Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  On the other hand, he had discovered, rather to his annoyance, that Norwood was a very likeable person, with an exceptionally good service record. Even prejudice couldn’t make him believe that Norwood had accepted a bribe. It might be impossible to prove that Norwood hadn’t accepted one, and there might be a cloud over Norwood’s career forever after. But the Resident hadn’t a doubt that Rundhia, or else perhaps the priests, or even both of them in some nefarious secret alliance, had framed Norwood. He was inclined to believe that the priests’ agents had bought Rundhia, with a view to some political advantage after Rundhia should have come to the throne. Rundhia, he suspected, would do almost anything for cash.

  Not being a fool, nor even a very unimaginative man, he suspected that Norwood’s interest in Lynn Harding was something rather more than platonic. He hadn’t met Lynn, but he had watched her one morning, when she cantered past the Residency on one of the Maharajah’s horses. He had had a good look at her through powerful binoculars, at a moment when she was presumably unselfconscious, and certainly unaware that she was being watched. It required no stretch of imagination to believe that Norwood, with his reputation for combined discretion and audacity, might fall in love with Lynn Harding on sight, keep his intentions to himself, and go after her with the determination with which a different type of man goes after money.

  And one could believe almost anything of Rundhia: even believe that Rundhia might act honorably, if honor and the circumstances didn’t clash with Rundhia’s convenience. The Resident liked Rundhia. Almost everyone did who knew him. But it was a bit difficult to separate Rundhia, from Rundhia’s unregenerate inclinations and his record. So the Resident wrote a report, marked “secret,” to the State Department, in which he respectfully urged His Majesty the King’s advisers to oppose Prince Rundhia’s succession to the throne of Kadur. He had small doubt that his advice would be found acceptable.

  But that wasn’t going to save Norwood. It was far more likely to ruin Norwood, because Rundhia employed a secret agent in Delhi, who would learn of the Indian Government’s intentions about the veto in next to no time. Rundhia, and Rundhia’s friends, would jump to the conclusion that Norwood had been using secret influence in order to get back at Rundhia for the accusation of bribery. Rundhia and his friends would strike back, and there would be so much purchased, perjured evidence produced, that Norwood would have no chance whatever.

  So the Resident decided to do some private investigation on his own account. The person to talk to first, undoubtedly, was Miss Lynn Harding. He knew that Lynn was staying at the palace as the Maharanee’s guest. Everyone in Kadur knew that; it didn’t even come under the heading of secret information. Like everyone else, the Resident admired the Maharanee, and found it easy to be civil to the Maharajah; in fact, he was on good terms with the Maharajah, having obtained for him recently a package of postage stamps for his collection. But it would be obviously indiscreet to go to the palace to question Lynn. It would set the entire palace household by the ears, and very likely might precipitate unpredictable trouble. The Resident was in Kadur to prevent, to foresee and to avoid trouble.

  There was nothing for it but to call on Mrs. Harding and to ask her to summon Lynn to the guesthouse for a confidential interview. He detested Mrs. Harding. He knew she was a snob and he suspected her of being a title-huntress. He had called on her once, and she had been damned rude, because she hadn’t understood his position; she had suspected him of being merely one more penurious British officer who wished to make Lynn’s acquaintance. But there are lots of unpleasant tasks that a man feels called on to undertake, in the course of duty, so the Resident ordered his car and set forth, calling en route at the Post Office to register his letter to the Department of State, so that his Parsee secretary shouldn’t know about it and be tempted to talk.

  Aunty Harding, of course, didn’t see the guard turned out to salute him at the palace gate. He hadn’t a very important-looking car. He wasn’t in uniform. In civilian clothes he didn’t look very distinguished.

  Aunty Harding’s locked and labelled trunks stood in a severe row at one end of the verandah. Aunty Harding reposed on pillows at the other end, where she received the Resident with hostile politeness. The verandah faced away from the sunset and the surrounding trees cast a deep shadow, so the electric light had been turned on in the living-room, and the only light there was came through the living-room window. Aunty Harding couldn’t see him very well, and she hadn’t her spectacles. But she remembered his name, and she had learned, indirectly, since their first interview, that he was a personage. So she bristled self-defensively and patronized him.

