Читать книгу Caravans By Night - Harry Hervey - Страница 11

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An hour after the interview with the Director of Central Intelligence, Sarojini Nanjee lay back in a great cane chair in the living-room of her bungalow, idly watching the smoke from her cigarette as it spiraled upward and was rent into vaporous tatters by the electric punkah.

The room, like its occupant, was exotic. A Kyoto gong kindled a bright spot among softer tones—rare rugs, brocade hangings, and a tall lamp afloat on the shadows, like an amber island. The woman seemed to melt into it, her very attitude expressing its utter luxury. Deep iris-hued eyes dreamed under heavy lids. Her skin glowed with a golden sheen, and the lacy folds of a negligee fell sheer from her slender ankles and embroidered the carpet with foamy white.

She had been thus for some time, her brain immersed in a languor, her thoughts propelled with as little mental volition as possible. She stirred only to flick the cigarette-ashes into a brass bowl at her elbow, or to arch one arm above her head in a gesture of complete abandon. A passing recollection of her call at Sir Francis Duncraigie's residence invariably caused a faint, inscrutable smile to slip into her eyes. But for the most part she did not burden herself with either thought or retrospection; merely sat in the dull, sweet stupor of semi-inertia.

A night beetle rattled harshly outside. The sound came to the woman as a sudden recall from her absorption. She placed her nearly burnt-out cigarette in the ash-bowl; stretched, rose, and struck the Kyoto gong. As the rich, deep-throated echo sank into a hush, the curtains on one side of the room parted and a servant in white garments and a blue turban entered.

"I shall retire now, Chandra Lal," she announced quietly. "You have your instructions."

"Yes, Heavenborn!"

"You remember the place—the room?"

"How could I forget, Heavenborn?"

"You will"—she hesitated—"cause no injury unless necessary."

"Nay, Heavenborn!"

"Stop calling me that!"—irritably.

Scarlet betel-stained teeth were revealed in a smile.

"Very well, Memsahib."

"You may go now."

"To hear is to obey, Memsahib!"

The blue-turbaned Chandra Lal slipped noiselessly between the curtains.

Sarojini Nanjee moved to a door in the other end of the room, paused tentatively and stepped over the threshold. The door closed behind her.

And as she left the room, Chandra Lal reappeared.

He stood motionless in the division of the curtains, listening; then crept softly to a desk in a dusky corner. He produced a key from his breeches; fitted it into a lock; opened a drawer. For several seconds his hands moved swiftly, silently through the papers within. After that he wrote a line on a small scrap of paper. This he folded and slipped under the edge of his blue turban.

Noiselessly he locked the drawer and recrossed the room. At the doorway he looked back.... The curtains fell together behind him.