by Talbot Mundy
MOSES LAFAYETTE O’LEARY, with a cigar in his teeth, wearing a clean striped shirt and a snow-white solar topee, strolled along the widest street of the bazaar; it was about fourteen feet wide, lined on either hand by rows of open shops in which bunnias sat cross-legged and admired the gracious ways of God, who brings business to people who wait patiently. True, not too much business; but sufficient, and that is enough, since there are numberless gods and some of them can be bribed to add secretive little profits in secretive little ways that even the police don’t suspect. That is to say they are very ingenious; because the Indian police are adroitly suspicious people, notably observant.
Meanwhile, there was Moses Lafayette O’Leary, very wonderful to see and to admire and very obviously bent on mischief. One might say hell-bent. He was evidently thirsty. For a man of bifurcated ancestry whose roots, like river tributaries, drew fertility of character from Europe on the one hand, and from Asia on the other, he appeared peculiarly innocent, even guileless. He looked like pay-day. Money seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. Consequently, he was an object of suspicion; because all India knows that things are almost never what they seem, and humans absolutely never.
A sacred bull, abominably fat from plundering the sacks of grain in front of the corn-chandlers’ shops, blocked O’Leary’s way. He kicked the brute. It bellowed with rage and plunged into a Cheap Jack shop, upsetting tables and trays. The Cheap Jack and his family abused O’Leary instead of the bull, but O’Leary took no notice of such a trifle as that, beyond tilting the topee a bit further over his right eye. He was using his left eye. He had spotted Noor Mahlam lurking in a doorway, and he knew Noor Mahlam waited for him; he looked as if he had been waiting a long time, exhausting nearly all the philosophy from behind that serenely wrinkled forehead. He was trying to subdue and conceal his relief at the sight of O’Leary. He even tried to appear interested in the devastation brought on by the Brahmini bull. And he deceived Moses O’Leary by not one hair’s breadth. Moses walked straight up to him:
“Wipe your spectacles,” said Moses. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Noor Mahlam began to answer in the vernacular. Moses interrupted:
“Speak English. If you’ve business with me, I don’t want it known all over the bazaar. Where’s that three hundred rupees you promised me?”
“You are too late,” said Noor Mahlam.
“You mean you’ve spent it?”
“That is a foolish question. If I had spent it, I could get more — twice, three times as much.”
“Uh-huh?” said Moses. “What do you mean? You were watching for me. What do you want?”
“Someone has taken a very much bigger bribe than three hundred rupees,” said Noor Mahlam.
“Who has?”
“Someone. You know him.”
“You paid it to him?”
“No. Others paid it to him, and there were witnesses. But an impartial witness, who could testify to having seen the bribe in someone’s tunic pocket, would be worth not three hundred rupees, but three times that much, or even more — say a thousand. That is a lot of money.”
O’Leary grinned: “You show it to me.”
Noor Mahlam blinked behind his spectacles: “You take me for a simpleton? You think I carry fortunes in my pocket, to tempt the bazaar thieves?”
Moses O’Leary spat — a form of eloquence that the diplomats at Geneva might do well to cultivate; he meant so much, but said so little. He implied, as Noor Mahlam perfectly understood, that he had noticed a change of attitude. At their first interview, at the camp, Noor Mahlam had addressed him as “sir” and “sahib.” The omissions of those titles of so-to-speak respect created a diplomatic situation that Moses O’Leary understood perfectly how to handle:
“Terms for witness,” said O’Leary, “are cash in advance.”
Noor Mahlam blinked again. “If you will come with me—”
“I won’t,” said O’Leary. “I’m an easy man to deal with. Here, now, or never.”
Noor Mahlam’s attitude changed subtly. His almost invisible mouth grimaced into a smile behind the hair that usually masked revelation: “Ah, sahib! If it were only you that we must deal with. You we could count on. You we could trust. Your intelligence is such that we could safely pay you in advance and confidently count upon your testimony.”
“You can cut the fat off the ham,” said Moses. “Trot out the meat. What do you want that’s worth a thousand rupees of anybody’s money? It ain’t your money.”