  “Mayn’t I offer you whiskey? You English are such devotees of that drink, aren’t you. In the States, our men drink Bourbon. Please smoke.”

  “I came to talk with Miss Lynn Harding.”

  “You will have to look for her elsewhere.”

  “Oh, I know she’s at the palace. Isn’t there a telephone? Could you ask her to come here a moment? It won’t take long. I merely want to ask her a few questions.”

  “I can’t do what you ask. I am no longer responsible for Lynn. If I should summon her she wouldn’t obey me.”

  “Oh? I hope nothing serious has—”

  “A plot! Dishonorable! Contemptible! I won’t bore you with my private affairs. It is sufficient to say that I received an insolent communication from the Maharanee. She has invited Lynn to stay with her — without consulting me, mind you. And I have received an astonishing note from my niece, addressed to me, but intended for Captain Norwood, of all impossible people! As if I were a mail box! And as if I didn’t know what is being said about Captain Norwood! It was a deliberately malicious insult to me!”

  “Did you forward the note to Captain Norwood?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “May I see it?”

  “No. Certainly not.”

  “Well, Mrs. Harding, I think you are within your rights about that. Quite commendable. Yes.

  Very. But shouldn’t Norwood get it? If you care to put it in an envelope and seal it, I will have it sent to him by a very reliable messenger.”

  “One more effort to make of me a mere convenience! I won’t do it. I have never lent myself to any sort of underhanded intrigue. I don’t know what is going on. I don’t want to know. I wash my hands of it. But it is an intrigue. I know that.”

  The Resident, having felt out Mrs. Harding’s punches, countered. He began his attack:

  “Mrs. Harding, it is quite true that you don’t know what is going on. If it weren’t that Captain Norwood, who is a gentleman whose opinion I respect, has assured me that your niece is a thoroughly nice girl—”

  “How does he know?” Aunty interrupted.

  “He is an officer of unblemished record, and a gentleman who has never done a shabby thing in his life. That is why I value his opinion.”

  Aunty interrupted: “I have my own opinion of an ‘officer and a gentleman’ about whom even babus and servants gossip. If Lynn had wished to associate herself with common graft and bribery, she might better have remained in America. We have plenty of corrupt officials — mostly of foreign extraction, I am thankful to say. Many of them Irish,” she added.

  The Resident smiled: “Yes, Mrs. Harding. I confess to being Irish. So look out! I will take no nonsense from you. If necessary, I will confront you with Captain Norwood and let him demand that letter.”

  “What if I destroy it?”

  “I will have you arrested.”

  “You daren’t! I will wire my Consul!”

  “You will do as you please about that. If you care to write out the telegram, I will have it sent for you. Your Consul, of course, will ask me what I think about you. Equally, of course, you will remain in India as long as evidence is needed in connection with this intrigue that you spoke of.”

  “I am leaving tonight,” said Aunty Harding, firmly.

  “Oh, yes? It is a long way from here to the station. You have a lot of
luggage. You propose to catch the midnight train?”

  “I have made my own arrangements with a native contractor, thank you.”

  “I understand, then, that you propose to go away at midnight, leaving your niece to her own devices.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that is perhaps outside my province. But there is no question about my responsibility in connection with Captain Norwood. He is a distinguished young officer, in temporary difficulty, who needs all the legitimate help he can get. He is well connected, and popular. He is the younger brother of the very distinguished Earl of Ashlawn. Numbers of people would be shocked if Norwood were disgraced. You have a letter, belonging to Captain Norwood, that he possibly needs. Think that over, Mrs. Harding. It is now up to you. Good evening.”

  The Resident got into his car and drove away. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he heard Mrs. Harding call after him. He smiled. In the course of his political career, he had met several (male and female) Aunty Hardings. He didn’t doubt there would be action.

