A TRAP
In the forenoon of the fifth day of the Durgá-Puja Festival the _Dewan_ and
Chunerbutty sat on the thick carpet of the Rajah's apartment, which was in
that part of the Palace facing the wing given up to the visitors. It formed
one of the sides of the square surrounding the paved courtyard below, which
was rarely entered. Only one door led into it from the buildings which
lined it on three sides, a door under the Rajah's suite of apartments.
That potentate was sprawling on a pile of soft cushions, glaring
malevolently at his Chief Minister, whom he hated and feared.
"Curses on thee, _Dewan-ji_!" he muttered, turning uneasily and groaning
with the pain of movement. For he was badly bruised, sore, and shaken, from
his treatment by the crowd on the previous day.
"Why on me, O Maharaj?" asked the _Dewan_, looking at him steadily and with
hardly-veiled contempt.
"Because thine was the idea of this foolish celebration yesterday. Mother
Durgá was angry with me for introducing this foreign way of worship,"
answered the superstitious atheist, conveniently forgetting that the idea
was his own. "It will cost me large sums to these greedy priests, if she is
not to punish me further."
"Not for that reason, but for another, is the Holy Mother enraged, O
Maharaj," replied his Minister. "For the lack of a sweeter sacrifice than
we offered her yesterday."
"What is that?" demanded the Rajah suspiciously. He distrusted his _Dewan_
more than any one else in his service.
"Canst thou ask? Thou who bearest on thy forehead the badge of the Sáktas?"
"Thou meanest a human sacrifice?"
"I do."
"I have given Durgá many," grumbled the Rajah. "But if she be greedy, let
her have more. There are girls in my _zenana_ that I would gladly be rid
of."
"The Holy Mother demands a worthier offering than some wanton that thou
hast wearied of."
Chunerbutty spoke for the first time.
"She wants the blood of one of the accursed race; of a _Feringhi_; of this
soldier and spy."
The Rajah shifted uneasily on his cushions. He hated but he feared the
white men, and he had not implicit faith in the _Dewan's_ talk of their
speedy overthrow.
"Mother Durgá has rejected him," he said. "Have ye not all tried to slay
him and failed?"
The _Dewan_ nodded his head slowly and stared at the carpet.
"There is some strange and evil influence that sets my plans at naught."
"The gods, if there be gods as you Brahmins say, protect him. I think evil
will come to us if we harm him. And can we? Did he not lie down with the
hooded death itself, a cobra, young, active, full of venom, and rise
unhurt?"
"True. But perhaps the snake had escaped from the bed before the
_Feringhi_ entered it," said the _Dewan_ meditatively.
"To guard against that, did they not fasten the _karait_ in his shoe?"
"He may have discovered it in time," said the engineer. "Englishmen fear
snakes greatly and always look out for them."
"Ha! and did he not eat and drink the poisoned meal prepared for him by our
skilfullest physician?"
There was no answer to this. The mystery of Dermot's escape from death was
beyond their understanding.
"There is certainly something strange about him," said Chunerbutty. "At
least, so it is reported in our district, though to me he seems a fool. But
there all races and castes fear him. Curious tales are told of him. Some
say that _Gunesh_, the Elephant-headed One, protects him. Others hold that
he is _Gunesh_ himself. Can it be so?"
The _Dewan_ smiled.
"Since when hast thou believed in the gods again?" he asked.
"Well, it is hard to know what is true or false. If there be no gods,
perhaps there are devils. My Christian friends are more impressed by the
latter."
The Rajah shook his head doubtfully.
"Perhaps he is a devil. Who knows? They told me that he summoned a host of
devils in the form of elephants to slay my soldiers. Pah! it is all
nonsense. There are no such things."
With startling distinctness the shrill trumpeting of an elephant rang
through the room.
"Mother Kali preserve me!" shrieked the superstitious Rajah, flinging
himself in terror on his face. "That was no mortal elephant. Was it
_Gunesh_ that spoke?" He lifted his head timidly. "It is a warning. Spare
the _Feringhi_. Let him go."
