CHAPTER XVI: THE PALACE OF DEATH

When they reached the door of the police officer’s apartment Dermot wished him good-night and proceeded down the passage, which was lit only by a feeble lamp placed in a niche high up in the wall. He had to grope his way through the outer chambers by the aid of matches, and when he reached his room, was surprised to find it in darkness, for he had left a light burning in it. He struck more matches, and was annoyed to discover that his lamp had been taken away. Being very tired he felt inclined to undress and go to bed in the dark, but, suddenly remembering the small light in the passage, determined to fetch it. Making his way back to the passage he tried to take the little lamp down. But it was too high up, and the noise that he made in his efforts to reach it brought Barclay to his door.

When he heard of Dermot’s difficulty he said:

“I’m not sleepy yet, Major, so I’ll bring my lamp along to your room and smoke a cheroot while you undress. Then I’ll go off with it as soon as you’ve turned in.”

Dermot thanked him, and the young policeman went with him, carrying the lamp, which had a double wick and gave a good light. Putting it down on the dressing-table he lit a cheroot and proceeded to seat himself in a chair beside the bed. Like the room itself and the rest of the furniture, it was covered with dust.

“By George, what dirty quarters they’ve given you, sir,” he exclaimed. “Just look at the floor. I’ll bet it’s never been swept since the Palace was built. The dust is an inch deep near the bed.” He polished the seat of the chair carefully before he sat down.

The heat in the room was stifling, and the police officer, even in his white mess uniform, felt it acutely.

“By Jove, it’s steamy tonight,” he remarked, wiping his face.

“Yes, I hate October,” replied Dermot. “It’s the worst month in the year, I think. Its damp heat, when the rain is drying up out of the ground, is more trying than the worst scorching we get in May and June.”

“Well, you don’t seem to find it too hot, Major,” said the other laughing. “It looks as if you’d got a hot-water bottle in the foot of your bed.”

“Hot-water bottle? What do you mean?” asked Dermot in surprise, throwing the collar that he had just taken off on to the dressing-table and turning round.

“Why, don’t you see? Under the clothes at the foot,” said his companion, pointing with the Major’s cane to a bulge in the thin blanket and sheet covering the bed. He got up and strode across to it. “What on earth have you got there? It does look—Oh, good heavens, keep back!” he cried suddenly.

Dermot was already bending over the bed, but the police officer pushed him forcibly back and snatched up the cane which he had laid down. Then, cautiously seizing the top of the blanket and sheet near the pillow, he whisked them off with a sudden vigorous jerk. At the spot where the bulge had betrayed it a black cobra, one of the deadliest snakes in India, lifted its head and a foot of its length from its shining coils. The forked tongue darted and quivered incessantly, and the unwinking eyes glistened as with a loud hiss it raised itself higher and poised its head to strike.

Barclay struck it sharply with the cane, and it fell writhing on the bed, its spine broken. The coils wound and unwound vigorously, the tail convulsively lashing the sheet. He raised the stick to strike it again, but, paused with arm uplifted, for the snake could not move away or raise its head.

Seeing that it was powerless the young Superintendent swung round to Dermot. “Have you a pistol, Major?” he whispered.

Without a word the soldier unlocked his despatch-box and took out a small automatic. “Loaded?”

The soldier nodded.

“Give it to me.”

Taking the weapon he tiptoed to the door, listened awhile, then opened it sharply. But there was no one there.

“Bring the lamp,” he whispered.

Dermot complied, and together they searched the ante-rooms and passages. They were empty. Then they looked into the small room in which the zinc bath-tub stood. There was no one there.

The Deputy Superintendent closed the door again, and, as it had neither lock nor bolt, placed a heavy chair against it. Taking the lamp in his hand he bent down and carefully examined the dusty floor under and around the bed. Then he put down the lamp and drew Dermot into the centre of the room.

“Has your servant any reason to dislike you?” he asked in a low voice.

Dermot answered him in the same tone:

“I have not brought one with me.”

The D.S.P. whistled faintly, then looked apprehensively round the room and whispered: “Have you any enemies in the Palace or in Lalpuri?”

Dermot smiled.

“Very probably,” he replied. Then in a low voice he continued: “Look here, Barclay, do you know anything of the state of affairs in this province? I mean, politically.”

The police officer nodded.

“I do. I’m here in Lalpuri to try to find out things. The root of the trouble in Bengal is here.”

“Then I can tell you that I have been sent on a special mission to the border and have come to this city to try to follow up a clue.”

The D.S.P. drew a deep breath.

