that in the presence of the "diamond" no reliance could be placed on either of these two colleagues, and if, as a shrewd and experienced judge of men, he estimated Bolidar and Guantaio at their true worth, or worthlessness--perhaps it was quite impossible for him to act at all. If practically every one in the garrison belonged to one of two parties--the "honest" mutineers determined to desert, or the rascally thieves determined to steal the great jewel and get away with it--what could the man do?
Was he hoping to use the thieves to fight the mutineers and to deal with the surviving party himself? Hardly that, for the mutineers greatly outnumbered the thieves.
On the other hand, could he not quite easily secure the arms of the mutineers, and arrest the men in their beds by employing the thieves? He could--but what then? The thieves would murder him and escape with the jewel--probably releasing the mutineers and organising them as the "diamond's" unsuspecting escort to Morocco. And each man of the thief-party (Boldini, Guantaio, Colonna, Gotto, and quite probably Vogué and Dupré) would hope that by good luck or more likely by good management--he would be sole survivior of the thief-party.
I tried to put myself in Lejaune's place.
What should I do if I were he, in such circumstances? If I wished first to save my life, and secondly to secure a gem of great price which I believed to be reposing in the pouch of one of the two or three men upon whom I could depend in time of trouble?
And I found it easier to ask the question than to answer it, since one party wanted my life and the other party wanted the jewel.
Having tried to put myself in Lejaune's place, I began to understand his delay in acting. He did nothing because he could do nothing.
I almost began to pity the man as I realised his position. He had not a soul to turn to in his loneliness and danger. Well--he was now reaping the reward of his consistent brutality to all who were his subordinates, as well as of his beastly avarice.
Hitherto he had always been backed by the immeasurable power and authority of his superiors, and could inevitably rely upon their inalienable support and unswerving approval. Now he had no superiors, and, face to face with the men whom he had so long outraged, bedevilled, and wronged, he must stand or fall alone.
And it looked as though he must fall.
Then an idea occurred to me. Had he sent for outside help? Was a column already on its way from Tokotu, where there were Senegalese as well as a mule-mounted company of the Legion? Was that what he was waiting for?
No. In the first place he would sooner, I felt absolutely certain, lose his life than send out an appeal for help against the very men he was supposed to command, the very men whose trembling disciplined fear of him was his chief pride and loudest boast. It would certainly be the end of all promotion for Adjudant Lejaune if he had to do such a thing as that. In the second place it might also destroy this chance of getting the fabulous gem. It was only in very troubled waters that he, in his position, could fish for that.
I decided that there had been no S.O.S. appeal from Zinderneuf to Tokotu.
I tossed and turned in my hot and uncomfortable bed as the problem tossed and turned in my hot uncomfortable brain; and my attempt to decide what I should do in Lejaune's place ended in my deciding that I simply did not know what I could do.
It almost seemed best for Lejaune to put himself at the head of the "honest" mutineers, arrest the thief-party, and then appeal to the others with promises of amendment in his conduct and reform of their condition. . . . But arrest the thieves for what? . . . And suppose the mutineers laughed at the promised amelioration of their lot?
It was a hopeless impasse. I gave it up and turned once more on to my other side. This brought my face toward the door and there, in the doorway, stood--Lejaune.
There stood Lejaune--looking from bed to bed. He was quite alone and he held a revolver in his hand. . . . Whom was he going to shoot?
Was this the beginning of the end?
Without thinking, I raised myself on my elbow.
He saw me at once, and, first placing a finger to his lips, beckoned to me.
I stared in amazement.
Frowning savagely, he beckoned again, with a swift and imperious movement of his arm.
What was the idea? Was he going to murder me outside? Or was he going to tell me to fetch Michael out? In that case, had I better refuse or just spring on him, get the revolver, and . . . and what? Neither murder nor mutiny was going to improve our precarious position.
As these thoughts flashed through my mind, I seized my trousers and tunic, struggled into them, and tiptoed to the door.
"Follow me," said Lejaune, and led the way to his quarters.
Closing the door of his bare, comfortless little room, and seating himself at the table, Lejaune stared at me in silence, his hot arrogant eyes glaring beneath heavy eyebrows contracted in a fierce evil-tempered frown.
"Do you and your miserable brother want to live?" he suddenly growled. "Answer me, you dog."
"On the whole, I think so, mon Adjudant," I replied, trying to strike a note between defiant impudence and cringing servility.
"Oh--on the whole, you do, do you?" sneered Lejaune, and again stared in silence. "Well--if you do, you'd better listen carefully to what I say, for only I can save you. D'you understand? Answer me, you swine."
"Yes, mon Adjudant," I replied.
"See here then, you infection," he went on, "there's some talk among those dogs, of a jewel. A diamond your gang of jewel-thieves got away with, in London. Also there is a plot among them to murder you both and steal it, and desert with it."
"Is that so, mon Adjudant?" said I, as he stopped.
"Don't you answer me! God smite you, you unspeakable corruption!" he roared. "Yes, it is so," he went on, mimicking me savagely, "and I know all about it, as I know everything else that is done, and said, and thought too--thought, I say--in this place. . . . Now I don't care a curse what you stole, and I don't care a curse what becomes of you and that anointed thief, your brother; but I won't have plots and plans and murders in any force under my command. Understand that! D'you hear me, sacred animal? Answer me."
"I hear you, mon Adjudant," I admitted.
"Very well then," he growled. "I am going to teach these sacred curs to attend to their duty and leave diamonds and plots alone. By God, I am! To that end, I am going to detail you and your brother and a few more--say, Légionnaires St. André, Cordier, and Maris, as a Corporal's guard to arrest the ringleaders among those impudent swine. And I myself am going to attend to the business. You'll act at my personal orders, under my personal command, and you'll shoot down any man whom I tell you to shoot--as mutineering mad dogs should be shot. D'you hear me, you fish-faced, cod-eyed, bug-eating, dumb crétin! Answer me!"
"I hear you, mon Adjudant," I replied.
"Well--say so then, grinning imbecile. And to put an end to this thrice-accursed nonsense, and prevent any more disturbances of this sort, your brother will hand over this diamond to me. I'll put it where no plots and plans will trouble it. . . . You and your cursed jewels! Wrecking discipline and causing trouble! You ought to be doing twenty years in gaol, the
