A Bottle in the Smoke: A Tale of Anglo-Indian Life

by Janet Milne Rae

  CHAPTER XIII.

  After Zynool's departure, Mark sat down to examine certain blue bookswhich the Judge recommended for his perusal, but the late interviewrankled. He could not concentrate his attention, and thought, with asigh, how speedily he had been brought face to face with one of theunpleasant realities of official life. Even his vanity had received ashock. Did he look so clearly on the surface a man likely to have hisprice? The idea was revolting. Should he tell the Collector what hadoccurred or would it be best to bury the incident fathoms deep, was thequery which haunted him throughout the remainder of the office hours.

  The Judge before leaving looked into the new Assistant's room with afriendly smile to see how he had been finding his way, and suggestedthat they should walk home together. Mark cheerfully assented, delightedto find that in this land of carriages one was sometimes permitted touse one's legs. The sun had lost its scorching element, and leafyPuranapore was bathed in a soft yellow radiance which reminded him of anautumn evening at home. A gentle breeze stirred the tree tops as theirlengthening shadows fell on the white ribbon-like road. The twilighthour conduces to confidences, and Mark felt moved to introduce theunpleasant experience of the morning which was still uppermost in hismind, feeling that he could find no wiser confident than the trusty manof law by whose side he walked. But just as he was bracing himself tounfold the incident, he perceived Mrs. Goldring and her daughter comingtowards them. Recalling her supercilious nod of the previous evening,he was surprised to receive quite a gracious greeting from the Judge'swife.

  Jane, with a joyous smile, sprang forward to take her father's arm, andMark found himself by Mrs. Goldring's side. After expatiating on thepleasures of an evening stroll, she remarked that it was unfortunate theCollector was unable to be at his office, though how she came to beaware of the fact she did not divulge. Mark had yet to learn that thestation was like a glass house, all its happenings common property. Itis true Mrs. Goldring did not generally lay herself out for thereception of servants' gossip after the manner of Mrs. Samptor, but herencounter with the Collector still rankled, and she decided to followher little neighbour's methods in being on the outlook for gossip; andalso, for the present, to hide her adverse feelings towards the newAssistant so that, if possible, she might sow discord between him andhis chief. Having heard from her ayah that the Collector was "resting"to-day, she determined that she would waylay the young man, and give himsome hint of the foibles of his master. She certainly succeeded instartling Mark when she suddenly glanced at him keenly, saying:

  "You had a visit from that chief of snakes, Zynool, this morning, Iunderstand?"

  Politeness forbade him to turn abruptly to his interlocutor and ask howshe came by this piece of news; he therefore only assented briefly.

  "I may as well warn you, Mr. Cheveril, in confidence, of course, that weall deplore the Collector's infatuation for Mahomedans. The favours hegrants them are spelling mischief down there in the town, as Dr.Campbell will tell you, though my husband may be too loyal to hisbrother-civilian to speak his mind," she added, turning half round androlling her protruding eyes upon the pair behind who were gailychatting, their thoughts far away from the squabbles of station life.

  Mark's first impulse was to assure his companion that in the presentinstance, at all events, Zynool Sahib had shown no desire to interviewhis chief, but on the contrary had planned his visit in his absence sothat he might take stock of the new Assistant; but he felt disinclinedto make a confidante to the smallest extent of the lady by his side, whocontinued excitedly:

  "You will have the whole story soon enough, so I may as well unfold itat once, Mr. Cheveril. That Mahomedan butler of his has great influencewith the Collector. My husband tries to excuse Mr. Worsley by saying heis not in the least aware that the man goes out of his own province, orhe would not tolerate it for a moment. But do we not know there are noneso blind as those who won't see? Well, this Moideen is a poor relationof Zynool, who is one of the richest men in the town, and it is he whoset him to work on his master for permission to build a mosque on anancient site."

  "But that was surely a legitimate enough request," interjected Mark.

  "Ah, but listen! The whole thing was a wicked plot on the part of theMussulmans to annoy their neighbours. The site was near the river andthe burning-ghaut of the Hindus; and so, of course, they have been up inarms more or less ever since. Now wasn't that a most unprincipledproceeding, Mr. Cheveril?"

  "On whose part?" asked Mark coldly.

  The chilliness of his tone was not lost on Mrs. Goldring, who tossed herhead, saying:

  "On whoever the cap fits! For my part I've never had any doubt who isthe real culprit, but my position forbids me to say."

  The usual tennis-party was to be held that evening in Mrs. Goldring'scompound. The hostess never doubted that the new Assistant would put inan appearance after the favour she had been extending to him. She wasnot a little mortified, therefore, when he politely declined, pleadingas his excuse, when she pressed him, that he must see how the Collectorwas now, and, if well enough, keep him company.

  "Believe me, you are wasting your fragrance on the desert air, Mr.Cheveril. The Collector vastly prefers his cheroot and Moideen's companyto yours or mine," said Mrs. Goldring with a malicious air. But Marklifted his hat and disappeared down Mr. Worsley's avenue.