“Sahib, a certain lady saw a certain person drop from his pocket a packet containing diamonds of great value.”
“No one else can hear what you’re saying. When? Where?”
“I was not told the exact hour. It was seen by a spy and reported instantly to certain persons.”
“Brahmins?”
“Certain persons. It happened at the threshold of the palace guesthouse verandah.”
“Are you inviting me to shove my head into the jaws o’ Mrs. Harding? D’you think I’m crazy?”
“No, sahib. I well know your reputation for intelligence and that is why I ask you to accompany me to—”
“I won’t. I’ve other business. And I won’t go any nearer that old Mrs. Harding than I can throw a stone. I’ve heard all about her. Anyone who goes near her is asking for the wrong kind o’ trouble.”
“But sahib, it is not Mrs. Harding. It is Miss Harding who saw the bribe fall from a certain officer’s tunic pocket.”
“Easy!” said O’Leary. “Easy. Now I get you! You and I can do business. You’re a sensible man. The blokes who selected you to proposition me picked a winner, they did. Sure. You pay me a thousand rupees; and all I’ve got to do is to get a haircut and borrow an officer’s uniform, and go and make love to the gal. That’s simple. She’ll fall head over heels in love with me as sure as my name’s Moses. Then all I’ve got to do is teach the lady how to get a British officer in trouble. Oh, it’s crafty! Come on, hand over your thousand rupees.”
“But, sahib, listen to me.”
“No. My ears are too full o’ your wisdom. They won’t hold any more. D’you notice the toe o’ my boot? It’s just been cobbled. It’s hard. It’s going to land fight in your stomach if you waste any more o’ my time. Who’s that bloke watching you?”
Noor Mahlam turned, stared, blinked and shook his head:
“I don’t know who he is,” he answered. “But I have been told that it is very dangerous to know too much and to refuse generous offers of payment for a very simple little thing that a man of your talents can easily do.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Invent an excuse to speak to Miss Lynn Harding. Tell her that a reward has been offered for a lost packet of diamonds, which are said to have been dropped by someone near the palace guesthouse verandah. Should you say it subtly, she will answer innocently. She will tell you what she saw. If you should take a witness with you—”
“Sergeant Stoddart, for instance?”
“Yes, the sergeant would do perfectly. Then there would be two reliable witnesses to what she said, and she would not retract. There would be a thousand rupees for you.”
“And Captain Norwood?”
“That will be his business. It is unfortunate but—”
“I’m a halfbreed, I am,” Moses answered, “and I’m a sinner, if you know what that means. It costs me a heap o’ money to keep out o’ hell. I could use that thousand rupees. But I’d rather go to hell for pulling out your tongue by the roots than for framing my officer. He has his faults, but he’s a gentleman and I’ve kep’ him out o’ trouble for thirteen years. Go and tell that to the Brahmins. Scram!”
Noor Mahlam smiled again. “There are means,” he remarked, “for compelling silence.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Moses. “You signal that bloke in the red turban, and he sticks a knife in my back. I’ll give him the signal and let’s see what happens. Here goes!”
Somewhere Moses had learned soc
cer, and learned it well. His right toe landed accurately on the bulge of Noor Mahlam’s belly and almost buried itself. Moses’ right fist moved eight inches like a piston. A hook to the jaw staggered Noor Mahlam backwards into a dark doorway, where he lay writhing. There was no need to waste any more attention on Noor Mahlam. But the man in a red turban, who had been watching the conversation, made a signal. A constable, who had been loitering through the bazaar, abruptly turned his back and walked away. The man in the red turban rushed at Moses, not showing his knife until he was almost within stabbing distance. But his tempo was wrong. Perhaps he never learned soccer. Certainly he had never learned boxing; he carried his chin much too far forward. It was an absolutely perfect target for Moses’ toe, which very nearly broke from the impact. The man in the red turban dropped without a groan, motionless, stunned. Moses picked up his knife, wiped it carefully, smelt the blade and ran his thumb gently along the edge. A very dirty looking person in a huge soiled white turban and ragged clothing emerged from a doorway and grinned at Moses. Moses handed him the knife: “Khabardar hona! Zahr! — Watch out. That thing’s poisoned. I can smell it. See here now: I’m off to the cock-fights — after that, a woman — I don’t know yet which woman, but she’ll be a tiger-cat, so stand by. There’ll be others laying for me. Use that knife if you have to. I’ve got to dig to the bottom of this.”
