by Talbot Mundy
Gup seized his first chance to be irritating. “Pardon me,” he objected, “are you using the ‘we’ in the editorial or the royal sense? Or are you presuming to speak for everybody present? I ask for information.”
Rafik Khan, too, thought he saw his chance to drive a wedge into the ranks opposed to him. “My mission,” he said, “is to the ex-Ranee of Jullunder.”
But the Ranee only smiled; over the rim of her veil she was watching Gup’s face. Gup thought that he read satisfaction in her eyes, as if a long-sought solution were dawning. Harriet Dover sat bolt-upright.
“If you had listened when you were introduced to me,” she said, “you would have learned that I am secretary of state to her Highness.” She appeared to decide to ignore Gup for the moment, although when she glanced at him her eyes glowed with anger.
Rafik Khan resumed: “His Majesty the Amir of Afghanistan lays claim to all this territory, as having belonged to former Amirs and as being neither effectively occupied, protected nor administered by the Indian Government, who have in fact no right to it whatever. These caverns are the Amir’s property, and nine-tenths of the men who occupy them are his men, who owe him allegiance.”
Rahman laughed — a risky thing to do in Moslem lands unless there is overwhelming violence in reserve with which to back the laughter. “Why then, in the name of Allah, doesn’t he control his men?” he asked. “To-morrow I will show you fifty thousand who repudiate him!”
“What does he offer?” asked Harriet Dover.
“First, he demands that recruiting shall cease from among his subjects,” said Rafik Khan. “To recruiting in the Punjaub he offers no present objection. Second he demands that the ex-Ranee of Jullunder and her officers shall accept and acknowledge his rule and shall send to Kabul hostages as guarantees of allegiance and good faith. Third, he demands that his own general shall be put in command of these troops. Subject to those stipulations, he is willing to appoint the ex-Ranee of Jullunder to be titular governor of this province, two-thirds of its gross revenue to be retained by her for administrative purposes and one-third to be sent to Kabul.”
“By Allah! Is that all?” asked Jonesey.
“Does he propose himself to name the hostages?”
“Why, yes,” said Rafik Khan. “It stands to reason that unimportant hostages would be no guarantee. It is suggested that the ex-Ranee of Jullunder herself might consent to reside in Kabul for the time being. A suitable palace would be provided for her, and she would be treated with all possible respect and consideration. She would be provided with a body-guard from the Amir’s own picked sowars.”
At last the Ranee spoke: “And what guarantees does the Amir offer in return?”
Rafik Khan made solemn answer, with the air of one who mentions almost superhuman goodness and generosity.
“The hand of one of his own royal relatives in marriage. The title of princess,” he added. “And for her ladies, husbands also, each according to her rank.”
It was a breathless moment that followed that pronouncement. Nobody cared to speak for fear of letting fall some phrase that might start an explosion of anger. However, Gup decided that an explosion, of sorts, might suit his purpose and was well worth risking. “May I speak?” he asked.
The Ranee nodded. She had changed color. She was biting her lip.
“I suggest that Miss Harriet Dover might be sent to Kabul. How many wives has the Amir? He might care to add to their number. As a member of the Amir’s harem Miss Dover’s recommendations might be presumed to have considerable influence with us.” His eyes, that met Harriet Dover’s, laughed at her, although his face was almost somberly serious.
“You beast!” she exclaimed below her breath, and Jonesey wriggled. Rahman watched Gup as a cat does a mouse, not moving. Gup whispered to Jonesey:
“Who invited the Amir to send this envoy?”
“She — Harriet Dover did.”
Gup chuckled. Harriet Dover began whispering to the Ranee with almost savage emphasis, the Indian lady on the Ranee’s left hand leaning closer to listen. Suddenly the Ranee spoke, with restraint.
“While we take time to consider and frame our reply to these proposals I trust that your Excellencies may rest comfortably in the apartment furnished for you.”
