The Pointing Man

by Marjorie Douie

  XVII

  TELLS HOW CORYNDON LEARNS FROM THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH WHAT THE REV.FRANCIS HEATH NEVER TOLD HIM.

  When Coryndon sat up in his bed, and recalled himself with a jerk fromthe drowsiness of night to the wakefulness of broad daylight, he calledShiraz to give to him instructions.

  After dark, his master told him, he was going to return to theCantonments, and during his absence there were some matters which he haddecided to leave unreservedly in the hands of Shiraz. He was tocultivate his acquaintance with Leh Shin, the Chinaman, worming his wayinto his confidence and encouraging him to speak fully of the old hatredthat was still like live fire between him and the wealthy curio dealer.Revenge may or may not take the shape and substance of the originalwrong done, and the limited intelligence of the Chinaman would suggestpayment in the same coin, so it was necessary for Coryndon to know theactual facts of the ancient grudge. Further than this, Shiraz was to goto the shop of Mhtoon Pah, and discover anything he could in the courseof conversation with the Burman.

  "Mark well all that is said, that when I return it may be disclosed tomine eyes through thy spectacles," he concluded, tying the ragged endsof his head-scarf over his forehead.

  He went down the staircase with a slow, dragging step, leaning on therail of the Colonnade when he got out into the street, and halting, witha vacant stare, outside the shop of Leh Shin.

  "So thy devils have not yet caught thee and scalded thee with oil, orburned thee in quicklime?" jeered the boy, as he watched a coolie sweepout the shop.

  He was chewing a raw onion, and he swung his legs idly, for there wasnothing to do, and, on the whole, he was glad to have the mad Burman tobait for half an hour's entertainment.

  "The sickness is heavy upon me, my legs are loaded as with wet sand, andmy mouth is parched like a rock in the desert," whined the Burmanplaintively.

  "Nay, nay, not _thy_ legs, and _thy_ tongue. The legs and the mouth ofthe evil man, thy friend, O dolt."

  The Burman shook his head stupidly.

  "The will of the Holy Ones is that I shall recover, and my friend hassaid that I shall go a journey. I go by the terrain this night atsunset."

  "Whither doth he send thee, unclean one?"

  The Burman smiled with a sudden look of cunning.

  "That is a word unspoken, and neither will I tell it. Thy desire to knowwhat concerns thee not is as great as thy fatness."

  With a doggedness that is often part of some forms of mania, the Burmansquatted in the dust, and under no provocation could he be induced tospeak. After midday he indicated by lifting his fingers to his mouththat he intended to go in search of food; having worked Leh Shin'sassistant into a state of perspiring wrath by the simple process ofreiterating in pantomime that he was dumb. It must be admitted thatCoryndon got no small amount of pleasure out of his morning'sentertainment, and he doubled himself up as though in pain as he draggedhimself back to the house.

  The vanished beggar's tracks were entirely obliterated, and when theBurman went off in a _gharry_ in company with Shiraz, the whole streetknew that he was being sent away on a secret mission of greatimportance.

  To know something that other people do not know is to be in some waytheir superior. It is a popular fallacy to believe that we all of us aregifted with special insight. The dullest bore believes it of himself,but when it comes to the possession of an absolute fact superioritybecomes unmistakable, particularly in circumscribed localities, and LehShin's assistant remembered how the sudden dumbness of the crazy Burmanhad irked his own soul. He told a little of what he professed to know,and having done so, refused to admit more, and so it was current in theBazaar that the friend of the rich Punjabi was gone to receive moneypaid for jewels, and that the place of his destination was known only toLeh Shin's assistant, who, having sworn on oath, would by no meansdivulge the name of the place.

  Even Leh Shin, who awoke late, appeared interested, and asked questionsthat made the gross, flabby boy think hard before he replied; and themystery that attached itself to the departure of the Burman lent anadded interest to Shiraz, who returned after the usual hour of prayer atthe Mosque, and paced slowly up the street, meditating upon a verse fromthe Koran. The evening light softened and the shadows grew long, makingthe Colonnade dark a full hour before the street outside was wrapped inthe smoky gloom of twilight and the charcoal fires were lighted to cookthe evening meal, and by the time that the first clear globes ofelectric light dotted Paradise Street Coryndon was back in his room anddressed ready to go out to dinner.

