"Did he ever speak of having malaria here? It is apt to return within a rather elastic period."

"Not so far as I can recollect," said Harding.

Seeing that he could extract no useful information from him, Clarke abandoned the attempt and discussed the case from a medical point of view. Then he said, "As we're not out of the wood yet, and I don't expect I'll be needed for a while, I'd better get some sleep. You must waken me if there's any sign of a change."

Drawing his blanket round him, he lay down on a bed of branches and reeds and when his deep, regular breathing indicated that he was asleep Harding looked at Benson.

"I guess he'll do all that's possible, for his own sake. It strikes me he's a pretty good doctor."

"I understand he once promised to become a famous one," Benson replied.

"Though I left you to deal with the matter, I kept my eye on him, and my idea is that while he wouldn't have scrupled much about letting Blake die if it had suited his purpose, as soon as you showed him the danger of that course his professional feelings came uppermost. In fact, I believe Blake couldn't have got better treatment in Montreal or London. Now the fellow has taken his case up, he'll make a cure. But I'll keep the first watch; you need a rest."

In a few minutes Harding was fast asleep and when he relieved Benson late at night he found Clarke at his post. Shortly afterwards Blake opened his eyes and asked a few intelligent questions in a weak voice before he went to sleep again. Next morning he was obviously improving, but although a strong man often recovers rapidly from an attack of malarial fever, Clarke stayed several days and gave Harding a number of careful instructions on parting.

"I don't think that can do much harm," said Harding, looking him in the face.

"Your suspicions die hard," Clarke rejoined with a mocking laugh.

"That's so," said Harding coolly. "As soon as you leave this camp I lose my hold on you. However, I've given you the Indian as guide, and he'll see you safe to about a day's march from your friends' village, and I've put up food enough for the journey. Considering everything, that's all the fee I need offer you."

"There wouldn't be much use in urging my claim," Clarke acquiesced.

"Then what about Benson? I noticed you didn't seem particularly anxious to renew your acquaintance. Are you willing to leave him with us?"

Clarke smiled in an ironical manner. "Why do you ask, when you mean to keep him? So far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to the man; I make you a present of him. Have you had enough of this trip yet, or are you going on?"

"We're going ahead; you can do what you like about it. And now, while I admire the way you pulled my partner through, there's not much more to say. I wish you a safe journey and good-morning."

He waved his hand and turned back towards the fire, while Clarke, following the Indian, moved forward across the muskeg. A week later they broke camp and, finding a somewhat better path along the hillside, went on by easy stages towards the north.

CHAPTER XV

MRS. CHUDLEIGH FINDS A CLUE

On a dark November morning when a bl.u.s.tering wind drove the rain against the windows Thomas Foster sat stripping the lock of a favourite gun in the room he called his study at Hazlehurst in Shropshire. The shelves on the handsome panelled walls contained a few works on agriculture, horse-breeding, and British natural history, but two racks were filled with guns and fishing rods and the table Foster was seated at had a vice clamped to its edge. He had once had a commodious gunroom, but had given it up, under pressure from his wife, who thought she could make a better use of it, since Hazlehurst was small and she had numerous guests, but the study was his private retreat. A hacksaw, a few files, a wire brush, and a bottle of Rangoon oil were spread out in front of him, the latter standing, for the sake of cleanliness, on the cover of the _Field_.

Foster was a red-faced country gentleman who found his greatest interest in outdoor sports and was characterized by some native shrewdness and a genial but rather abrupt manner. He laid down his tools and looked up with an air of humorous resignation as his wife came in. Mrs. Foster was a slender, vivacious woman, fond of society.

"Put that greasy thing away for a few minutes and listen to me," she said, sitting down opposite him.

"I am listening; I'm inclined to think it's my normal state," Foster answered with a smile. "The greasy thing cost forty guineas, and I wouldn't trust it to Jenkins after young Jimmy dropped it in a ditch.

Jenkins can rear pheasants with any keeper I've met, but he's no good at a gun."

"You shouldn't have taken Jimmy out; he's not strong enough yet."

"So it seems; he gave us some trouble in getting him back to the cart after he collapsed in the wood, but it wasn't my fault. He was keen on coming."

Mrs. Foster made a sign of agreement. Jimmy was her cousin, Lieutenant Walters, lately invalided home from India.

"Perhaps you were not so much to blame, but that was not what I came to talk about," she said.

"Then I suppose you want my approval of some new plans. Go ahead with any arrangements you wish to make, but as far as possible, leave me out. Though it was a very wet spring, I never saw the pheasants more plentiful; glad I stuck to the hand-rearing, though Jenkins wanted to leave the birds alone in the higher woods. Of course, now we've cleared out the vermin----"

"Oh! never mind," his wife broke in. "You would talk about such things all day. The question is----"

"It strikes me it's---- When are we going to have the house to ourselves? Though I don't interfere much, I've lately felt that I'm qualifying for a hotel-keeper."

