Chapter XIX: An Important Capture

James Battiscombe stretched himself and yawned. He sat up presently to find the bright light of early morning shining in through an open shutter and Armourer’s chair untenanted.

He looked at his watch.

It was ten minutes past seven.

He groped for his tunic, and, slipping it on over the pyjama jacket his host had provided, padded in bare feet out on to the verandah.

Armourer--in a somewhat faded bath-gown--had forestalled him and was leaning on the rail gazing down at the absurd antics of Mick and Mac. He turned to greet his colleague.

“Hullo, old son! Feel rested?”

Battiscombe rubbed his eyes.

“Don’t know yet. I hope this was an old suit of yours, because I’m feeling a draught somewhere and I’ve a shrewd suspicion the jacket’s split down the back.”

Armourer laughed.

“You needn’t worry yourself about that. It’s as old as the hills. Wonderful morning, isn’t it?”

“Top-hole!”

He cast an appreciative eye over a rolling and varied landscape. Beyond the belt of trees through which they had passed the night before, he caught the vivid green of young paddy, stretching to the spot where the virgin jungle began. Away over to the right, where new wire glinted in the sun, he recognised the newly planted rubber of an estate which had yesterday been under Moberly’s management. To the right again, placid and incredibly blue, he saw the sea. A group of natives gesticulated below, a Chinese trader, with his wife as a beast of burden behind, sauntered stolidly along the path which led eastward, and a big brown hawk hovered in the heavens.

“No more tragedies, I suppose?” he added presently.

Armourer shook his head.

“No, thank goodness. I looked in on the professor five minutes back, and tapped on Miss Standen’s door until I got an answer. I’ve taken the liberty, by the way, of sending one of your men across for your clothes and shaving kit. Kuraman found a chap who could ride a bit, so you oughtn’t to have to wait very long.”

The other beamed.

“That’s extremely thoughtful of you, Michael, my boy. I was just wondering what sort of figure I should cut at breakfast. Lord! what a strenuous day we had yesterday! It makes me ache all over to think of it. Wonder what the Commissioner will say when he hears about Abu-Samar!”

“He’ll have a deal more to say when he learns of the crimson butterfly business.”

Battiscombe groaned.

“I can see a devil of a lot of strenuous work in the offing. He’ll be popping up all over the place at the most unexpected and inconvenient moments. We shall be required to send in reports every five minutes. In short there’ll never be a moment of peace for either of us until Dr. Abu-Samar has been captured and handed over.”

An orderly, with tea and green bananas on a tray, came from the back of the house and set down his burden on the table.

“Get some biscuits,” ordered Armourer. “You’ll find them in a tin on the second shelf in the living-room. Yes,” he said to his companion, “Stewart’s all right when you understand him; and he takes a lot of understanding.”

“He’s so beastly energetic,” complained the other. “He ought to have a little weight to carry about with him. It’d give him a better idea what tropic life means to some of us!”

The professor’s door opened and the occupant of the room emerged, clad in a yellow dressing-gown that had seen much wear and slippers trampled down at the back.

“Aha!” he cried; “up with the lark!”

Armourer was pouring out tea.

“No, I’m afraid the lark had the better of us this morning. Still, considering the hour at which we retired, we’ve nothing much to be ashamed of--Let’s see, professor, you don’t take sugar?”

“No--and no milk, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s lemon here.”

“Thank you, just one slice. That’s excellent! Has anybody heard how Mrs. Battiscombe is?”

Battiscombe looked up.

“We were waiting for you to go in and find out.”

Standen placed his cup carefully on the table and shuffled to the door. He rapped on it with his knuckles and a muffled feminine voice answered.

“Hullo? what is it?”

“It is I,” said the professor. “How are you this morning, my dear?”

“Me? Oh, I’m all right. I slept like a top.”

“I’m glad to hear that. No unpleasant dreams?”

“I don’t remember any. I think I was too tired even to dream.”