"Spare him? Knowest thou, O Maharaj, that the girl thou dost desire loves
him? But an hour ago I heard her tell him that she wished to speak with him
alone," said Chunerbutty.
"Alone with him? The shameless one! Curses on him! Let him die," cried the
jealous Rajah, his fright forgotten.
The _Dewan_ smiled.
"There was no need to fear the cry of that elephant," he said. "It was your
favourite, Shiva-_ji_. He is seized with the male-madness. They have penned
him in the stone-walled enclosure yonder. He killed his _mahout_ this
morning."
"Killed Ebrahim? Curse him! If he had not cost me twenty thousand rupees I
would have him shot," growled the Rajah savagely. "Killed Ebrahim, my best
_mahout_? Why could he not have slain this accursed _Feringhi_ if he had
the blood-lust on him?"
"In the name of Siva the Great One!" exclaimed the _Dewan_ piously. "It is
a good thought. Listen to me, Maharaj! Listen, thou renegade" (this to
Chunerbutty, who dared not resent the old man's insults).
The three heads came together.
* * * * *
After lunch that day Dermot sat smoking in his room. Although it had no
punkah and the heat was great, he had escaped to it from the crowded lounge
to be able to think quietly. But his thoughts were not of the attempts on
his life and the probability that they would be repeated. His mind was
filled with Noreen to the temporary exclusion of all other subjects. She
puzzled him. He had supposed her engaged, or practically engaged, to
Charlesworth. Yet she had come away from Darjeeling at its gayest time and
here seemed to be engrossed with Chunerbutty. She was always with him or he
with her. He never left her side. She sat by him at every meal. She had
gone alone with him in his howdah to the _Moti Mahal_, when every other
elephant had carried more than two persons. He knew that she had always
regarded the Hindu as a friend, but he had not thought that she was so
attracted to him. Certainly now she did not appear content away from him.
What would Charlesworth, who hated natives, think of it?
As for himself, their former friendship seemed dead. He had naturally been
hurt when she had not waited in the hotel at Darjeeling, though she knew
that he was coming to say good-bye to her. But perhaps Charlesworth had
kept her out, so he could not blame her. But why had she deliberately
avoided him here in the Palace? What was the reason of her unfriendliness?
Yet that morning in the lounge after breakfast he had chanced to pass her
where she stood beside Chunerbutty, who was speaking to a servant. She had
detained him for a moment to tell him that she wished to see him alone some
time, for she wanted his advice. She seemed rather mysterious about it, and
he remembered that she had spoken in a low tone, as if she did not desire
any one else to hear what she was saying.
What did it all mean? Well, if he could help her with advice or anything
else he would. He had not realised how fond he was of her until this
estrangement between them had arisen.
As he sat puzzling over the problem the servant who waited on him entered
the room and salaamed.
"_Ghurrib Parwar!_ (Protector of the Poor.) I bring a message for Your
Honour. The English missie _baba_ sends salaams and wishes to speak with
you."
Dermot sprang up hastily.
"Where is she, Rama? In the lounge?"
"No, _Huzoor_. The missie _baba_ is in the Red Garden."
"Where is that?"
"It is the Rajah's own private garden, through there." The servant pointed
down to the gateway in the high wall of the courtyard below. He had opened
the shutter of the window by which they were standing. "I will guide Your
Honour. We must go through that door over there under His Highness's
apartments."
"_Bahut atcha_, Rama. I will come with you. Give me my _topi_," cried
Dermot, feeling light-hearted all at once. Perhaps the misunderstanding
between Noreen and him would be cleared up now. He took his sun-hat from
the man and followed him out of the room.