“Atcha, sahib.” —
“Talk English, if you have to speak to me. And now scram, and watch out for my boot. I’m going to kid ’em you’re my enemy.”
Moses’ toe missed the undercover man by a tenth of an inch as he fled. Moses lighted a cigar. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and resumed his stroll toward a house where gamblers wagered fortunes on the trained ferocity of fighting-cocks — and gossip, unlike legend, dealt with details of each graceless moment as it threaded through the thoughts of men.
Chapter Eighteen
NORWOOD cantered from the Residency toward the guesthouse; to have galloped would have been a bit too noticeable. Even so, he was delayed, near the end of the street that leads toward the teeming section of the city. Moses O’Leary stood there watching for him. He looked filthy, and at least partially drunk. But he made signals. It was almost never wise to ignore O’Leary’s signals. Norwood drew rein.
“Hssst!” said O’Leary. “I’ve news!”
“Quick.”
“It ain’t good news.”
“Out with it.”
“It’s all over the bloody bazaar that you’ve taken a bribe from the priests. Say it ain’t true!”
“What did you say?”
“I said what I’ve told the priest any number o’ times: ‘I’m a bad man, I am. There’s almost nothing I ain’t guilty of, one time or another. But I’ve this to my credit. I’m the wet and dry nurse to a gentleman.’ That’s what I said.”
“What do you mean by all over the bazaar? Who told you?”
“All the gamblers know it.”
“Hold your tongue. Go straight back to the camp. Wait there for me.”
“But I’ve more news — worse than that news.”
“Keep it. Do as I told you. Hold your tongue. Return to camp and wait for me.”
Norwood’s air of calm authority deserted him as he cantered forward. O’Leary was a drunkard and an impudent rogue, but a very dependable spy. He had learned he could bet on O’Leary’s information. Even his horse seemed to notice the anger and other emotions that boiled in Norwood’s veins. The horse shied. It kicked out savagely. However, that gave Norwood something else to think about. He had resumed his normal appearance of imperturbability by the time he reached the palace gate. He turned his horse over to one of the guards until the sais could catch up. Then he walked to the guesthouse.
There were five huge trunks on the verandah and three native servants. Mrs. Harding, looking pale and in a vile temper, reclined on the chaise longue, superintending the packing of the trunks.
“Good afternoon. Can I speak to Miss Lynn Harding?”
Norwood’s voice startled her. The certainty that he had overheard her remarks to the servants increased her anger. She didn’t even invite him on to the verandah.
“No.”
“Sorry,” said Norwood. “I must. Where is she?”
“Must? Oh, well, come in, Captain Norwood. Tell one of these imbeciles to take the things off that chair.”
“Is Miss Harding here?”
“No. Pray be seated. You may give your message to me.”
Norwood smiled. “I wish to speak to Miss Lynn Harding — alone.”
Mrs. Harding set her mouth grimly: “I will not even deliver a message to her unless I approve the message. I am tired of being used as a mere convenience.”
“Packing up to go?” asked Norwood. “Miss Harding going away with you?”
“If not, it will be the last she will ever see of me. I have received an impertinent note from the Maharanee.”
“Well, I must see Miss Harding before she leaves. I want a statement from her.”
“I will have nothing to do with it! Statement? What kind of statement?”
“Something personal that occurred this morning.”
“Oh! If that is your business, Captain Norwood, I wash my hands of it — entirely. I have suffered sufficient humiliation. My niece behaved disgracefully. If there are complications, I prefer not to know about them. Nothing would surprise me. I don’t even know where she is at the moment. As for any statement from her, I should say it would be as valueless as that of any other girl who has forgotten her self-respect. You know what you saw this morning. You saw as much as I did. Don’t deny it! Why should you need a statement?”