“That accounts for it. Look here, Major, I’ve seen this trick with the snake before. Not long ago I tried to hang the servant of a rich bunniah for murdering his master by means of it, but the Sessions Judge wouldn’t convict him. If you look you’ll see that that brute”—he pointed to the cobra writhing in agony on the bed and sinking its fangs into its own flesh—”never got up there by itself. It was put there. Otherwise it would have left a clear trail in the thick dust on the floor, but there isn’t a sign.”

“Yes, I spotted that,” said Dermot, lighting a cigarette over the lamp chimney. “I see the game. My lamp—which was here, for I dressed for dinner by its light—was taken away, so that I’d have to go to bed in the dark; and, by Jove, I very nearly did! Then I’d have kicked against the cobra as I got in, and been bitten. The lamp would have been put back in the morning before I was ‘found.’ Look here, Barclay, I owe you a lot. Without you I’d be dead in two hours.”

“Or less. Sometimes the bite is fatal in forty minutes. Yes, there’s no doubt of it, you’d have been done for. Lucky thing I hadn’t gone to bed and heard you. Now, what’ll we do with the brute?”

He looked at the writhing snake.

“Wait a minute. Where are the matches?”

He picked up a box from the dressing-table, moved the chair from the door and left the room. In a minute or two he returned, carrying an old porcelain vase, and shut the door.

“I found this stuck away with a lot of rubbish in the outer room,” he said. “I don’t suppose any one will miss it.”

Dermot watched him with curiosity as he placed the vase on the floor near the bed and picked up the cane. Putting its point under the cobra he lifted the wriggling body on the stick and with some difficulty dropped the snake into the vase, where they heard its head striking the sides with furious blows.

“I hope it won’t break the damned thing just when I’m carrying it,” he said, regarding the vase anxiously.

“What are you doing that for?” asked Dermot.

The police officer lowered his voice.

“Well, Major, we don’t want these would-be murderers to know how their trick failed. That’s the reason I didn’t pound the brute to a jelly on the bed, for it would have made such a mess on the sheet. Now there isn’t a speck on it. I’ll take the vase with me into my room and finish the cobra off. In the morning I’ll get rid of its body somehow. When these devils find tomorrow that you’re not dead, they’ll be very puzzled. Now, the question is, what are you going to do?”

“Going to bed,” answered Dermot, continuing to undress. “There’s nothing else to be done at this hour, is there?”

The police officer looked at him with admiration.

“By George, sir, you’ve got pluck. If it were I, I’d want to sit up all night with a pistol.”

“Not you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in the place at all. Besides you are qualifying for delicate little attentions like this.” And Dermot flicked the ash of his cigarette into the vase in which the cobra still writhed and twisted.

“Oh, well, they haven’t tumbled to me yet,” said the young police officer, making light of his own courage. “I suppose you won’t make any fuss about this?”

“Of course not. We’ve got no proof against any one.”

“But do you think it wise for you to stay on here, sir? They’ll only try again.” Dermot lit a fresh cigarette.

“Well, it can’t be helped. It’s all in the day’s work. I’m due to stay here two days more, and I’m damned if I’m going to move before then. As you know, it doesn’t do to show these people the white feather. Besides, I’m rather interested to see what they’ll try next.”

“You’re a cool hand, Major. Well, since you look at it that way, there’s nothing more to be said. I see you’re ready for bed, so I’ll take my lamp and bit of pottery, and trek.”

“Oh, just one moment, Barclay.” Dermot sank his voice. “Did you notice the Rajah’s catch-’em-alive-ohs on sentry?”

“You mean his soldiers? No, I can’t say I did.”

“Well, just have a look at them tomorrow. I want to have a talk with you about them.”

“I’d like to strip these bed-clothes off. I don’t fancy them after the snake. Luckily it’s so hot that one doesn’t want even a sheet tonight. Let me see if there’s another cobra under the pillow. It’s said that they generally go about in pairs.” He turned over the pillow. “No; that’s all right.”

“Hold on a minute,” whispered Barclay, raising the lamp above his head with his left hand. “Let’s see if there’s any concealed entrance to the room. I daresay these old palaces are full of secret passages and masked doors.”

He sounded the walls and floors and examined them carefully.

“Seems all right. I’ll be off now. Good-night, Major. I hope you’ll not be disturbed. If there’s any trouble fire a shot and I’ll be here in two shakes. I’ve got a pistol, and by Jingo I’ll have it handy tonight. Keep yours ready, too.”

“I shall. Now a thousand thanks for your help, Barclay,” said the soldier, shaking his friend’s hand.

Then he closed the door behind the police officer and by the light of a match piled chairs against it. Then he lay down on the bed, put the pistol under the edge of the mattress and ready to his hand, and fell asleep at once.