* * * * *
Noreen was greatly perplexed about the insult, as she considered it, of the
Rajah's offer of the necklace. She feared to tell her brother, who might be
angry with her for suspecting his friend of condoning an impertinence to
her. Equally she felt that she could not confide in Ida or any one else,
lest she should be misjudged and thought to have encouraged the engineer
and his patron. To whom could she turn, sure of not being misunderstood? If
only Dermot had remained her friend!
She was torn with longings to know the truth about his relations with Ida.
The uncertainty was unbearable. That morning in her room she had boldly
attacked Ida and asked her frankly. The other woman made light of the whole
affair, pretended that Noreen had misunderstood her on that night in
Darjeeling, and laughed at the idea of any one imagining that she had ever
been in love with Dermot.
The girl was more puzzled than ever. Her heart ached for an hour or two
alone with her one-time friend of the forest. O to be out with him on
Badshah in the silent jungle, no matter what dangers encircled them!
Perhaps there the cloud between them would vanish. But could she not speak
to him here in the Palace? He seemed to be no longer fascinated with Ida,
if indeed he ever had been. She could tell him of the Rajah's insult. He
would advise her what to do, for she was sure that he would not misjudge
her. And perhaps--who knew?--her confiding in him might break down the wall
that separated them. She forgot that it had been built by her own
resentment and anger, and that she had eluded his attempts to approach her.
Even now she felt that she could not speak to him before others.
Growing desperate, she had that morning snatched at the opportunity to ask
him for an interview. Chunerbutty, who seemed always to cling to her now
with the persistence of a leech, had as usual been with her, but his
attention had been distracted from her for a moment. She hoped that the
Hindu had not overheard her. Yet what did it matter if he had? Dermot had
understood and nodded, as he passed on with the old, friendly look in his
eyes. Perhaps all would come right.
She had seen him leave the lounge after lunch, but she remained there
confident that he would return. She felt she could not talk to the others
so she withdrew to a table near one of the shuttered windows and pretended
to read the newspapers on it.
Payne was there, deep in the perusal of an article in an English journal on
the disturbed state of India. Mrs. Rice, impervious to snubs, was trying to
impress the openly bored Ida with accounts of the gay and fashionable life
of Balham. The men were scattered about the room in groups, some discussing
in low tones the occurrences of the day before at the _Moti Mahal_, others
talking of the illuminations and fireworks which were to wind up their
entertainment in Lalpuri on this the last night of their stay. For all were
leaving on the morrow.
Suddenly there was a wild outcry outside. Loud cries, the shouts of men,
the terrifying trumpeting of an elephant, resounded through the courtyard
below and echoed weirdly from the walls of the buildings. A piercing shriek
of agony rang high above the tumult of sound and chilled the blood of the
listeners in the lounge.
Payne tore fiercely at the stiff wooden shutters of the window near him,
which led out to the long balcony. Suddenly they burst open and he sprang
out.
"Good God!" he cried in horror. "Look! Look! Dermot's done for!"
* * * * *
The soldier had followed Rama, who led him through an unfamiliar part of
the Palace along low passages, down narrow winding staircases, through
painted rooms, in some of which female garments flung carelessly on the
cushions seemed to indicate that they were passing through a portion of the
_zenana_. Finally they reached a marble-paved hall on the ground-floor,
where two attendants, the first persons whom they had seen on their way,
lounged near a small door. They were evidently the porters and appeared to
expect them, for they opened the door at Rama's approach. Through it Dermot
followed his guide out into the courtyard on which he had often looked from
the balcony of his room. He looked up at the lounge, two stories above his
head, its long casements shuttered against the heat. Then he noticed that
in none of the buildings surrounding the court were there any windows lower
than the second story, and the only entrance into it from the Palace was
the small door through which he had just passed. Almost at the moment he
stepped into the courtyard a familiar sound greeted his ears. It was the
trumpeting of an elephant. But there was a strange note of rage and
excitement in it, and he thought of the remarks of the _mahouts_ the
previous day on the return from the _Moti Mahal_. Probably the _must_
elephant of which they spoke was chained somewhere close by.
