Chapter XXXII: Battiscombe Brings News

Acting on the professor’s instructions, they brought down the rough bed that had been Vera Battiscombe’s couch such a short time before, and laid Armourer on it.

The bearers, led by a runner, had already joined the main body, and a brown canvas tent was quickly erected over the sick man.

Thereafter Trevor--in the absence of Battiscombe, who had mysteriously disappeared--took charge.

Ably instructed by the indefatigable Kuraman--who had reported three men as dead and delivered the remaining third to Standen for treatment--a breastwork of cases and boulders was run up around the encampment. Failing the return of his scouts, Trevor realised that an advance into hostile country before dawn with so small a company would be distinctly unwise.

He explained his views at some length to Dara, who merely shrugged her shoulders and spread out her hands, as if to indicate that the white lord was wiser than she and must presumably know his own business best. She thereupon threw herself on the earth outside Armourer’s tent, in so awkward a position that the professor tripped over her on coming out and it was only the timely intervention of the planter that prevented him from falling headlong.

“How is he?” asked the younger man anxiously.

The professor rubbed his beard.

“Oh, we’ll pull him through all right. You can’t accomplish these things in a few minutes, but we got him in time. Pity that Samar fellow slipped through our ring. You saw how it happened, of course? He had dug a ditch just outside his emergency exit and cunningly covered it up. He must have wriggled through it like a snake till he passed our men, and then scuttled off into the darkness--Have you found Battiscombe?”

Trevor shook his head.

“I can’t think what’s happened to him. I suppose Armourer told him about his wife, and he decided to clear off with the reconnoitring party. I hope he’s all right.”

Standen struck a match and looked at his watch.

“Nearly nine,” he announced. “What about some food?”

“I’ve set a couple of fellows preparing a meal. It’ll be the usual tack--bread and cheese and tinned stuff, with tea to follow. We can start right away if you like. Where’s Miss Standen?”

The other nodded towards the tent.

“I’ve left her with him. She seems to have been doing nothing but nursing lately, but I fancy she likes it.”

“It’s jolly good of her.”

The professor chuckled.

“I may be old, Trevor, but I’m not as blind as some people like to imagine. Joyce’s mother has been dead for more than fifteen years and, in spite of my studies, I’ve had ample time to understand my own daughter. She’s infinitely happy to be of use to your little expedition, of course, but I believe she’s even more glad that her patient is Michael Armourer--er--This is in strict confidence, you understand.”

He wiped his glasses and replaced them.

“Now, what do you say to a meal?”

“I think,” said Trevor, “that Armourer, when he comes to himself, will more than appreciate the fact that Miss Standen is his nurse.”

Standen thrust his arm through that of the planter.

“So that’s so, is it? Well, I’m glad to hear it. Armourer’s an Englishman and a gentleman, and, as far as I can see, he has a clean record. I don’t ask anything better than that.--Where did you say they were preparing our repast?”

Trevor piloted him to a spot where a hurricane-lamp stood on a case with a miscellany of enamelled ware and cutlery encircling it.

They were lighting their pipes when Battiscombe appeared from nowhere and grabbed at a hunk of bread.

“Jove! I’m hungry!”

Trevor raised his brows.

“Where the deuce have you been?” he demanded.

“A dickens of a way. I took charge of those three men Armourer sent out. We scoured the country pretty thoroughly and eventually got into touch with a score or so of disconsolate tribesmen, who capitulated without offering resistance. I think they imagined we had the whole British Army behind us. Lord! they were scared.”

The professor blinked.

“Well?”

“Oh, we had a long palaver, conducted mostly by signs, until I discovered that their leader understood some Malay. After that we got along famously. It’s queer what fat-headed notions some people get into their heads!--these chaps worship that confounded Butterfly, you know!”

He munched for some moments in silence.

