The Darrow Enigma by Melvin L. Severy (brene brown rising strong txt) 📕

and over the head and shoulders of the Indian. Its cold light

shimmered along the blade which was now held threateningly toward

me. The crisis had been reached.

In times of such great urgency one has frequently an inspiration

- instantaneous, disconnected, unbidden - which no amount of quiet,

peaceful thought would suggest. Such extraordinary flashes are the

result of reasoning too rapid for consciousness to note. The Indian

had already laid bare his right arm to the elbow before I had

determined upon the desperate course I would pursue, and upon which

I must hazard all. As he advanced upon me I seized the large, white

sola hat from my head, and hurled it full in his face. It was a

schoolboy trick, yet upon its success depended my life.

Instinctively, and in spite of himself, Ragobah dodged, closed his

eyes, and raised his right hand, knife and all, to shield his face.

I sprang upon him at the same instant I threw my hat, and so was

able to reach him before he opened his eyes. I had well calculated

his movements, and had made no mistake. As I reached him his head

was bent downward and forward to let the hat pass over him. His

position could not have been better for my purpose. I “swung on

him,” as we used to say at the gymnasium, catching him under his

protruded jaw, not far from the region of the carotid artery. The

blow was well placed, and desperation lent me phenomenal strength.

It raised him bodily off his feet, and hurled him backward out

of the cave, where he lay motionless. He was now in my power. I

seized his knife and bent over him. Words cannot express the hatred,

the loathing I felt for him then and always. Between me and the

light of my happiness he had ever stood, an impenetrable black mass.

Twice had he sought my life, yet now, when he was in my power, I

could not plunge his weapon into his heart. Would it not be just,

I thought, to drag him into the cave, and hurl him down the abyss

he had intended for me? Yes; he certainly merited it; yet I could

not do that either. I wished the snake a thousand times dead, yet

I could not stamp it into the earth.

He was beginning to slightly move now, and something must be done.

It was useless to run, for the way was long, and he could easily

overtake me. You may wonder why I did not take to the thicket,

but if you had ever had any experience with Indian jungles you

would know that, without the use of fire and axe, they are

practically impenetrable. Professor Haeckel, botanising near that

same spot, spent an hour in an endeavour to force his way into

one of these jungles, but only succeeded in advancing a few steps

into the thicket, when, stung by mosquitoes, bitten by ants, his

clothing torn from his bleeding arms and legs, wounded by the

thousands of sharp thorns of the calamus, hibiscus, euphorbias,

lantanas, and myriad other jungle plants, he was obliged, utterly

discomfited, to desist. If this were the result of his efforts,

made in broad daylight, and with deliberation, what might I expect

rushing into the thicket at night, as a refuge from a pursuer far

my superior in physical strength and fleetness of foot, and who,

moreover, had known the jungle from his boyhood? Once overtaken

by my enemy, the long knife in my hands would be of no avail

against a stick in his. I saw all this clearly, and realised that

he must be prevented from following me.

There was no time to be lost, for he was rapidly recovering

possession of his powers. I seized a large rock and hurled it with

all the force I could command upon his left foot and ankle.

Notwithstanding his immense strength his hands and feet were scarcely

larger than a woman’s, and the small bones cracked like pipe-stems.

Though I had not the will to kill him, my own safety demanded that

I should maim him as the only other means of making good my escape.

As the rock crushed his foot the pain seemed to bring him immediately

into full possession of his faculties, and he roared like an enraged

bull. I turned and looked back as I beat a hasty retreat down the

hill. He had seized one of the air-roots of the banyan tree, and

raised himself upon his right leg. The expression of his face as

the moonlight fell upon it was something never to be forgotten. It

riveted me to the spot with the fascination of horror. He shook his

fist at me fiercely, as he shrieked from the back of his throat:

“You infidel cur! You may as well try to brush away the Himalyas

with a silk handkerchief as to escape the wrath of Rama Ragobah.

Go! Bury yourself in seclusion at the farthermost corner of the

earth, and on one night Ragobah and the darkness shall be with you!”

These were the last words this fiend incarnate ever spoke to me, but

I know they are prophetic, and that he will keep his oath.

The next day I learned that Lona was dead. She had died with my

name upon her lips, and her secret - the explanation of her strange

conduct on that night - died with her. I shall never know it.

Bitterly did I repent my inability to reach her. The thought that

she had waited in vain for me, that with her last breath she had

called upon me, and I had answered not, was unendurable torture,

and I fled India and came to America in the futile endeavour to

forget it all. Out of my black past there shone but one bright star

- her love! All these long years have I oriented my soul by that

sweet, unforgettable radiance, prizing it above a galaxy of lesser

joys.

