The Marriage of Meldrum Strange/Chapter 11

HULLUNDER GHOSE meanwhile solved a problem with Alexandrian simplicity.

“He said I must feed you or catch it, sahib. How much can you eat?” he asked Charley.

“A horse. I’m hungry.”

“Carniverous Western blood-hunger! No remedy but this way then.”

He led Charley to the front door of the Panch Mahal, gave Charley a rock, and bade him hammer on the wood with it.

“But remember—deaf and dumb!” he cautioned.

Then he stepped aside, and hid behind the projecting masonry.

So it was Charley who received on head and shoulders the bucket of water that Jeff poured down from above the arch; and Jeff who received the rock, plunk in the chest, hurled by a pretty fair to middling bush-league pitcher’s arm.

“Try another exchange!” he suggested, and Jeff recognized the voice.

“You durned young hoodlum! You can’t come in here,” Jeff laughed. “Strange ’ud”

“Oh yes, sahib! Oh yes!” Chullunder Ghose came under the arch and made violent gestures implying intrigue—conspiracy—secrecy—urgency—silence. “Open and let us in!”

Jeff hesitated. His regard for Charley Mears was nearly as high as his opinion of the babu was low.

“He has promised me breakfast,” said Charley.

“Am magician!” said the babu, gesturing again. “Can cook coffee—fried eggs—bacon—toast— Just think of it!”

Jeff glanced behind him to make sure Strange was out of ear-shot.

“We had some food, but it’s gone,” he answered. “Thieves got away with it in the night.”

“Am thief-catcher! Will bring all back. Come, Charley sahib.”

He started off at a fat run round the corner, beckoning to Charley to follow.

“I’ll let Charley in,” said Jeff.

“No, no! Charley sahib is deaf-and-dumb cook’s assistant.”

Charley followed the babu. On foot, in the enormous turban, he looked exactly like one of those low-caste Hindu youths who do the chores around sahib’s kitchens. Jeff shrugged his shoulders and returned to the courtyard, less in love than ever with intrigue of any kind.

Chullunder Ghose led the way at a surprizingly fast waddle around the building to the elephant stalls in the rear, and thence to what had evidently been the servants’ quarters in the place’s palmy days. There was a hut divided into cubicles for twenty or thirty men, but nothing in it at the first glance except rats and beetles. However, the babu seemed well acquainted. Without hesitation he jerked open a cupboard door, disclosing a man fast asleep on a long shelf. Bad language ensued in Tamil—lots of it. The fellow was as much annoyed by the incoming light and air as at being wakened; he was even angrier when the babu started cuffing him and dragged him out on to the floor.

Observing then that Charley was the smaller man, and of lower caste, he flew at him, and was sent sprawling for his pains. Thereafter he decided to be reasonable and, opening another cupboard with a key he kept hidden in his loin-cloth, disclosed the provisions that Ommony had brought on the elephant. Nothing had been harmed. No packages were broken. There were kettles—matches—rather stale bread—everything.

Chullunder Ghose heaped the lot into an empty box and hove it on to Charley’s head.

“Act part, sahib! Act part complacently!” he whispered.

Then, with a parting kick directed at the key’s custodian he led the way back to the front gate, through which Jeff presently admitted both of them. Strange, naked to the waist, was washing himself in the fountain, and as it never entered his head that Charley might be Charley, and as the box on top of the turban kept the face underneath in shadow, Charley got by undetected.

The babu led straight to the kitchen, and half an hour later there was nothing lacking but cigars to make Strange almost pleasant company. Although he had missed his sleep, he was beginning to find the adventure amusing. It rather intrigued him to think that a middle-aged, rich man like himself should be enjoying poor-man’s fun.

He unbent toward Chullunder Ghose, and, while Charley made away with victuals in the kitchen, using appetite to offset dumbness, asked the babu question after question, seeking to throw light on the night’s events. Nothing suited the babu better than exercise of imagination, so Strange heard tales about the priests that, even though he mocked them with explosive snorts and hah-hahs, had some effect. His inborn incredulity—the rich-man’s vade mecum—had been undermined in the night. There had to be some explanation, and there might, after all, be something in the babu’s.

