The journey to Adamkot was not eventful. The two highly ornamented guns which accompanied the troops stuck once or twice in crossing rivers, and had to be hauled out by the elephants, and there was continuous murmuring among the soldiers against the speed of the march and the prohibition of plundering, but Gerrard did not trouble himself. Sher Singh was travelling light and fast, and it was natural that he should gain upon them, as inquiries at the various villages on the route a.s.sured them he was doing, but if the troops could do in three days what the fugitive had accomplished in two, it would be proof positive that no time had been lost in repairing the injury done him. When they camped on the second night, it was certain that this would be achieved, and Gerrard went to bed in good spirits after making the round of his outposts. The next day would see, he hoped, a grave difficulty settled by prompt grappling with it, and would bring him the breezy company of Charteris, and possibly the promise of good sport. His sleep was dreamless until an overmastering impression that tidings of disaster were arriving hotfoot awoke him. The sound of distant horses' feet was in his ears as he raised his head from the pillow, but when he sat up and listened he could hear nothing. His servant and the orderly sleeping close at hand protested in injured tones when he called to them that he had been dreaming, and so did the sentries supposed to be keeping watch on the outskirts of the camp, to whom he sent an inquiry without much hope of success.

"If any messenger arrives from Agpur, wake me and bring him here at once," he said as he lay down again. "Why, what a fool I am! The sound was coming the opposite way, I am sure. It must have been a dream."

No messenger arrived, and the rest of the march to Adamkot was made the next day. It was almost sunset when Gerrard drew rein and looked up at the great fort of reddish brick towering above him. He was riding in the bed of the river Tindar, here more than a mile wide, and now dry save for one small channel. When the river was in flood, Adamkot must stand on its very brink, but at present its sheer cliff rose from an expanse of sand and mud. It occupied the point of a tongue of high land formed by the river and a ravine, also dry, and a deep ditch guarded it at the only side on which level ground approached the walls. He wondered whether it would be necessary to make a toilsome march up the side ravine to reach the entrance, but Badan Hazari, pointing to a gateway at the top of the cliff, reached by a winding ascent from the foot, told him that this was the usual means of approach when the river was low. When it was high, a drawbridge was lowered over the ditch at the back. Gerrard sent off, therefore, his selected emba.s.sy, bearing a friendly letter from himself as well as that signed by the Rani, and inviting Sher Singh to receive him, that he might deliver the gracious gifts of the Rajah.

The emba.s.sy wound up the long path, entered the gateway, and returned, without Sher Singh, but with an elderly fakir, who was introduced as the Prince's private physician. With many apologies and compliments, he informed Gerrard that his master, cut to the heart by the Rajah's behaviour, had taken to his bed as soon as he reached home, and was too ill to be disturbed. He had turned his face to the wall, said the old man dramatically, and though he had laid the letters on his brow and eyes in token of grat.i.tude, he had not even strength to read them at present.

Would his beloved friend Jirad Sahib pardon his seeming discourtesy, and return to the capital, whither he would follow as soon as the life-giving influences of his sovereign's kindness had renewed his spirit? Gerrard expressed his sorrow at the Prince's illness, but offered to visit him and read the letters aloud, at the same time investing him with the _khilat_. But this was refused. Sher Singh's wounded spirit could not endure the sight of a stranger at present, it seemed, and he could only express his deep regret that for so unworthy an object Jirad Sahib should have interrupted his important labours, and entreat him to waste no more of his valuable time. There was not even a word said of lodging him and his escort in the fort for the night. Gerrard's anger rose.

"I came to see Sher Singh, and here I stay till I have seen him," he said. "We will pitch here, below the gateway, and see which of us will tire first."

[1] Grant, patent.

[2] _Hathis_, elephants.

CHAPTER XI.

MURDER MOST FOUL.

