The Lion's Den

by Philip McCutchan

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I said, buggery. To be sure, it’s horrible enough — and I’m not a bloody maiden aunt, Lakenham — but I suppose it could have been dealt with internally — no damn fuss. But murder! Now, that’s different. Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, indeed it is, sir.’

  Fettleworth blew out his breath through set teeth. He was thinking that in a personal sense all his efforts with the Civilians had been in vain. Even if he did bring off his aim of a peaceful solution to the current dispute, even if he did advance the ‘forward policy’ initiated by Lord Lytton in the seventies and eighties, it could prove an achievement all too easily over-shadowed by such a scandal as he now envisaged. And the Civilians might retract anyway...but reflection, just a moment’s sane thought, told Fettleworth that this was going too far. They would not do that; but undoubtedly it would be far, far better if they were to hear nothing of this affair. Nothing at all!

  ‘It’s got to be kept quiet,’ Fettleworth said. ‘D’you hear me, Lakenham? It’s got to be kept quiet!’

  ‘That’s easier said than done, sir.’

  ‘It’s not impossible. Let us take stock: who knows of this so far? Taggart-Blane himself, Captain Ogilvie, the two natives — Lal Binodinand and Bandra Negi. The 114th’s Medical Officer. Gilmour, no doubt, but he’s dead — but possibly the daughter knows. You and I.’

  ‘A lengthy enough list, is it not?’

  ‘I believe they can all be silenced. The havildar, Lal Binodinand, the man currently to be accused — he may die, though there’s the doctor’s report that indicates he’s pulling through. An act of God may yet occur in that direction! I cannot help but pray that this may be so.’ Fettleworth, on the prowl around his study still, halted and stared bleakly at Lakenham. ‘I said they could all be silenced. Frankly, I’m not so sure in Ogilvie’s case.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘There’s something about that young man...more than a trace of his father. Something else as well...I don’t know! Too damn serious, takes things too much to heart, I believe.’

  ‘A young man of, perhaps, little humour?’

  ‘Possibly — though there’s no damn humour in this situation, Lakenham! Obstinacy — that’s it! Obstinacy, and a damned Scottish pride in — in seeing justice done, a kind of damn Bible-thumping Presbyterianism...oh, the simile’s not exact, I know, but you understand what I’m getting at, don’t you?’ Without waiting for an answer he went on, ‘Well, what do we do, Lakenham? How do we ensure silence from all concerned?’

  ‘I suppose you could always give an order to that effect, but to do so would hold...certain obvious dangers.’

  Fettleworth understood. He nodded. ‘I could scarcely do that, but there must be other ways.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, sir, but all equally dangerous in my opinion.’

  ‘Oh? I’ll thank you to elaborate on that, Lakenham?’

  ‘Surely it’s obvious, sir? As you yourself said, this is a case of murder. It is not a case of...let us say, some infringement of orders or of propriety, or of any simple act of misconduct. If we now indulge in any jiggery-pokery—’

  ‘I have not suggested jiggery-pokery!’

  ‘No, sir,’ Lakenham agreed diplomatically. ‘Not in so many words. But please allow me to continue. Any — er — improper handling of this, will be only too likely to bring us into conflict with the civil law and the civil power. Need I add the obvious —murder is not a military crime alone!’

  ‘You sound like a damn barrack-room lawyer to me,’ Fettleworth said in an aggrieved tone.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m simply putting the facts before you, sir, as it is my duty to do. There is another aspect which you must consider, too. In spite of all we’ve been saying, sir, we have as yet no evidence before us. Why, there has not yet even been a formal charge made! The plain fact is, and this is the only fact, a havildar is in arrest on a charge yet to be formulated, even though the nature the charge will take is plain enough. We must consider innocence, sir, as well as guilt.’ Lakenham lifted a hand and pointed a finger at the General, solemnly. ‘You and I, sir, must not act as a jury. To ensure a decent silence will not only be dangerous, but will also be unjust to whichever man is innocent of the deed—’

  ‘Why? Why — if there is silence? If there is silence, who is to know what has happened?’

  Lakenham shook his head. The time for total silence is past, sir. Not even you can ensure it now! Much of this is bound to...by God, murder has been committed! You must act fairly, sir.’