Early in the morning he was aroused by a vigorous knocking and heard Barclay’s voice outside the door.

“Are you all right, Major?” it said.

“Yes, thanks. Good-morning,” replied the soldier. “Come in. No, wait a minute.”

He jumped out of bed and removed the barricade. Barclay entered in his pyjamas. Lowering his voice he said:

“Anything happen during the night?”

“I don’t think so. I slept soundly and heard nothing. You’re up early,” replied the soldier, picking up the blankets and sheets from the floor and spreading them carelessly on the bed to make it look as if he had used them.

“Yes; those infernal birds make such a confounded row. It’s like being in an aviary,” said Barclay.

Dermot threw open the wooden shutters. Outside the window was a small balcony. On the roofs and verandahs of the Palace scores of grey-hooded crows were perched, filling the air with discordant sounds. Up in the pale blue sky the wheeling hawks whistled shrilly. Down in the courtyard below yellow-beaked mynas chattered volubly.

“Don’t they make a beastly row? How is a fellow to sleep?” grumbled Barclay. “Look at that cheeky beggar.”

A hooded crow perched on the railing of the balcony and, apparently resenting his remarks, cawed defiantly at him. The Deputy Superintendent picked up one of Dermot’s slippers and was about to hurl it at the bird, when a voice from the doorway startled him.

“Char, Huzoor! (Tea, Your Excellency!)”

He looked round. One of the Palace servants stood at the door holding a tray containing tea and buttered toast.

Dermot directed the man to put the tray on the dressing-table, and when the servant had salaamed and left the room, he walked over to it and looked at the food.

“Now, is it safe to eat that?” he said. “I’ve no fear of the grub they serve in the dining-hall, for they wouldn’t dare to poison us all. But somehow I have my doubts about any nice little meal prepared exclusively for me.”

“I think you’re right there, Major,” said Barclay, who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“We’ll see. There isn’t the usually handy pi-dog to try it on. But we’ll make use of our noisy friend here. He won’t be much loss to the world if it poisons him,” and Dermot broke off a piece of the toast and threw it on the floor of the balcony. The crow stopped his cawing, cocked his head on one side, and eyed the tempting morsel. Buttered toast did not often come his way. He dropped down on to the balcony floor, hopped over to the toast, pecked at it, picked it up in his strong beak, and flew with it to the roof of the building opposite. In silence the two men watched him devour it.

“That seems all right, Major,” said the police officer. “You’ve made him your friend for life. He’s coming back for more.”

The crow perched on the rail again and cawed loudly.

“Oh, shut up, you greedy bird. Here’s another bit for you. That’s all you’ll have. I want the rest myself,” said Dermot, laughing. He broke off another piece and threw it out on to the balcony.

The crow looked at it, ruffled its feathers, shook itself—and then fell heavily to the floor of the balcony and lay still.

“Good heavens! What an escape!” ejaculated Barclay, suddenly pale.

The two men stared at each other and the dead bird in silence. Then Dermot murmured:

“This is getting monotonous. Hang it! They are in a hurry. Why, they couldn’t even know whether I was alive or not. If the snake trick had come off, I’d be a corpse now and this nice little meal would have been wasted. Really, they are rather crowding things on me.”

“They’re taking no chances, the devils,” said the younger man, who was more upset by the occurrence than his companion.

“Well, I’ll have to do without my chota hazri; and I do like a cup of tea in the morning,” said the soldier; and he began to shave. Glancing out of the window he continued: “They’ve got a fine day for the show anyway.”

Barclay sprang up from the chair on which he had suddenly sat down. His nerve was shaken by the two attempts on his companion’s life.

“Damn them and their shows, the infernal murderers,” he muttered savagely, and rushed out of the room.

“Amen!” said Dermot, as he lathered his face. Death had been near him too often before for him to be disturbed now. So he went on shaving.

Before he left the room he poured tea into the cup on the tray and got rid of the rest of the toast, to make it appear that he had freely partaken of the meal. He wrapped up the dead crow in paper and locked it in his despatch-case, until he could dispose of it that evening after dark.

Noreen had slept little during the night. All through the weary hours of darkness she had tossed restlessly on her bed, tortured by thoughts that revolved in monotonous circles around Dermot. What was she to believe of him? What were the relations between him and her friend? He had seemed very cold to Ida when they met and had avoided her all day. And she did not appear to mind. What had happened between them? Had they quarrelled? It did not disturb Ida’s rest, for the girl could hear her regular breathing all night long, the door between their rooms being open. Was it possible that she and Dermot were acting indifference to deceive the people around them?