"You have been unusually patient, and I'm getting rather tired of entertaining people, but Margaret Keith says she'd like to come down.

You don't mind her?"

"Not a bit, if she doesn't insist on bringing a menagerie. It was cats last time, but I hear she's now gone in for wild animals. If she turns up with her collection, we'll probably lose Pattinson; he had all he could stand on the last occasion. Still, Meg's good fun; ready to meet you on any ground, keen as a razor. But what about Mrs. Chudleigh? Is she going?"

"She hasn't mentioned it. In fact, I was wondering----"

"Whether she'd stop if you pressed her? Try it and see. Anyhow, she's not in my way and the place seems to meet with her approval. But what's she after? It can't be young Jimmy; he's hardly worth powder and shot from her point of view."

"You're rather coa.r.s.e, but I agree," Mrs. Foster answered. "Jimmy's too young and hasn't much beside his pay. His admiration's respectfully platonic, but it's largely on his account I thought of asking her to remain. I'm grateful to her for amusing the poor fellow, because, as he can't get about with the others, he'd have been left a good deal to himself if she hadn't taken him up. She's excellent company when she exerts herself, and she talks and reads to him with great good-nature."

"Do what you wish. Perhaps I shouldn't have spoken so freely about a friend of yours."

"I don't know whether I quite consider her a friend or not," Mrs.

Foster thoughtfully replied. "She was staying at Mabel's when I was there, but we didn't become intimate. In fact, I think I asked her down because she made me feel she wanted to come."

"A delicate hint sometimes goes a long way. Still, there's no doubt she has brightened Jimmy up, and one feels sorry for him."

Mrs. Foster went out, and, finding her guest, asked her to stay on, which, after a few demurs, Mrs. Chudleigh agreed to do, and on being left alone smiled in a satisfied manner. She had played her cards cleverly in obtaining a footing at Hazlehurst, which was a pleasant house to stay at, and thought that with good luck she might win the game she had begun. She was a hard and somewhat unscrupulous woman, but a tender look crept into her eyes as she thought of the man whose prospects she meant to improve.

Left a widow at an early age by the death of an elderly Anglo-Indian whom she had married under pressure from her parents, she had spent some years in social enjoyments before she met Sedgwick, with whom she fell in love. She was clever enough to recognize his faults, but she liked his bold, ambitious nature. Though he had no private means and she was rich, she knew her money would not count for much against the prospects of a brilliant career. The man had real ability and meant to make his mark, and in this she was anxious to a.s.sist him. She was even willing to defer their marriage until he had had an opportunity of displaying his talents in the administration of the West African territory he had lately returned to, and her object was to secure his appointment to the post left vacant by the retirement of his superior.

During the evening she sat with Lieutenant Walters in the conservatory.

There were other guests at Hazlehurst, and Mrs. Foster had asked some of her neighbours to join them in an informal dance. Coloured lamps hung among the plants, throwing a soft light upon cl.u.s.tering blossoms and forcing up delicate foliage in black silhouette. Here and there lay belts of shadow, out of which came voices and a smell of cigar smoke; but near where Mrs. Chudleigh sat screened by a palm a French window opened into the hall. The half-light that fell sideways upon her face suited her, for it failed to reveal the hardness of her lips and eyes, and made her look gentler. Walters, who was charmed with her, had no suspicion that she had cultivated his society merely because she thought he might prove useful. On hearing what regiment he belonged to, she had marked him down for study.

"I'm afraid I'm selfish in keeping you here, though I know how good-natured you are," he said by and by. "You might have been enjoying yourself instead of letting me bore you."

Mrs. Chudleigh gave him a gracious smile. "I've lost my enthusiasm for dancing and need a rest now and then. Besides, I like a talk with interesting people."

"That's a thing I'm seldom credited with being. You're making fun of me."

"Far from it," she a.s.sured him. "If you are very modest, I'll confess that your knowing places and people I've seen in past days enhances the interest. Were you long in India?"

"Three years. In some respects, I was sorry to leave, but the doctors decided it would be twelve months before I was fit for work again, and I felt very much at a loose end when I got home. I can't dance, I can't ride, and I mustn't walk far; in fact, there seems to be nothing that I am allowed to do. I'd have found my helplessness harder only that you have taken pity on me."

"But you are getting stronger; I've noticed a marked improvement, since I came. But we were speaking of India. You were on the North-West frontier, were you not?"

"Yes," he said and looked round as a man pa.s.sed the window. "Who's that? I've seen most of Lucy's neighbours, but I don't know him."