Black is White 49

Black is White 49

“Murder will out,” he had said fretfully, little realising how closely

the trite old saying applied to the situation. He had accepted the

statements of Yvonne and Ranjab as to the accidental discharge of the

weapon, but for some reason had refrained from asking Brood a single

question, although he knew him to be a witness to the shooting.

 

Yvonne saw the reporters and, later on, an inspector of police. Ranjab

told his unhappy story. He had taken the weapon from a hook on the wall

for the purpose of cleaning it. It had been hanging there for years,

and all the time there had been a single cartridge left in the cylinder

unknown to anyone. He had started to remove the cylinder as he left the

room.

 

All these years the hammer had been raised; death had been hanging over

them all the time that the pistol occupied its insecure position on the

wall. Somehow, he could not tell how, the hammer fell as he tugged at

the cylinder. No one could have known that the revolver was loaded. That

was all that he could say, except to declare that if his master’s son

died he would end his own miserable, valueless life.

 

His story was supported by the declarations of Mrs Brood, who, while

completely exonerating her husband’s servant, had but little to say

in explanation of the affair. She kept her wits about her. Most people

would have made the mistake of saying too much. She professed to know

nothing except that they were discussing young Mr Brood’s contemplated

trip abroad and that her husband had given orders to his servants to

pack a revolver in his son’s travelling--bag.

 

She had paid but little attention to the Hindu’s movements. All she

could say was that it was an accident--a horrible, blighting accident.

For the present it would not be possible for anyone to see the

heart--broken father. Doubtless later on he would be in the mood to

discuss the dreadful catastrophe, but not now. He was crushed with the

horror of the thing that had happened. And so she explained.

 

The house was in a state of subdued excitement. Servants spoke in

whispers and tiptoed through the halls. Nurses and other doctors came.

Two old men, shaking as with palsy, roamed about the place, intent only

on worming their way into the presence of their friend and supporter to

offer consolation and encouragement to him in his hour of tribulation.

They shuddered as they looked into each other’s faces, and they shook

their heads without speaking, for their minds were filled with doubt.

They did not question the truth of the story as told, but they had their

own opinions.

 

In support of the theory that they did not believe there was anything

accidental in the shooting of Frederic it is only necessary to speak of

their extraordinary attitude toward Ranjab. They shook hands with him

and told him that Allah would reward him. Later on, after they had

had time to think it all out for themselves, being somewhat slow of

comprehension, they sought out James Brood and offered to accept all

the blame for having loaded the revolver without consulting him, their

object having been to destroy a cat that infested the alley hard by.

They felt that it was absolutely necessary to account for the presence

of the unexploded cartridge.

 

“As a matter of fact, Jim, old man,” insisted Mr Riggs, “I am entirely

to blame for the whole business. I ought to have had more sense than to

leave a shell in------”

 

“You had nothing to do with it,” said Mr Dawes fiercely. “It was I who

loaded the devilish thing, and I’m going to confess to the police. To be

perfectly honest about it, I sort of recollect cocking it before I hung

it up on the nail. I sort of recollect it, I say, and that’s more than

you can do. No, sir, Jim; I’m the one to blame. I ought to be shot for

my carelessness. It was------”

 

“There’s no sense in your lying at a time like this,” said Mr Riggs

caustically, glaring at his lifelong friend. “I suppose it’s because

he can’t help it, Jim. Lying has got to be such a habit with him

that------”

 

“Well,” interrupted Mr Dawes vigorously, “to show you that I am not

lying, I intend to give myself up to the police and take the full

penalty for criminal and contributory negligence. I suppose you’ll

still say I’m lying after they’ve sent me to jail for a couple of years

for------”

 

“Yes, sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. “And I shall have you

arrested for perjury if you try any of your tricks on me. I loaded it,

I cocked sir; I will,” said Mr Riggs with conviction. “And I shall have

you arrested for perjury if you try any of your tricks on me. I loaded

it, I cocked it, I hung it up------”

 

“And I suppose you fired it off!” exclaimed Mr Dawes savagely.

 

Mr Riggs took a long breath. “Yes, sir, you scoundrel, I am ready to

swear that I _did_ fire it off!” They glared at each other with such

ferocity that Brood, coming between them, laid his hands on their

shoulders, shaking his head as he spoke to them gently.