  Fettleworth threw up his hands. ‘Another damned Ogilvie! ‘ he said with extreme bitterness. ‘God help us all! I’ve too much on my mind, Lakenham. It’s too, bad that this should happen whilst I’m in the middle of ensuring peace along the blasted Frontier!’ He sat down at his desk with a thump. ‘I must have time — time, d’you hear? Can’t you find a formula for procrastination?’

  Lakenham said, ‘Very easily, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It would be perfectly proper to await the return of the officer, whichever he may be, who would normally act as prosecutor in the first instance. I refer, of course, to the Colonels of the regiments concerned — Lord Dornoch, and Rigby-Smith.’

  ‘Good God, yes!’

  ‘It would be very proper to delay matters until they are back in cantonments. In the meantime, I would advise that Division stays out of the whole matter. Hand this over to Brigade, sir, and suggest that for the time being Lal Binodinand remains formally in arrest whilst in hospital. I would also suggest, sir, that a reasonable discretion be permitted Captain Ogilvie, to talk in private with Taggart-Blane.’

  ‘To act as a spy, Lakenham?’

  ‘No, sir. He could not be asked to do that, nor, I think, would he do it. In any case, I doubt if evidence obtained that way would impress a Court Martial. My suggestion is that he simply talks generally to Taggart-Blane, and points out that an officer and a gentlemen has a duty to protect the good name of his regiment. That is all.’ He paused, meaningly. ‘I think you understand, sir, do you not?’

  Fettleworth stared back at him, a vein pumping away in his temple. ‘By God,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, I do. A touch of genius, Lakenham! It could be the answer!’

  *

  Katharine Gilmour went to see Ogilvie in his sickroom, once he had emerged from an exhausted, almost paralytic sleep. She was looking pale and drawn but made light of her own condition, asking with obvious concern about himself.

  ‘There’s no need to worry about me,’ Ogilvie assured her. ‘I’m mending fast. What’s going to happen to you, Katharine?’

  ‘I’m going to friends in Murree,’ she said, taking a chair by his bedside at his bidding. ‘General Fettleworth’s made the arrangements, and — and I suppose I’m grateful, for I’ve nowhere else to go.’ He saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes as she went on quietly, ‘Mother and Father were buried this morning, James. There was full ceremonial...I hated all that, I simply can’t tell you, but of course it was the proper thing in Father’s case.’

  ‘And your mother’s. She was as much on duty as your father.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. And — I’m glad now it was in British territory. She would have been pleased to know...and it was all your doing, James. I — I came to say thank you, as well as good-bye.’

  He shook his head. ‘Never mind the thanks, I’m glad to have helped in any way I could, Katharine. And it won’t be good-bye really...will it?’

  She smiled. ‘Your parents are in Murree, aren’t they? I expect we’ll meet.’

  He said, ‘I’ll make a point of that, just as soon as I get leave. Please don’t be in a hurry to leave India, Katharine — though I know you can’t wait to see England again!’

  ‘It pulls me, I’ll admit, but...’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘Go on, Katharine?’

  ‘Oh...it was nothing. No, I’ll not be in too great a hurry.’

  She got to her feet. ‘They told me I must not stay long. Goo
d-bye, James, and...thank you again.’ She held out a slim hand.

  ‘Good-bye, Katharine.’ He held the hand rather longer than was strictly decorous. After she had gone, his room seemed twice as lonely as it had before. As he heard her feet tapping quickly along the corridor outside, his mind flicked, like a cinematograph, to Mary Archdale. He was unsure of his feelings, of the wisdom of his commitments. All that his uncle had said in Scotland came back to him. Of one thing at least he could be very sure: the Ogilvie family would warmly approve a friendship with the daughter of the late Resident in Kunarja, especially one so fresh, so virginal, so unspotted by gossip as Katharine Gilmour! But time alone could tell now which way his heart would take him; he believed he would meet with a response from Katharine, at all events. But there was still Mary; and he was in a turmoil as he lay in his bed, knowing that he must not allow himself to be swayed in any one direction, or against another, by such considerations as his uncle had propounded. Equally he must be sure that pride, and a feeling that he should not be subjected to family pressures, did not head him away from the quarter in which already he knew himself to be projecting.