“How’s your patient?”

There was a long pause, which appeared to indicate that Joyce had slept since Armourer first roused her and had to make certain of her patient’s condition before replying.

Presently the handle turned and the door opened for a couple of inches.

“Come in,” said Miss Standen through the crack; “I’d like you to look at her.”

The other two men exchanged glances as the professor, a tasselled cord trailing behind him, disappeared.

“Not so well,” suggested Battiscombe suddenly.

Armourer sipped his tea.

“I don’t suppose she’s very bad. She was fairly fit last night, and it looked as if the fever had burnt itself out. It’s no use worrying yourself; Standen’ll tell us all the news in a couple of shakes.”

Battiscombe sat down and stared gloomily at some ants that had found their way into the sugar-basin.

“Somehow I can’t get used to the fact that Vera’s ill; she’s always kept so fit. If anyone’s down at our place, it’s I. D’you know, Michael, as soon as she’s well enough to travel, I’m going to send her home. Lord only knows how I’m going to run to two establishments, but it’s got to be done. It’ll be an awful wrench, of course, and I shall be as miserable as _Hades_, but it’s simply got to be. Between ourselves, old son, the East’s no place for some women.”

“I understand,” said his friend quietly. “Our climate doesn’t suit all temperaments.”

He was endeavouring to agree with Battiscombe in blaming the climate, but was not altogether certain in his own mind how Vera Battiscombe would figure even in England. From the bottom of his heart he pitied her husband. Vera and he were so opposite, and it was probably because of this that they had succeeded in hanging together for so long. And, apart from the intricacies of the problem which confronted them both, here was Jim Battiscombe genuinely worried over the health of a woman who had fallen sick because of the death of another man. Even the blindness of love had its compensations!

He caught Battiscombe looking at him.

“Wouldn’t you send her home, if you were in my shoes?”

“Yes,” he felt bound to confess, “I fancy I should.”

“We’ll have to find out all she knows about that confounded Butterfly first. It’s that that worries me more than anything. She was wearing a thing round her neck that I didn’t care to touch. Michael, do you honestly believe Dick gave it her?”

Armourer felt distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’m scarcely in a position to judge.”

“But do you?”

The other looked at his hands.

“It scarcely seems feasible, does it? If it were ever in Dick’s possession, why wasn’t he killed _before_ he got rid of it?”

“That’s precisely what’s been puzzling me.”

“Here’s the professor,” said Armourer with intense relief. “Now perhaps we shall learn something.”

Standen came towards them, blinking through his spectacles like an owl.

“Your tea’ll be cold by now,” declared his host “I’ll throw it away and pour out a fresh cup. How is Mrs. Battiscombe?”

“I’m afraid she’s not quite so well this morning. There’s nothing about her condition that gives cause for anxiety; but her temperature is up again, and we shall have to keep her quiet for longer than I had expected.”

Battiscombe’s face fell.

“We’re giving you a lot of trouble, professor.”

“Trouble? Nothing of the sort. I’m delighted to be of the least service to any of you. You won’t forget my temporary laboratory, Armourer. I am really quite serious about that.”

“I’ll get something fixed up at the earliest possible moment. It’ll probably take us a couple of days.”

“I suppose it will. I must try and run into Jesselton to-morrow and see if the hospital can lend me some appliances.”

“It’ll mean spending the night there,” said Armourer.

“I must put up with that. Your own medical man should be here by then, and I know my daughter is in good hands. It’s an extraordinary world altogether. Which of us would have imagined, when Joyce and I fell off that trolly the day before yesterday, that we should all be involved in a problem like this within a few hours!”

Armourer laughed.

“I believe you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, professor!”

Standen replaced his cup on its saucer and stared from one to the other, an amused expression on his bearded, wrinkled face.