 

“Thank you, old pals. I understand what it is you are trying to do. It’s

no use. I fired the shot. It isn’t necessary to say anything more to

you, I’m sure, except that, as God is my witness, I did not intend the

bullet for Frederic. It was an accident in that respect. Thank you for

what you would do. It isn’t necessary, old pals. The story that Ranjab

tells must stand for the time being. Later on--well, I may _write_ my

own story and give it to the world.”

 

“.Write it?” said Mr Dawes, and Brood nodded his head slowly,

significantly.

 

“Oh, Jim, you--you mustn’t do that!” groaned Mr Dawes, appalled. “You

ain’t such a coward as to do that!”

 

“There is one bullet left in that revolver. Ranjab advised me to save

it--for myself. He’s a thoughtful fellow,” said Brood.

 

“Jim,” said Mr Riggs, squaring himself, “it’s too bad that you didn’t

hit what you shot at.”

 

Mr Dawes turned on him in a flash. “None o’ that, Joe,” he said, and

this time he was very much in earnest. “She’s all right. You’ll all find

out she’s all right. I tell you a woman can’t nurse a feller back from

the edge of the grave, yes, from the very bottom of it almost, and not

betray her true nature to that same feller in more------”

 

“Jim,” interrupted Mr Riggs, ignoring his comrade’s defence, “I see

she’s going to nurse Freddy. Well, sir, if I was you, I’d------”

 

Brood stopped him with an impatient gesture.

 

“I must ask you not to discuss Mrs Brood.”

 

“I was just going to say, Jim, that if I was you I’d thank the Lord that

she’s going to do it,” substituted Mr Riggs somewhat hastily. “She’s a

wonderful nurse. She told me a bit ago that she was going to save his

life in spite of the doctor.”

 

“What does Dr Hodder say?” demanded Brood, pausing in his restless

pacing of the floor.

 

“He says the poor boy is as good as dead,” said Mr Riggs,

 

“Ain’t got a chance in a million,” said Mr Dawes.

 

They were surprised to see Brood wince. He hadn’t been so thin--skinned

in the olden days. His nerve was going back on him, that’s what it was;

poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffened his back and taken

it like a man. It did not occur to them that they might have broken the

news to him with tact and consideration.

 

“But you can depend on us, Jim, to pull him through,” said Mr Riggs

quickly. “Remember how we saved you back there in Calcutta when all the

fool doctors said you hadn’t a chance? Well, sir, we’re still------”

 

“If any feller can get well with a bullet through his----” began Mr

Dawes encouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his

hands over his eyes and sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on

his lips.

 

“I guess we’d better go,” whispered Mr Riggs, after a moment of

indecision, and then, inspired by a certain fear for his friend, struck

the gong resoundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room,

encountering Ranjab just outside the door.

 

“You must stick to it, Ranjab,” said Mr Riggs sternly.

 

“With your dying breath,” added Mr Dawes, and the Hindu, understanding,

gravely nodded his head.

 

“Well?” said Brood, long afterward, raising his haggard face to meet the

gaze of the motionless brown man who had been standing in his presence

for many minutes.

 

“She ask permission of _sahib_ to be near him until the end,” said the

Hindu. “She will not go away. I have heard the words she say to the

_sahibah_, and the _sahibah_ is silent as the tomb. She say no word for

herself, just sit and look at the floor and never move. Then she accuse

the _sahibah_ of being the cause of the young master’s death, and the

_sahibah_ only nod her head to that and go out of the room and up to the

place where the young master is, and they cannot keep her from going in.

She just look at the woman in the white cap and the woman step aside.

The _sahibah_ is now with the young master and the doctors. She is not

of this world, _sahib_, but of another.”

 

“And Miss Desmond? Where is she?”

 

“She wait in the hall outside his door. Ranjab have speech with her.

She does not believe Ranjab. She look into his eye and his eye is

not honest; she see it all. She say the young master shoot himself

and------”

 

“I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab,” said Brood stolidly. “She must

know, she and her mother. To--night I shall see them, but not now.

Suicide! Poor, poor Lydia!”

 

“Miss Lydia say she blame herself for everything. She is a coward, she

say, and Ranjab he understand. She came yesterday and went away. Ranjab

tell her the _sahib_ no can see her.”

 

“Yesterday? I know. She came to plead with me. I know,” groaned Brood

bitterly.

 

“She will not speak her thoughts to the world, _sahib_,” asserted

Ranjab. “Thy servant have spoken his words and she will not deny him. It