  Within the next couple of days he was up and about though under doctor’s orders to take things easily. His first act was to visit Havildar Lal Binodinand in the military hospital. Curtly, he dismissed the armed sentry standing by the bed. The man retired, still watchful, to a discreet distance.

  Ogilvie sat down.

  ‘How are you, Lal Binodinand?’ he asked.

  ‘Sahib, in my body I am better. The Doctor Sahib says that I improve daily.’

  ‘And in your mind?’

  A shadow passed across the man’s dark brown eyes and the lips trembled. ‘In my mind I am confused and sad, Sahib. I am a havildar of the 99th Rawalpindis, not a low caste criminal. I did not do this thing. I have never killed a sleeping man — nor any man save in war. I would not stoop to such a deed.’

  ‘Yet circumstances point to your guilt, Lal Binodinand.’

  ‘Sahib, I am not guilty, I swear it on my honour as a soldier of the Raj.’ Sweat, Ogilvie saw, was pouring down the man’s forehead, running into the heavy beard. The eyes, liquid eyes, were beseeching. This looked very much like innocence to Ogilvie, who was already predisposed towards a disbelief in Taggart-Blane’s protestations and who indeed felt in retrospect that the finger of circumstance had pointed more precisely at the British officer than at the native havildar. He was very deeply troubled; his own order had put this man in arrest — at the time he had seen this as a correct and inevitable action. It was also to some extent an irrevocable action, since to secure his release Lal Binodinand must now face charges and prove his innocence. In the absence of someone else to be put in arrest in his place, he could scarcely be set free now.

  Ogilvie asked in a low voice. ‘Do you know of any other man who could have done this terrible thing, Lal Binodinand?’

  ‘No, Sahib, I do not.’

  ‘If you did, if you had suspicions, you would tell me?’

  ‘I would tell you, Sahib.’

  ‘You are not, perhaps, shielding anyone? You are under no duress?’

  ‘No, Sahib.’

  Ogilvie got to his feet. ‘Do not worry, Lal Binodinand. You will receive justice from the British Raj.’

  ‘This I know, Sahib. It is my rock and my strength.’

  Ogilvie found a lump coming into his throat. He reached out and took the havildar’s hand, giving it a firm and friendly clasp, and then, without further words, turned away and beckoned the sentry back to his post. He left the hospital, his face hard and his mind more than ever troubled. Arriving in the 114th’s Mess, which by tacit agreement he and Taggart-Blane were using in preference to that of the sepoy regiment despite their continuing secondment, he was given a message by an orderly: his attendance was required forthwith at Brigade. He was to report personally to a Colonel Wilkinson, acting Brigade Commander in the absence in Calcutta of the Brigadier-General. He had some acquaintance with Wilkinson, a friendly enough officer who had himself lately commanded a native regiment of the Indian Army.

  Colonel Wilkinson got to his feet when Ogilvie was shown into his office. He was a short man, and spare, with sharp, bright eyes in which lurked more than a trace of humour.

  ‘Sit down, Ogilvie, I’ll not keep you long.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Ogilvie sat in a chair drawn up to face the desk. ‘I’ve all the time in the world just now.’

  ‘How’re you shaping?’

  ‘I’m fit now, sir.’

  ‘Good.’ Wilkinson rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘Ogilvie, I’ll come straight to the point. It’s about this unpleasant business in the Khyber, the report of which reached Division before it reached me.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry about that, but the General—’

  ‘Oh, forget it. Now, you’ll understand that in a sense I’m acting in the room of your Colonel. Until he returns, the matter must largely rest, but there are certain details of procedure to be gone into.’ He paused. ‘You realise, of course, that none of this is to be talked about outside this office?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right. Well now, I’ve been contacted by Division. There’s a little ambiguity in the air, I fear, but that’s my worry, not yours. Also, I’m not too sure that correct procedures have been followed so far — by Division, that is — though I have to assume that Division, like God, is incapable of sin. Besides, there are many aspects of unorthodoxy about this whole affair. I don’t think — indeed I know — I’ve never come up against anything quite of this nature in all my service. I refer to the apparent involvement of Mr. Taggart-Blane. Such a thing whilst on the march staggers the mind and makes the imagination boggle! What’s your opinion of Taggart-Blane? As a man, I mean, not simply as an officer?’

