by Talbot Mundy
“No,” she said, over the top of the handkerchief, “I suspect you don’t!”
“But Chullunder Ghose tells me you do,” he retorted. “He says you know the Gnani personally. Do you?”
She nodded. She was pressing her lips with the handkerchief.
“Fine!” said John Duncannon. He leaned back in the chair instead of sitting forward with his hands on his knees as he had been doing. “Now of course,” he went on, “there isn’t any reason why you should help me. A business arrangement is probably out of the question, although that would be perfectly satisfactory to me, provided you felt that way about it. What I want is business with the Gnani and I need your influence.”
“What do you suggest you might do?” Mrs. Bisbee asked, with a long pause about midway of the sentence, where she gulped a chuckle.
“I notice you’re laughing,” he answered quietly, “I’ll laugh with you, if you’ll explain the joke. I suppose a foreigner in India does make amusing breaks. The point is, I’ve been frank with you; you might be frank with me, if you feel you’d care to.”
“Yes,” she said, “I will answer frankly. If you had come without Chullunder Ghose I would have had the butler show you the door! You’ve made me an outrageous proposition! Do you know, for instance, that I’m the wife of a responsible official? And that the Gnani of Erinpura is a reverend and very honorable gentleman, whose reputation for wisdom entitles him to the same sort of respect that people pay to the Archbishop of Canterbury?
“Do you know that if you had forced your way into the Vatican you couldn’t have done anything more outrageous than you did at Erinpura? Do you realise that if the Gnani had cared to complain about you to the government, you could have been fined and imprisoned, and possibly deported after you had served your sentence? I will tell you something else: Unless the Gnani had issued extremely definite orders that nobody was to do you any injury, you would have been dead some days ago! There are thousands of people who regard your trespass into that temple as sacrilege and a deliberate insult. They would think it a duty to murder you, unless the Gnani had gone out of his way expressly to forbid them!”
“It seems I put my foot in it,” Duncannon answered. “But there’s always a right thing to do. What is it?”
“Smoke and I’ll send for drinks,” said Mrs. Bisbee. “Chullunder Ghose would never have brought you here unless you were all right. Have you told me all or is there something up your sleeve?”
She reached for a box of cigarets beside her chair and clapped hands for the butler, who came with a bowl of ice and set drinks on the table. Chullunder Ghose accepted whisky and soda and the three sipped silently until the butler was out of hearing.
“Yes, I’ve something up my sleeve,” Duncannon said then.
“Do you mean you think you’ve kept a secret from Chullunder Ghose?” asked Mrs. Bisbee.
“Perhaps he has told you what he thinks he knows already,” he retorted.
“On my oath he hasn’t!” Mrs. Bisbee answered, knocking ash from her cigarette. “He didn’t even warn me you were coming.”
Deborah had no compunctions about listening. It was up to Mrs. Bisbee, who was hostess and could easily steer the conversation into other channels if she saw fit. John Duncannon had come uninvited. Nobody had asked him to divulge his secrets.
“How far may I confide in you?” Duncannon asked.
“Just as far as you like to,” said Mrs. Bisbee. “I’m the wife of a British official. I guarantee nothing. I don’t even guarantee you won’t be overheard.”
Chullunder Ghose, with moonlight on his face, looked straight at the window where Deborah sat in the impenetrable shadow of the curtains. He raised his glass as if he were drinking a toast to some one.
“Verb. sap.!” he remarked sententiously and, setting the glass down, scratched his stomach.
“I think I’ll let Chullunder Ghose tell what he thinks he knows,” Duncannon said. “Then I’ll see whether I care to add to it.”
He lighted a cigarette, but declined a second drink.
“Am quintessentially essence of discretion,” said the babu. “Not being principal, must deferentially say nothing unless otherwise commanded.”
“Talk, confound you!” Duncannon growled at him.
