Ah! that was better! The room did not seem quite so dreary after the
whisky and soda! Then he took another, and after that the outlook
itself seemed less dreary, and he told himself that Dan had been right
in saying that he, George, did not know the temptation of stimulants.
Temptation?--if they brought you up to your bearings with a round turn
in this fashion--Why! he felt twice the man he had been five minutes
ago. Now he could think; now he could reason; now he could see clearly
and decide what ought to be done. To begin with, she was safe. Those
papers, joined to little Azîzan's confession of having stolen the
Ayôdhya pot, made it quite impossible to prove she had ever known about
the jewels. As for himself, that did not matter; though, as a fact, he
was quite as safe as Dan. That is to say, the palace devils might raise
a scandal, but the breakdown of their case in regard to her would show
it was no more than revenge for their failure; for they would fail, of
course. So far, nothing had happened. There was no water in the
overflow cut; he had made sure of that as he rode along. And now that
he was on the spot he could do quite as much, off his own bat, to
prevent treachery as any one--the Colonel and all the Department to
boot--could have done had he reported the whole affair. To-morrow the
guard would be changed, and doubled to provide against any violent
attempt; an unlikely event, as such an assault would take time, and he
meant to pitch his tent down at the sluice so as to be on the spot at
night, and during the day he could watch from the bungalow. Against
other and more stealthy treachery he was also provided absolutely--so
absolutely that he gave a short laugh as he drew a couple of Chubb's
keys and a lock from his wallet. That would puzzle them if they came
thinking they had hit on the old fastening. But that also was for
to-morrow; there remained only to-night. No! not to-night; since
already it was past one o'clock. What wonder that he was tired--did any
one in the wide world know or care how tired? He stood up sharply,
every vein tingling now; his whole mind aglow despite his weariness. He
must have something to eat first, of course--his very determination
insisted on that; but not from those plague-stricken purlieus out
yonder--cautious civilisation insisted on that. There must be biscuits
or something of that sort in the cupboard, and as he crossed over to it
the memory of his raid while _she_ slept among the red cushions
returned to make him laugh again.
'And when she went there
The cupboard was bare.'
The childish doggerel fitted the occasion and left him smiling at some
ship's biscuit--the last resource by sea or land--left at the bottom of
a tin. Dan certainly _was_ a bad housekeeper. The comedy of his
disappointment struck him; the tragedy, needing the sequel to develop
it, remained invisible like a photograph in film-embryo.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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