However unwelcome might be the presence of Gerrard and his force, Sher Singh could not, for very shame's sake, show his feelings, and a host of servants came down from the fort to point out the best camping-ground, and to bring the _rasad_, or free rations, necessarily provided for guests. It was evidently hoped, however, that Gerrard might change his mind after a night's rest for in the morning the fakir appeared again with fresh entreaties that he would depart, and not add to the Prince's self-reproach the burden of feeling that he was detaining him here. Gerrard replied by another demand for a personal interview, which was refused in horror, the fakir declaring that three days and nights of mental agony had reduced Sher Singh to such a wreck that it was unendurable to him to be seen until he had recovered a little. Gerrard offered suitable condolences, remarked that the sooner the Prince recovered the sooner would he himself be able to depart, and as a fairly clear sign of his intentions, devoted some hours to the improvement of his camp, to the ill-concealed disgust of his soldiers, who thought themselves ent.i.tled to a long rest after the hardships of the march. In the evening Charteris rode in, lean and tanned to an even deeper pink than before, attended by a new bodyguard he was raising from among his reformed robbers, who looked by no means reformed, and were Mohammedans to a man. The arrangements of the camp had to be altered again, to allow these children of nature to encamp close to their commander's tent, for the double purpose of keeping the Granthis from interfering with them, and preventing them from attacking the Granthis. Badan Hazari was highly contemptuous of this new departure on Charteris's part, and ostentatiously pitched his men's tents in similar fashion near Gerrard's, to protect him, as he said, in case those rascally thieves should try to murder him in the night.

Their own Sahib might be able to trust them, since he had nothing they would care to steal, but the acting-Resident of Agpur was a person of importance, and his life was valuable.

Having seen their followers bestowed as well as might be, Charteris and Gerrard settled down to a good talk, in which the present situation, as was natural, bulked largely. At first Charteris was inclined to think that things need not have gone so far.

"You'll laugh me to scorn," he said, "but I give you my word I'd have rode after Sher Singh, just as I was, the moment I heard he had levanted, and caught him up on the road."

"Or been caught by him, and held as a hostage."

"No, I would have done it before he got to cover here, and brought him back dead or alive."

"To find that the army and the Durbar had made common cause against the Rani--perhaps even that she and Kharrak Singh had been judiciously removed."

"That's what it is to have a mind that sees both sides of a question,"

said Charteris good-humouredly. "Now I should only have thought of securing Sher Singh, and I'd have done it if I died for it. Whereas you have left everything in inspection order, and can sit _dharna_[1]

on his doorstep for just as long as he can stand seeing you there."

"My patience has its limits," said Gerrard, smiling. "If the illness refused to yield to the fakir's treatment, it might become necessary to send for a European physician from Ranjitgarh, and to blow in the gates that he might be able to visit his patient. But I hope Sher Singh will see fit to recover without our using such drastic remedies."

"Oh, you have him in the hollow of your hand--I don't presume to doubt it. When your letter came, I had a lurking suspicion that it might be a veiled call for co-operation again, but I see I was wrong."

"You forget it's your turn to call upon me. But I'll tell you where you can help me, Bob. I want to give these precious troops of mine a little active work in the way of war-manoeuvres, as the Prussians call them. The lazy beggars have got abominably soft since Partab Singh's death, with nothing to do but exhibit their lovely selves in the streets, and mutiny for increased pay to settle their tavern-scores.

There's plenty of room here, and good scope, and besides, the sight will be interesting and cheering for Sher Singh. Let's take 'em in hand."

"I'm your man. But," with a wry face, "what about the tiger-hunting?"

"Oh, we'll get that in. Sher Singh sent word this afternoon that he hoped I would show my forgiving disposition by deigning to allow him to provide me with a little sport, and I had his head shikari here just before you came. He said that owing to Sher Singh's prowess as a shot on his visits to his father-in-law, tigers are much rarer round here than I thought, and wanted me to go a day's journey to find a likely spot, but I told him he must produce one within a decent distance or be for ever disgraced. So it's a _bandobast_,[2] and the beast is to be forthcoming to-morrow or the day after."

The next day was spent in military operations, uncheered by any touch of sport, but on the second day after Charteris's arrival the shikari brought news of a tiger not unreasonably remote, and the two Englishmen stopped work early, and went off on the hunting-elephant, attended by the wild men from Darwan as beaters, lest they should quarrel with the Agpuris if they were left together. The tiger was duly killed, to the intense admiration--almost adoration--of the shikari, who entreated even with tears that the sahibs would allow him to guide them further, to the spot already mentioned to Gerrard, where, to judge from his description, tigers were popping in and out of a particular patch of jungle like rabbits. Charteris was strongly tempted, and urged that they could make the journey in the night by pressing the elephant a little, shoot a few tigers before breakfast, and return during the day, but Gerrard was firm. He did not intend to allow Sher Singh such an opportunity for tampering with the troops, innocent as he might seem to be of any desire to do so. They rode back, therefore, squabbling amicably as to whose bullet had really given the _coup de grace_, and discussing whether the skin should be mounted as a rug or merely cured.