There is little more to be said. I shall meet death as I have

stated - I am sure of it - and no man will see the blow given.

Remember, as I loved that Indian maiden with a passion which death

has not chilled, so I loathe my rival with a hatred infinite and

all-consuming; for, somehow, I know that demon crushed out the life

of my fragile lotus-flower. He will work his will upon me, but if

his cunning enable him to escape the gallows, my soul, if there be

a conscious hereafter, will never rest in peace. Remember this, my

dear child, and your promise, that God may bless you even as I

bless you.

It was some time after Gwen had finished this interesting document

before any of us spoke. The narrative, and the peculiar

circumstances under which it had been read, deeply impressed us.

At length Maitland said in a subdued voice, as if he feared to

break some spell:

“The Indian girl’s letter; let us find that, and also the will.”

Gwen went to the drawer in which her father kept his private papers,

and soon produced them both. Maitland glanced hastily at the

letter, and said: “You have already heard its contents”; then turning

to Gwen, he said: “I will keep it with your permission. Now for the

will.” It was handed to him, and his face fell as he read it. In a

moment he turned to us, and said: “The interest on the insurance

money is to go to Miss Darrow, the entire principal to be held in

trust and paid to the person bringing the assassin to justice, unless

said person shall wed Miss Darrow, in which case half of the fund

shall go to the husband, and the other half to the wife in her own

right. The balance of the estate, which, by the way, is considerable,

despite the reports given to Osborne, is to go to Miss Darrow. This

is all the will contains having any bearing upon the case in hand.

Let us proceed with the rest of the papers.” We made a long and

diligent search, but nothing of importance came to light. When we

had finished Maitland said:

“Our friend Osborne would say the document we have just perused made

strongly for his theory, and was simply another fabrication to blind

the eyes of the insurance company. That’s what comes of wedding

one’s self to a theory founded on imperfect data.”

“And what do you think?” Gwen inquired.

“That Rama Ragobah has small hands and feet,” he replied. “That his

left foot has met with an injury, and is probably deformed; that most

likely he is lame in the left leg; that he had the motive for which

we have been looking; that he may or may not have the habit of biting

his nails; that he is crafty, and that if he were to do murder it is

almost certain his methods would be novel and surprising, as well as

extremely difficult to fathom - in short, that suspicion points

unmistakably to Rama Ragobah. That is easily said, but to bring the

deed home to him is quite another thing. I shall analyse the poison

of the wound and microscopically examine the nature of the abrasion

this afternoon. Tonight I take the midnight train for New York.

To-morrow I shall sail for Bombay, via London and the Continent. I

will keep you informed of my address. While I am away I would ask

that you close the house here, leaving everything just as it is now

dismiss the servants, and take up your abode with the Doctor and his

sister.” He rose to go as he said this, and then continued, as he

turned to me: “I shall depend upon you to look after Miss Darrow’s

immediate interests in my absence.” I knew this meant that I was

to guard her health, not permitting her to be much by herself, and

I readily acquiesced.

The look of amazement which had at first overspread Gwen’s face at

the mention of this precipitate departure gave place to one of

modest concern, as she said softly to Maitland: “Is it necessary

that you should encounter the dangers of such a journey, to say

nothing, of the time and inconvenience it will cost?” He looked

down at her quickly, and then said reassuringly: “Do you know one

is, by actual statistics, safer in an English railway carriage than

when walking the crowded streets of London? I am daily subjecting

myself to laboratory dangers which, I believe, are graver than any

I am likely to meet between here and Bombay, or, for that matter,

even at Bombay in the presence of our recent acquaintance Ragobah.”

“I deeply appreciate,” she replied, “the generous sacrifice you

would make in my interests - hut Bombay is such a long way - and “

“If suspicion directed me to the North Pole,” he interrupted, “I

should start with equal alacrity,” and he held out his hand to her

to bid her farewell. She took it in a way that bespoke a world of

gratitude, if nothing more. He retained the small hand, while he

said: “Have you forgotten, my friend, your promise to your father?

Do you not see in what terrible relations it may place you? How

important, then, that no effort should be spared to prevent you

from becoming indebted to one unmanly enough to take advantage of

your position. I shall use every means within my power to myself

discover your father’s murderer, and you may comfort yourself with

the assurance that, if successful, I shall make no demand of any

kind whatsoever upon your gratitude. I think you understand me.”

As