“They are great magicians, sahib! They can do things done of old in regular course of day’s work by wizards only mentioned now in fairy-tales.”

Strange encouraged him to talk on, since there was nothing else to do, and no tobacco. Jeff, disgusted, went to the kitchen to interview Charley, and together they made the round of the upper story, Jeff looking for something to explain the disappearing snake of the night before, and Charley scouting on his own account. They both found what they wanted.

There was a room whose one window provided a full view of every inch of the courtyard. It faced a blank white wall on the far side; and the wall was overshadowed by a cornice. Charley considered that with an appraising eye. Beside the window, just above the floor and on a level with the tiles of the veranda roof that ran along the whole of one side of the courtyard on their left as they looked out, was a large round hole, closed easily by a lid that swung on hinges. The floor-dust was considerably marked with the impress of naked feet; there were spots where two men might have knelt beside the hole; and there was a long smear where something had obviously been dragged across the floor.

“That settles that!” said Jeff, thinking less than ever of intrigue and priestly magic.

“Yes, that settles that,” said Charley. “Problem now is how to get the stuff in here unobserved.”

“That ought to be easy enough, Jeff mused; then turned and stared at Charley suddenly. “What do you know about it? You weren’t here last night! You didn’t see that snake they pulled along the roof.”

“I was thinking of something else,” said Charley.

“Let’s go, Jeff. I don’t want Strange to catch me up here. We can talk outside.”

They found a stair within a turret that let them reach the courtyard without having to pass Strange, and, closing the outer gate behind them, went and sat with their backs against a wall, in a recess between two buttresses, where Jeff’s pajamas were not so likely to attract attention. There they talked until it was after nine o’clock, Jeff grumbling away steadily and Charley just as steadily insisting that Strange, “had it coming to him.”

“Any one who plans to rough-house him has me to fight first,” Jeff said definitely, more than once.

“Aw, shucks! They’ll only make a fool of him,” Charley argued. “They’ll fix it so he marries a nautch girl. I’ll have a picture of the ceremony, and we’ll rub that in. He’ll be told afterwards it’s regular, and the only way out is by public divorce, which’ll get in all the papers, naturally. See him wince? That’s where Zelmira comes to the rescue. She’s jake with the priests and calls the whole thing off—on terms.”

“I never heard such rot! Jeff exploded beginning to laugh. “Strange isn’t an idiot. He’ll turn the tables on the lot of you, or my name’s Johnson. Zelmira will lose out, and serve her right!

Charley was about to offer further explanation, but they were interrupted. Sitting in a recess between two buttresses of the outer wall, they had neither seen not heard three horses cantering steadily toward them in the soft dust. Zelmira Poulakis, Miss Ommony, and Sir William Molyneux, all mounted on the raja’s Arabs, drew rein right in front of them, and Jeff got to his feet, buttoning his pajama jacket nervously. Zelmira laughed. Miss Ommony looked sympathetic.

“Seen anything of Ommony?” demanded Molyneux.

To Jeff’s disgust Zelmira introduced him. To his chagrin Miss Ommony held him in conversation. To his utter discomfiture Zelmira and Molyneux rode off in search of Ommony, leaving Ommony’s sister still conversing with him and exhibiting no inclination to leave off. He couldn’t be abrupt and walk away. He couldn’t command her to follow the others. She dismounted, springing down from the saddle as easily as a twenty-year-old, and stood in the dust before him. He had to hold her horse for her.

“Jeff Ramsden, I’ve heard of you. I think you’ve heard of me. Tell me all about this!” she demanded suddenly. “Is my brother Cottswold mad?”

She had Ommony’s face, with the firmness but not the pugnacity—sweetness in the place of subtlety—and all her brother’s honesty of purpose shining out of young gray eyes, that made the silver in her hair look almost comical by contrast. Jeff almost forgot his unseemly apparel and bare feet, in admiration of her.

“My difficulty is,” he said, “I seem to be in everybody’s confidence. The less I say the better.

“Except to me. I’m trusted with secrets of state,” she answered; and Jeff believed her. She was that kind. However, he hesitated. Deep answers deep by doing as deep does, observing confidences. She respected that, and nodded:

“Very well. Let’s see Meldrum Strange.”