Norwood began to look courteously determined. His smile froze slightly:
“I didn’t come here to consult you,” he said, “about what you or I saw, or did not see. I want to know what Miss Lynn Harding saw.”
“Well, if you can find her, ask her. She will very likely not tell you the truth.”
“I doubt that.”
“That is your privilege, Captain Norwood. I am also privileged to have my doubts. Rumors reach even me. That babu doctor can no more keep a story to himself than he can diagnose an ailment.”
“Oh. What has he told you about me?”
“He appeared to be well informed. Ask him about it — if you care to.”
“I am asking you, Mrs. Harding.”
“Yes, I heard you. I don’t repeat gossip. I don’t wish to be mixed up in it. In all my life, I have never met so many unscrupulous persons in one place at the same time. The Maharanee is my hostess at the moment, so I reserve comment about her, beyond saying that she knew I have disapproved Lynn’s conduct. She has had the audacity to invite Lynn to stay on with her after I leave. I forbid it, of course. Equally, of course, Lynn will do as she pleases. If Lynn accepts the invitation, I am through with her forever.”
Norwood’s pugnacity broke restraint. He stood up. He looked utterly unconcerned and good-humored except for the fact that his eyes looked steadily at Aunty Harding’s. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t betray anger. He spoke quite calmly:
“Lynn is a lovely girl. Has anyone ever said that of you, Mrs. Harding?”
“Did you come here to insult me?”
“No, Mrs. Harding. I am being more polite than perhaps the occasion warrants.”
“Oh. If that is your opinion—”
He interrupted: “My opinion is this: if Lynn Harding should get into trouble, God Almighty will hold you answerable. There isn’t a high-spirited girl in the world who wouldn’t—”
“Oh! She has been discussing me, has she?”
“No,” he answered.
Aunty Harding looked skeptical. “You have your duties?” she suggested. “Don’t let me detain you.”
“I haven’t finished, Mrs. Harding.”
“I won’t listen to you.”
“Sorry to contradict a lady, but you shall listen. It is your clear duty, Mrs. Harding, to have your
self carried to the palace if you can’t walk.”
“Oh? What on earth for?”
“If you can persuade your niece to go away with you tonight, that may save not only her, but more than one other person from disastrous consequences.”
“Oh. So you want her out of the way! What has Lynn done to you? I have heard a rumor that you are in trouble. But what authority does that give you to lecture me? Why don’t you go to the palace?”
Aunty Harding’s vindictive eyes perceived, even through Norwood’s almost impenetrable imperturbability, that she had scored a hit. She added:
“Aren’t you welcome at the palace?”
“I have told you what your duty is,” said Norwood. “There my own duty ends, as far as you are concerned. Good afternoon, Mrs. Harding.”
He walked out. For five or ten minutes, he strode the footpaths in the palace garden, hoping for a glimpse of Lynn. Then he glanced at his watch and returned to the palace gate, where he mounted his horse and cantered back to camp.
Chapter Nineteen
MOSES LAFAYETTE O’LEARY sat on a box in front of Norwood’s tent, less sober than he looked, and looking not so sober as he should be. Facing him sat Sergeant Stoddart, weary from a day’s work surveying the river.
“Be a Christian,” said Stoddart.
“Not a drop!” O’Leary answered.
“Why not? You know where he keeps it. You can get away with murder. Even if he catches on, he won’t do worse than call you a couple of names and then forget it. He thinks you’re indispensable.”
“He knows that,” said O’Leary. “But he isn’t always reasonable. I know the symptoms. He’s in trouble, same as I told you he would be. I met him, at a street corner, not far from the palace. And I gave him the signal so he drew rein for a confab.”
“For you to tell him which side of his handkerchief to blow his nose on, I suppose,” said Stoddart.
“Him and me exchanged confidences. Norwood went where he went, subsequent and diplomatic — but I’d took a look at him. And I says to myself, says I, I says: ‘Sober up! There’s that there something in the Captain’s eye that indicates there’s doings. And O’Leary will be called upon to do ’em. Same as usual. Only this will be different. On account o’ that look in his eye.’ No, you don’t get your drink. Here he comes. Better button your shirt, or he’ll give you hell.”