# The House of the Falcon/Chapter 8
### CHAPTER VIII EVENTS OF A DAY

Methodically Major Fraser-Carnie arranged the papers on his desk and glanced from the distressed countenance of Miss Catherine Rand to the handsome features of Monsey and the grim, bearded face of the Afghan driver of his own phaëton. The American woman and the Russian were seated in front of him; the native stood at attention by the door.
For once the worthy major's ruddy cheeriness was replaced by a keen and somber gravity. He had his report to make to his superior officer, and—he was very fond of Edith Rand.
Miss Rand sat very erect in the canvas-backed camp chair. Double misfortune had descended upon her within the space of a few hours.
"I did see her for a moment in the ballroom, Major, Edith was standing with Mr. Monsey, Then Rawul Singh came up and spoke to them. At that moment the dancing began again."
Almost absently Fraser-Carnie nodded. Miss Rand closed her thin lips severely, feeling that she had been snubbed. She demanded that Fraser-Carnie go at once to the Maharaja and request that a search be made for her niece. And she threatened to wire the American consul somewhere in India—she did not know where.
Fraser-Carnie answered her quietly, aware that she had been under a strain.
​"My dear Miss Rand, the raja is quite ignorant of the disappearance of your niece. I can assure you of that. The servants at the carriage entrance did not see Miss Edith leave the palace. But those at a side entrance opening into the drive did see her. She went very quickly along the roadway, following Rawul Singh."
Monsey leaned forward.
"Your pardon. Major. Why do you not question the orderly?"
For an instant Fraser-Carnie glanced at the man who had interrupted him, then continued calmly.
"That was just before the storm broke. A Kashmiri horse boy gives evidence that a two-wheeled vehicle left the drive at that time, going at a round pace. The boy swears it was a covered, native cart, without a lantern. Several men were in it. I have had—ah—inquiries made among the guests of that evening. No one claims knowledge of the cart."
"Rather, no one admits it, Major," put in Monsey smilingly. "Now what does Rawul Singh say?"
He spoke lightly, as one entirely disinterested in the proceedings. Major Fraser-Carnie folded the paper he had been scanning and met the other's stare fairly.
"Rawul Singh was found dead in the rhododendron bushes beside the carriage drive at the palace at dawn," he responded.
"Oh!"
Miss Catherine Rand had recourse to the salts. Monsey looked interested.
"You connect the death of your orderly with the disappearance of Miss Rand?"
Fraser-Carnie smiled, a trifle wearily. He had been up all night with a patient at the bungalow.
​"Rawul Singh had his orders—not to leave Miss Rand. He would obey orders, you know."
"Yes, he would do that," Monsey's voice was uncertain, as if he were thinking quickly. "May I ask—how he died?"
"Stabbed in the back, and his throat slashed. Quite clearly he was attacked in the road, for we found blood stains there. These led us to look for the body in the bushes. It was thoroughly wet, having been exposed to the rain during the night, so the murder must have taken place during the time of the ball." The officer took up his pen. "Dhar Beg!"
The figure of the Afghan stiffened.
"Did Rawul Singh come to you among the carriages last night?"
"Sahib, he did not come." Dhar Beg was the son of chiefs and he had been a noncommissioned officer in a native regiment. Wherefore, his words were prompt and to the point.
"You did not see him seeking the carriage?"
"Nay. A storm was arising, and I was leading the horses to a covered place. Sahib, I thought Rawul Singh called to me once. I did not answer, being busy with the beasts. But, later, I went to see if he had called and I did not see him. There was much confusion because of the coming storm."
"Know you aught of this cart?" Fraser-Carnie and Dhar Beg were conversing in Hindustani.
"A cart—nay." Dhar Beg plucked at his beard shrewdly. "But a carriage passed before my sight, rolling swiftly."
"What carriage?"
"The same, sahib, that nearly ran us down, owing to the thrice-cursed arrogance of its driver, when we ​first entered the palace grounds. I knew the horses."
"Do you know the owner of the carriage?"
Before the Afghan could answer, Monsey, who had followed the conversation, broke in. "It was mine, I believe."
"Ah. But you were not in it?"
"You have heard my testimony."
