The Darrow Enigma, Melvin L. Severy [free biff chip and kipper ebooks TXT] 📗

which, through all these years, has dwelt in the

better part of me, like a fragrance in the vesture of the soul.

One long, lingering look and I departed, never to see again this

woman I had so fondly, so hopelessly loved.

 

You now know the exact nature of the covenant I have felt constrained

to violate. I have told you her story in her own words. I wrote it

out immediately after my interview with her and have read it so many

times, during the last twenty years, that I have committed it to

memory. The recollection of that last meeting, of her kiss and her

grateful look has been throughout all these long, weary years the

one verdant spot in the desert of my life.

 

[Moro Scindia paused here, as one who had reached the end of his

narrative, and I continued my interrogations.]

 

Q. Although you never again saw your cousin you must, I think, have

heard something of her fate.

 

A I learned of it through Nana Kandia, the servant who had secretly

embraced Lona’s cause, and who had borne her message to me. It

seems that, after my interview with her, my cousin was seized with

a consuming desire to see her English lover once more before her

death; so she devised a plan by which, with Kandia’s help, Darrow

Sahib was to be secretly conducted to her under cover of night. She

wrote a letter asking him, as a last request, to meet her messenger

on Malabar Hill, and instructing him how to make himself known.

This she gave to Kandia to post early in the morning of the day upon

which their plan was to be put into execution. As he was about

leaving the house Ragobah called him into his chamber and demanded

to know what was taking him forth so early in the morning. Kandia

saw at once that the purpose of his errand had been discovered, and

determined to meet the issue bravely. “I was going to post a letter,

Sahib,” he replied quietly. “Let me see it!” Ragobah roared. “I

have no right to do so,” Kandia replied, springing toward the door.

But be was not quick enough for the wary Ragobah, who felled him to

the floor with a chair before he had reached the threshold. When

he returned to consciousness he found his assailant, who had

skilfully opened the letter, standing over him perusing it in

malicious glee. When he had finished reading he carefully resealed

it and placed it in his pocket. Then he called two of his servants

and gave Kandia into their charge with orders to gag him, to bind

him hand and foot, and, as they valued their lives, not to permit

him to leave the room till he ordered it.

 

What occurred between that time and the return of Ragobah, wounded

and furious, late in the evening, we can only surmise. He doubtless

posted the letter, and went himself to meet Darrow Sahib on Malabar

Hill. When he returned home he hobbled into his wife’s apartment

and then ordered Kandia to be sent to him. His left leg was badly

crushed and his face, contorted with pain and fiendish malevolence,

was horrible to look upon.

 

“Our trusty friend here,” he said, addressing his wife and pointing

to Kandia, “could not conveniently post your letter this morning, my

dear, so I did it myself.” Lona’s face turned ashen pale, but she

made no reply.

 

“I thought,” he continued in his sweetest accents and with the same

demoniac sarcasm, “that you would be anxious to know if the Sahib

received it, - our mail service is so lax of late, - so I went tonight

to Malabar Hill to see, for I felt certain he would come if he got

your note, and, sure enough, he was there even ahead of time. I was

obliged to forego the pleasure of bringing him to you on account of

two most unfortunate accidents. As you see I hurt my foot, and poor

Darrow Sahib slipped and fell headlong into the well in the little

cave. As it has no bottom I could not, of course, get the Sahib out,

and so was obliged to return, as best I could, alone.” As he

finished this heartless lie, every word of which he knew was a

poisoned dart, Lona fell fainting upon the floor. Kandia raised her

gently, expecting to find her dead, but was able at length to revive

her. The first words she said were directed to Ragobah in a voice

devoid of passion or reproach, - of everything in fact save an

unutterable weariness.

 

“I am ill,” she said; “will you permit Nana to get me some medicine

which has helped me in similar attacks?” Ragobah’s reply was

directed to Kandia.

 

“You may do as the Sahibah bids you,” was all he said.

 

Kandia turned to Lona for instructions and she said to him, “Get me

half an ounce of - stay, there are several ingredients - I had better

write them down.” She wrote upon a little slip of paper, naming

aloud the ingredients and quantities as she did so, and then asked

Kandia to move her chair to an open window before he left. When he

had done so, she passed him the note, saying, “Please get it as

quickly as possible.” As he took the paper she seized his hand for

a moment and pressed it firmly. He noticed this at the time, but

its significance did not dawn upon him until he had nearly reached

his destination, when, all at once, he realised with a pang that the

momentary pressure of the hand and the mute gratitude which shone

from the eyes were meant as a farewell. His first impulse was to

hurriedly retrace his steps, but before he had acted upon it, the

thought occurred to him that she intended to poison herself with the

drugs he was about to procure. If this were the case, there was no

great need of hurry. Then he began to recall to mind the names of

the drugs she had mentioned as she wrote and to reflect that not

one of them was poisonous. With this new light all his former

uneasiness returned. He strove to reassure himself with the thought

that she might, in order to mislead Ragobah, have spoken the name

of a harmless drug while she wrote down that of a poisonous one.

