his hat and stick had been, a red lip held by white teeth to check its quivering.
Kneedrock moved toward the door.
Abruptly, swept by a wave of impetuosity, she sprang up and ran to him.
"Hal! Hal! Take me with you. I won't – I can't let you go from me again!"
Already he had swung the door ajar and stood now in the opening.
"I'm afraid you'll have to," he said, his tone cold and hard as steel. "Still I'm glad you asked me. It has paid me for coming half-way round the world."
The door swung sharply shut with Kneedrock on the outside.
At the same moment the door at the opposite end of the room opened, and Jane Ramsay stood on the threshold.
"I was peeping," she cried. "He's homelier even than his name. And – and I hate him!"
"So do I," cried Nina, bracing herself. But she didn't in the least; and Jane Ramsay knew she didn't.
When Colonel Darling returned from parade the ayah was gone from the passage-way outside his wife's room. He entered to find Nina up and dressed. And he found her quite ready to answer his questions.
She told him truthfully what Kneedrock saw through the window, and she told him with equal truth why Andrews fired the shot.
More than that, she told him that his false identification of Kneedrock at Spion Kop had wrecked three lives, and that it was a dear price to pay for one man's carelessness or stupidity.
And that night there was a tragedy in the Darling bungalow.
CHAPTER VII
The Cross and the Crown
It was the very last thing Nina expected – to see Kneedrock again; but she did. He called that night after dinner on his way to the railway station, and the motor-car waited for him at the porch. For a minute she fancied he might have relented and was really, after all, going to take her with him. But, if so, he had planned in the worst possible way, the day for Lochinvar enterprises having long since passed and gone, and Colonel Darling – miracle of miracles – being still at home, not having gone to the club.
She rushed into the drawing-room expectant, or half so, and then at a sight of her caller knew that her expectancy was without grounds. For Kneedrock with his well hand was holding out something to her, which she saw almost immediately was a small jewelry box.
"I came very near forgetting it," he said, "though I brought it with me all the way just to see it safe in your hands. It is a gift from my poor dear mother."
The poor dear marchioness had always been very fond of Nina, but she had died just before the breaking out of the Boer War and at the period of Nina's flirtation with the curate.
Nina Darling opened the jewelry box and took out a curiously fashioned ring. The setting was a cross of diamonds and the band was shaped like a crown of points.
"It is lovely," she said.
"It is symbolic," he contributed. "Still I don't see that it applies very appositely to your state. You don't bear your cross at all gracefully, and you certainly don't deserve a crown."
"I should like to know who does," she retorted.
"Oh, there are some martyrs left. There's your husband, for instance. You might turn the ring over to him."
"Jack is a saint," replied Nina. "I'm busy wondering all the time how he keeps his temper."
"And he does, then?"
"Always. He's so good to me I hate him."
"There's something wrong with you. You're not normal."
"I know it. My emotions are all reversed. I'd give anything to be like other women; but I can't be."
Kneedrock was smiling incredulously. "You fool yourself, I believe," he said, "just as you fool others. You are an odd creature."
He looked at his watch and sat down on one end of the settee. She was already occupying the other.
"Jack's going away in the morning," she told him; "to be gone a month. Why don't you stay?"
"Because I mean never to give you a chance to make a fool of me again. Now you have the truth of it."
"He's off on a shooting trip."
"I wonder he doesn't shoot himself, poor beggar."
"That's the only goodness he could do me that I'd appreciate," she said with a light laugh.
Kneedrock's hulking shoulders gave a clumsy shrug.
"You ought to be flayed," he declared.
She was silent for a brief moment. Then she said: "Hadn't I better tell Jack you are here? The khitmatgar will if I don't; and I've no desire to add to the sins I should be flayed for."
"I suppose it would only be civil. Though I'm not keen on seeing him again," was the answer. "I'd no notion he was at home."
Nina stood. "He's in the gun-room. I sha'n't be a moment." And she was gone.
The seconds ticked into a minute and she was not back. Two, three, five minutes followed without bringing her. Kneedrock's time was slipping away, and he had none too much to spare.
In some impatience he got to his feet and sauntered across the room. Then, seeing the bronze cobra, which was not altogether unfamiliar, he stooped interestedly to examine it; and he found the bullet-mark.
But still Nina remained absent. To miss his train meant to miss his boat. Yet he felt that he could not go without at least a final word. He would, he must, therefore, make an effort to find her.
The door through which she had gone stood open before him. Of the plan of the bungalow he knew nothing; but he left the room and turned in haste down a dim-lit passage.
It may have been a few seconds later or it may have been minutes – Kneedrock swore afterward that it was at that very instant – that Jowar, the khitmatgar, busy in his pantry cleaning silver, was startled by a muffled detonation that shook the frail dwelling as might an earthquake.
He had been bent over his work; but the report brought him to the upright with a jerk. The soup tureen he was handling turned over and rolled to the floor. For the briefest moment he stood dazed, irresolute.
Then, kicking the tureen aside, he shot out of the pantry, ran through the dining-room, the drawing-room, the passage – all empty – until he came of a sudden to the open door of the gun-room, against the jamb of which, pressed close, with pallid face and wide, wild eyes, was Mrs. Darling.
Above her head rolled a little cloud of gray smoke. In his nostrils was the acrid smell of gunpowder.
In the room Lord Kneedrock was on his knees, and Jowar's first impression, as he gave it at the investigation, was that it was he who had been injured. On the floor beside him lay a double-barrel shot-gun, which the khitmatgar picked up. And as he stooped to do this he saw that over which the caller was bending.
Between a table and a chair, one leg gruesomely resting
