CHAPTER VII
THE PHOTOGRAPH
While Baram Singh was clearing the table Ballantyne lifted the box ofcheroots from the top of the bureau and held it out to Thresk.
"Will you smoke?"
Thresk, however, though he smoked had not during his stay in Indiaacquired the taste for the cheroot; and it interested him in later timesto reflect how largely he owed his entanglement in the tragic eventswhich were to follow to that accidental distaste. For conscious of it hehad brought his pipe with him, and he now fetched it out of his pocket.
"This, if I may," he said.
"Of course."
Thresk filled his pipe and lighted it, Ballantyne for his part lit acheroot and replaced the box upon the top, close to a heavyriding-crop with a bone handle, which Thresk happened now to noticefor the first time.
"Be quick!" he cried impatiently to Baram Singh, and seated himself inthe swing-chair in front of the bureau, turning it so as not to have hisback to Thresk at the table. Baram Singh hurriedly finished his work andleft the marquee by the passage leading to the kitchen. Ballantyne waitedwith his eyes upon that passage until the grass-mat screen had ceased tomove. Then taking a bunch of keys from his pocket he stooped under theopen writing-flap of the bureau and unlocked the lowest of the threedrawers. From this drawer he lifted a scarlet despatch-box, and was justgoing to bring it to the table when Baram Singh silently appeared oncemore. At once Ballantyne dropped the box on the floor, covering it aswell as he could with his legs.
"What the devil do you want?" he cried, speaking of course in Hindustani,and with a violence which seemed to be half made up of anger and half offear. Baram Singh replied that he had brought an ash-tray for the Sahib,and he placed it on the round table by Thresk's side.
"Well, get out and don't come back until you are called," criedBallantyne roughly, and in evident relief as Baram Singh once moreretired he took a long draught from a fresh tumbler of whisky-and-sodawhich stood on the flap of the bureau beside him. He then stooped oncemore to lift the red despatch-box from the floor, but to Thresk'samazement in the very act of stooping he stopped. He remained with hishands open to seize the box and his body bent over his knees, quitemotionless. His mouth was open, his eyes staring, and upon his face sucha look of sheer terror was stamped as Thresk could never find words todescribe. For the first moment he imagined that the man had had a stroke.His habits, his heavy build all pointed that way. The act of stoopingwould quite naturally be the breaking pressure upon that overchargedbrain. But before Thresk had risen to make sure Ballantyne moved an arm.He moved it upwards without changing his attitude in any other way, oreven the direction of his eyes, and he groped along the flap of thebureau very cautiously and secretly and up again to the top ledge. Allthe while his eyes were staring intently, but with the intentness ofextreme fear, not at the despatch-box but at the space of carpet--acouple of feet at the most--between the despatch-box and the tent-wall.His fingers felt along the ledge of the bureau and closed with a silentgrip upon the handle of the riding-crop. Thresk jumped to the naturalconclusion: a snake had crept in under the tent-wall and Ballantyne darednot move lest the snake should strike. Neither did he dare to movehimself. Ballantyne was clearly within reach of its fangs. But he lookedand--there was nothing. The light was not good certainly, and down by thetent-wall there close to the floor it was shadowy and dim. But Thresk'seyes were keen. The space between the despatch-box and the wall wasempty. Nothing crawled there, nothing was coiled.
Thresk looked at Ballantyne with amazement; and as he looked Ballantynesprang from his chair with a scream of terror--the scream of apanic-stricken child. He sprang with an agility which Thresk would neverhave believed possible in a man of so gross a build. He leapt into theair and with his crop he struck savagely once, twice and thrice at thefloor between the wall and the box. Then he turned to Thresk with everymuscle working in his face.
"Did you see?" he cried. "Did you see?"
"What? There was nothing to see!"
"Nothing!" screamed Ballantyne. He picked up the box and placed it on thetable, thrusting it under Thresk's hand. "Hold that! Don't let go! Stayhere and don't let go," he said, and running up the tent raised his voiceto a shout.
