XIV

HOW THE TALE WAS TOLD

Ronnie Carteret was the subject of a good deal of chaff that night at mess.  The Rajah was being entertained, and he was the only man who paid the young officer any compliments on the matter of his achievement on the racecourse.  Everyone else openly declared that the horse, and not its rider, was the one to be congratulated.

“Never saw anything so ludicrous in my life,” one critic said.  “He looked like a rag doll in the saddle.  How he managed to stick on passes me.  Is it the latest from America, Ronnie?  Leaves something to be desired, old chap!  I should stick to the old style, if I were you.”

Ronnie had no answer for the comments and advice showered upon him from all sides.  He received them all in silence, sullenly ignoring derisive questions.

Hyde was not present, to the surprise of every one.  All knew that he had been invited, and there was some speculation upon his non-appearance.

Baring was there, quiet and self-contained as usual.  No one ever chaffed Baring.  It was generally recognized that he did not provide good sport.  When the toasts were over he left the table.

It was soon after his departure that a sound like a distant explosion was heard by those in the messroom, causing some discussion there.

“It’s only some fool letting off fireworks,” someone said; and as this seemed a reasonable explanation, no one troubled to enquire further.  And so fully half an hour passed before the truth was known.

It was Baring who came in with the news, and none who saw it ever forgot his face as he threw open the messroom door.  It was like the face of a man suddenly stricken with a mortal hurt.

“Heavens, man!  What’s the matter?” the colonel exclaimed, at sight of him.  “You look as if—­as if—­”

Baring glanced round till his eyes fell upon Ronnie, and, when he spoke, he seemed to be addressing him alone.

“The dam has burst,” he said, his words curt, distinct, unfaltering.  “The whole of the lower valley is flooded.  The Magician’s bungalow has been swept away!”

“What?” gasped Ronnie.  “What?”

He sprang to his feet, the awful look in Baring’s eyes reflected in his own, and made a dash for the doorway in which Baring stood.  He stumbled as he reached, it and the latter threw out a supporting arm.

“It’s no use your going,” he said, his voice hard and mechanical.  “There’s nothing to be done.  I’ve been as near as it is possible to get.  It’s nothing but a raging torrent half a mile across.”

He moved straight forward to a chair, and thrust the boy down into it.  There was a terrible stiffness—­almost a fixity—­about him.  He did not seem conscious of the men that crowded round him.  It was not his habitual reserve that kept him from collapse at that moment; it was rather a stunned sense of expediency.