Caravans By Night Part 16

Again she clapped her hands; again the servant appeared. She spoke to him swiftly, not in English nor Hindustani, but in a tongue Trent did not understand, and the man vanished with a salaam.

Sarojini rose; Trent, too, got up.

"_Salaam, Burra Dakktar_," she said, lapsing into Hindustani and bringing the visit to an end. "I, the Swaying Cobra--who dance for those I love, but have only venom for those I hate--bid thee farewell until the G.o.ds bring us together again. And may that be soon!"

She smiled and contemplated him, once more as a cat contemplating prey; smiled with eyes that spoke mockery as she suffered him to salute her fingers; and the last picture he had of her was as she crossed the golden room and parted the golden curtains, vanishing like a cobra into its lair.

He turned then to Kerth and shook him. The latter was slow to awaken.

Lids lifted to reveal rheumy eyes, but as he recognized Trent sleep was wiped away, like a cobweb. His gaze swept the room; he rose unsteadily.

"I am ready, Sahib!" announced Chandra Lal, appearing in the doorway.

Kerth opened his mouth, as if to speak; shut it; shot Trent a cryptic glance.

"Come." This from Trent, laconically.

Thus they left the house of the Swaying Cobra, left it with its vain, old-world atmosphere and its golden room; re-traversed the labyrinth of streets; got into the landau; whirled toward the Cantonment.

4

Not until they reached the hotel, until Chandra Lal flicked his whip and rolled away into the gloom, did either of the Englishmen speak.

"So you've known her before!" observed Kerth as they approached Trent's room.

Trent said, without surprise: "You heard?"

"Everything.... I'll drop over and find out about the Bombay trains; join you in a moment."

As Kerth moved toward the central building, Trent unlocked the door.

After he switched on the light, his first act was to open his bag and insert his hand into the pocket where he had left the piece of coral.

His fingers trembled, for he felt that he was questioning for the ident.i.ty of Manlove's slayer; trembled--and groped in an empty pocket.

For several seconds he stood motionless, trying to adjust himself to the situation. When he came into full sentience, he looked carefully through the bag. He even searched his pockets. But the oval was not to be found.... Some one had entered his room; stolen it. The realization burned like acid into his brain. But if--

His mental inquest was cut short as a knock announced Kerth.

"Message for you," said the latter, extending a telegram.

Trent hastily tore it open; read:

"Party fitting description bought ticket for Mughal Sarai last night.

_Khansammah_ at dak bungalow says she asked questions about you and Manlove. Following up clue. Nothing new. Urqhart."

A sense of disappointment smote him. First Chatterjee; then the oval; now this! A series of blind alleys.

He applied a match to the telegram and watched it burn.

"Train leaves in an hour and a half," Kerth volunteered, taking a seat and staring inquisitively at the ashes as they fluttered to the floor.

"How'd you suspect the wine?" Trent enquired, unb.u.t.toning his tunic.

"It's my business to suspect. I emptied the cup under the divan and, afterwards, expected any minute to see it seeping out. As it is, I'm not sure she didn't smell a mouse. Gad! The way she pulled back my eyelids!"

Trent hung his tunic on a chair. "Don't object if I get comfortable, do you?" he asked. "Rather done up; awake all last night, you know."

Kerth waved his slim hand. "Go ahead; I'll have to pack up shortly."

Then, as Trent undressed: "This Sarojini, she's a shrewd one, major, and I don't envy you the task of matching blades with her. However, you gained a point on her to-night. I was rather surprised that she gave in so easily; not so sure, either, that there isn't a trick in it." He laughed easily. "Oh, I'll wager she has a bag of tricks! And do you think she was telling the truth when she said Chavigny has nothing to do with this Order of the Falcon?"

Trent, stripped but for one garment, propped himself against two pillows, pencil and pad in hand.

"I'm sure I don't know," he returned, making a notation. "Pardon me for taking a few notes; 'fraid I'll forget 'em. No, don't go.... About Chavigny: why should she say he isn't, if he is?"

"To confuse you." Kerth drew out a silver cigarette case. "Have a smoke?

And what d'you suppose she meant by saying the jewels could be spirited out of India under the protection of the S. S.?" Kerth searched from pocket to pocket for a match. "Have you a light, major?"

Trent's hand moved involuntarily to his side; then he motioned toward his tunic.

"In the pocket."

And he continued to write as Kerth reached into the pocket of his coat.

He read the notes he had made:

Who the deuce would want the pendant? Answer: if a name is engraved inside, it would be very valuable to the owner. Yet the fact that the coral was found in M.'s hand doesn't prove conclusively that its owner is the murderer.

He looked up as Kerth extended a lighted match, took it and held it to his cheroot.

"Thanks"--briefly.

"Do you think," interrogated Kerth, "you could find her lair without a guide?"

Trent smiled. "Hardly."

"I'd take oath that her man, Chandra Lal, led us along the same street twice! Oh, she's a wily one! And the way she had us taken into the room while it was dark!"

He puffed on his cheroot and Trent continued to jot down notes.

"Furthermore," Kerth drawled, "why doesn't she want you to read those instructions until to-morrow? Some catch in it."

Conversation languished, and presently Kerth drew out his watch and observed: "Nearly midnight. I'll have to be moving on."

He rose and extended his hand.

"I'll take a room at a native serai in Bombay--for atmosphere--and meet you at the station. Until then, good luck!"

In the doorway he paused. He looked particularly satanic at that moment, and again Trent was not quite sure that he liked him.

"Bombay, major!" were his parting words. And the door closed behind him.