One Maid's Mischief

“Now look here, boy,” said Chumbley. “I grant the possibility of the Inche Maida having assisted in carrying off Helen, but we do not know that she did. What we do know is – ”

“That she confessed – ”

“Not to helping, or anything of the kind. She told us that she was another man’s wife by now.”

“Well, that shows that she was cognisant of the matter; and I say that we ought to make a clean breast of the affair.”

“Well, I’m such a pusillanimous coward, that I can’t screw myself up to doing anything of the kind. One can’t help feeling foolish over the matter. Hang it all, no, keep it quiet! We are in an out-of-the-way place certainly; but this is an awfully small marble of a world, and if we tell our story, it would get into the Straits Times, and from that into the Calcutta papers; and once there, the tit-bit of two officers being carried off by a wicked Eastern princess will soon run over to England, and go the round of the press. Why, hang it, man, we had better retire from the service!”

Hilton stood leaning half out of the window of their quarters listening to his friend.

“It would be awkward,” he said.

“Awkward’s nothing to it, my dear boy. And besides, you know what comes about if we make all known. Harley will consider that he is in duty bound to arrest the Inche Maida, or something of the kind, and then look at the consequences!”

“But the woman ought to be punished.”

“Yes, of course; but the punishment is coming. You see by her act she has shut herself out from all connection with the station, and I daresay if the truth is known she has collected her valuables and fled.”

“I hope she has,” replied Hilton, “for if steps are taken to arrest her, I should be, I confess, sorry for her to be caught.”

“Let it slide then,” cried Chumbley; “we can’t war against a woman. Come, you’ll oblige me, old fellow, greatly, by giving way.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“A little ill that good may come: keep to our story of having been seized and not knowing where we were taken.”

Hilton nodded and looked thoughtful.

“You give way then?”

“Yes, I give way.”

“Hilton, old fellow, I’m much obliged. I know we shall have, perhaps, to do a little bit of invention, but it is invention to save a woman, and there is a lot of truth in it. Then, too, see how it saves us.”

“Still, I can’t help thinking that, if she had anything to do with carrying off Helen Perowne, she ought to be punished; and mind this, though I care nothing for Helen now, if it proves afterwards that she helped in that cruel affair, I’ll have no mercy upon her.”

“She had nothing to do with it, take my word,” said Chumbley, who had grown so excited that he forgot to drawl. “Here’s the case, depend upon it. She got to know that Murad meant to carry off Helen, and she thought that she would do the same by you.”

“Wretched creature!”

“Say silly child,” said Chumbley. “These people have half of them the cleverness and weak, petty ways of children combined.”

“Then you feel certain that Murad alone carried off Helen?”

“I lay a hundred to one he has. Harley’s right. When do we start?”

“In an hour’s time. The scoundrel has not been seen by any of his people in Sindang, so they say.”

“We shall have some warm work up there in the jungle.”

“No doubt of it; but we’ll rout the serpent out – Oh, here is Harley!”

The Resident was coming up hastily from the landing-stage, followed by a couple of soldiers leading a Malay between them.

“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.”