  Hartley received the wanderer with enthusiasm, and began at once bytelling him that he had an invitation for him which was growing stale bylong keeping. Mrs. Wilder was giving a very small party and both theHead of the Police and his friend were invited.

  "I accepted definitely for myself, and conditionally for you," saidHartley cheerfully. "Now I will ring up Wilder and tell him that theprodigal has reappeared, and that you will come."

  Coryndon submitted to the inevitable with a good grace; it was one ofhis best social qualifications, and arose from a keen sensitiveness thatmade it nearly impossible for him ever to disappoint anyone. He hadhoped for a quiet evening, when he might expect to get to bed early andhave time to think over every tiny detail of his time in the MangadoneBazaar; but as this was not possible, he agreed with sufficient alacrityto deceive his kind host.

  His face was drawn and tired, and his eyes were heavy; he noticed thisas he glanced into his glass, but after all it did not matter. Hissocial importance was small, and for to-night he was nothing more thanan adjunct of Hartley, a mere postscript put in out of formalpoliteness. He was not going in order to please Mrs. Wilder--though, asshe appeared on his mental list of names, she had her place in thestructure that filled his mind--but to please Hartley. Any time wouldhave done for Mrs. Wilder, she was but a cypher in the total, but if hehad begged off to-night he would have had to hurt Hartley. Coryndoncould never get away from the other man's point of view; it dogged himin great things and in small, and he was obliged to realize Hartley'spleasure in seeing him, and his further pleasure in carrying him off toa house where he himself enjoyed life thoroughly. Coryndon could aseasily have disappointed a child, or been cruel to a small, waggingpuppy as to Hartley in his present mood.

  He knew that he would have to shut the door upon his dominating thought,unless something occurred to open it during the evening. Women liked toplay with fire, and he wondered if Mrs. Wilder would show anyinclination to fiddle with gunpowder, but he hardly expected that shewould, though she had played some part in the extensive drama thatreached from Heath's bungalow to the Colonnade in the Chinese quarter,leaving a gap between that his brain struggled with in vain.

  It was like the imaginable space between life and death, where bothconditions existed, and one was the key to the other. Something waslacking. One small master touch wanting to lay the whole thing bare ofmystery. Coryndon's weary eyes reflected the state of his mind. He feltlike an inventor who is baffled for the lack of a tiny clue that makesthe impossible natural and easy, or a composer who hears a refrain andcannot call it into birth in clear defiant chords. To think too muchwhen thought cannot carry the mind over the limiting barrier is to spendsubstance on fruitless effort, and Coryndon deliberately shut the doorof his mind and put the key away before he started out with Hartley.

  The night was clear as the two men went off together hatless through thesoft moonlight. Neither Coryndon nor Hartley talked much as they walkedby a short cut across the park to the Wilders' bungalow, a servantcarrying a lantern going before them like a dim will-o'-the-wisp; theyellow lamplight paling into an ineffectual blur against the clearmoonlight.

  "I think it is only ourselves," said Hartley after a long pause. "Youare looking a bit done, Coryndon, so you'll be glad if it isn't a latenight."

  Coryndon agreed, and conversation flagged again. They crossed the road,turned up the avenue and were lost in the shadows of the trees, comingout again into a white bay of light outside the do
or.

  Everyone, man or woman, who is endowed at birth with a sensitive natureis subject to occasional inrushes of detachment that without warning cuthim off from realities for moments or hours, converting everyday mattersinto the consistency of dream-life. It was through this medium thatCoryndon saw Mrs. Wilder when he came into the large upstairsdrawing-room. It would have annoyed her to know that she appearedindefinite and shadowy to his mind, just as it annoyed Alice when shewas told that she was only "Something in the Red King's dream," butCoryndon could not help his sensations. Mrs. Wilder was smiling with hercareless, easy, confident smile, and yet he saw only an unaccounted bitof the puzzle, that he could not fit in. She was dressed in the latestfashion, and talked with a kind of regal amiability, but nevertheless,she was not a real woman, a real hostess, or a positive entity; she wasvague, and the touch of her floating personality added to the baffledsensation that drained Coryndon's mind of concentrated force, and madehim physically exhausted.