Jonesey summoned servants. The Amir’s representatives bowed solemnly and let themselves be ushered from the room. Then there was long tense silence, unbroken even by deep breathing until the Ranee removed her veil, which was the signal for everybody to begin talking at once.
“What does it mean? What does the man mean?” she asked, as if utterly mystified, but Gup noticed the gesture of her right hand that invited another woman to sit between her and Harriet Dover, who was forced to make room. Then the other women were invited forth from the window recess and in a moment Harriet Dover found herself so crowded that she chose another divan, with another woman, several paces distant. She was nearer to Gup than she had been and in a position now to turn her shoulder toward him with obvious intention.
“By Allah! It means war!” said Rahman, nudging Jonesey in the ribs so sharply that he winced.
“Who put these ideas into the Amir’s head?” the Ranee asked. “Have I become so cheap a thing as this? Who asked the Amir to send envoys? Did you, Harriet?”
“I did not.”
“Then in the name of God,” Rahman demanded angrily, “why do we sit here hesitating for an answer? I say: March on Kabul!”
Harriet Dover smirked at him: “Without artillery?” She was trying to appear as self-assured as ever, but to Gup, who was watching her closely, she appeared more mortified than the Ranee did. Clearly, something had gone wrong with her calculations.
Haidar Singh, the treasurer, who had held his tongue magnificently hitherto, now smiling as if remembering how often he had said the same thing, remarked, “It costs more money to stand idle than to do business! It is all outgo now — no income! No one but ourselves is ready. It would be cheaper to strike at Kabul first, and there would be less risk. In Kabul there are money and munitions—”
Rahman, roaring again: “By Allah, every mullah in the land despises that weakling Amir. Have at him, I say!”
Harriet Dover was whispering to Bibi Marwarid, the woman who shared her divan. Suddenly she stood to call attention to herself, and gradually silence fell, because all knew that her authority was only second to the Ranee’s, so that whatever she might say had weight.
“This ought to be discussed privately,” she said, “before ideas are all scrambled in this way. Talk about war with Kabul is ridiculous, as well as treacherous and stupid. There is nothing but female jealousy and fear underlying this first offer from the Amir. His Syrian wife has dictated it. Undoubtedly the Amir’s agent has a second offer up his sleeve, which he will produce now that he has saved the Syrian woman’s face.”
“Music! Let us have music!” said the Ranee, clapping her hands. “There is nothing like music to subdue the wrong sort of excitement and let the right sort usher in ideas. Music!”
But the servants, beyond the door, did not hear the summons. Jonesey had to go and give the order. Harriet Dover, with a glare of dark loathing at Gup, lay again on the divan and turned her shoulder toward him. Gup touched her shoulder, not caring to raise his voice. She faced him with sullen eyes. She was afraid of him; her intuition seemed to warn her that his honest, windy-blue eyes understood her at last.
“How long have you known Lottie?” he asked her.
“Is that your business?”
“Some one on the inside must have aided Glint,” he said, “when Glint was working to prevent her being Ranee of Jullunder.”
Soft music stole on the senses and Jonesey returned to his place beside Gup. “Some one,” said Gup, “made it easy for Glint. And some one put the thought into her head of making herself Ranee of a larger kingdom — some one who craved power and lacked a means of reaching it.”
The music swelled into a rambling minor symphony that swept th
rough curving corridors of vague thought, hinting at an unborn concept. Harriet Dover glared, her lips slightly parted, not visibly breathing — a dark pantheress, not to be tempted to speak or spring until she knew her adversary’s purpose.
“Not she — some one else engaged that Russian to make poison-gas. Not she — some one else released him after I had ordered his arrest — some one who lied to her. Did you” — suddenly Gup drove his challenge home— “first think of poisoning the Amir’s wife, or did the poison put the thought into your head? I ask because I know you wrote secretly to the Amir suggesting he should strengthen his own position by—”
“You insolent blond beast!” she exploded. “You liar!” But Gup knew by the fear in her eyes that he had guessed too near to the truth to need to hesitate another moment. He stood up, and from the gallery the music swelled into galloping sound like the sport of the squadrons of forces that gather before storm bursts on crag and valley.