As he crossed the courtyard he chanced to glance up at the shuttered
windows of the apartments which he had been told were occupied by the
Rajah. At that moment one of them was opened and a white cloth waved from
it by an unseen hand. He wondered was it a signal. He stooped to fasten a
bootlace, and Rama, who was making for the gateway in the high wall forming
the fourth side of the courtyard, called impatiently to him to hasten. The
servant's tone was impertinent, and Dermot looked up in surprise.
Then suddenly Hell broke loose. From the direction in which they were
proceeding came fierce shouts of men, yells of terror, and the angry
trumpeting of an elephant mingled with the groaning of iron dragged over
stone and the crashing of splintered wood. Rama, who was a few yards ahead,
turned and ran past the white man, his face livid. Dermot looked after him
in surprise. The man had dashed back to the little door and was beating on
it madly with his fists. It was opened to admit him and then hastily
closed. The soldier heard the rusty bolts grinding home in their sockets.
Scenting danger and fearing a trap he stood still in the middle of the
courtyard.
The uproar continued and drew nearer. Suddenly it was dominated by a
blood-curdling shriek of agony. Through the wide gateway he saw five or
six men fleeing across the farther courtyard, which was surrounded by a
high wall. Behind them rushed a huge tusker elephant, ears and tail
cocked, eyes aflame with rage. He overtook one man, struck him down with
his trunk, trod him to pulp, and then pursued the others. Some of them,
crazed with terror, tried to climb the walls. The savage brute struck
them down one after another, gored them or trampled them to death.
Three terrified wretches fled through the gateway into the courtyard in
which Dermot was standing. One stumbled and the elephant caught him up. The
demented man turned on it and tried to beat it off with his bare hands.
With a scream of fury the maddened beast drove his blood-stained tusk into
the wretch's body, pitched him aloft, then hurled him to the ground and
gored him again and again. The dying shriek that burst from the labouring
lungs turned Dermot's blood cold. The body was kicked, trampled on, and
then torn limb from limb.
The two other men had dashed wildly across the courtyard. One reached the
small door and was beating madly on it with bleeding knuckles, but it
remained implacably closed. The other, driven mad by fear, was running
round and round the courtyard like a caged animal, stopping occasionally to
raise imploring hands and eyes to the windows of the Palace, which were now
filled with spectators. Even the roofs were crowded with natives looking
down on the tragedy being enacted below.
Dermot realised that he had been trapped. There was no escape. He looked up
at the Rajah's windows. One had been pushed open, and he thought that he
could see the _Dewan_ and his master watching him. He determined that he
would not afford them the gratification of seeing him run round and round
the walls of the courtyard like a rat in a trap until death overtook him.
So, when the elephant at last drew off from its victim and stood irresolute
for a moment, he turned to face it.
It seemed to him that he heard his voice called, faintly and from far away,
but all his faculties were intent on watching the death that approached him
in such hideous guise. Dermot's thoughts flew to Badshah for a moment, but
swung back to centre on the coming annihilation. With flaming eyes, trunk
curled, and head thrown up, the elephant charged.
For one brief instant the man felt an insane desire to flee but, mastering
it, he faced the on-rushing brute. A minute more, and all would be over.
The soldier was unconscious of the shouts that rent the air, of the
spectators crowding the balconies and windows. He felt perfectly cool now
and had but one regret--that he had not been able to see Noreen again, as
she had wished, before he died.
He drew a deep breath, his last perhaps before Death reached him, and took
a step forward to meet his doom.
But at his movement a miracle happened. Not five yards from him the
charging elephant suddenly tried to check its rush, flung all its weight
back and, unable to halt, slid forward with stiffened fore-legs over the
paving-stones. When at last it stopped one tusk was actually touching the
man. Tail, ears, and trunk drooped, and it backed with every evidence of
terror. Some instinct had warned it at the last moment that this man was
sacred to the mammoth tribe.
