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Updated: May 31, 2025
He cut his words short and got up abruptly with a sharp exclamation: "What's that?" Doggott, too, had heard and been startled. "It sounded like a gun-shot, sir, and a man shouting," he said, moving toward the door. But Amber anticipated him there.
"I'll do my best to find 'im; 'e might lose 'imself, you know, with no light nor nothin'." "And you?" "I'll be all right; I'll follow 'is footprints in the snow. I've a 'andy little electric bull's-eye to 'elp me, in my pocket." "Are you armed, Doggott?" "By Mr. Rutton's orders, sir, I've carried a revolver for years. You aren't thinkin' it's come to that, sir?"
"I'll get a bite of breakfast, sir," he suggested; "you 'aven't 'ad enough to eat, and 'unger's tyking 'old of you. If you'll pardon my saying so, you look a bit sickly; but a cup of hot coffee'll set that right in a jiffy." "Thank you, Doggott; I believe you're right. Though disappointment has a good deal to do with the way I look. I'd hoped it might be Mr. Quain come to look for me."
When he had himself in more control Amber told him as briefly as possible of the head at the window and of its sequel Rutton's despairing suicide. Doggott listened in silence, nodding his comprehension. "I've always looked for it, sir," he commented.
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 "
We called in young Clarkson the missionary, you know to stay in the house during our absence. When we returned the Residency was deserted only we found Clarkson bound, gagged, and nearly dead of suffocation in a closet. He could tell us nothing had been set upon from behind. Not a servant remained.... But, by the way, your man Doggott came in by the evening dak-tonga." "Where's Raikes?"
"Is a party I've never 'eard of, if you'll excuse my sayin' so, no more'n I 'ave of yourself, sir." "Well!" began Amber; but paused, his face hardening as he looked the man up and down, nodding slowly. "Per'aps," continued Mr. Doggott, unabashed, "you mistyke me for my brother, 'Enery Doggott. 'E was 'ome, in England, larst I 'eard of 'im. We look a deal alike, I've been told."
In his day Doggott had known trouble; he was ignorant of the cause, but now intuitively he divined that Amber was suffering mental torment indescribable and beyond his power to assuage. At length the young man called him and Doggott found him sitting up, with a haggard and careworn face but with the sane light of a mind composed in his eyes.
They could do nothing to help you; on the other hand, to be seen with them, to have it known that you communicate with them, would be the equivalent of a seal upon your death warrant. You remember the money-lender's name?" "Dhola Baksh of the Machua Bazaar." "Trust him and trust Doggott.... Four minutes more!" "Rutton!" cried Amber in a broken voice. Cold sweat broke out upon his forehead.
He ceased to speak and closed his eyes. A great stillness made itself felt within the room. In the other, Doggott was silent probably asleep. Amber noted the fact subconsciously, even as he was aware that the high fury of the wind was moderating. But consciously he was bowed down with sorrow, inexpressibly racked.
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