He shook his head. 'n.o.body can--even I can't, though I know it's the only thing--that it ought to be done at once--that----' he broke off with an impatient gesture--'It's no use--it can't be helped!'

Lesley came a step nearer to him, with an odd look of resolve on her face.

'Do you mean that it would be wrong of you to do it, or that you haven't the right? I mean, is it something you could do if--if you were Sir George?'

The quickness of her perception made him say 'Yes?' frankly.

'Would Sir George do it if he were here?' followed sharply.

He gave another gesture of impatience. 'Don't let us play clumps, for Heaven's sake!' he exclaimed. 'I'll tell you--though it's no good.

There is a row on in the city to-night--the native regiment is in it--I have a letter here--or at any rate they won't be much help; and if once we get fighting in the streets----' he shrugged his shoulders--'the only way is to prevent it starting. And Moraki is beyond call. But there's a wing of the Highlanders at Fareedabad, forty miles down the line. If I could have got a wire sent there before the mail pa.s.ses--the up-mail which left here a little ago--it could have been stopped and sent back with troops. For Fareedabad is only an outpost--no railway stock--so there is only that one chance before midnight. There would have been time then--but now----'

'Then why don't you send one?'

'I?'

'Yes, you! You know the cipher. You know that Sir George would send it.'

'Pardon me!' he said, recovering his breath, recovering his obstinacy, his dislike to coercion, 'I am not in the least sure that he would.

Judging by this morning----'

'Then _she_ would--Lady Arbuthnot, I mean. And you--you are bound to do it for her-you know you are bound----'

'I?' he echoed again.

'Yes, you!' she repeated, and there was a quiver in her voice--'because you loved each other once. Oh! she didn't tell me--I have been learning a lot of things for myself lately, and I learned that because--but that is nothing! What I mean is, that it hurts her most, for she was wrong--quite wrong--she spoilt your life----'

'Perhaps I may be allowed to differ,' he began, stiffening himself again after his surprise; but she took no notice of his remark. Her face was troubled by her own thought--she was absorbed in it.

'It has come between you and everything, not the regret, but--I don't know what to call it quite--the value you have put upon it. And she has put it too. So you want to forget, and yet you don't. You think it so big a thing that it must be forgotten--made a fuss about. But it isn't.

It isn't really part of one at all. I've learned that lately. And there is a better way'--she broke off, and came quite close to him, looking him in the face: 'not to forget, and yet not to care. Do this for her, Mr. Raymond, do it as you would do it for me?' Here, for the first time, a faint smile showed in her eyes, not on her lips. 'It is a funny thing for me to say, perhaps, but--but I gave you the _ram rucki_, didn't I? And so, no matter what else there is in the world that, perhaps, we can't help, I want you to do this for her and for me together, as you would for a man, as I would do it for a woman.'

She laid her hand on his as she spoke, and held it there; not in a touch, but a clasp.

'And--and forget--whatever else there may be--always,' he asked steadily; 'forget for you both?'

'Please,' she replied quietly; 'for her and for me--always!'

For an instant--one short instant--the man's instinctive recognition of woman's goodness and kindness--and of something else, perhaps, which had lain behind the appeal--made Jack Raymond feel as if he must kiss the hand that lay on his; then he laid his other one on it, returning the clasp.

'But how on earth is it to be done?' he said, frowning as they stood thus, like children playing a game; 'the office won't take it without authority--some one's name--'

'Couldn't you sent it from here--I can signal. I've learned--oh! such a lot of things that have never been of any real use, and--No! they keep the instrument locked, I know--that won't do! I'll forge the name--I could--and I don't mind.'

He smiled. 'Nor I--they can't stop my promotion now. But the telegraph-office will be closed. I might get hold of some one, perhaps, by saying--No! for why shouldn't it have been sent from here! That question would stump us. We might try the railway station. Yes! of course! The wire to Fareedabad is only a railway one. Even the regular office could only pa.s.s it on. By Jove! that's lucky all round.'

She caught at the idea. 'Write it out quick--there are forms in Captain Lloyd's room over there! My bicycle's ready, I'll take it. How much time have I?'

'Plenty still.' He glanced round the room they had just entered and saw another bicycle. 'I'll take that, and save you lending yours.'

