CHAPTER V
THE QUEST
The next night Henry Thresk left Bombay and on the Wednesday afternoon hewas travelling in a little white narrow-gauge train across a flat yellowdesert which baked and sparkled in the sun. Here and there a patch ofgreen and a few huts marked a railway station and at each gaily-robednatives sprung apparently from nowhere and going no-whither thronged theplatform and climbed into the carriages. Thresk looked impatientlythrough the clouded windows, wondering what he should find in Chitipur ifever he got there. The capital of that state lies aloof from the trunkroads and is reached by a branch railway sixty miles long, which is theprivate possession of the Maharajah and takes four hours to traverse. Forin Chitipur the ancient ways are devoutly followed. Modern ideas of speedand progress may whirl up the big central railroad from Bombay to Ajmere.But they stop at the junction. They do not travel along the Maharajah'sprivate lines to Chitipur, where he, directly descended from an importantand most authentic goddess, dispenses life and justice to his subjectswithout even the assistance of the Press. There is little criticism inthe city and less work. A patriarchal calm sleeps in all its streets. InChitipur it is always Sunday afternoon. Even down by the lake, where thehuge white many-storeyed palace contemplates its dark-latticed windowsand high balconies mirrored in still water unimaginably blue nothingwhich could be described as energy is visible. You may see an elephantkneeling placidly in the lake while an attendant polishes up his trunkand his forehead with a brickbat. But the elephant will be toowell-mannered to trumpet his enjoyment. Or you may notice a fishermandrowsing in a boat heavy enough to cope with the surf of the Atlantic.But the fisherman will not notice you--not even though you call to himwith dulcet promises of rupees. You will, if you wait long enough, see awoman coming down the steps with a pitcher balanced on her head; andindeed perhaps two women. But when your eyes have dwelt upon thesewonders you will have seen what there is of movement and life about theshores of those sleeping waters. It was in accordance with the fitness ofthings that the city and its lake should be three miles from the railwaystation and quite invisible to the traveller. The hotel however and theResidency were near to the station, and it was the Residency which hadbrought Thresk out of the crowds and tumult of Bombay. He put up at thehotel and enclosing Repton's introduction in a covering letter sent it byhis bearer down the road. Then he waited; and no answer came.
Finally he asked if his bearer had returned. Quite half an hour he wastold, and the man was sent for.
"Well? You delivered my letter?" said Thresk.
"Yes, Sahib."
"And there was no answer?"
"No. No answer, Sahib," replied the man cheerfully.
"Very well."
He waited yet another hour, and since still no acknowledgment had come hestrolled along the road himself. He came to a large white house. Aflagpost tapered from its roof but no flag blew out its folds. There wasa garden about the house, the trim well-ordered garden of the Englishfolk with a lawn and banks of flowers, and a gardener with a hose wasbusy watering it. Thresk stopped before the hedge. The windows were allshuttered, the big door closed: there was nowhere any sign of theinhabitants.
Thresk turned and walked back to the hotel. He found the bearer layingout a change of clothes for him upon his bed.
"His Excellency is away," he said.
"Yes, Sahib," replied the bearer promptly. "His Excellency gone oninspection tour."
"Then why in heaven's name didn't you tell me?" cried Thresk.
The bearer's face lost all its cheerfulness in a second and became amask. He was a Madrassee and black as coal. To Thresk it seemed that theman had suddenly withdrawn himself altogether and left merely an imagewith living eyes. He shrugged his shoulders. He knew that change in hisservant. It came at the first note of reproach in his voice and with suchcompleteness that it gave him the shock of a conjurer's trick. One momentthe bearer was before him, the next he had disappeared.
"What did you do with the letter?" Thresk asked and was careful thatthere should be no exasperation in his voice.
The bearer came to life again, his white teeth gleamed in smiles.
"I leave the letter. I give it to the gardener. All letters are sent tohis Excellency."
"When?"
"Perhaps this week, perhaps next."
"I see," said Thresk. He stood for a moment or two with his eyes upon thewindow. Then he moved abruptly.
"We go back to Bombay to-morrow afternoon."
"The Sahib will see Chitipur to-morrow. There are beautiful palaces onthe lake."
Thresk laughed, but the laugh was short and bitter.
"Oh yes, we'll do the whole thing in style to-morrow."
He had the tone of a man who has caught himself out in some childish actof folly. He seemed at once angry and ashamed.
None the less he was the next morning the complete tourist doing Indiaat express speed during a cold weather. He visited the Museum, he walkedthrough the Elephant Gate into the bazaar, he was rowed over the lake tothe island palaces; he admired their marble steps and columns and floorsand was confounded by their tinkling blue glass chandeliers. He did thecorrect thing all through that morning and early in the afternoon climbedinto the little train which was to carry him back to Jarwhal Junction andthe night mail to Bombay.
"You will have five hours to wait at the junction, Mr. Thresk," said themanager of the hotel, who had come to see him off. "I have put up somedinner for you and there is a dak-bungalow where you can eat it."