"Baram Singh!" and lifting the tent-door he called to others of hisservants by name. Without waiting for them he ran out himself and in asecond Thresk heard him cursing thickly and calling in panic-strickentones just close to that point of the wall against which the bureaustood. The camp woke to clamour.
Thresk stood by the table gripping the handle of the despatch-box as hehad been bidden to do. The tent-door was left open. He could see lightsflashing, he heard Ballantyne shouting orders, and his voice dwindled andgrew loud as he moved from spot to spot in the encampment. And in themidst of the noise the white frightened face of Stella Ballantyneappeared at the opening of her corridor.
"What has happened?" she asked in a whisper. "Oh, I was afraid thatyou and he had quarrelled," and she stood with her hand pressed overher heart.
"No, no indeed," Thresk replied, and Captain Ballantyne stumbled backinto the tent. His face was livid, and yet the sweat stood upon hisforehead. Stella Ballantyne drew back, but Ballantyne saw her as shemoved and drove her to her own quarters.
"I have a private message for Mr. Thresk's ears," he said, and when shehad gone he took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Now you must help me," he said in a low voice. But his voice shook andhis eyes strayed again to the ground by the wall of the tent.
"It was just there the arm came through," he said. "Yes, just there," andhe pointed a trembling finger.
"Arm?" cried Thresk. "What are you talking about?"
Ballantyne looked away from the wall to Thresk, his eyes incredulous.
"But you saw!" he insisted, leaning forward over the table.
"What?"
"An arm, a hand thrust in under the tent there, along the ground reachingout for my box."
"No. There was nothing to see."
"A lean brown arm, I tell you, a hand thin and delicate as a woman's."
"No. You are dreaming," exclaimed Thresk; but dreaming was a euphemismfor the word he meant.
"Dreaming!" repeated Ballantyne with a harsh laugh. "Good God! I wish Iwas. Come. Sit down here! We have not too much time." He seated himselfopposite to Thresk and drew the despatch-box towards him. He had regainedenough mastery over himself now to be able to speak in a level voice. Nodoubt too his fright had sobered him. But it had him still in its grip,for when he opened the despatch-box his hand so shook that he couldhardly insert the key in the lock. It was done at last however, andfeeling beneath the loose papers on the surface he drew out from the verybottom a large sealed envelope. He examined the seals to make sure theyhad not been tampered with. Then he tore open the envelope and took out aphotograph, somewhat larger than cabinet size.
"You have heard of Bahadur Salak?" he said.
Thresk started.
"The affair at Umballa, the riots at Benares, the murder in Madras?"
"Exactly."
Ballantyne pushed the photograph into Thresk's hand.
"That's the fellow--the middle one of the group."
Thresk held up the photograph to the light. It represented a group ofnine Hindus seated upon chairs in a garden and arranged in a row facingthe camera. Thresk looked at, the central figure with a keen andprofessional interest. Salak was a notorious figure in the Indianpolitics of the day--the politics of the subterranean kind. For someyears he had preached and practised sedition with so much subtlety andskill that though all men were aware that his hand worked the strings ofdisorder there was never any convicting evidence against him. In all thethree cases which Thresk had quoted and in many others less well-knownthose responsible for order were sure that he had devised the crime,chosen the moment for its commission and given the order. But up till amonth ago he had slipped through the meshes. A month ago, however, he hadmade his mistake.
"Yes. It's a clev
er face," said Thresk.
Ballantyne nodded his head.
"He's a Mahratta Brahmin from Poona. They are the fellows for brains, andSalak's about the cleverest of them."
Thresk looked again at the photograph.
"I see the picture was taken at Poona."
"Yes, and isn't it an extraordinary thing!" cried Ballantyne, his faceflashing suddenly into interest and enjoyment. The enthusiasm of theadministrator in his work got the better of his fear now, just as alittle earlier it had got the better of his drunkenness. Thresk waslooking now into the face of a quite different man, the man of theintimate knowledge and the high ability for whom fine rewards wereprophesied in Bombay. "The very cleverest of them can't resist thetemptation of being photographed in group. Crime after crime has beenbrought home to the Indian criminal both here and in London because theywill sit in garden-chairs and let a man take their portraits. Nothingwill stop them. They won't learn. They are like the ladies of the lightopera stage. Well, let 'em go on I say. Here's an instance."