“All I wanted to know was what had happened to my wife. It seems that this confounded Samar promised them a white goddess instead of the black one they already had. Vera was to be the goddess. They’ve taken her up there now and there’s to be no end of a big ceremony to-night. My friend assured me that they didn’t intend harming her. Then I got a word in. I explained that the lady in question was my wife, the child of quite ordinary human beings, and that I could vouch for the fact that she hadn’t at any time dropped from the skies. That set them thinking. They gibbered away for some time and then announced that they, personally, had lost all faith in Abu-Samar and would cheerfully exert their influence on our behalf upon their fellow tribesmen. I’ve brought ’em back with me.”

He reached over for the cheese.

Trevor perched himself on the edge of the case.

“What do you want us to do?”

Battiscombe, his cheeks bulging, regarded him solemnly.

“This is a time for tact,” he declared. “We’ll leave half our men here, and taking the remainder with us proceed directly to where this gigantic jamboree is being held. We’ll carry arms, of course, but I don’t think we shall require to use them. One of the most important points against Abu-Samar is that his new goddess isn’t wearing the pendant. She can’t be, because I noticed it on the brown girl this evening. Abu’ll have his say, and then _I’ll_ address the meeting through an interpreter. I’ve had one or two experiences of this sort before--and I’m still here to tell the tale! Let’s see what Armourer thinks about it.”

Trevor told him the news--and his face fell.

“Poor old Michael! Now isn’t that just the rottenest luck imaginable?” He stared towards the long hut. “So that’s where he carried out his devilish experiments, is it? We’ll have to burn that down.”

Standen coughed.

“I suggested doing so when it was light. We don’t want to risk any of those insects getting free.”

“Of course not; but I shan’t feel at all comfortable until it is burnt. Thousands of those butterflies, eh? It makes one shudder to think of it. If we hadn’t tackled the affair as promptly as we did, heaven alone knows what might have happened.”

“Hanging’s too good for a chap like Abu-Samar,” put in Trevor.

Battiscombe screwed up his face.

“I wouldn’t like to tell you how I feel about it,” he said. “If I hadn’t had something to keep me from thinking too much, I fancy I should have gone mad.”

Standen nodded gravely.

“You’ve taken your gruelling better than most men, and I admire you for it. I know the state your nerves are in and the effort you had to make to persuade yourself to come back here to us instead of going on after Mrs. Battiscombe. If you’ll listen to the advice of an older man, and one who has had some experience, you’ll stop fidgeting about and sit down.”

The magistrate planted himself on the case next to Trevor.

“And what’s your next advice, professor?”

“Finish your meal slowly, take a good strong _tot_, and light your pipe.--How soon have we to start?”

“I should like to get away at once, but we’ve ample time if we push off in half an hour. As far as I can make out, nothing useful can be accomplished before midnight. Somebody’s got to stop here and look after those chattering niggers. Who’s it going to be?”

Standen looked at the planter.

“Under any other circumstances, I should have cheerfully volunteered; but my experience as a leader of men is insignificant and there may be more of the insects at the temple.”

“I see,” said Trevor. “You mean that the antidote may be required again.”

“Precisely. On the other hand, of course, there’s Armourer and our wounded men to be considered. I could make them both comfortable before I started and leave instructions with my daughter how to act if either took a serious turn for the worse.”

“I’ll stop,” declared Trevor promptly. “How long are you likely to be away.”

Battiscombe frowned.

“We’ll be back before dawn, in any case,” he decided.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Trevor,” said the professor.

The other laughed.

“I’m not grumbling. I’ve had more than my share of the excitement, and--well, there’s nothing else for it, is there? We can manage all right here--and it’s more than likely you’ll be wanted up there. Take Dara with you. She’s the real goddess of the Crimson Butterfly and you can’t very well deprive these people of one of them without returning them the other.”

Battiscombe started.

“By Jove, Trevor!” he ejaculated; “that’s the ticket! I didn’t know that she was the important personage.”

He rubbed his hands together.

“If some kind person’ll oblige me with that _tot_, we’ll get busy.” He looked from one to the other. “If any harm’s come to Vera,” he added fiercely, “I’m not altogether certain that Mr. Abu-Samar will come back with us _alive_.”