It was easy to settle this question, and he determined to do so at

the next light. He unfolded the paper, expecting to see a

prescription, but read instead these words:

 

“To MORO SCINDIA;

 

“My Dear Cousin: Death has relieved you of the task I imposed upon

you. John Darrow’s body is in the well in the cave on Malabar Hill,

where, before this reaches you, my body will have also gone to meet

it. To this fragment of paper, then, must I confide the debt of

gratitude I owe to you and to him who will bear it to you, Nana

Kandia. Goodbye. If I had had two hearts, I should have given

you one. Do not mourn me, but rather rejoice that my struggle and

its agony are over. John has already gone - one tomb shall inclose

both our bodies - how could it have been better?

“LONA.”

 

No sooner had Kandia grasped the import of this letter than he

rushed with all speed to Malabar Hill, but he was too late, for

scarcely had he left the house upon Lona’s errand before she had

sprung out of the window by which he had placed her. Ragobah’s

wound prevented his following her, and when he had summoned others

to pursue her, the darkness had closed about her form and none

knew the way she had taken. At the edge of the fatal well Kandia

found a piece of paper beneath a stone and on it these words:

 

“Farewell, Moro and Nana, the only beings on earth I regret to

leave!

- Lona.”

 

The body was never recovered. The news of his wife’s death, and

the knowledge that he was the cause of it, produced an effect upon

Ragobah from which he never recovered. More than twenty years have

passed since then, yet from that day to this he has never been known

to smile. Long before his mangled limb had healed it became evident

to all who knew him that he had henceforth but one purpose in life,

- revenge, and that nothing save death could turn him from his

purpose, so long as his rival lived. The knowledge of this made my

search for Darrow Sahib more than ever difficult from the fact that

it must be prosecuted secretly. I could only learn that he had

left Bombay for the interior, nothing more. My inquiries in all

the Indian cities proved fruitless, and in many instances, I was

informed that Ragobah had instituted a search for the same man. I

think, in spite of my precautions, some of my agents ultimately

told Ragobah of my efforts, for I found myself so closely watched

by men in his interests that I was at length compelled to give up

the personal conduct of the search, and to continue it through a

deputy, unknown to him. All my endeavours to find the Sahib were,

as you are already aware, fruitless, and, until I met you, I had

no doubt Ragobah’s efforts were equally unproductive. You have now

all the information I can offer upon the subject. If I can be of

any further service to you, you need not hesitate to command me.

 

As he said this he rose to depart and I promised to keep him

informed of what occurred. I have nothing now to do but to await,

with such patience as I can command, the arrival of the Dalmatia.

It does not seem to me altogether probable that Ragobah will return

upon this boat, but if he should I shall have him arrested the

moment he sets foot on shore. If he escape the net that has been

woven about him, I shall be a convert to Eastern occultism and no

mistake. I trust Miss Darrow is well and hopeful. I know she

will religiously keep the promise she made, for she is one of those

women who fully understand the nature of a covenant, and I am

easier, therefore, than I otherwise could be regarding her condition.

Give her my kind regards and tell her that she may expect news of

importance by my next communication. It is very late, so goodbye,

until the arrival of the Dalmatia.

Your friend,

GEORGE MAITLAND.

 

This letter was delivered one morning when Gwen, my sister Alice,

and I were at breakfast. As I broke the seal I noticed that both

ladies put down their knives and forks and ceased to eat. A glance

at Gwen’s eager face convinced me that she had no appetite for

anything but my letter, and I accordingly read it aloud. When I

came to the last part of it, where Maitland referred to her, a flush,

of pride I thought at the time, overspread her face, and when I had

finished she said with some show of excitement, “If Mr. Maitland

succeed in bringing Ragobah to justice I - I shall owe him a debt

of gratitude I can never repay! It all seems like a romance, only so

frightfully real. We may expect another letter in a few days, may

we not? And Mr. Maitland, when may we expect him?”

 

I replied that I thought we might reasonably expect news of

importance within five or six days, and that, so far as Maitland’s

return was concerned, I did not look for it for as many weeks, as

he would doubtless have