The Heath Hover Mystery Part 29

With something of a start of interest Helston recognised the man named.

Now, mounted on a fine horse, looking very warrior-like and martial at the head of his wild band, was the man with whom he had tossed for right of way in the _tangi_ but a week or two since. And then--he saw something else, and the sight sent all the blood back to his heart.

He stared, then stared again. No. It could not be.

The band, amounting to some score of hors.e.m.e.n, was nearly abreast of them now, riding at a foot's pace, as indeed the rocky nature of the ground demanded. But in the midst of it rode two figures which belonged certainly not to the Gularzai, or to any known tribe or race within our Indian possessions. They were unmistakably Europeans and represented both s.e.xes. And then Helston Varne got the surprise of his life.

Indeed, he began to wonder whether he were dreaming or delirious, for there--now immediately beneath him, in the midst of this wild band of predatory mountaineers rode John Seward Mervyn and his niece.

Heavens! what did it mean--what could it mean? These two, whom he had left safe in quiet, peaceful, rural England, not so very long since-- here now, in this s.h.a.ggy, perilous wilderness, and for escort an armed band of savage, fanatical tribesmen. What could it mean? At all risks he would get out his binocular and scan them more closely. Yes, at all risks. And this he put to his s.h.i.+kari. The latter slightly shrugged one shoulder, impa.s.sively.

Under the powerful lens, Melian was brought within thirty yards, and with the sight, his heart seemed to stand still within him. The beautiful face, though calm, had a set, troubled look, even a frightened look, he told himself. But her splendid pluck was evidently standing her in good stead. Then he turned the gla.s.ses upon her uncle. Mervyn's face was impa.s.sive, and betrayed no emotion whatever. And then, like a flash, there ran through his own mind the whole gist of his talk with Coates on the night of their arrival in the new camp--his prediction that at some time or other Mervyn would return to this strange, dim, mysterious land, and the other's reply--ready reply at that--that if he were wise he would not. And now here he was--manifestly a prisoner, and, for what purpose? And with him, Melian.

If ever Helston Varne had run against difficulty in his life--and that he had run against and surmounted many, we have already said--he realised that he was running against the greatest--here and now. He knew enough of this wild Northern border, with its labyrinthine impenetrable chasms and fastnesses, and the fierce fanatical treachery of its indomitable tribesmen, to recognise that sheer forcible rescue was clean out of the question. If for some special reason like that hinted at by Coates, they had managed to get Mervyn into their power, it was with a long brooded upon, and settled purpose, one which involved no mere matter of ransom. And Melian? Here one ray of hope did dawn. She could have had no part in, or knowledge of, her uncle's dealings with their inner and mysterious affairs, and as strict Mahomedans, they would not offer active insult to a woman. Here the question of ransom might come in, and if it did, he himself would find it--find it promptly and cheerfully.

In a whirl of mingled feelings the ordinarily cool-headed, hard nerved man watched the band as it receded now, for it had already pa.s.sed their point of outlook, and would disappear directly round the upper bend of the valley. Then he turned to Hussein Khan.

"What does this mean?"

Again the other shrugged a shoulder.

"Who may say, _Hazur_? The Gularzai are ever restless, and they love money as--Ya Allah, who does not! If they have _persuaded_, yonder _Hazur_, and the Miss Sahib, to go with them, it is because they are worth many rupees."

Helston looked fixedly at him, even meaningly.

"And that is all their motive--all?" he added, with emphasised meaning.

But the man's fine face was mask-like in its lack of response. If its owner knew--suspected--any other--well, he was an Oriental.

"Allah-din Khan too, loves money," he answered. "We are alone _Hazur_, so--there are some who would be alive to-day had they been able to give him what he asked."

An immense relief would have swept across Helston's mind had the s.h.i.+kari's answer carried conviction. For it would have cut the knot of the difficulty on the spot. He knew that Mervyn was a poor man, and realised with intense satisfaction then that he himself was not.

Whatever this freebooting chieftain might ask to set his captives free should be paid. It would be a mere matter for negotiation. But, unfortunately, in the light of his talk with Coates, the answer did not carry conviction--not entirely, though he tried to buoy himself up with the hope that it did.

"Where is Allah-din Khan's village?" he said.

"His village? It is more like a fort, _Hazur_. It is away among the mountains, nearly two days journey from here. They are heading straight for it now."

