Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated)

by Rudyard Kipling

  ‘I’ve never seen the Pyramids,’ I replied.

  ‘Hm! I didn’t know you were as English as all that.’ And when I laughed, ‘Are you?’

  ‘Always. It saves trouble.’

  ‘Now that’s just what I find so significant among the English’ — this was Alice’s mother, I think, with one elbow well forward among the salted almonds. ‘Oh, I know how you feel, Madam Burton, but a Northerner like myself — I’m Buffalo — even though we come over every year — notices the desire for comfort in England. There’s so little conflict or uplift in British society.’

  ‘But we like being comfortable,’ I said.

  ‘I know it. It’s very characteristic. But ain’t it a little, just a little, lacking in adaptability an’ imagination?’

  ‘They haven’t any need for adaptability,’ Madam Burton struck in. ‘They haven’t any Ellis Island standards to live up to.’

  ‘But we can assimilate,’ the Buffalo woman charged on.

  ‘Now you have done it!’ I whispered to the old lady as the blessed word ‘assimilation’ woke up all the old arguments for and against.

  There was not a dull moment in that dinner for me — nor afterwards when the boys and girls at the piano played the rag-time tunes of their own land, while their elders, inexhaustibly interested, replunged into the discussion of that land’s future, till there was talk of coon-can. When all the company had been set to tables Zigler led me into his book-lined study, where I noticed he kept his golf-clubs, and spoke simply as a child, gravely as a bishop, of the years that were past since our last meeting.

  ‘That’s about all, I guess — up to date,’ he said when he had unrolled the bright map of his fortunes across three continents. ‘Bein’ rich suits me. So does your country, sir. My own country? You heard what that Detroit man said at dinner. “A Government of the alien, by the alien, for the alien.” Mother’s right, too. Lincoln killed us. From the highest motives — but he killed us. Oh, say, that reminds me. ‘J’ever kill a man from the highest motives?’

  ‘Not from any motive — as far as I remember.’

  ‘Well, I have. It don’t weigh on my mind any, but it was interesting. Life is interesting for a rich — for any — man in England. Ya-as! Life in England is like settin’ in the front row at the theatre and never knowin’ when the whole blame drama won’t spill itself into your lap. I didn’t always know that. I lie abed now, and I blush to think of some of the breaks I made in South Africa. About the British. Not your official method of doin’ business. But the Spirit. I was ‘way, ‘way off on the Spirit. Are you acquainted with any other country where you’d have to kill a man or two to get at the National Spirit?’

  ‘Well,’ I answered, ‘next to marrying one of its women, killing one of its men makes for pretty close intimacy with any country. I take it you killed a British citizen.’

  ‘Why, no. Our syndicate confined its operations to aliens — dam-fool aliens.... ‘J’ever know an English lord called Lundie? Looks like a frame-food and soap advertisement. I imagine he was in your Supreme Court before he came into his lordship.’

  ‘The Puzzler’: Actions and Reactions.

  ‘He is a lawyer — what we call a Law Lord — a Judge of Appeal — not a real hereditary lord.’

  ‘That’s as much beyond me as this!’ Zigler slapped a fat Debrett on the table. ‘But I presoom this unreal Law Lord Lundie is kind o’ real in his decisions? I judged so. And — one more question. ‘Ever meet a man called Walen?’

  ‘D’you mean Burton-Walen, the editor of — ?’ I mentioned the journal.

  ‘That’s him. ‘Looks like a tough, talks like a Maxim, and trains with kings.’

  ‘He does,’ I said. ‘Burton-Walen knows all the crowned heads of Europe intimately. It’s his hobby.’

  ‘Well, there’s the whole outfit for you — exceptin’ my Lord Marshalton, né Mankeltow, an’ me. All active murderers — specially the Law Lord — or accessories after the fact. And what do they hand you out for that, in this country?’

  ‘Twenty years, I believe,’ was my reply.

  He reflected a moment.