Like a flash enlightenment came to Dermot. Once again a mysterious power
had saved him. The elephant knew and feared him. Yet he seemed as one in a
dream. He looked up at the native portion of the Palace and became aware of
the spectators on the roofs, the staring faces at the windows, the eyes of
the women peering at him through the latticed casements of the _zenana_.
The Rajah and the _Dewan_, all caution forgotten in their excitement, had
thrown open the shutters from behind which they had hoped to witness his
death, and were leaning out in full view.
Dermot laughed grimly, and the thought came to him to impress these
treacherous foes more forcibly. He walked towards the shrinking elephant,
raised his hand, and commanded it to kneel. The animal obeyed submissively.
The soldier swung himself on to its neck, and the animal rose to its feet
again.
He guided it across the courtyard until it stood under the window from
which the Rajah and the _Dewan_ stared down at him in amazement and
superstitious dread. Then he said to the animal:
"_Salaam kuro!_ (Salute!)"
It raised its trunk and trumpeted in the royal salutation. With a mocking
smile, Dermot lifted his hat to the shrinking pair of murderers and turned
the elephant away.
Then for the first time he became aware that the balcony of the lounge was
crowded with his fellow-countrymen. Ida and Mrs. Rice were sobbing
hysterically on each other's shoulders. Noreen, clinging to her brother,
whose arm was about her, was staring down at him with a set, white face.
And as he looked up and saw them the men went mad. They burst into a roar
of cheering, of greeting, and applause that drove the Rajah and his
Minister into hiding again, for the shouts had something of menace in them.
Dermot took off his hat in acknowledgment of the cheers and, seeing the
Hindu engineer shrinking behind the others with an expression of amazed
terror on his face, called to him:
"Would you kindly send one of your friends to open the door, Mr.
Chunerbutty? It seems to have got shut by some unfortunate accident."
He brought the elephant to its knees and dismounted. Then as it rose he
pointed to the gateway and said in the _mahout's_ tongue:
"Return to your stall."
The animal walked away submissively. The two surviving natives shrank
against the buildings in deadly fear, but the animal disappeared quietly.
Dermot went to the door and waited. Soon he heard the key turned in the
lock and the rusty bolts drawn back. The door was then flung open by one of
the porters, while the others huddled against the wall, for Barclay stood
in front of them with a pistol raised. He sprang forward and seized
Dermot's hand.
"Heaven and earth! How are you alive?" he cried. "I thought the devils had
got you this time. I was tempted to shoot these swine here for being so
long in opening the door."
There was a clatter of boots on the marble floor, as Payne and Granger,
followed by the rest of the Englishmen, ran up the hall, cheering. They
crowded round Dermot, nearly shook his arm off, thumped him on the back,
and overwhelmed him with congratulations.
As Dermot thanked them he said:
"I didn't know that you fellows were looking on, otherwise I wouldn't have
done that little bit of gallery-play. But I had a reason for it." "Yes; we
know," said Payne significantly. "Barclay told us."
Then they dragged him protesting upstairs to the lounge, that the women
might congratulate him too; which they did each in her own fashion. Ida was
effusive and sentimental, Mrs. Rice fatuous, and Noreen timid and almost
stiff. The girl, who had endured an agony worse than many deaths, could not
voice her feelings, and her congratulations seemed curt and cold to others
besides Dermot.
She had no opportunity of speaking to him apart, even for a minute, for the
men surrounded him and insisted on toasting him and questioning him until
it was time to dress for dinner. And even then they formed a guard of
honour and escorted him to his room.
Noreen, utterly worn out by her sleepless nights and the storm of emotions
that had shaken her, was unable to come down to dinner, and at her
brother's wish went to bed instead. And so she did not learn that Dermot
was leaving the Palace at the early hour of four o'clock in the morning.
That night as Dermot and Barclay went upstairs together the police officer
said:
"I wonder if they'll dare to try anything against you tonight, Major. I
should say they'd give you a miss in baulk, for they must believe you
invulnerable. Still, I'm going with you to your room to see."