Helston's heart sank. A fort--a hill fort! Why, it would require an expedition to reduce such, and meanwhile, what would become of the captives? The only solution he saw was that of ransom, and that was, under the circ.u.mstances, by no means a rea.s.suring one.

"Can you guide me to it, Hussein Khan?"

The man looked strangely troubled.

"I can do so," he said, after a pause. "But it is putting the head between the tiger's jaws, for then will not Allah-din Khan demand the price of three instead of the price of two? And the price he will name will not be small, _Hazur_."

The matter of price would have been nothing. But more and more did Helston conjecture a deeper motive to underly. One redeeming side of it, however, was that he did not think they would be in any immediate danger, and it would be hard if he could not find some way out of the _impa.s.se_.

"This needs some planning out, Hussein Khan. Meanwhile we will return to the camp."

"_Ha, Hazur_."

"Any luck?" asked Varne Coates, coming out of the tent to meet him. He had remained at home, not feeling very fit. Then, as if the negative shake of the head const.i.tuted a matter of no importance, he went on eagerly: "You certainly have the gift of prophecy, Helston, or you must be the devil himself. Remember, when we were talking about Mervyn the other night, you predicted he'd be turning up here again?"

"Yes."

"Well, he has. I've just got a 'chit' from him saying he'll be here with us this evening, and he's bringing his niece. They left Mazaran three days ago on purpose to join us. We'll have a rare old _bukh_, over old times, but,"--with a shake of the head--"you remember what I was saying--that he'd be a d.a.m.n fool if he did come out here again.

Well, I only hope I was wrong."

"I wish you were, but I'm afraid you're not. Come into the tent here, and see that no one's about who can understand us."

Varne Coates stared at his kinsman. The concerned gravity in the latter's tone affected him, taken in conjunction with his superhuman gift of finding out everything. He led the way into the tent in silence.

And then Helston put him into possession of the morning's discovery. At the conclusion of the narrative Coates shook a very doleful head indeed.

"They weren't with Allah-din Khan's crowd of their own free will," he declared. "Did Mervyn show any signs of having been in a sc.r.a.p?"

"No. My gla.s.ses are extra powerful. He looked--normal. Well? What do you think of it--of the chances?"

"Chances? I think the chances for Mervyn are worth just that,"--with a snap of the fingers. "For the girl, it's just possible that this _budmash_ may give her up, at the price of lakhs of rupees, but who the devil's going to pay it?"

"The Government?"

"No fear, Government may send an expedition, but that won't help anybody, but it isn't going to pay up."

"Then I am."

"You are?" with a stare of amazement.

"Certainly. Only too glad to get her back safe at any price, even if it costs me every d.a.m.n s.h.i.+lling I've got in the world."

Varne Coates looked at his kinsman and whistled.

"So that's how the cat jumps, is it?"

"That's how."

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

MERVYN'S DILEMMA.

We must glance back.

Mervyn's camp was pitched not very far from the mouth of the Duran Tangi; that is, not very far from the scene of the sniping episode of a week or two previously, of which, of course, he was in ignorance, but far enough from the great overhanging wall of terraced cliff, to be beyond the possibility of a repet.i.tion of the same. He had been warned at Mazaran that the country was extra restless just then, and that moving about in it, in the happy-go-lucky way he proposed, was positively unsafe; but with his usual gustiness, he pooh-poohed every suggestion of the kind. No one was good enough to teach _him_ his India, he declared. If it suited the military element to get up and foment a chronic scare, well that wasn't going to interfere with him.

It was of no use representing to him that this wasn't India precisely, but the Northern border--whose inhabitants were a fierce, predatory set of fanatics caring for no show of authority, and that even now these were in a state of unrest--well, he knew them too. When he heard that his old friend Varne Coates--and especially the latter's relative, and his friend, were on a s.h.i.+kar expedition two or three days out, that was sufficient. He only spent long enough at Mazaran to collect camp necessaries and hire servants, and at once set out to join them.

He had even demurred to the escort of four Levy sowars, which was pressed upon him. These d.a.m.ned Catch-em-alive-ohs, he declared, were of no--ditto--use. They couldn't hit a haystack if it came to shooting, and even then they'd either clear or make common cause with the enemy, to whom, tribally, they as likely as not belonged. So--here he was.

They had made a very early start from their last camp, and the morning was yet young. They had not long finished breakfast, and were seated in camp chairs under the shade of a canvas awning.