“In some respects I suppose that is the case. My small share in the task which confronts us is one after my own heart, and I was just beginning to find a long period out of harness a little irksome. If I actually lacked incentive, a moment’s reflection on the enormous issues at stake could not fail to provide me with it. In a queer sort of way, I’m engaged in a grim duel with a hidden and unscrupulous enemy. It remains to be seen if the wisdom of the West can succeed in laying bare the oft-times perplexing secrets of the mysterious East.”

Battiscombe extracted a splinter from a bare toe.

“I’m prepared to wager that it can and will. It’s about the most providential thing that ever happened--your being on the spot at such a crisis. I can’t tell you how grateful we are.”

Joyce’s voice came shrilly from the far side of the wooden partition.

“Will some kind person bring me a cup of tea?”

“Oh, Lord!” apologised Armourer, “I’m so sorry!”

As soon as his clothes arrived, Battiscombe breakfasted and rode back to Rembakut. Armourer descended a few moments after his departure and took up his duties in a sweltering and somewhat primitive court of justice. The professor fidgeted upon the verandah for a matter of three-quarters of an hour, then stuck the butterfly-net under one arm and sauntered out into the brilliant sunshine.

He said little at lunch and disappeared again shortly after the meal was finished.

At a quarter to four he came slowly up the steps, and Joyce and Armourer, who dozed in long chairs at separate extremes of the verandah, glanced up simultaneously.

Standen set one foot on the floor, looking for all the world like a conquering commander arriving on the quarter-deck of a vanquished rival. The net was still under one arm, and he held the other awkwardly, with the air of a guilty schoolboy endeavouring to conceal a bulging pocket.

“For the first time in my whole existence,” he announced, “I find the secrets of the Orient worthy of attention. What magnificent conjurers these fellows are! It would almost seem as if their normal audiences had grown so critical that it was necessary to constantly increase the wrappings of mystery around their artifices to enable them to continue to deceive. Because,” he added defiantly, “they are only tricks, you know, picturesque, elaborate tricks! However improbable it may seem to you, there is a satisfactory, rational reason for everything.”

Joyce gave vent to a chuckle that was lacking in respect towards an elderly and distinguished parent.

“Daddy’s been forced to change his mind about something,” she told Armourer, “and is endeavouring to justify his first opinion! He does so hate being wrong!”

Even this attack--from within his own walls, so to speak--could not shatter the professor’s air of determined good-humour.

“What is one to do with a daughter like that?” he demanded.

“The question of the moment is,” declared the magistrate, “what is this wonderful secret that you persist in keeping from us?”

The professor tapped his pocket significantly.

“The crimson butterfly flies to its image like a common or garden moth to a flame.” He found a chair and leaned back in it, fanning himself with his hand. “I’ve really had a most successful afternoon. I’ve proved conclusively that the ornament and the insect, as we more than half suspected last night, act in concert. Whenever it is free to do so, the animate flies in search of the inanimate.”

“It sounds frightfully impressive,” broke in Joyce, “but what does it really mean?”

Before the professor could embark upon his explanation, Armourer spoke.

“You say, whenever it is _free_. Do you suggest then that there are times when the creature is not free?”

“Yes, most decidedly. I hope I shall never be forced to admit that an insect can discriminate between man and woman. Since this extraordinary sequence of events began, there have been two victims--and both of them males. Mrs. Battiscombe wore the pendant with apparent impunity. The custodian of the butterfly, the man who discovered the partiality of the insect for that particular type of stone, must obviously assure himself as to the approximate position of the pendant before he releases the butterfly on its mission of vengeance.”

“Abu-Samar.”

Standen nodded.

“But how do you know all this?” inquired his daughter.

“Because,” said the professor,” a crimson butterfly in a rather battered condition found its way to the spot where I buried the ornament. I imagine it to be the one Trevor injured.”

Armourer sprang from his chair.

“You actually saw it?”

“I actually caught it,” laughed the professor. “I have a living specimen of the crimson butterfly here with me now!”