'But I'm coming too,' she put in swiftly. 'I must! I'm only going, while you write, to tell the bearer to look after Jerry--he's in bed already--while I'm away. It won't take long.'

She was down the stairs again as he was wheeling the cycle into the hall, the still wet telegram loose in his hand.

'Hold that a minute,' he said, 'that tyre wants a pump--it will save time in the end. It wouldn't do to have a smash--would it?' He spoke quite cheerfully.

'No!' she replied, smiling back as she helped him. 'Not if there is going to be a "weal wow," as Jerry calls it.'

'Something very like one, anyhow!' he answered. 'And you never can tell what may happen if these things aren't stopped at once. We might have them all over the place by to-morrow morning--trying to pull down the flag perhaps--who knows?' He spoke lightly again, but for all that he had thought it worth while to pocket a revolver, which had been lying on Captain Lloyd's table; and as Lesley pa.s.sed out first, with her bicycle, he gave a look at the weapon to see how many chambers were loaded; that was always a wise precaution.

So, being busy, neither of them saw a little figure in a scarlet flannel sleeping-suit which had stealthily followed Lesley downstairs; a listening little figure with wide grey eyes.

The next instant those two were careering down the Mall, fast as wheels could carry them.

'It is a quaint cipher,' said Lesley, who, hands off, was folding the now dry telegram.

'Yes!' replied Jack Raymond absently--he was working out what had to be done. 'I might send it plain, but for the _cachet_ of authority--Heaven save the mark!--it gives. And, of course, the contents are better not known, even by the _baboo_. But I'm afraid he must know something; for I must first of all wire direct to the station-master at Fareedabad to stop the up-mail--there isn't time for the order to go through the magistrate. And that's really the thing to make sure of, for the down-mail doesn't pa.s.s Fareedabad till midnight, and it would take almost as long to get steam up from here--especially as it is Sunday and the railway people all over the place.'

There were not many of them certainly in the wide deserted station, which echoed under their hurrying feet. Indeed, barring a few would-be native pa.s.sengers, huddled up listlessly in their shawls waiting on the steps outside for the train, which experience told them would come sooner or later--figures common to every railway station in India--not a human being was visible. That, too, was nothing uncommon, when trains come four or five times a day at least. And the up-mail had pa.s.sed but a short time before; so all things were at their slackest after that excitement.

'There must be some one, somewhere!' remarked Jack Raymond, 'and if not, I must break in to the telegraph-office, and you must signal.'

Then he laughed. 'You are leading me horribly astray, Miss Drummond. I shall be transported for life before I know where I am.'

'They will have to transport me too, then,' she said cheerfully.

But there was no need for felonious entry. The telegraph-office door was open, and Jack Raymond, seeing a native clerk asleep inside, told Lesley she had better remain unseen for the time.

So she walked up the empty platform with its closed doors and looked down the lessening ribbon of line to the drawbridge pier, and came back again. Absorbed in her own thoughts, it was not until she heard the click click of a telegraph instrument, clearly audible in the dead silence, that she recognised she was pa.s.sing beyond her goal. She pulled up to wait, to listen.

T--U--M-- What on earth was the man signalling? And what symbol was that? Something she did not know. Had they a different code? No.

S--H--S--H--K--those she recognised. But what a combination! Was it the cipher? No! she had seen that--that was mostly vowels----

Then it flashed upon her that the man was telegraphing nonsense--he was not telegraphing at all!--he was against them!

She had hardly realised this, when Jack Raymond came out. 'There!

that's done, and G.o.d go with it,' he said hurriedly; 'the only thing is--what had we better do with the _baboo_? He must suspect. I have a thousand-rupee note left of your money. Shall I bribe him with it to keep quiet for two hours?'

'No!' she said swiftly, savagely; 'you had better kill him!' He stared.

'He hasn't sent them--the telegrams, I mean--at least not the last. It was all gibberish. I was listening.'

He gave a low whistle. 'By Jove!'--then he looked at her--'you _have_ been of use.'

His pause was only for a second. 'You 'd better come in with me, and lock the door--we shall have to see this thing through, I expect. I remember they told me some of the railway people were in it, and if that is so we must prevent them getting wind of this, till it's too late for _them_.'

With that he drew out his revolver and went in; and Lesley, following him, locked the door behind her.