  At the palace gate, he made provision against too much action. He stopped the car for a few moments, for a private chat with the commander of the guard.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  NORWOOD went the round of the sentries. There were only four of them. They had already received orders from Sergeant Stoddart. Norwood repeated the instructions:

  “There are thieves in the neighborhood, and there is a rumor that there might be a raid on the camp. It isn’t likely to be anything serious, but look out for it. Don’t kill anyone if you can help it. In any event, you are to challenge three times and then fire your first shot in the air. I am expecting visitors, who may perhaps approach stealthily, because their business is secret. So look out for them, and be careful not to mistake them for thieves.”

  He returned to his tent, where O’Leary sat holding an empty glass with futile optimism.

  “Get out of here, now, and make yourself useful.”

  “Me — useful?”

  “Yes. Those Brahmins with whom I talked down near the waterfall this morning—”

  “Yeah, they slipped one over on you! I heard all about it.”

  “Hold your tongue then. I expect they’ll be coming to talk to me about my visiting the mine.”

  “You need a nurse,” O’Leary answered. “You’d never get your brass hat one of these days if it weren’t for your Uncle Moses. Them there Brahmins are as likely to come and talk to you tonight as I am to kiss the Queen of England. They figure they’ve bought you. And they figure they can prove it on you, if you don’t come across. They’ll sit quiet, them Brahmins will. What you’re up against is what I warned you. That Bengali doctor was too scared for his own skin to be telling me lies. Set your lamp to one side of the tent and eat your supper in shadow, if you can’t eat in the dark. Watch out they don’t chuck no more cobras at you. They’ve guns. They’ve automatics. And there’s Gulbaz in back o’ this, so watch out. Gulbaz and a woman.”

  Norwood stared at him. “Woman?” he said. “What do you mean?”

  “You told me to mind my own business. This ain’t my business.”

  “Talk!”

  “How about another whiskey?”

  “Do you wish to be sat in the cook-fire?”

  “You’d spoil your supper! But I’ve been thinking. If you want to know what I was thinking, I’ll tell you. Barring two or three injustices you’ve done to me, and I’m of a forgiving disposition, along o’ having to confess my sins to the priest, there’s only one man in Kadur, by my reckoning, who’d pay money to see you dead and buried.”

  “You may name him.”

  “Name him yourself. Him and you was thumbing a guitar and singing to the same girl. Let’s suppose he knows, for instance, that the priests slipped you a bribe. And let’s suppose he thinks you’re honest. Let’s suppose he thinks you’ll earn the bribe and fix it so the priests win their case. And him heir to the throne. And him and you mashing the same golden-haired beauty. He’d be as officer-headed as you are if he didn’t hit quick — and below the belt. He’ll hit hard! What’s to stop him from spiking the Brahmins’ case by getting them blamed for having murdered you? Answer that one? Why not lay off the girl? If I was you, I’d—”

  “Don’t let me have to caution you too often, O’Leary. What I expect from you is information. I do my own thinking. If I should ever need advice from you, I’ll tell you.”

  “‘Tain’t never no use advising nobody about no woman,” said O’Leary. “I know symptoms when I see ’em. All right, mum’s the word, I ain’t saying nothin’.”

  “Get out of here.”

  Norwood smoked in silence until supper-time. He would have liked another conversation with O’Leary, but he knew O’Leary’s limit. It was as peculiar as O’Leary’s value; he had to be snubbed and on occasion severely punished, or he would get out of hand. There wasn’t any question of O’Leary’s loyalty; but he didn’t relish the thought of listening to O’Leary’s probable opinion of Lynn.

  He ate supper in silence, waited on by a rather scared servant, too familiar with the symptoms of impending explosion to dare to call attention to himself any more than could possibly be helped. The Goanese cook called it a dinner. Norwood called it ullage. Nobody was pleased.

  After supper, Norwood wrote another letter to Lynn Harding. He didn’t tear up that one. He addressed it in care of Mrs. Harding at the guesthouse, and then stuck it into his tunic pocket. He was still undecided. Determined, but not ready with his plan. O’Leary came and warned him again about sitting too near the lamp, so he went outside the tent and sat in the shadow cast by the rising full moon. A sentry challenged.