Their elephant was descending into the river-bed, and the walls and towers of Adamkot were dominating in dusky red the landscape to their right, when Gerrard uttered an exclamation, and pointed out a small body of mounted men surrounding an elephant, who were approaching their camp from the opposite side.

"From Agpur!" he said. "Who can be coming? A woman's howdah, too!

Why, it looks to me like Bijli, the best hotty in the stables. I would have brought her with me if I hadn't known that the others couldn't keep pace with her. Bob, I'm afraid there's something up."

"You underrate your own importance, old boy. They can't do without you in the city, and the Rani has come in person to fetch you back."

"Oh, stop your chaff! No, but I daresay Kharrak Singh has insisted on coming, and she has sent him in a closed howdah, so as to be safer. He was uncommon set on coming with me. I wouldn't hear of it, but he may have teased her into giving her consent."

They entered the camp, and descended from their elephant in the s.p.a.ce before their tents, just as the other elephant and its escort were challenged at the outskirts. Charteris and Gerrard both saw the curtains of the howdah put aside, and a head, apparently that of a woman, thrust forth. They could not hear what was said, but the newcomers were instantly allowed to pa.s.s, and staring soldiers began to gather and follow behind them. All eyes were turned on the two Englishmen as they went forward, but no one said anything, though it seemed to Gerrard that there was a feeling of awe in the air.

"It must be either the Rani or Kharrak Singh, for there are Amrodh Chand and the Rajputs," he murmured to Charteris. "And Rukn-ud-din in command of a scratch lot of guardsmen from all four troops! What is this, Komadan-ji?" he inquired of the officer.

"It is an order, sahib, but the mouth of this slave is shut," replied Rukn-ud-din, wheeling his men apart to allow the elephant to advance.

It knelt down, and two or three zenana attendants, who had been riding behind, came forward and helped a veiled female figure to descend.

"Is it the Rani?" whispered Charteris eagerly.

"How should I know? I have never seen her," said Gerrard impatiently.

"I shall know when she speaks, I suppose. But look at her cloth, half brown and half white! Has she gone mad, to show herself to the troops in this way? No _pardah_, no sheets!"

"Perhaps she will go into one of the tents," suggested Charteris, as much puzzled as his friend, and Gerrard advanced hesitatingly, unable to conceive why the troops did not actively resent this unheard-of violation of etiquette. The veiled figure stood solitary against the gorgeous trappings of the kneeling elephant, but there were still two or three women in the howdah, as he could tell by their whispering.

The widow's white garments made it probable that the one on the ground was the Rani, but what was the extraordinary stain which disfigured one end of her veil? Perhaps her silence arose from horror at finding herself stranded in public view instead of being properly conducted from howdah to tent without allowing onlookers a glimpse of the pa.s.sage. He spoke with diffidence, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"There are tents at the service of the great one who has arrived. Is it an order that she be conducted thither?"

"No!" cried the woman fiercely, dashing the veil from her face.

"Henceforth the mother of Partab Singh Rajah's son is no longer _pardah_, but lives for vengeance the few hours that remain to her.

Avenge me, O Jirad Sahib! avenge me, O soldiers of Partab Singh! avenge me on the man who has left me childless, the slayer of his brother!"

"But when was this? What has happened?" gasped Gerrard.

"Two days ago at this time. I waited only to burn the body of my son, and hastened hither for my vengeance."

"But it is impossible, Maharaj. Kunwar Sher Singh has been ill in bed since he arrived here."

"Has he?" The Rani's laugh rang out shrill and terrible. "It is easy to deceive some men. Let Jirad Sahib send now for Sher Singh, and see if he comes."

Gerrard turned hastily, to find himself confronted by the fakir and two or three of Sher Singh's servants, waiting with downcast eyes. "Why are you here?" he demanded of them.

"Sahib, we bear a message from our lord, who desired to know what fortune your honours enjoyed to-day in hunting. Seeing you return so early, he feared the sport had been poor."

"Go instantly, and bid the Prince return hither with you," said Gerrard brusquely.

"But your honour knows he is laid upon his bed, and cannot rise."