When they reached it and threw open the door a figure half rose from the
floor. Barclay's hand went out to it with levelled pistol, but the words
arrested him.
"_Khodawund!_ (Lord of the World!) Forgive me! I did not know. I did not
know."
It was the treacherous Rama who had tried to lead Dermot to his death. He
lay face to the ground.
"Damned liar!" growled Barclay in English.
"Did not know that thou wert leading me under the feet of the _must_
elephant?" demanded Dermot incredulously.
"Aye, that I knew of course, _Huzoor_. How can I deceive thee? But thee I
knew not; though the elephant Shiva-_ji_ did, even in his madness. It is
not my fault. I am not of this country. I am a man of the Punjaub. I know
naught of the gods of Bengal."
Barclay had heard from the planters the belief in Dermot's divinity which
was universal in their district, and perceived that the legend had reached
this man. He was quick to see the advantages that they could reap from his
superstitious fears. He signed to Dermot to be silent and said in solemn
tones:
"Rama, thou hast grievously offended the gods. Thou knowest the truth at
last?"
"I do, Sahib. The talk through the Palace, aye, throughout the city, is all
of the God of the Elephants, of the Terrible One who feeds his herd of
demons on the flesh of men. The temple of _Gunesh_ will be full indeed
tonight. But alas! I am an ignorant man. I knew not that the holy one took
form among the _gora-logue_ (white folk)."
"The gods know no country. The truth, Rama, the truth," said Barclay
impressively. "Else thou art lost. Shiva-_ji_, mayhap, is hungry and needs
his meal of flesh."
"Ai! sahib, say not so," wailed the terror-stricken man. "He has feasted
well today. With my own eyes I saw him feed on Man Singh the Rajput."
Natives believe that an elephant, when it seizes in its mouth the limbs
of a man that it has killed and is about to tear in pieces, eats his
flesh. In dread of a like doom, of the terrible vengeance of this
mysterious Being, god, man, or demon, perhaps all three, from whom
death shrank aside, whom neither poison of food nor venom of snake could
harm, who used mad, man-slaying elephants as steeds, Rama unburdened his
soul. He told how the _Dewan's_ confidential man had bade him carry out
the attempts on Dermot's life. He showed them that the Major's
suspicions when he saw the Rajah's soldiery were correct, and that from
Lalpuri came the inspiration of the carrying-off of Noreen. He told them
of a party of these same soldiers that had gone on a secret mission into
the Great Jungle, from which but a few came back after awful sufferings,
and the strange tales whispered in the bazaar as to the fate of their
comrades.
He disclosed more. He spoke of mysterious travellers from many lands that
came to the Palace to confer with the _Dewan_--Chinese, Afghans, Bhutanese,
Indians of many castes and races, white men not of the sahib-_logue_. He
said enough to convince his hearers that many threads of the world-wide
conspiracy against the British Raj led to Lalpuri. There was not proof
enough yet for the Government of India to take action against its rulers,
perhaps, but sufficient to show where the arch-conspirators of Bengal were
to be sought for.
Rama left the room, not pardoned indeed, but with the promise of punishment
suspended as long as he was true to the oath he had sworn by the Blessed
Water of the Ganges, to be true slave and bearer of news when Dermot needed
him.
Long after he left, the two sat and talked of the strange happenings of the
last few days, and disclosed to each other what they knew of the treason
that stalked the land, for each was servant of the Crown and his knowledge
might help the other. And when the hoot of Payne's motor-horn in the outer
courtyard told them that it was time for Dermot to go, they said good-bye
in the outwardly careless fashion of the Briton who has looked into
another's eyes and found him true man and friend.
Then through the darkness into the dawn Dermot sped away with his
companions from the City of Shame and the Palace of Death.
And Noreen woke later to learn that the man she loved had left her again
without farewell, that the fog of misunderstanding between them was not yet
lifted.