  “Careful!” Norwood shouted. “Don’t shoot unless you have to. And don’t shoot to kill!”

  A bullet whizzed past him — then another. They came from two directions.

  “Sentries, hold your fire!” he shouted.

  Stoddart came charging up, breathing hard, fastening his tunic and belt as he ran.

  “All present, sir! All ready!”

  “Very well, Stoddart. Keep your hair on. Post two men to guard my tent. Send two to the horseline and the remainder to guard the store tent. Thieves — I think.”

  Norwood walked ahead into the darkness, shadowed by O’Leary.

  “Now what?” asked O’Leary. “For the love o’—”

  “Fetch a lantern on a long stick. Hurry.”

  Norwood stood in deep black shadow waiting for him. O’Leary ran up with a lantern at the end of a very long stick — at least ten feet long.

  “Give that to me. Next shot they fire, raise a yell that I’m hit.”

  “Okay. I get you. You’re a credit to your Uncle Moses.”

  Norwood held the pole extended toward his left to its limit. He walked forward. The lantern danced as if it were in someone’s hand. A bullet spat out of the darkness. Norwood fell. O’Leary shouted at the top of his lungs:

  “Stoddart! Hi there, Stoddart! They’ve shot the Captain! He’s dead! They hit him through the heart!”

  Stoddart and four men came hurrying. Norwood whispered:

  “Pick me up. Carry me into the tent feet first.”

  “Mournful and solemn,” O’Leary added.

  “Lay me on the cot in full lamplight. Spread a sheet over me,” said Norwood.

  “He’s as dead as trouble,” said O’Leary.

  So they carried Norwood to the cot and there he lay, in lamplight, while Stoddart slightly overdid the business of taking over command. O’Leary scouted. At the end of ten minutes, O’Leary returned to the tent.

  “That’s done it. They’ve gone. I crashed among the bushes like a pig with a panther after him. Nobody fired a shot. There wasn’t a sound. They’ve gone for good. All Kadur will know that you’re dead, within twenty minutes. They may even tell ’em the news at the palace, though I doubt that. Palaces get the news late, after other folks have had time to lay their bets.”

  Norwood sat up. He stared at O’
Leary. O’Leary held his tongue. He watched, waited. Norwood didn’t speak for sixty seconds. Then: “O’Leary, there is just one chance in fifty that Prince Rundhia is on the wall, by that kiosk, where he was last night.”

  “Better take your pistol,” said O’Leary.

  “If it was Rundhia who tried to have me shot,” said Norwood, “he will have an alibi. Yes, that wall is worth trying.”

  “Take your pistol,” said O’Leary.

  “I will ride the Kathiawari mare. You may ride the gelding. Have ’em saddled. Tell that new nit-wit sais to come along on the dun. Get a move on.”

  “Where’s your pistol?”

  “Will you mind your own business! Get the horses, and send Stoddart to me for orders.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  IT almost seemed as if the night knew that Norwood had made up his mind. He was riding a fresh horse, but he didn’t hurry. He was followed by a mounted sais, and by O’Leary on another horse. The horses, the sais and O’Leary behaved like a snake’s tail. They followed the head without asking questions. Norwood gave no orders. He didn’t tell O’Leary what he intended to do. But as they came near the palace garden wall, he reduced the speed a little and O’Leary, without needing to be told to do it, went scouting ahead.

  The sais was simply an obedient, incurious automaton. He followed Norwood, drew rein when Norwood did, walked his horse in the deep dust because Norwood did, and kept close to the wall because Norwood did.

  O’Leary, on the other hand, made plenty of noise. He made a signal, pointing with his right arm, as he broke from shadow into moonlight. There was nothing mysterious about his signal; he simply pointed to the swinging tendril of a baobab. It overhung the wall in search of earth in which to take root. It looked like a python, swaying slightly in the faint evening breeze.

  O’Leary cantered past the moonlit kiosk. He didn’t look up. If anyone had heard the horses coming, they would see O’Leary riding on into the night intent on business of his own. When he drew rein, he didn’t look backward; he seemed to be considering which to take of two paths that lay ahead of him like streaks of silver moonlight.