“Am confoundedly obedient. This sahib, on strength of photographic copies of report and journal written by a certain Abercrombie sahib, Scotchman, tigerwise deceased — said copies being sold to Turner Sons and Company of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, by Ullagaddi Hiralal, alleged reputed swami now in prison — seeks oil in Rajputana. Being guided by four-dimensional ignorance of all things beyond range of parish pump of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, this sahib wisely has retained this babu’s services, who, by process of induction and deduction fifty-fifty, foresaw difficulties. Thus:
“Existence of oil is not proven. Nevertheless, fact that Abercrombie sahib was eliminated by tiger indicates to this babu that, possibly, said Abercrombie sahib may have ventured in where angels fear to tread and having learned what it was not intended he should know, may have been sent to teach the angels rashness. If so, same being case, who is lord of tigers hereabouts? The holy Gnani! Furthermore, the following is not to be denied, except by scientists:
“Said Gnani, very holy person, age and antecedents unknown, contemplating human beings in abstract, which is very concrete business, made intimate experience of tigers for purpose of analysis of tragedy of human mind. Theory being doubtless that, just as arithmetic is easier than calculus, simple ferocity is first step toward understanding of complicated ditto.
“And, notoriously, it is matter of common knowledge, said most benevolent Gnani in the course of his zoological experiments acquired much mastery over tigers, and applying same, has even reduced to some extent on rare occasions the ferocity of human beings.
“But — and as lawyers remark, this is essence of contract — influence is mental. Consequently self-control by Gnani has highly important bearing on case, just as surgeon using implements of precision among vitals of heart-diseased patient must not sneeze. If surgeon has irritation of nostril-membrane, so much the worse for patient. Same way — angry Gnani, angry tiger. Angry tiger, no more self-control than sharp-edged instrument. Both kill — different method, that’s all. Surgeon, trying to save life, slays, pockets fee notwithstanding, unless bowels of compassion caused him to perform for charity, in which case four or five students are the richer for an interesting corpse. Gnani, seeking to eliminate crudest elements of human ferocity, loses momentary control of tiger and thus causes a ferocious death. Galloway sahib goes forth with rifle, slays tiger — and there we are again! More death! Sum total of ferocity increased, and big new tiger-skin in taxidermist’s window, London, England, where it may suggest tigerishness to people tamed by corsets and false teeth but made ferocious by indigestion!
“All very discouraging, but generalities are dangerous. Let us be particular. Gnani is human individual, possessing spleen, bile, liver and customary assortment of functional organs. Consequently has a conscience, troublesome and no known use but, unlike vermiform appendix, not amenable to surgery. Verb. sap. Conscience procreates regret, since like begets like and nothing in the universe is non-creative, although many things created are no more use than jazz-time music. Nevertheless, we get somewhere. Benevolent Gnani is very sorry, which is open door to uncompunctious people.
“Personally have no compunctions. None whatever. Am purely hedonistic pragmatist with opportunist leanings. Marveling at beauty of Gnani’s idealism, this babu would nevertheless, make use of him as Izaak Walton recommended using frogs, as if you loved them, but for purposes of catching fish, oil being fish in this instance.
“Consequently, guessing processes of Gnani’s mind, and being good guesser from necessity of feeding a politically minded wife and progeny who think this babu is a milch-cow having udders full of money, it is evident to me the holy Gnani realizes how one bloody thing has led to another, as per history of human race, and cat is out of bag
at last. Secret of presence of oil in Rajputana in large quantities, if true, can not be kept.
“Consider reverend Gnani’s nature. Very holy person. Why has he kept this secret all these years? For benefit of human race undoubtedly, perceiving that oil would enrich already opulent exploiters of ryotwari groaning under foreign yoke and, alternatively, would increase subjection of said bellyaching and ungrateful malcontents.
“Fat being now in fire, however, what shall benevolent Gnani do? Rig derricks as per California and sell stock by stampede processes to honest farmers seeking millions percent? Gnani is not commercially minded. What then? Notify British authorities and invite them to avail themselves of revenues from which they may reduce taxation? He is too aware of the mentality of governments, which are man-made, man being his own enemy and the nearest enemy being the one that should least be encouraged. He will not increase the British revenues if he can help it.
“Notwithstanding which he will not make difficulties for them either, if it can be prevented, he being very compassionate person capable of pitying even alien tyrants who have bitten off more than they can chew and are trying to look wise and comfortable on horns of inescapable dilemma. Therefore, he will not whisper the remunerative secret into ears of local princes, who are difficult enough to manage as it is.