Monsey was quite at his ease now. He had come to the quarters of Major Fraser-Carnie fully understanding that he must answer for his whereabouts the evening before. And he had made it clear that he had not left the palace until some two hours after Edith Rand had been seen with him. What was more to the point, his story was verified by certain native dignitaries and British officers whose word was better than a bond.
Well aware of the hostility of Fraser-Carnie, reticent though the Briton was, Monsey enjoyed his advantage; his alibi was complete. Perhaps for this reason he insisted on making his testimony as formal as possible—as if he had been charged with complicity in the matter of Edith Rand.
"Then," inquired Fraser-Carnie, ignoring the other's tone, "who was in your phaëton?"
For just an instant the black eyes of the Russian flickered. Whereupon the Afghan drew a deep breath and glanced at his master.
"The driver, my friend, Fraser-Carnie," responded Monsey carefully. "I had sent for the carriage to escort Miss Rand bade to the bungalow. Unfortunately,"—he shrugged—"she chose to go with Rawul Singh."
Dhar Beg waited until the speaker bad finished, then let out pent breath.
​"Sahib," he addressed the major, "the carriage came not to the palace entrance but went swiftly from the stables out the gate."
"After the two-wheeled cart had passed out"
"As the sahib has said."
Fraser-Carnie glanced inquiringly at Monsey.
"You said the phaëton called for you at the drive entrance?"
"I did not enter it. Because Miss Rand—she had gone." Just a trifle, Monsey's slight accent thickened. "So, I dismissed the driver."
"Who returned to the stables?"
Monsey was quick of thought. At the card table he seldom hesitated. Nor did he hesitate now.
"Yes, monsieur—I believe the chap drove around the drive, however, to arrive at the stables."
Fraser-Carnie glanced at Dhar Beg. It was not an easy matter to give the lie to a white man; but an Afghan has principles of his own and he generally lacks fear.
"Sahib, with my eyes I saw the carriage roll from the palace gateway and it did not come back."
This time the major nodded slightly. By long experience he knew when Dhar Beg was telling the truth. All that he had learned, however, was that the carriage had left the palace grounds shortly after the cart. Monsey rose.
"My dear fellow," he observed idly, "am I answerable for the route followed by that scoundrel who is my driver? Was I or was I not at the palace during the whole of the evening?"
At this Miss Rand announced that she must return to the bungalow. Fraser-Carnie ushered her to the door and commanded Dhar Beg to escort her. Then ​he swung around on his remaining visitor, gnawing at his white mustache.
"Monsey!" His full voice rang out sharply. "Where was your friend Abbas Abad last night?"
The Russian stared, and the skin of his face darkened.
"Abbas Abad? The Alaman drug seller of the bazaar? Why do you call him my friend?"
"On the testimony of Rawul Singh."
"Really?" A hard smile crept across Monsey's thin lips. "I fancy your orderly was mistaken." To himself he muttered: "Les absents ont toujours tort!"
"Was Abbas at the palace last night?"
"Dear Major, where was your watchdog? I do not follow the nightly prowling of the scum of the bazaar."
The British officer paced the narrow confines of his quarters, glaring at the more nimble-witted man, much as a caged lion glares at its keeper.
"I think you do, sometimes," he admitted frankly, "when there's a chance of money in pocket"
Monsey's hand twitched toward his coat and his smile was wiped out on the instant. But he had broken the gentleman's code so often that he could well afford to overlook one other insult. Besides, he realized that he held the whip hand. Fraser-Carnie was helpless to accuse him of any wrongdoing. Nor could any blame be affixed to Abbas. So he smiled, although his eyes blinked.
"Each to his taste, my dear chap. You Englishmen have a saying—'Trade follows the flag.' Voilà!" He lowered his voice earnestly. "Fraser-Carnie, you cannot afford to offend me. Have a care what you say. Remember this: I did not kill your orderly nor did I abduct Miss Rand. But, through this man Abbas I ​believe I can trace her—perhaps. Do not forget that."
"Ah. You can find her?"
"I do not know—but—I will see. If you have—patience—I will make inquiries, now."
He bowed to the steady-eyed Briton. "Is the inquisition over—the concours at an end? Yes? Then I have your leave to depart."
"By all means," growled the officer.