“He’s in pajamas too.

“I don’t mind.

“He will!”

“Does that matter?”

“The gate’s not locked,” Jeff answered. I’ll hold the horse.”

SHE smiled and walked in through the gate, closing it behind her. Jeff led the horse to where some trees provided shade, for he had no helmet; and thither Charley followed, to sit in the dust with him again, and yawn, and swear at flies, and wish there were tobacco, and behave in general as two men do, who like each other well enough but disapprove each other’s attitude.

Not even Chullunder Ghose knew what happened on that occasion inside the Panch Mahal. He came out looking like a man rebuked, and in answer to Jeff’s questions said that Ommony was bad enough, but his sister was the

“Did she know you?” Jeff asked him.

“She knows too much!” he answered.

“How did Strange like her appearance on the scene?”

“He ran upstairs and shouted at her from upper window. She sat on side of fountain, saying she has seen many people in pajamas, viceroys included; will therefore wait until he shall feel brave enough to interview her in riding suit. He came down, and they talked, this babu listening unsuccessfully. Drew closer without ostentation, and received rebuke—extremely acrid—very! Two minds with but a single thought, same being that babu is dirty person devoid of self-respect. Came forth accordingly.”

There was no sign of Ommony. It seemed that Zelmira and Molyneux had found him, for they did not come back. Jeff, Charley and the babu sat there flapping flies until the shadow shortened to announce approaching noon, and still no sign of any one. Charley fell asleep. The babu dozed at intervals.

At high noon Jeff got up and strolled toward the gate, wondering whether he ought not to investigate. Those priests might be up to more impudence. There might have been an accident. He should at least peer in through the gate and ascertain that all was well. However, the gate was locked, which rather scared him. He beat on it, imagining a thousand things.

To his astonishment, not Stange [sic] but Miss Ommony opened it at last, and she was laughing. There was more unmixed amusement in her eyes than he remembered to have seen in any one’s. Nor did she aplogize for having kept him so long waiting. But that was deep to deep again. Her air, he thought, was rather of cameraderie [sic]—a sort of, “you’ll know soon enough” attitude—as if she understood his position fully, and would explain her own at the proper time.

“Would you mind sending the babu here?” she asked him.

So he walked back, wondering, knowing he liked her amazing well, and feeling confident she would not do anything to make the situation worse, whatever happened. He was sore with Strange, as who would not be? But loyalty to an employer or a partner—Strange was actually both—was almost the breath Jeff breathed. He felt comfortable now Miss Ommony had come, yet wondered why.

“She wouldn’t go against her brother,” he reflected. “She’s notoriously hand-in-glove with him.”

Puzzled, yet not so irritated as he had been, he sent the babu hurrying, and sat down for another hour, sleeping at last be side Charley. It was the babu who wakened them both at two o’clock. The horse was gone. There was still no sign 'of Ommony, or Molyneux, or Zelmira. The babu sat in the dust in front of them, all his dissatisfaction evaporated and a look of sanctified immodesty projecting almost a halo into the air around him. Sunlight heightened the effect.

“Well? What?” Jeff asked him.

“Tobacco. Cigars likewise!”

Chullunder Ghose sat down in the dust—produced matches—struck one—passed it to Ramsden.

“How did you come by these?” Jeff demanded, exhaling imported smoke.

“This babu, beholding state of mind of sahibs, contemplating same, prayed to diverse gods for tobacco, lest ill-temper of deprivees later on make job unendurable. Gods were very generous—I think.”

“Where did you find ’em?” Jeff asked him.

“Outside gate of Panch Mahal—in dust. All but trod on same, emerging.”

“What went on in there?”

“Miss Ommony, sahib, went off—on horseback, this babu inducing horse to walk from here to gate. Very gentle creature—fortunately!”

“What happened inside?”

“Inside horse? He ate nothing. She rode outside, this babu assisting her to mount.”

“Inside the Panch Mahal, you ass!”

“Oh!” The babu tried to look as if he had not understood the first time. “Nothing,” he answered, more blandly innocent than ever.

“Then why did they send for you?” Ramsden demanded.