“What then? What shall do? Very holy man is in predicament. Prefers society of tigers, but is anguished by responsibility to human race. Like man with toothache meeting charlatan, he is in a mood to listen. Self am charlatan. This babu would suggest to benevolent Gnani that if secret were given to tr-r-rillionaire U.S.A. American firm of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, subsequent influx of foreign rapacity might offset other dangers and enrich complaining peasantry a little without strengthening the government.
“No wise man strengthens governments. The stronger they are, the worse they are. And no wise man weakens them too much, because if they are too weak they act desperately. The Gnani knows all about tigers.
“Very well. Let us address ourselves to his benevolence. But how? Since slightly uncommendable encroachment by Duncannon sahib — same being previous to this babu’s engagement — followers of holy Gnani are like nest of hornets stirred with stick. Not pleasant to try to whisper in the Gnani’s ear and none will carry messages, even if one should be fool enough to trust messenger, unless said messenger were this babu.”
“Why don’t you try it?” asked Mrs. Bisbee.
“Memsahib, that is first indiscretion this babu has ever heard from your lips!” the babu answered. “Shall I expose in detail shameful nakedness of past indecencies? Am constitutional moralist, same not including confidence in virtue of confession. When this babu is forced to shuffle off his mortal coil and is brought before Yama for judgment, he will deny everything same as criminal arraigned before district judge. Awful lot of people and sins for the god to remember! Might get off. Never know your luck! But just now very holy Gnani does not approve of this babu. Value received, obligation mutual — am diffident. Point is, very holy Gnani does approve of you, memsahib.”
“What makes you think that, babuji?”
Mrs. Bisbee’s voice was perfectly controlled. Her question gave no hint either of admission or denial. She was amused, that much was evident, but as to what she actually thought about it all there was no guessing.
“O woman!” the babu exclaimed. “Least vain and most practical of sexes! Why prevaricate? This babu knows!”
“Knows what?” she answered; but her voice was less under control. She seemed uneasy, and Duncannon leaned forward in his chair to watch her face.
“Am cautious person — very,” said the babu.
“Blackmail?” she asked. “Are you trying to threaten me, Chullunder Ghose?”
“Being no gentleman in glass jug, throw no stones,” he answered. “Merely hinting at what is known to me. This babu came hither speaking thusly because he knew Memsahib Bisbee—”
“That will do!”
She cut him short abruptly with voice and gesture, and her hand was trembling when she lighted another cigarette, but whether from nervous fear or irritation Deborah could not guess, although she leaned dangerously far through the window trying to read her face.
John Dunannon rose out of his chair looking very fine and manly silhouetted by the moonlight. He was rugged and strong, and had manners that were gentle because of his strength.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said quietly. “If I had thought this babu was going to threaten you I would never have dreamed of coming. Will you please forget the incident? I’ll never mention it again. I’ll thrash the babu when I get outside.”
Deborah wanted to shout to him, “Good boy, John!” but subdued her emotion somehow, breathing through her nose. The babu shrugged his shoulders; he looked Chinese in the moonlight, like an image of the big fat god of affluence. Mrs. Bisbee blew out cigarette smoke, making rings, three, one inside the other.
“Please sit down again,” she said. “It had to come sooner or later. I’m not a coward and I’d rather there were witnesses. Chullunder Ghose is such a realist he’s dangerous, but his merit is that he is honest with himself. He is forcing something to an issue. He wouldn’t have dared to threaten me unless he held the ace of trumps. Do please sit down.”
Duncannon resumed his chair and threw one knee over the other, making no remark. Deborah, behind the window-curtain, held her breath for fear of missing something, but for several minutes not a word was spoken, until the silence became oppressive. One could even catch the whirr of bats’ wings. About a hundred yards away a jackal gnawed at something and the sound of a cracking bone was like a pistol shot. A light breeze sent ripples murmuring along the lake shore, and up on a hilltop more than a mile away a man sang a hymn to Vishnu, but only the high falsetto notes came like a whisper on the wind.