  Wilder had something to say to Hartley, and Coryndon handed himself overlike a coat or an umbrella to Mrs. Wilder, who, he knew, was placing alow valuation upon him, and was already a little impatient at his lackof vitality. She was calling him a bore, behind her fine, hard eyes, andhaving exhausted Mangadone in a few sentences, wondered what sort ofbore he really was. There were golf bores, fishing bores, and shootingbores, but Coryndon hardly appeared to belong to any of those families,and she began to suspect him of "superiority," a type of bore aggressiveto others of his cult. Mrs. Wilder did not tolerate a type to which sheherself undoubtedly owned to some slight connection, and she gave up alleffort to awaken interest in the slim, weary young man, who lookedhalf-asleep.

  "Mr. Heath ought to be here directly," she said, in her loud, clearvoice. "Draycott, don't forget to ask him to say grace."

  If she had got up and taken Coryndon by the shoulders and shaken him,the effect could not have been more marked and sudden. All the dullfeeling of detachment cleared off at once, and he knew that his senseswere sharp and acute; his bodily fatigue fell away, and as he moved inhis chair his eyes turned towards the door.

  "I wish he would hurry," growled Wilder, a prey to the pessimism of thehalf-hour before dinner. "He is inexcusably late as it is."

  As though his words had summoned the Rev. Francis Heath, footstepsmounting the staircase followed Wilder's remark, and the clergyman cameinto the room. Immediately upon his coming, conversation became general,and a few moments later the party was seated round a small table keptfor intimate gatherings, and placed in the centre of the largeteak-panelled room. An arrangement of plumbago and maidenhair, and paleblue shaded candles casting a dim light, carried out the saxe blueeffect that Mrs. Wilder had evolved with the assistance of a ladies'paper that dealt with "effective and original table decoration."

  In spite of Mrs. Wilder's efforts, assisted as they were by Hartley,conversation flagged for the first two courses. Heath was not exactlyawkward, but he was conscious of the fact that he and Hartley had had anunpleasant interview, buried by the passing of a few weeks, but by nomeans peaceful in its grave. There was just a suggestion of strain inhis manner, and he was evidently carrying through a duty in being thereat all, rather than out for pleasant society.

  Coryndon observed him carefully, particularly when he talked to hishostess. If she was helping to screen him, the clergyman was too honestnot to show some sign of gratitude either in his manner or in hisdeep-set eyes, and yet no such indication was evident. Coryndondisassociated his mind from the history of the case, and saw austerityflavoured with a near approach to disapproval. Judging by externals, theRev. Francis Heath held no very exalted opinion of his hostess.

  "She has done nothing for him," he said to himself. "If obligationexists, it is the other way round," and he proceeded to watch Mrs.Wilder's manner towards her clerical guest with heightening interest.

  Usually she was very sure of herself, more especially so in her ownhouse, and surrounded with the evidences of her husband's official rank.When Mrs. Wilder talked to the poor, insignificant Padre who could be ofno real social assistance to her, she changed her manner, the mannerthat she directed pointedly towards Coryndon, and became quelled andsoftened.

  Mrs. Wilder, propitiatory and diffident, was, Coryndon felt, Mrs. Wildercaught out somehow and somewhere; perhaps on the night of the 29th ofJuly, and as he considered it, Coryndon knew that the shoe was on a muchsmaller foot than Hartley had measured for it, and that the secretunderstanding between Heath and Mrs. Wilder was one-sided in itsbenefits.

  Hartley had recounted the story of the fainting fit as a landmark bywhich he remembered where he was himself, and, adding this fact to whathe observed, Coryndon put Mrs. Wilder on one side and mentally drew ared-ink line under her total. He knew all he needed to know about her,and she had no further interest for his mind. He talked to her husbandwhen once he had satisfied himself definitely, and as dinner wore on theatmosphere became more genial and less strained than when it had begun.

  "By the way," said Wilder carelessly, "was it ever discovered how thatfellow Rydal got clear of the country?"

  He spoke to Hartley, but Heath, who had been talking across the table toCoryndon, lost his place, stumbled and recovered himself withdifficulty, and then lapsed into silence. Hartley had a few things tosay about Rydal, but chief among them was the astounding fact that hehad dodged the police, who were watching the wharves and jetties, and,so far as he knew, the man had never left Mangadone.

