CHAPTER VI

IN THE TENT AT CHITIPTUR


The marquee was large and high. It had a thick lining of a dull red
colour and a carpet covered the floor; cushioned basket chairs and a few
small tables stood here and there; against one wall rose an open
escritoire with a box of cheroots upon it; the two passages to the
sleeping-tents and the kitchen were hidden by grass-screens and between
them stood a great Chesterfield sofa. It was, in a word, the tent of
people who were accustomed to make their home in it for weeks at a time.
Even the latest books were to be seen. But it was dark.

A single lamp swinging above the round dinner-table from the cross-pole
of the roof burnt in the very centre of the tent; and that was all. The
corners were shadowy; the lining merely absorbed the rays and gave none
back. The round pool of light which spread out beneath the lamp was
behind Ballantyne when he turned to the doorway, so Thresk for a moment
was only aware of him as a big heavily-built man in a smoking-jacket and
a starched white shirt; and it was to that starched white shirt that he
spoke, making his apologies. He was glad too to delay for a second or
two the moment when he must speak to Stella. In her presence this eight
long years of effort and work had become a very little space.

"I had to come as I was, Captain Ballantyne," he said, "for I have only