  Ogilvie hesitated. ‘Should I answer that, sir? I mean—’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean, and you have my assurance that this interview is entirely off the record. Please give me your answer. It will help us a great deal.’

  Ogilvie took a deep breath. ‘In my opinion, he’s...a little effeminate.’

  ‘But there was nothing effeminate about his getting through with that despatch.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then...Wilkinson pushed things about on his desk. ‘Perhaps it isn’t effeminate you mean, Ogilvie. Let me help you out. In broad terms, the word effeminate means womanly — womanish I should say, rather — unmanly. Such a person would I think be unlikely to stand up to the rigours of your march from Kunarja and then proceed successfully, alone but for a guide, from the point of ambush to Peshawar. On the other hand, men of a certain propensity have often been known to act heroically, and to be excellent soldiers and officers.’ He looked straight into Ogilvie’s eyes. ‘Now: would you have said Taggart-Blane was a homosexual? I mean, of course, before the alleged act of buggery?’

  Ogilvie said, ‘Yes, I had that feeling, sir, though I detest saying this of a brother officer.’

  ‘Something in his manner — that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Nothing more precise than that.’

  ‘But if it were true, then you can see the implications? You can see a possible motive for murder, if his propensities suggest to a court that it was likely the act of buggery had indeed taken place?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I can. I did in fact suggest as much to General Fettleworth, but he seemed not to take it in—’

  ‘No indeed — at the time. Now I’ll tell you something else I know, and which you don’t, Ogilvie. Taggart-Blane has virtually told General Fettleworth that he killed a man.’

  Ogilvie started. ‘He said that? Taggart-Blane said that?’

  Wilkinson told him the details, adding, ‘Of course, this can scarcely in legal terms be held to constitute a confession, but nevertheless it’s a pointer, don’t you think?’ He paused. ‘Tell me, Ogilvie: do you think Taggart-Blane killed that sepoy, or do you not?’

  Ogilvie met his eye. He s
aid squarely, ‘I have that impression, sir — now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘It was in my mind earlier.’

  ‘Then why did you arrest the havildar, Lal Binodinand?’

  Ogilvie hesitated. ‘There were circumstances of guilt...and we were on the march in filthy and dangerous conditions of weather and likely attack — my mind was very full of that. Possibly I acted hastily.’

  ‘Or perhaps you were, even unconsciously, acting to safeguard the good name of your regiment? I’m not making an accusation — it’s a fine thing in any officer that he shows consideration for his regiment. But in a case of murder...’ He shrugged.

  ‘I admit my regiment was in my mind, sir, but I don’t believe that would have caused me to — to—’

  ‘Commit a miscarriage of justice? Well, possibly it’s no miscarriage at all. I suppose only a Court Martial can decide that. Or a man’s own conscience.’

  ‘It is on my conscience, sir, I’ll admit, but—’

  ‘No, no, not your conscience, Ogilvie Taggart-Blane’s conscience.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come, now! You’re not grass-green, Ogilvie. A man’s conscience can get to work on him, can it not? He can be made to see the importance of keeping the regiment’s honour intact, of safeguarding, as you tried to safeguard, the good name of Her Majesty’s service. That’s of tremendous importance out here on the Frontier, Ogilvie.’

  ‘I still don’t quite see, sir—’

  ‘Then I’ll be more explicit. Ogilvie, I have an idea Division doesn’t want a Court Martial of either Taggart-Blane or Lal Binodinand. I also have an idea they don’t want it because of Taggart-Blane’s improper involvement with Mulata Din and because of his apparent homosexuality — not because they doubt his guilt. And I have no doubt that Taggart-Blane is in danger, if the General should find himself forced to bring him before a Court Martial, of being found guilty. There is the fact of the thrown-away revolver, just to mention one thing only. If found guilty, he will of course hang. He’ll first be dismissed from the Queen’s service with disgrace, and stripped of his rank, and then he will be hanged in the civil jail at Nowshera. The implication for the Army will be terrible, really terrible! He must be made to see this. I am asking you to put it to him, Ogilvie.’ Wilkinson paused. ‘You see, if he is guilty, there is a better way of settling this than with a Court Martial and an execution.’