“Perhaps to prove that nothing happened, sahib. Am exquisitely discreet witness.”

“Strange has bought you, eh?”

“Am poor babu, but unpurchasable.”

“Where’s Mr. Ommony?”

“Not knowing, can’t say.”

Jeff hove himself erect, left Charley smoking, and walked back to the Panch Mahal, where Strange admitted him. Strange grabbed a cigar.

“Seen Ommony?” he demanded.

“No.”

“Where did you find tobacco?”

“Ommony seems to have left it outside the gate.”

“Huh! His sister was here.”

“I admitted her.”

“The you did! She didn’t say that. Have any talk with her?”

“Nothing to mention.”

“See her ride off?”

“No.”

“Talk with the babu?”

“Questioned him. He told me nothing.”

Strange seemed satisfied to know that. There was a new atmosphere about him, hardly less assertive, but more pleasant. He was plainly well-pleased with something.

“What’s eating you?” Jeff demanded of his employer.

Strange smiled aggravatingly, eyed Jeff as one appraises, say, a horse, and kept his own counsel.

“I like to put one over on Johnny Bull,” he answered cryptically.

“You’re the goat all right, this trip,” Jeff answered. “Don’t be a fool, Strange! Pull out of this before they make you look ridiculous. I won’t tell what I know, but I warn you. Pull out!”

“I’d stay and watch, if I were you.”

“It won’t amuse me to see a man of your age and dignity made the goat by a lot of Hindu priests,” Jeff retorted.

“Take my tip and watch!”

Strange, even in pajamas, looked almost as he used to in New York when he paced the office floor tossing triumphant orders to a corps of clerks. He threw a chest. He clasped both hands behind him, and even kicked the fountain at the end of a to-and-fro patrol just as he used to kick the office wainscot, sitting down at once to curse and fondle his bare toe—but even so not rabid in his rage as formerly. The pain brought water to his eyes, but he found grace to laugh at himself.

“Why don’t you marry Zelmira?” Jeff asked him suddenly, judging that a favorable moment to surprize the underlying truth.

Strange set his toe down and stopped swaying. He glanced up, seeming to think deeply for a minute. He looked half-astonished, as if the notion were a new one.

“You think she would?” he demanded.

Jeff laughed.

“Save lots of trouble,” he said. “She’s a nice girl.”

“Yes, she’s nice—confounded nice! But d’you think she could endure a crabbed old fossil like me?”

“I suspect she’s game to have a crack at it.”

Jeff folded herculean arms across his chest and laughed aloud. If he had had clothes and shoes—or even a horse, without those—he would have started off that minute to find Zelmira and bring her there and offer the two his blessing.

“How long before Ommony sends our trunks?” he wondered. “An elephant might make the journey and return in”

“Never mind,” Strange answered. “I’ve had a long talk with—er—Miss Ommony. Don’t care whether we get the clothes or not. They’ll fix us up with doodads for the ceremony; you’ll look fine in silk and ostrich-feathers!”

“I’ll kill the man who tries to haze me!” Jeff retorted. “So Miss Ommony has been encouraging you, has she?”

“I found her quite encouraging.”

Strange smiled exasperatingly.

“I’m surprized at her,” Jeff growled back. “It’s natural, I suppose, that she should take her brother’s part, but”

“Yes, I’m surprized at her too.”

“I liked her. I thought she was”

“Yes, I like her, too, first rate.”

“You’ll not like any one—yourself least—before long!” Jeff assured him. “Strange, you’re off your head.”

“Maybe, maybe. We’ve all a right to go mad if we want to.”

“Yes!” exploded Jeff, “and take the consequences!”

“Um-huh! Consequences. Take ’em. That’s not half-bad. Who eats crow, eh? Wait and see.”

Jeff could get no more out of him. Strange avoided further talk by rearranging the overturned cot in the assembly hall and settling down to make up for lost sleep. In fifteen minutes he was snoring, seemingly without a worry on his mind. Jeff explored the building for a while, then wearied of that; cleaned the shot-gun and rifles with a fragment of Strange’s shirt; wished there were something to read and, wish producing nothing, rearranged the other cot and presently slept too. Their snores rose and fell like the chorus of a busy lumber-mill.