"Thank you," said Thresk, and the train moved off. The sun had set beforehe reached the junction. When he stepped out on to the platform twilighthad come--the swift twilight of the East. Before he had reached thedak-bungalow the twilight had changed to the splendour of an Indiannight. The bungalow was empty of visitors. Thresk's bearer lit a fire andprepared dinner while Thresk wandered outside the door and smoked. Helooked across a plain to a long high ridge, where once a city hadstruggled. Its deserted towers and crumbling walls still crowned theheight and made a habitation for beasts and birds. But they were quitehidden now and the sharp line of the ridge was softened. Halfway betweenthe old city and the bungalow a cluster of bright lights shone upon theplain and the red tongues of a fire flickered in the open. Thresk was inno hurry to go back to the bungalow. The first chill of the darkness hadgone. The night was cool but not cold; a moon had risen, and that dustyplain had become a place of glamour. From somewhere far away came thesound of a single drum. Thresk garnered up in his thoughts the beauty ofthat night. It was to be his last night in India. By this time to-morrowBombay would have sunk below the rim of the sea. He thought of it withregret. He had come up into Rajputana on a definite quest and on theadvice of a woman whose judgment he was inclined to trust. And his questhad failed. He was to see for himself. He would see nothing. And stillfar away the beating of that drum went on--monotonous, mournful,significant--the real call of the East made audible. Thresk leanedforward on his seat, listening, treasuring the sound. He rose reluctantlywhen his bearer came to tell him that dinner was ready. Thresk took alook round. He pointed to the cluster of lights on the plain.
"Is that a village?" he asked.
"No, Sahib," replied the bearer. "That's his Excellency's camp."
"What!" cried Thresk, swinging round upon his heel.
His bearer smiled cheerfully.
"Yes. His Excellency to whom I carried the Sahib's letter. That's hiscamp for to-night. The keeper of the bungalow told me so. His Excellencycamped here yesterday and goes on to-morrow."
"And you never told me!" exclaimed Thresk, and he checked himself. Hestood wondering what he should do, when there came suddenly out of thedarkness a queer soft scuffling sound, the like of which he had neverheard. He heard a heavy breathing and a bubbling noise and then intothe fan of light which spread from the window of the bungalow a man ina scarlet livery rode on a camel. The camel knelt; its riderdismounted, and as he dismounted he talked to Thresk's bearer.Something passed from hand to hand a
nd the bearer came back to Threskwith a letter in his hand.
"A chit from his Excellency."
Thresk tore open the envelope and found within it an invitation todinner, signed "Stephen Ballantyne."
"Your letter has reached me this moment," the note ran. "It came by yourtrain. I am glad not to have missed you altogether and I hope that youwill come to-night. The camel will bring you to the camp and take youback in plenty of time for the mail."
After all then the quest had not failed. After all he was to see forhimself--what a man could see within two hours, of the inner life of amarried couple. Not very much certainly, but a hint perhaps, some tokenwhich would reveal to him what it was that had written so muchcharacter into Stella Ballantyne's face and driven Jane Repton intowarnings and reserve.
"I will go at once," said Thresk and his bearer translated the words tothe camel-driver.
But even so Thresk stayed to look again at the letter. Its handwriting atthe first glance, when the unexpected words were dancing before his eyes,had arrested his attention; it was so small, so delicately clear.Thresk's experience had made him quick to notice details and slow toinfer from them. Yet this handwriting set him wondering. It might havebeen the work of some fastidious woman or of some leisured scholar; somuch pride of penmanship was there. It certainly agreed with no pictureof Stephen Ballantyne which his imagination had drawn.
He mounted the camel behind the driver, and for the next few minutes allhis questions and perplexities vanished from his mind. He simply clung tothe waist of the driver. For the camel bumped down into steep ditches andscuffled up out of them, climbed over mounds and slid down the furtherside of them, and all the while Thresk had the sensation of being poiseduncertainly in the air as high as a church-steeple. Suddenly however thelights of the camp grew large and the camel padded silently in betweenthe tents. It was halted some twenty yards from a great marquee. Anotherservant robed in white with a scarlet sash about his waist receivedThresk from the camel-driver.
He spoke a few words in Hindustani, but Thresk shook his head. Then theman moved towards the marquee and Thresk followed him. He was consciousof a curious excitement, and only when he caught his breath was he awarethat his heart was beating fast. As they neared the tent he heard voiceswithin. They grew louder as he reached it--one was a man's, loud,wrathful, the other was a woman's. It was not raised but it had a ring init of defiance. The words Thresk could not hear, but he knew the woman'svoice. The servant raised the flap of the tent.
"Huzoor, the Sahib is here," he said, and at once both the voices werestilled. As Thresk stood in the doorway both the man and the womanturned. The man, with a little confusion in his manner, came quicklytowards him. Over his shoulder Thresk saw Stella Ballantyne staring athim, as if he had risen from the grave. Then, as he took Ballantyne'sextended hand, Stella swiftly raised her hand to her throat with acurious gesture and turned away. It seemed as if now that she was surethat Thresk stood there before her, a living presence, she had somethingto hide from him.
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