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Updated: July 2, 2025
In the hush the metallic hammering of the mean tin clock rang loud and harsh; Amber's heart seemed to beat in funeral time to its steady, unhurried, immutable ticking. It was close upon two in the morning. "Amber," said Rutton suddenly and very clearly, "you'll find a will in my despatch box. Doggott is to have all I possess. The emerald ring the Token I give to you." "Yes, I I "
At four-thirty, Wilson gave him a ride home. Patrick washed and walked into town where he had a few beers and talked about the war with a guy named Wendell, a guy named Joe , and Willow, the friend of Amber's. He left early and slept well. The week passed quickly. On Friday afternoon he cashed his first check at the Bank of Orange and Ulster County and walked over to the Depresso. "Hey Patrick."
Relieved, the tension relaxed; he released Amber's hand; his body sank a little in the chair. Becoming conscious of this, he pulled himself together.... "Enter India by way of Calcutta," he said in a dull and heavy voice. "There, in the Machua Bazaar, you will find a goldsmith and money-lender called Dhola Baksh. Go to him secretly, show him the ring the Token.
She put a hand upon his arm, but he shook it off. "Did you hear me, Amber?" said Labertouche, still watching the queen. "What do you mean to do?" insisted Sophia. "You can't you mustn't " "This is no time for half-measures, Miss Farrell," Labertouche told her brusquely. "Our lives hang in the balance Mr. Amber's, yours, mine. Please go." "You promise not to harm her?"
"And a hot toddy and something to eat and be quick about it." "Very good, sir." Rutton's body-servant moved noiselessly to Amber's side, deftly helping him remove his shooting-jacket, whereon snow had caked in thin and brittle sheets. His eyes, grey and shallow, flickered recognition and softened, but he did not speak in anticipation of Amber's kindly "Good-evening, Doggott."
There was but a single person in the room and he occupied the chair before the dressing-table. As Amber came in, he rose; a middle-aged babu in a suit of pink satin, very dirty. In one hand something caught the light, glittering. "Oah, Mister Amber, I believe?" he gurgled, oily and affable. "Believe me most charmed to make acquaintance." And he laughed agreeably. But Amber's face had darkened.
When the woman was thrown I sought to assist her, but she threatened me with her whip." "That is quite true," the girl cut in over Amber's shoulder. "I don't think he intended to harm me, but it's purely an accident that he didn't."
At the thought Amber's eyes darkened and hardened and he swore bitterly beneath his breath. If that were so, he vowed, the tonga-wallah would pay dearly for the indiscretion. He set his wits to contrive a way to satisfy his doubts.
"The hell you are! D'you want to sink us? What do you think this is, anyway an excursion steamer? You stay where you are and I say take care of this till I come back, like a good fellow." He thrust the butt of his shot-gun into Amber's face, and the latter, seizing it, was rewarded by a vigorous push that sent him back half a dozen feet.
To this the man added a single word, the more significant in that it embodied the nearest approach to a confidence that Amber had ever known him to make: "Hunted." "Hunted by whom?" "I beg your pardon." Rutton bent forward and pushed the cigarettes to Amber's elbow. "I am ah so preoccupied with my own mean troubles, David, that I had forgotten that you had nothing to smoke. Forgive me."
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