  ‘No-o-o,’ he said, and followed it with a smoke-ring. ‘Twenty months at the Cape is my limit. Say, murder ain’t the soul-shatterin’ event those nature-fakers in the magazines make out. It develops naturally like any other proposition.... Say, ‘j’ever play this golf game? It’s come up in the States from Maine to California, an’ we’re prodoocin’ all the champions in sight. Not a business man’s play, but interestin’. I’ve got a golf-links in the park here that they tell me is the finest inland course ever. I had to pay extra for that when I hired the ranche — last year. It was just before I signed the papers that our murder eventuated. My Lord Marshalton he asked me down for the week-end to fix up something or other — about Peters and the linen, I think ‘twas. Mrs. Zigler took a holt of the proposition. She understood Peters from the word “go.” There wasn’t any house-party; only fifteen or twenty folk. A full house is thirty-two, Tommy tells me. ‘Guess we must be near on that to-night. In the smoking-room here, my Lord Marshalton — Mankeltow that was — introduces me to this Walen man with the nose. He’d been in the War too, from start to finish. He knew all the columns and generals that I’d battled with in the days of my Zigler gun. We kinder fell into each other’s arms an’ let the harsh world go by for a while.

  ‘Walen he introduces me to your Lord Lundie. He was a new proposition to me. If he hadn’t been a lawyer he’d have made a lovely cattle-king. I thought I had played poker some. Another of my breaks. Ya-as! It cost me eleven hundred dollars besides what Tommy said when I retired. I have no fault to find with your hereditary aristocracy, or your judiciary, or your press.

  ‘Sunday we all went to Church across the Park here.... Psha! Think o’ your rememberin’ my religion! I’ve become an Episcopalian since I married. Ya-as.... After lunch Walen did his crowned-heads-of-Europe stunt in the smokin’-room here. He was long on Kings. And Continental crises. I do not pretend to follow British domestic politics, but in the aeroplane business a man has to know something of international possibilities. At present, you British are settin’ in kimonoes on dynamite kegs. Walen’s talk put me wise on the location and size of some of the kegs. Ya-as!

  ‘After that, we four went out to look at those golf-links I was hirin’. We each took a club. Mine’ — he glanced at a great tan bag by the fire-place — ’was the beginner’s friend — the cleek. Well, sir, this golf proposition took a holt of me as quick as — quick as death. They had to prise me off the greens when it got too dark to see, and then we went back to the house. I was walkin’ ahead with my Lord Marshalton talkin’ beginners’ golf. (I was the man who ought to have been killed by rights.) We cut ‘cross lots through the woods to Flora’s Temple — that place I showed you this afternoon. Lundie and Walen were, maybe, twenty or thirty rod behind us in the dark. Marshalton and I stopped at the theatre to admire at the ancestral yew-trees. He took me right under the biggest — King Somebody’s Yew — and while I was spannin’ it with my handkerchief, he says, “Look heah!” just as if it was a rabbit — and down comes a bi-plane into the theatre with no more noise than the dead. My Rush Silencer is the only one on the market that allows that sort of gumshoe work.... What? A bi-plane — with two men in it. Both men jump out and start fussin’ with the engines. I was starting to tell Mankeltow — I can’t remember to call him Marshalton any more — that it looked as if the Royal British Flying Corps had got on to my Rush Silencer at last; but he steps out from under the yew to these two Stealthy Steves and says, “What’s the trouble? Can I be of any service?” He thought — so did I — ’twas some of the boys from Aldershot or Salisbury. Well, sir, from there on, the situation developed like a motion-picture in Hell. The man on the nigh side of the machine whirls round, pulls his gun and fires into Mankeltow’s face. I laid him out with my cleek automatically. Any one who shoots a friend of mine gets what’s comin’ to him if I’m within reach. He drops. M
ankeltow rubs his neck with his handkerchief. The man the far side of the machine starts to run. Lundie down the ride, or it might have been Walen, shouts, “What’s happened?” Mankeltow says, “Collar that chap.”

  ‘The second man runs ring-a-ring-o’-roses round the machine, one hand reachin’ behind him. Mankeltow heads him off to me. He breaks blind for Walen and Lundie, who are runnin’ up the ride. There’s some sort of mix-up among ‘em, which it’s too dark to see, and a thud. Walen says, “Oh, well collared!” Lundie says, “That’s the only thing I never learned at Harrow!”... Mankeltow runs up to ‘em, still rubbin’ his neck, and says, “He didn’t fire at me. It was the other chap. Where is he?”

  ‘“I’ve stretched him alongside his machine,” I says.

  ‘“Are they poachers?” says Lundie.

  ‘“No. Airmen. I can’t make it out,” says Mankeltow.

  ‘“Look at here,” says Walen, kind of brusque. “This man ain’t breathin’ at all. Didn’t you hear somethin’ crack when he lit, Lundie?”

