The Moon Endureth: Tales and Fancies

by John Buchan

  II

  A LUCID INTERVAL

  To adopt the opening words of a more famous tale, "The truth of thisstrange matter is what the world has long been looking for." Theevents which I propose to chronicle were known to perhaps a hundredpeople in London whose fate brings them into contact with politics.The consequences were apparent to all the world, and for one hecticfortnight tinged the soberest newspapers with saffron, drove more thanone worthy election agent to an asylum, and sent whole batches oflegislators to Continental cures. "But no reasonable explanation ofthe mystery has been forthcoming until now, when a series of chancesgave the key into my hands."

  Lady Caerlaverock is my aunt, and I was present at the two remarkabledinner-parties which form the main events in this tale. I was alsotaken into her confidence during the terrible fortnight whichintervened between them. Like everybody else, I was hopelessly in thedark, and could only accept what happened as a divine interposition.My first clue came when James, the Caerlaverocks' second footman,entered my service as valet, and being a cheerful youth chose to gossipwhile he shaved me. I checked him, but he babbled on, and I could notchoose but learn something about the disposition of the Caerlaverockhousehold below stairs. I learned--what I knew before--that hislordship had an inordinate love for curries, a taste acquired duringsome troubled years as Indian Viceroy. I had often eaten thatadmirable dish at his table, and had heard him boast of the skill ofthe Indian cook who prepared it. James, it appeared, did not hold withthe Orient in the kitchen. He described the said Indian gentleman as a"nigger," and expressed profound distrust of his ways. He referreddarkly to the events of the year before, which in some distorted wayhad reached the servants' ears. "We always thought as 'ow it was themniggers as done it," he declared; and when I questioned him on his useof the plural, admitted that at the time in question "there 'ad beenmore nor one nigger 'anging about the kitchen."

  Pondering on these sayings, I asked myself if it were not possible thatthe behaviour of certain eminent statesmen was due to some strangedevilry of the East, and I made a vow to abstain in future from theCaerlaverock curries. But last month my brother returned from India,and I got the whole truth. He was staying with me in Scotland, and inthe smoking-room the talk turned on occultism in the East. I declaredmyself a sceptic, and George was stirred. He asked me rudely what Iknew about it, and proceeded to make a startling confession of faith.He was cross-examined by the others, and retorted with some of hisexperiences. Finding an incredulous audience, his tales became moredefiant, until he capped them all with one monstrous yarn. Hemaintained that in a Hindu family of his acquaintance there had beentransmitted the secret of a drug, capable of altering a man's wholetemperament until the antidote was administered. It would turn acoward into a bravo, a miser into a spendthrift, a rake into a fakir.Then, having delivered his manifesto he got up abruptly and went to bed.

  I followed him to his room, for something in the story had revived amemory. By dint of much persuasion I dragged from the somnolent Georgevarious details. The family in question were Beharis, largelandholders dwelling near the Nepal border. He had known old Ram Singhfor years, and had seen him twice since his return from England. Hegot the story from him under no promise of secrecy, for the family drugwas as well known in the neighbourhood as the nine incarnations ofKrishna. He had no doubt about the truth of it, for he had positiveproof. "And others besides me," said George. "Do you remember whenVennard had a lucid interval a couple of years ago and talked sense foronce? That was old Ram Singh's doing, for he told me about it."

  Three years ago it seems the Government of India saw fit to appoint acommission to inquire into land tenure on the Nepal border. Some ofthe feudal Rajahs had been "birsing yont," like the Breadalbanes, andthe smaller zemindars were gravely disquieted. The result of thecommission was that Ram Singh had his boundaries rectified, and lost amile or two of country which his hard-fisted fathers had won.

  I know nothing of the rights of the matter, but there can be no doubtabout Ram Singh's dissatisfaction. He appealed to the law courts, butfailed to upset the commission's finding, and the Privy Council upheldthe Indian judgment. Thereupon in a flowery and eloquent document helaid his case before the Viceroy, and was told that the matter wasclosed. Now Ram Singh came of a fighting stock, so he straightway tookship to England to petition the Crown. He petitioned Parliament, buthis petition went into the bag behind the Speaker's chair, from whichthere is no return. He petitioned the King, but was courteouslyinformed that he must approach the Department concerned. He tried theSecretary of State for India, and had an interview with AbingerVennard, who was very rude to him, and succeeded in mortally insultingthe feudal aristocrat. He appealed to the Prime Minister, and waswarned off by a harassed private secretary. The handful of members ofParliament who make Indian grievances their stock-in-trade fought shyof him, for indeed Ram Singh's case had no sort of platform appeal init, and his arguments were flagrantly undemocratic. But they sent himto Lord Caerlaverock, for the ex-viceroy loved to be treated as a kindof consul-general for India. But this Protector of the Poor proved abroken reed. He told Ram Singh flatly that he was a belated feudalist,which was true; and implied that he was a land-grabber, which was nottrue, Ram Singh having only enjoyed the fruits of his fore-bears'enterprise. Deeply incensed, the appellant shook the dust ofCaerlaverock House from his feet, and sat down to plan a revenge uponthe Government which had wronged him. And in his wrath he thought ofthe heirloom of his house, the drug which could change men's souls.

  It happened that Lord Caerlaverock cook's came from the sameneighbourhood as Ram Singh. This cook, Lal Muhammad by name, was oneof a large poor family, hangers-on of Ram Singh's house. The aggrievedlandowner summoned him, and demanded as of right his humble services.Lal Muhammad, who found his berth to his liking, hesitated, quibbled,but was finally overborne. He suggested a fee for his services, buthastily withdrew when Ram Singh sketched a few of the steps he proposedto take on his return by way of punishing Lal Muhammad's insolence onLal Muhammad's household. Then he got to business. There was a greatdinner next week--so he had learned from Jephson, the butler--and morethan one member of the Government would honour Caerlaverock House byhis presence. With deference he suggested this as a fitting occasionfor the experiment, and Ram Singh was pleased to assent.

  I can picture these two holding their meetings in the South Kensingtonlodgings where Ram Singh dwelt. We know from James, the secondfootman, that they met also at Caerlaverock House, no doubt that RamSingh might make certain that his orders were duly obeyed. I can seethe little packet of clear grains--I picture them like small granulatedsugar--added to the condiments, and soon dissolved out of sight. Thedeed was done; the cook returned to Bloomsbury and Ram Singh toGloucester Road, to await with the patient certainty of the East theconsummation of a great vengeance.