The bungalow Swinton and Lord Victor occupied was in a large,
brick-walled compound, in the cantonments, that was known as the Dak
Compound, because it contained three bungalows the maharajah maintained
for visiting guests.
The tonga, finishing its clattering trip from the Maha Bodhi Temple,
swung through the big gate to a circular driveway, bordered by a
yellow-and-green mottled wall of crotons, here and there ablaze with the
flaming blood-red hibiscus and its scarlet rival, the Shoe flower.
Swinton took a deep draft of the perfumed air that drifted lazily from
pink-cheeked oleander and jasmine; then he cursed, for a brackish taint
of hookah killed in his nostrils the sweet perfume.
To his right lay one of the guest bungalows, and a light, hanging on the
veranda, showed a billowy form of large proportions filling an armchair.
Somebody must have arrived, for the bungalow had been empty, the captain
mentally noted.
In bed, Swinton drifted from a tangle of queries into slumber. Why had
the German drawn Finnerty into wrestling the Punjabi? Why had some one
stolen the uncut sapphire? What was behind the prince's pose in
religion? Who was the woman behind the lattice--yes, it was a
woman----Then Swinton drowsed off.
It is soul racking to awaken in a strange room, startled from sleep by
unplaceable sounds, to experience that hopeless lostness, to mentally
grope for a door or a window in the way of a familiar mark to assist
one's location. When Captain Swinton was thrust out of deep slumber by a
demoniac tumult he came into consciousness in just such an environment.
Lost souls torturing in Hades could not have given expression to more
vocal agony than the clamour that rent the night.
Swinton was on his feet before he had mentally arranged his habitat. He
groped in the gloom for something of substance in the sea of
uncertainty; his hands fell upon the table, and, miraculously, a match
box. Then he lighted a lamp, pushed out into the passage, and saw Lord
Victor's pajamaed figure coming toward him.
"What a bally row!" the latter complained sleepily. "Must be slaughter!"
Out on the veranda, they located the vocal barrage; it was being fired
from the bungalow in which they had seen the bulky figure in white.
Perhaps the vociferous one had seen their light, for he was crying: "Oh,
my lord and master, save me! Tiger is biting to my death! I am too
fearful to explore across the compound. Heroic masters, come with guns!"
"Oh, I say! What a devilish shindy!" Lord Victor contributed petulantly.
"Is that bounder pulling our legs?"
"It's a baboo, and a baboo has no sense of humour; he doesn't pull
legs," the captain answered. "But he does get badly funked."
Another voice had joined issue. Swinton knew it for a "chee-chee" voice,
a half-caste's.
"Yes, sar," the new pleader thrust out across the compound; "we are
without firearms, but a prowling tiger is waiting to devour us."
He was interrupted by a bellowing scream from his companion, an agonised
cry of fright. As if in lordly reproach, the clamour was drowned by a
reverberating growl: "Waugh-h-h!"
"Gad, man! Devilish like a leopard!" And the captain darted into his
room to reappear with a magazine rifle. A bearer came running in from
the cook-house, a lighted lantern in his hand, at that instant.
"Here, Gilfain," Swinton called, "grab the lantern. If it's a leopard
he'll slink away when he sees the light, so we may not get a shot. Come
on!" He was dropping cartridges into the magazine of his rifle. "Pardus
is probably sneaking around after a goat or a dog. Come on; keep close
behind me so the light shines ahead."
"I'm game, old chappie," Lord Gilfain answered cheerily. "Push on; this
is spiffen!"
The gravel was cruel to their bare feet, but in the heat of the hunt
they put this away for future reference. As they neared the other
bungalow the captain suddenly stopped and threw his gun to his shoulder;
then he lowered it, saying: "Thought I saw something slip into the
bushes, but I don't want to pot a native."
They reached the bungalow, and as Swinton pushed open a wooden door he
was greeted by wordy tumult. Screamed phrases issued from a bedroom that
opened off the room in which they stood.
"Go away, jungle devil! O Lord! I shall be eated!"
"Don't be an ass! Come out here!" the captain commanded.
The person did. One peep through the door to see that the English voice
did not belong to a ghost, and a baboo charged out to throw his arms
around the sahib, sobbing: "Oh, my lord, I am safe! I will pray always
for you."
Pushed off by Swinton, he collapsed in a chair, weeping in the relief of
his terror.
The baboo's prodigal gratitude had obliterated a companion who had
followed him from the room. Now the latter stood in the radiancy of Lord
Victor's lantern, saying: "Baboo Lall Mohun Dass has been awed by a
large tiger, but we have beat the cat off."
The speaker was a slim, very dark half-caste clad in white trousers and
jaran coat.
"It is Mr. Perreira." And Baboo Dass stopped sobbing while he made this
momentous announcement.
"What's all the outcry about, baboo?" the captain asked.