  ‘“My God!” says Lundie. “Did I? I thought it was my suspenders” — no, he said “braces.”

  ‘Right there I left them and sort o’ tiptoed back to my man, hopin’ he’d revived and quit. But he hadn’t. That darned cleek had hit him on the back of the neck just where his helmet stopped. He’d got his. I knew it by the way the head rolled in my hands. Then the others came up the ride totin’ their load. No mistakin’ that shuffle on grass. D’you remember it — in South Africa? Ya-as.

  ‘“Hsh!” says Lundie. “Do you know I’ve broken this man’s neck?”

  ‘“Same here,” I says.

  ‘“What? Both?” says Mankeltow.

  ‘“Nonsense!” says Lord Lundie. “Who’d have thought he was that out of training? A man oughtn’t to fly if he ain’t fit.”

  ‘“What did they want here, anyway?” said Walen; and Mankeltow says, “We can’t leave them in the open. Some one’ll come. Carry ‘em to Flora’s Temple.”

  We toted ‘em again and laid ‘em out on a stone bench. They were still dead in spite of our best attentions. We knew it, but we went through the motions till it was quite dark. ‘Wonder if all murderers do that? “We want a light on this,” says Walen after a spell. “There ought to be one in the machine. Why didn’t they light it?”

  ‘We came out of Flora’s Temple, and shut the doors behind us. Some stars were showing then — same as when Cain did his little act, I guess. I climbed up and searched the machine. She was very well equipped, I found two electric torches in clips alongside her barometers by the rear seat.

  ‘“What make is she?” says Mankeltow.

  ‘“Continental Renzalaer,” I says. “My engines and my Rush Silencer.”

  ‘Walen whistles. “Here — let me look,” he says, and grabs the other torch. She was sure well equipped. We gathered up an armful of cameras an’ maps an’ note-books an’ an album of mounted photographs which we took to Flora’s Temple and spread on a marble-topped table (I’ll show you to-morrow) which the King of Naples had presented to grandfather Marshalton. Walen starts to go through ‘em. We wanted to know why our friends had been so prejudiced against our society.

  ‘“Wait a minute,” says Lord Lundie. “Lend me a handkerchief.”

  ‘He pulls out his own, and Walen contributes his green-and-red bandanna, and Lundie covers their faces. “Now,” he says, “we’ll go into the evidence.”

  ‘There wasn’t any flaw in that evidence. Walen read out their last observations, and Mankeltow asked questions, and Lord Lundie sort o’ summarised, and I looked at the photos in the album. ‘J’ever see a bird’s-eye telephoto-survey of England for military purposes? It’s interestin’ but indecent — like turnin’ a man upside down. None of those close-range panoramas of forts could have been taken without my Rush Silencer.

  ‘“I wish we was as thorough as they are,” says Mankeltow, when Walen stopped translatin’.

  ‘“We’ve been thorough enough,” says Lord Lundie. “The evidence against both accused is conclusive. Any other country would give ‘em seven years in a fortress. We should probably give ‘em eighteen months as first-class misdemeanants. But their case,” he says, “is out of our hands. We must review our own. Mr. Zigler,” he said, “will you tell us what steps you took to bring about the death of the first accused?” I told him. He wanted to know specially whether I’d stretched first accused before or after he had fired at Mankeltow. Mankeltow testified he’d been shot at, and exhibited his neck as evidence. It was scorched.

  ‘“Now, Mr. Walen,” says Lord Lundie. “Will you kindly tell us what steps you took with regard to the second accused?”

  ‘“The man ran directly at me, me lord,” says Walen. “I said, ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ and hit him in the face.”

  ‘Lord Lundie lifts one hand and uncovers second accused’s face. There was a bruise on one cheek and the chin was all greened with grass. He was a heavy-built man.

  ‘“What happened after that?” says Lord Lundie.

  ‘“To the best of my remembrance he turned from me towards your lordship.”

  ‘Then Lundie goes ahead. “I stooped, and caught the man round the ankles,” he says. “The sudden check threw him partially over my left shoulder. I jerked him off that shoulder, still holding his ankles, and he fell heavily on, it would appear, the point of his chin, death being instantaneous.”

  ‘“Death being instantaneous,” says Walen.

  ‘Lord Lundie takes off his gown and wig — you could see him do it — and becomes our fellow-murderer. “That’s our case,” he says. “I know how I should direct the jury, but it’s an undignified business for a Lord of Appeal to lift his hand to, and some of my learned brothers,” he says, “might be disposed to be facetious.”