"Is it?" asked Thresk. "Surely that photograph was taken a longtime ago."
"Nine years. But he was at the same game. You have got the proof in yourhands. There's a group of nine men--Salak and his eight friends. Well,of his eight friends every man jack is now doing time for burglary, insome cases with violence--that second ruffian, for instance, he's in forlife--in some cases without, but in each case the crime was burglary.And why? Because Salak in the centre there set them on to it. BecauseSalak nine years ago wasn't the big swell he is now. Because Salakwanted money to start his intrigues. That's the way he gotit--burglaries all round Bombay."
"I see," said Thresk. "Salak's in prison now?"
"He's in prison in Calcutta, yes. But he's awaiting his trial. He's notconvicted yet."
"Exactly," Thresk answered. "This photograph is a valuable thing to havejust now."
Ballantyne threw up his arms in despair at the obtuseness of hiscompanion.
"Valuable!" he cried in derision. "Valuable!" and he leaned forward onhis elbows and began to talk to Thresk with an ironic gentleness as if hewere a child.
"You don't quite understand me, do you? But a little effort and all willbe plain."
He got no farther however upon this line of attack, for Threskinterrupted him sharply.
"Here! Say what you have got to say if you want me to help you. Oh, youneedn't scowl! You are not going to bait me for your amusement. I am notyour wife." And Ballantyne after a vain effort to stare Thresk downchanged to a more cordial tone.
"Well, you say it's a valuable thing to have just now. I say it's aninfernally dangerous thing. On the one side there's Salak the greatnational leader, Salak the deliverer, Salak professing from his prison inCalcutta that he has never used any but the most legitimateconstitutional means to forward his propaganda. And here on the other isSalak in his garden-chair amongst the burglars. Not a good thing topossess--this photograph, Mr. Thresk. Especially because it's the onlyone in existence and the negative has been destroyed. So Salak's friendsare naturally anxious to get it back."
"Do they know you have it?" Thresk asked.
"Of course they do. You had proof that they knew five minutes ago whenthat brown arm wriggled in under the tent-wall."
Ballantyne's fear returned upon him as he spoke. He sat shivering; hiseyes wandered furtively from corner to corner of the great tent and camealways back as though drawn by a serpent to the floor by the wall of thetent. Thresk shrugged his shoulders. To dispute with Ballantyne once moreupon his delusion would be the merest waste of time. He took up thephotograph again.
"How do you come to possess it?" he asked. If he was to serve his host inthe way he suspected he would be asked to, he must know its history.
"I was agent in a state not far from Poona before I came here."
Thresk agreed.
"I know. Bakuta."
"Oh?" said Ballantyne with a sharp look. "How did you know that?"
He was always in alarm lest somewhere in the world gossip was whisperinghis secret.
"A Mrs. Carruthers at Bombay."
"Did she tell you anything else?"
"Yes. She told me that you were a great man."
Ballantyne grinned suddenly.
"Isn't she a fool?" Then the grin left his face. "But how did you come todiscuss me with her at all?"
That was a question which Thresk had not the slightest intention toanswer. He evaded it altogether.
"Wasn't it natural since I was going to Chitipur?" he asked, andBallantyne was appeased.
"Well, the Rajah of Bakutu had that photograph and he gave it to me whenI left the State. He came down to the station to see me off. He was toonear Poona to be comfortable with that in his pocket. He gave it to me onthe platform in full view, the damned coward. He wanted to show that hehad given it to me. He said that I should be safe with it in Chitipur."
"Chitipur's a long way from Poona," Thresk agreed.
"But don't you see, this trial that's coming along in Calcutta makes allthe difference. It's known I have got it. It's not safe here now and nomore am I so long as I've got it."