  "Do you suppose that he got away disguised?"

  "Impossible," said Hartley, with decision. "He was a big, fairEnglishman with blue eyes. Nothing on earth could have made him lookanything else. It was too risky to attempt that game."

  Mrs. Wilder was not interested in Rydal, and she sprayed Coryndon withlight, pointless conversation, leaving Heath to his meditations for themoment. Hartley would have enjoyed a private talk with his hostessbecause he loved her platonically, and because it was impossible he wasdistrait and jerky, trying to appear cordial towards Heath. It was oneof those evenings that make everyone concerned wonder why they everbegan it, and though Coryndon was of all the invited guests the one whofound least favour in the eyes of his hostess, he was the only one whofelt glad that he had come, and was perfectly convinced that it had beenworth it.

  The Rev. Francis Heath rose early to take his leave; and there was adistinct impression of relief when he had gone.

  "That Padre is like wet blotting-paper," said Wilder, when he came backinto the drawing-room. "No more duty invitations, Clarice, or else waituntil I am out in camp."

  "He is a bore," said Mrs. Wilder, throwing her late guest to the sharkswithout remorse. "But I suppose he can't help it. He may have somethingto worry him." She just indicated her point with a glance at Hartley,who murmured incoherently and became interested in his drink.

  "Parsons are all alike," said Wilder, who fully believed that he statedan obvious fact. "I feel as if I ought to apologize for not going tochurch whenever I meet one."

  "He _is_ a bore," repeated Mrs. Wilder. "But he is finished with for thepresent."

  Coryndon looked up.

  "I suppose one is inclined to mix up a man with his profession, aspeople often mix up nationalities with races, forgetting that they areabsolutely apart. Heath is not my idea of a clergyman."

  "And what is your idea?" asked Mrs. Wilder, with a smile that wasslightly encouraging.

  "A man with less temperament," said Coryndon slowly. "Heath lacks acertain commonplace courage, because he feels things too much. He is notaltogether honest with himself or his congregation, because he has theprotective instinct over-developed. If I had a secret I should feel thatit was perfectly safe with Heath."

  A slow red stain showed itself on Mrs. Wilder's cheek, and she gave ahard, mechanical laugh.

  "Are these the deductions of one evening? No wonder you are a silentman, Mr. Coryndon."

  If Coryndon had been a cross-examining counsel instead of a guest at adinner-party, he would hav
e thanked Mrs. Wilder politely and told herthat she might "step down." As it was, he assured her that he was onlyattracted by certain personalities, and that, usually speaking, he didnot analyse his impressions.

  "He is a bore," said Mrs. Wilder, making the statement for the thirdtime that evening, and thus disposing of Heath definitely.

  "It wasn't up to the usual mark," said Hartley, half-apologetically ashe and Coryndon walked home together. "I felt so awkward about meetingHeath." He paused and looked at Coryndon, longing to put a question tohim, but not wishing to break their agreement as to silence.

  "Tell me about Rydal," said Coryndon in the voice of a man who shifts aconversation adroitly. "I don't remember your having mentioned thecase."

  Hartley had not much to tell. The man had been in a position ofresponsibility in the Mangadone Bank, and Joicey had given informationagainst him the very day he absconded. Rydal was married, and the cruelpart of the story lay in the fact that he had deserted his wife on herdeathbed, fully aware that she was dying.

  "She died the evening he left, or was supposed to have left. At allevents, the evening he disappeared."

  "And the date?"

  Coryndon's eyes were turned on Hartley's face, and he heard him laugh.

  "You'll hardly believe it, but it happened, like everything else, on thetwenty-ninth of July."

  "Can your boy look after me for a few days?" Coryndon asked quietly. "Iwas not able to bring my bearer with me, and I may have to be here for alittle longer than I had expected."

  "Of course he can."

  They walked into the bungalow together, and it surprised and distressedHartley to see how white and weary the face of his friend showed underthe hanging lamp.

  "I ought not to have dragged you out," he said remorsefully.

  "I am very glad you did."

  There was so much sincerity in Coryndon's tone that Hartley wassatisfied, and he saw him into his room before he went off, whistling tohis dog and calling out a cheery "Good night."