought you dead,” she said, in an excited manner. “Pray forgive me. It is so weak. But Helen?”

“We have great hopes of rescuing her,” said Hilton, whose heart was beating fast, as he asked himself what this emotion really meant. Then he cooled down and felt hurt, for he told himself that her last words explained it. Helen Perowne and she had been schoolfellows, and he had disappeared at the same time; now he had returned, but without Helen, and his appearance was a shock to her.

“There, there, there, my dear child,” said Mrs Bolter, who felt scandalised at this weakness on the part of her favourite; “don’t cry – pray don’t cry. You’re very glad to see Captain Hilton back of course, but you must save a few tears for poor Mr Chumbley as well. When is he coming to see us, Captain Hilton?”

“Not on this side of our expedition,” said the young officer, quietly. “We start as soon as possible, and have hopes of bringing back Miss Perowne and your brother.”

“Then you do think he was taken as well, Captain Hilton?” cried Mrs Bolter, eagerly.

“I feel sure he was, now,” replied Hilton. “He was no doubt in attendance upon Miss Perowne, and they were taken together.”

“Then if he was,” said little Mrs Bolter, brightening, “I am very glad, for Helen Perowne’s sake for some things,” she added, giving her head a sharp shake.

This short colloquy gave Grey Stuart an opportunity of recovering herself; and she blessed the brisk, talkative little woman for drawing attention from her, so that when next she spoke, she was able to command herself thoroughly, and continue the conversation in her ordinary calm, self-possessed way.

“I began to despair at one time of getting back to the station,” Hilton said, lightly; “and I was very tired of being a prisoner, I assure you.”

He looked intently at Grey as he spoke, and the pleasant warmth of her manner as she replied touched and pleased him but he was fain to confess that it was only the lively interest that any girl in her position would take in one who had been lost in the same way as he, and was now found.

“I am very glad to see you back, Mr Hilton,” she said. “We were in great trouble about you. But when shall we see Mr Chumbley?”

“Soon, I hope,” he replied, quietly, and there was a curious sinking feeling at his heart as she spoke.

“She would have shown just as much emotion at seeing him for the first time,” he thought. “What a sweet, innocent, gracious little woman it is, and how much happier I might have been, if I had made her the object of my pursuit.”

“Tell me about Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, taking up her work; “did he suffer much when you were prisoners?”