One question had been puzzling Thresk ever since he had seen the look ofterror reappear in Ballantyne's face. It was clear that he lived in avery real fear. He believed that he was watched, and he believed that hewas in danger; and very probably he actually was. There had, to be sure,been no attempt that night to rob him of it as he imagined. But none theless Salak and his friends could not like the prospect of the productionof that photograph in Calcutta, and would hardly be scrupulous what meansthey took to prevent it. Then why had not Ballantyne destroyed it?Thresk asked the question and was fairly startled by the answer. For itpresented to him in the most unexpected manner another and a new side ofthe strange and complex character of Stephen Ballantyne.
"Yes, why don't I destroy it?" Ballantyne repeated. "I ask myself that,"and he took the photograph out of Thresk's hands and sat in a sort ofmuse, staring at it. Then he turned it over and took the edge between hisforefinger and his thumb, hesitating whether he would not even at thismoment tear it into strips and have done with it. But in the end he castit upon the table as he had done many a time before and cried in a voiceof violence:
"No, I can't. That's to own these fellows my masters and I won't. By GodI won't! I may be every kind of brute, but I have been bred up in thisservice. For twenty years I have lived in it and by it. And the serviceis too strong for me. No, I can't destroy that photograph. There's thetruth. I should hate myself to my dying day if I did."
He rose abruptly as if half ashamed of his outburst and crossing to hisbureau lighted another cheroot.
"Then what do you want me to do with it?" asked Thresk.
"I want you to take it away."
Ballantyne was taking a casuistical way of satisfying his conscience, andhe was aware of it. He would not destroy the portrait--no! But hewouldn't keep it either. "You are going straight back to England," hesaid. "Take it with you. When you get home you can hand it to one of thebig-wigs at the India Office, and he'll put it in a pigeon-hole, and someday an old charwoman cleaning the office will find it, and she'll take ithome to her grandchildren to play with and one of them'll drop it on thefire, and there'll be an end of it."
"Yes," replied Thresk slowly. "But if I do that, it won't be useful atCalcutta, will it?"
"Oh," said Ballantyne with a sneer. "You've got a conscience too, eh?Well, I'll tell you. I don't think that photograph will be needed atCalcutta."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Yes. Salak's friends don't know it, but I do."
Thresk sat still in doubt. Was Ballantyne speaking the truth or did hespeak in fear? He was still standing by the bureau looking down uponThresk and behind him, so that Thresk had not the expression of his faceto help him to decide. But he did not turn in his chair to look. For ashe sat there it dawned upon him that the photograph was the very thingwhich he himself needed. The scheme which had been growing in his mindall throug
h this evening, which had begun to grow from the very momentwhen he had entered the tent, was now complete in every detail exceptone. He wanted an excuse, a good excuse which should explain why hemissed his boat, and here it was on the table in front of him. Almost hehad refused it! Now it seemed to him a Godsend.
"I'll take it," he cried, and Baram Singh silently appeared at the outerdoorway of the tent.
"Huzoor," he said. "Railgharri hai."
Ballantyne turned to Thresk.
"Your train is signalled," and as Thresk started up he reassured him."There's no hurry. I have sent word that it is not to start without you."And while Baram Singh still stood waiting for orders in the doorway ofthe tent Ballantyne walked round the table, took up the portrait verydeliberately and handed it to Thresk.
"Thank you," he said. "Button it in your coat pocket."
He waited while Thresk obeyed.
"Thus," said Thresk with a laugh, "did the Rajah of Bakutu," andBallantyne replied with a grin.
"Thank you for mentioning that name." He turned to Baram Singh. "Thecamel, quick!"
Baram Singh went out to the enclosure within the little village of tentsand Thresk asked curiously:
"Do you distrust him?"
Ballantyne looked steadily at his visitor and said:
"I don't answer such questions. But I'll tell you something. If that manwere dying he would ask for leave. And if he would ask for leave becausehe would not die with my scarlet livery on his back. Are you answered?"
"Yes," said Thresk.
"Very well." And with a brisk change of tone Ballantyne added: "I'll seethat your camel is ready." He called aloud to his wife: "Stella! Stella!Mr. Thresk is going," and he went out through the doorway into themoonlight.
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