  The late conversation had by no means a reassuring effect on the youngman. He glanced with new interest on Moideen. Beneath his obsequiousdemeanour, he thought he could detect an uneasy smile as he met him andushered him into his master's writing-room. The Collector welcomed himwith a cordial smile, making light of his morning's ailment.

  "It was only a touch of liver, though Moideen tried to make me believe Iwas in the grip of fever." Then he turned to talk of office matters, andwas anxious to hear Mark's impressions of his first day at his new work.

  After briefly recording the business which the clerks had put into hishands, he led up to the visit of Zynool.

  "So the rascal turned up at last!" said the Collector. "I've beensummoning him for weeks, and he has evaded me. Now he comes the only dayI've been away since I was on tour."

  Mark was about to remark that it was clear now that it was owing to hisabsence the Mahomedan had presented himself that morning.

  "Then you don't like the man?" he asked, with an air of relief,remembering Mrs. Goldring's assertion that Zynool and the Collector werehand-in-glove. "My impression was certainly most unfavourable," he said,the blood mounting to his face, "as you will believe when I tell youthat without any ostensible cause he actually approached me with abribe--drew from the inner folds of his muslin a bag of gold, and saidhe wished to lay a gift in my palm. He looked daggers when I told him topick up his money and go. Rather a humiliating experience for my firstday in office, wasn't it? I hope I don't look a likely subject," woundup Mark, with rather a sore smile.

  "_You_ don't," answered the Collector, with frank emphasis on thepronoun. "But that confirms my suspicions that such methods were triedand succeeded not so very long since, and it throws fresh light on somethings. The blackguard! So he put forth that early feeler to see whatstuff you were made of! Good; he found his match this time!"

  Mark, happening to glance at one of the screen doors at the moment,perceived a pair of handsome brown feet with a massive ring on the greattoe planted on the rattan matting. He at once recognised them asMoideen's and strode across to the door, but when he reached it, onlySheila, one of the Collector's setters, stepped in with an apologeticair.

  The Collector, lying back in his chair absorbed in thought and takingsatisfying puffs of his cheroot, had not noticed the incident. Should hecall his attention to it, Mark pondered, but decided to ignore it.Possibly the man was only passing the door, though certainly those brownfeet had had a stationary appearance.

  Presently the Collector proceeded to unfold, in the frankest manner, thecircumstances which Mrs. Goldring had been eager to weave into asinister web. He narrated simply how he had been
led to sanction thebuilding of the mosque in a neighbourhood which now suggested troubleall round.

  "The fact is, having more confidence in Printer than was possible later,I left the negotiations to him, thinking it was a simple matter. It wasfoolish and wrong, I see now, but these town squabbles have always beenparticularly odious to me. As to Zynool, I only knew him by hearsay as arelative of my boy Moideen, who was very eager about the mosque. Ibelieved it was solely on account of his zeal for the Faith, and wasquite touched by his religious emotion. He saved up his pay, made noend of sacrifices to help to buy the site; but since then I've hadreason to suspect that he was used as a tool by that fellow Zynool, whoI know now to be a treacherous dog. He is backed up in his infamy by ashady pleader in Madras, who secretly bought the site from anunsuspecting Hindu for an old song. Then he and Zynool together sold itto the Mahomedan community for twice the sum, getting the money out ofthem on religious pretexts. I want to have it out with Zynool, and havesummoned him more than once, but I think he must be keeping out of myway. Perhaps he guessed I was not at office to-day and went to take themeasure of the new Assistant," said Mr. Worsley, with an air ofdiscovery.

  Mark, remembering the brown feet planted behind the screen door, wasabout to say: "He got a message from Moideen that you were not to bethere. Possibly you were detained at home so that Zynool might have anopportunity of sounding my depths"; but he forebore, contenting himselfby listening to this frank statement of affairs, open as the daylight,and which he contrasted with Mrs. Goldring's jaundiced narrative. Themain point with him was to know that his chief was fully aware ofZynool's villainy. It was not to be wondered at that such methods couldnot readily be fathomed by the English gentleman, without fear andwithout reproach.

  As he sat by his side now in the gathering dusk, a recurrence of aslumbering anxiety awakened in his mind. What was that remark as toZynool's being a client of "a shady pleader in Madras"? Alfred Raynerhad certainly mentioned his name as being a client, so it must be he! Itwas bitter indeed that anyone should be able so to designate Hester'shusband, and yet had there not been suggestions of baseness in Rayner'sconduct on more than one occasion during his own brief sojourn inClive's Road? Could he forget the epithets he had used about the goodMorpeth? Was it possible that Hester Bellairs was mated to a man quiteunworthy of her? How futile was anything he could do to shield her fromthe thorns and briars which must encompass her path even if their roadsdid not lie apart? But he would be true to his promise given on the lawnof the Pinkthorpe Rectory! He would take the earliest opportunity of avisit to Clive's Road. Possibly Rayner might only be the dupe of thewily Zynool, and, on being told his true character and methods, mightshake himself free of the plotter.

  With hopeful thoughts Mark turned to interest himself in the project ofa tour through the District which the Collector was planning for thefollowing week.