“May I speak?” he asked, and there was instant silence except for the ominous music.
The Ranee nodded.
“Miss Dover,” said Gup, “has given me information that for the moment, I think, should be secret. It should be discussed by you and her and me before any one else hears it. Is that your pleasure?”
The Ranee glanced at the door of the silver-peacock room. Gup nodded. She rose and everybody scrambled to his feet.
“Will you come with me, Harriet? Will you follow us?”
Gup let them cross half of the length of the room before he turned to Jonesey.
“Stand by the door,” he commanded, “and see that no one listens. If I catch you listening, I’ll kill you!”
Then with long swift strides he overtook the Ranee and, bowing, drew back for her the curtain that concealed the door of the room in which he had made his first bold bid for victory. This time he was going to strike so hard that there should be no doubt left who owned the upper hand and who would keep it, from that day onward.
There is a starry tide of cosmic sweep
Whereon paired harbor-lights of red and green
Sway, beckoning across that wondrous deep,
The stubborn rocks and sucking sands between,
Swift fleets of inspiration that the cry
Of a gallant heart went seeking — Valor red,
Green Virtue. Instant the reply!
But only homing whither harbor-lights have led.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I am commander-in-chief of her Highness the ex-Ranee of Jullunder’s army.”
GUP strode to the farther door, opened it, made sure there was no one in the corridor, closed it again and drew the curtain. The Ranee stood at the farther end of the table. Strength seldom betrays itself; it is weakness that resorts to histrionics under stress. Her motionless silence might be masking indecision but it was more dramatic than a thunder-storm. Harriet Dover, the tips of her ivory-white fingers pressed against the polished teak of a chair-back, stood between them. She too was on her mettle, no longer glaring; she had mastered herself for the moment — looked innocent — even amused. The stare with which she favored Gup suggested pity rather than defiance. But she was frightened; it was she who spoke first:
“I suppose you know,” she said, “that this man agreed, before ever he came here, to betray us to the Indian Government? I have proof of it and he just confessed it in the other room.”
In a way that was clever. It stole Gup’s thunder. Counter-accusations and denials seldom have the force of a first indictment; a tu quoque is always feeble. And her calmness was in her favor; Gup was obviously boiling, and her bold lie staggered his sense of decency — a tactical mistake that gained her no more than a moment’s triumph.
Men who have successfully tamed outlaw horses without the use of one unnecessary or unmeasured act of violence, are to be trusted even when their indignation is not to be measured in terms of speech. And Gup had done more than that; he had led innocents to their death for the sake of a dim ideal. Taken in flank he might be, but not made to behave irresponsibly.
“I make no charge against you yet,” he said. “Tell your own story.”
She laughed. “It is short,” she said, “but not so sweet. I helped to catch you. I find that the fish wasn’t worth the trouble. I know now what you are. That’s all.”
“I’ll give you one more chance,” said Gup. “It’s probably not fair to expect a woman to—”
Unwittingly, without intention, he had touched her one sensitive spot. Meaning to be magnanimous, he stung her. She showed her hand. Blessed are the undiscoverable few who have no favorite obsession and no rift in their armor of self-control! Hers was inward rage against man’s alleged superiority; rebellion against it was the basis on which she had built her whole campaign for power; she could not bear to have that foundation touched. She became a virago. Hatred overwhelmed her genius. It robbed her of even common sense, and Gup let her exhaust herself in squalls of passion that burned her because there were no tears to make it human and no concession to another’s dignity to give it self-respect.