“I see I have to yield,” said Mrs. Bisbee suddenly. Her quiet voice was startling. She spoke with absolute conviction and without emotion, like a chess player who sees mate several moves ahead.
“Where do I come in?” Duncannon asked.
“You came in with the babu,” she answered. “I suppose you’ve promised him a fortune if you find your oil. He is shrewd and you were lucky to strike a bargain with him.”
“I will not be party to blackmail, least of all of a woman,” said Duncannon. “I don’t know your secrets and I don’t want to.”
“No,” she answered, “but Chullunder Ghose does know them, and I know him better than you do. You might go away and wash your hands of it entirely, but that wouldn’t change the situation. You see, Chullunder Ghose knows your secret now. He’s not a bit malicious; he’s simply playing his own hand, and he happens to hold trumps. I have my husband to consider.”
“Better let me thrash the babu. I’ll three parts kill him,” said Duncannon.
“That wouldn’t help,” she answered, “and it wouldn’t be right.”
“Besides, he doesn’t know my secret,” said Duncannon.
Chullunder Ghose swayed slightly as if he were digesting mirth.
“Oh yes he does!” said Mrs. Bisbee. “He would never have forced the issue if he didn’t. I know Chullunder Ghose. And I know when he’s bluffing. He would never have wasted his hold over me if he wasn’t quite sure of a hold over you.”
“Hold over me?” Duncannon stood up again and took a stride toward Chullunder Ghose, who did not move an inch but watched him as if hypnotized. “You damned fat rascal! Hold over me, have you?”
“Map!” said the babu. “Plans! Report by Abercrombie sahib! This babu has all originals. Obtained same five o’clock this afternoon. Your Honor bought two horses dirt cheap at five-fifteen,” he added apropos apparently of nothing.
“You mean you have the originals from which my photographs were taken? Hand them over or I’ll thrash the hide off you!”
“Am experienced person,” said the babu. “Naturally, have secreted plans with view to possible contingencies. They are not your plans. I have perf
ect right to sell them to competitor, who is also tr-r-rillionaire. Better sit down, sahib. Spare memsahib’s feelings.”
“Yes, sit down, Mr. Duncannon. It’s no use,” said Mrs. Bisbee. “It’s as I thought; he has what you Americans call the drop on both of us.”
CHAPTER VIII. In Mrs. Bisbee’s Bungalow
There fell another silence, almost unendurable. The murmer of the trees was like the whispering of spirits of the night. The lapping of the ripples on the shore was laughter at the tragedy of human folly. Now and then the house creaked, as if ghosts were walking in it. Deborah could hardly keep still on the window-seat, and John Duncannon shifted his feet several times, evidently nervous, watching Mrs. Bisbee’s face.
“Yes,” Mrs. Bisbee said at last, “I yield. I must think of my husband.”
John Duncannon coughed behind his hand.
“Look here,” he said gruffly, “I repeat, I’m not in on this.”
“Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Bisbee answered. “Chullunder Ghose and I understand each other perfectly. He is honest. He will stay bought, if I buy him. He has held this over me for three years. It was understood by both of us from the beginning. He paid in advance. It was a bargain.”
“Fifty-fifty!” said the babu, folding his hands on his stomach.
Deborah drew her breath in sharply. To her Mrs. Bisbee’s attitude was utterly incomprehensible. The woman seemed almost to delight in her surrender, almost passionately to insist on it.
“Montaigne was right,” said Mrs. Bisbee. “ ‘I find that the best virtue I have has in it some tincture of vice.’ The Gnani used almost the same words only yesterday. He’ll understand the situation. He’s a Knower. He won’t blame me for what I can’t help.”
“You can help it,” said Duncannon. “I tell you, I won’t have a thing to do with it. I don’t care what the babu knows about you. Tell him to go plumb to hell.”
“He won’t go!” she answered. “If he told what he knew my husband would suffer, and so would a number of innocent people. Besides, I made a bargain. It was quite fair. He could have made a profit by betraying me three years ago. I offered him money but he refused that. He preferred that I should do anything I can for him at any time he demands it and I agreed. I bought his silence. I have had it. I must pay. I will.”