  ‘I guess I can’t be properly sensitised. Any one who steered me out of that trouble might have had the laugh on me for generations. But I’m only a millionaire. I said we’d better search second accused in case he’d been carryin’ concealed weapons.

  ‘“That certainly is a point,” says Lord Lundie. “But the question for the jury would be whether I exercised more force than was necessary to prevent him from usin’ them.” I didn’t say anything. He wasn’t talkin’ my language. Second accused had his gun on him sure enough, but it had jammed in his hip-pocket. He was too fleshy to reach behind for business purposes, and he didn’t look a gun-man anyway. Both of ‘em carried wads of private letters. By the time Walen had translated, we knew how many children the fat one had at home and when the thin one reckoned to be married. Too bad! Ya-as.

  ‘Says Walen to me while we was rebuttonin’ their jackets (they was not in uniform): “Ever read a book called The Wreckers, Mr. Zigler?”

  ‘“Not that I recall at the present moment,” I says.

  ‘“Well, do,” he says. “You’d appreciate it. You’d appreciate it now, I assure you.”

  ‘“I’ll remember,” I says. “But I don’t see how this song and dance helps us any. Here’s our corpses, here’s their machine, and daylight’s bound to come.”

  ‘“Heavens! That reminds me,” says Lundie. “What time’s dinner?”

  ‘“Half-past eight,” says Mankeltow. “It’s half-past five now. We knocked off golf at twenty to, and if they hadn’t been such silly asses, firin’ pistols like civilians, we’d have had them to dinner. Why, they might be sitting with us in the smoking-room this very minute,” he says. Then he said that no man had a right to take his profession so seriously as these two mountebanks.

  ‘“How interestin’!” says Lundie. “I’ve noticed this impatient attitude toward their victim in a good many murderers. I never understood it before. Of course, it’s the disposal of the body that annoys ‘em. Now, I wonder,” he says, “who our case will come up before? Let’s run through it again.”

  ‘Then Walen whirls in. He’d been bitin’ his nails in a corner. We was all nerved up by now.... Me? The worst of the bunch. I had to think for Tommy as we
ll.

  ‘“We can’t be tried,” says Walen. “We mustn’t be tried! It’ll make an infernal international stink. What did I tell you in the smoking-room after lunch? The tension’s at breaking-point already. This ‘ud snap it. Can’t you see that?”

  ‘“I was thinking of the legal aspect of the case,” says Lundie. “With a good jury we’d likely be acquitted.”

  ‘“Acquitted!” says Walen. “Who’d dare acquit us in the face of what ‘ud be demanded by — the other party? Did you ever hear of the War of Jenkins’ ear? ‘Ever hear of Mason and Slidel? ‘Ever hear of an ultimatum? You know who these two idiots are; you know who we are — a Lord of Appeal, a Viscount of the English peerage, and me — me knowing all I know, which the men who know dam’ well know that I do know! It’s our necks or Armageddon. Which do you think this Government would choose? We can’t be tried!” he says.

  ‘“Then I expect I’ll have to resign me club,” Lundie goes on. “I don’t think that’s ever been done before by an ex-officio member. I must ask the secretary.” I guess he was kinder bunkered for the minute, or maybe ‘twas the lordship comin’ out on him.

  ‘“Rot!” says Mankeltow. “Walen’s right. We can’t afford to be tried. We’ll have to bury them; but my head-gardener locks up all the tools at five o’clock.”

  ‘“Not on your life!” says Lundie. He was on deck again — as the high-class lawyer. “Right or wrong, if we attempt concealment of the bodies we’re done for.”

  “‘I’m glad of that,” says Mankeltow, “because, after all, it ain’t cricket to bury ‘em.”

  ‘Somehow — but I know I ain’t English — that consideration didn’t worry me as it ought. An’ besides, I was thinkin’ — I had to — an’ I’d begun to see a light ‘way off — a little glimmerin’ light o’ salvation.

  ‘“Then what are we to do?” says Walen. “Zigler, what do you advise? Your neck’s in it too.”

  ‘“Gentlemen,” I says, “something Lord Lundie let fall a while back gives me an idea. I move that this committee empowers Big Claus and Little Claus, who have elected to commit suicide in our midst, to leave the premises as they came. I’m asking you to take big chances,” I says, “but they’re all we’ve got,” and then I broke for the bi-plane.