“What do you expect of a woman? Should she kiss you for incompetence? Love you for treachery? Praise you for being a pig in spurred boots? Oh, you swaggering cad! Oh, you hypocrite! Have we come all this way and built this temple to our own ideals, only to be mocked and robbed of it by a bird’s-nesting Scots fool? You have no manners and no honor! You are supposed to be a guest in this place; you are given leave to go where you please and to see what you please because — incredible though that is — you were trusted! It was not I who trusted you. I had you watched. How did you use your liberty? Spying on us! Giving orders that you had no right to give! Undermining our authority! And I suppose you would call women the treacherous sex! Aren’t you proud of yourself? You with a promise in your pocket of a pardon from the Indian Government if you can betray us and ruin our plans!”
The Ranee came straight to the point. “Have you any such promise of a pardon?”
“No,” Gup answered.
“Liar!” Harriet Dover drew a letter from her bosom; it was in a square envelope marked “O. H. M. S. SECRET.” She glared at Gup — dared him, delightedly, to try to bluff his way out of an unknown new predicament and, since he said nothing, tossed the letter on the table within reach of the Ranee’s right hand. It fell face upward; he could read the typewritten address, to himself “in parts unknown — finder please forward.” The Ranee opened it and began to read it, but she only read one line before she folded it again.
“This is your private letter.”
“I can’t say without first seeing it,” Gup answered.
Harriet Dover slammed both hands down on the table. “Read it — read it — read it!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Lottie, there’s the naked truth in that letter! No, he has not seen it yet. A spy brought it; we caught the spy.”
The Ranee glanced at Gup again. “Do you care if I read it? — No, here, read it yourself first.”
She held it out. He strode and took it from her.
“Oh, you poor weak thing!” exclaimed Harriet Dover. “That is the sort of misguided magnanimity that turns the ablest women into fools! Can you imagine a man behaving that way to a woman? Oh, well — let him read it! I have had it copied. If he tears it up it doesn’t matter. Let us hear him lie about it!”
Gup unfolded the letter and instantly recognized Glint’s determined handwriting, as legible as print except for the signature, which symbolized his character as perfectly as two initials and a name could do it. It was smothered beneath a bramble-bush of flourishes; it almost left in doubt the identity of the author of the craftily worded pages.
“Angus McLeod, Esq., “Exact whereabouts at present unknown.
“My dear sir, “After the disgraceful exhibition of cruelty, amounting on your part to a confession of moral turpitude, if of nothing less, and on my part to severely painful injury in the cause of duty, it could hardly be surprising if I should refuse to have further dealings with you
except before such courts as deal with treason against the crown. However, duty first. My personal suffering and my natural impulse to have you punished must be laid aside.
“I am presuming that shame for your recent conduct has overtaken you and that natural reaction, such as may be expected of a man of good birth and education, may come to your aid in your bewilderment, which is probably intense. I am willing to help you, not for your sake or my own but for the sake of duty, and I will accept your promise to do everything in your power to upset the ex-Ranee of Jullunder’s plans and to bring her to book for her crimes.
“In return for that promise, and provided you live up to it with all your might and with every faculty you possess, for my part I will let bygones be and will use the full extent of my influence to procure for you a full pardon for your past offenses. There are numbers of our spies beyond the border. Any one of them should be able to communicate direct with me. I expect to hear from you.
“Yours truly, “A. E. GLINT.”
Gup handed back the letter to the Ranee. “Read it,” he said. “It was obviously meant to fall into your hands. It’s as typical of Glint as the way he passes the plate in church on Sunday.” He turned toward Harriet Dover. “Do you pretend to have evidence that I ever made such a promise to Glint or to any one else?”
Harriet Dover waited, her eyes triumphant, until the Ranee had read the letter.
“I don’t need to pretend,” she said then. “Your own actions are enough. Lottie,” she said, “Jonesey showed this man the charts in the number nineteen cavern. Two of the charts are missing! A man supposed to be a mullah from Samarkand or somewhere, who came in with the Shinwari chiefs but left them on the excuse that he wanted to say his prayers, has also vanished, leaving no clue except those missing charts, and this: he was seen to climb up on a ledge overlooking the gorge. It was on that same ledge that this man sat while he pretended to be having pangs of conscience! He and the mullah were there at the same time.”