"Sar," Baboo Dass answered, "I will narrative from the beginning: I am
coming from Calcutta to-day, and Mr. Perreira is old friend, college
chum, he is come here to spend evening in familiar intercourse. We are
talking too late of pranks we execute against high authority in college.
Kuda be thanked! I have close the window because reading that mosquito
bring malaria--ugh!" With a yell the baboo sprang to his feet; Perreira,
leaning against the centre table, had knocked off a metal ornament.
"Excuse me, masters, I am upset by that debased tiger." He collapsed
into a chair.
"What happened?" Swinton queried sharply, for his feet were beginning to
sting from the trip over the gravel.
"We hear mysterious noise--tap, tap; some spirit is tickle the window. I
look, and there, masters, spying at me is some old fellow of evil
countenance; like a _guru_, with grey whiskers and big horn spectacles.
But his eyes--O Kuda! Very brave I stand up and say, 'Go away, you old
reprobate!' because he is prying."
"Oh, my aunt!" Gilfain muttered.
"Then that old villain that is an evil spirit changes himself into a
tiger and grins at me. Fangs like a shark has got--horrible! I call
loudly for help because I have not firearms. Then I hear my lord's voice
out here in the room and I am saved."
"Yes, sar, that is true," Perreira affirmed. "I am not flustered, but
hold the windows so tiger not climbing in."
Lord Victor, raising the lantern, looked into the captain's eyes. "What
do you make of these two bounders?"
"You'd better go back to bed, baboo," Swinton advised; "you've just had
a nightmare--eaten too much curry."
But Baboo Dass swore he had seen a beast with his hands on the window.
"We'll soon prove it. If the tiger stood up there, he will have left his
pugs in the sand," Swinton declared as he moved toward the door. He was
followed by the baboo and Perreira, who hung close as they went down the
steps and around the wall.
As Gilfain passed the lantern close to the sandy soil beneath the
window, Swinton gave a gasp of astonishment, for there were footprints
of a tiger, the largest he had ever seen; their position, the marks of
the claws in the earth, indicated that the great cat had actually stood
up to look into the room.
"Well, he's gone now, anyway," the captain said, turning back to the
driveway. "You'd better go to bed, baboo; he won't trouble you any more
to-night."
But Mohun Dass wept and prayed for the sahib to stay and protect him; he
would go mad in the bungalow without firearms.
"I say, Swinton," Lord Victor interposed, "these poor chaps' nerves seem
pretty well shimmered, don't you think? Shall we take them over to our
bungalow and give them a brandy?"
The captain hesitated; he didn't like baboos. But when Perreira
acclaimed: "Yes, sar, a peg will stimulate our hearts--thank you, kind
gentleman; and his highness, the rajah, will thank you for saving me,
for I am important artisan," his dead-blue eyes glinted.
"Come on, then!" he said, picking his way gingerly over the gravel.
Inside the bungalow, Swinton tossed his keys to the bearer, saying:
"Bring----" He turned to Perreira: "What will you have, brandy or
whisky?"
The half-caste smacked his bluish lips. "Any one is good, sar."
But Lall Mohun Dass interposed: "Salaam, my preserver, I am a man
because of religious scruples teetotal, and whisky is convivial
beverage; but brandy is medicinal, prescribed by doctor."
Swinton nodded to the bearer, and when the latter, unlocking the liquor
cabinet, brought the brandy and glasses, he said: "Put it on the table
and go." Then, at a suggestion, Perreira poured copious drafts for
himself and Baboo Dass.
As the water of life scorched its way through the thin veins of the
half-caste he underwent a metamorphosis. The face that had looked so
pinched and blue grey with fear took on a warmer copper tint; his eyes
that had been lustreless warmed till they glowed; his shoulders squared
up; the jaran coat sagged less.
"Ah, sahib, you are kind gentleman." Without invitation, he dragged a
chair to the table and sat down. At a nod from Swinton, the baboo drew
up another. The captain and Lord Victor sat down, the latter rather
puzzled over his companion's mood. He knew Swinton's rigid ideas about
association with the natives; particularly what he called the "greasy
Bengali baboo."
The brandy had quieted Mohun Dass' terror. His eyes that had constantly
sought the open door with apprehension now hovered benignantly upon the
bottle that still graced the centre of the table.
"Yes, sar, kind gentleman," Perreira said; "if I'd had a hooker of
brandy like that and a gun like that 'Certus Cordite'"--he pointed to
the weapon Swinton had deposited on the floor--"I would go out and blow
that fool tiger to hell."
Baboo Dass gave a fatty laugh. "Do not believe him, kind gentlemans--he
make ungodly boast; he was crawled under the bed."
"And you, baboo?" Perreira questioned. "Major sahib----"
"I am not a major," Swinton corrected; "we are just two Englishmen who
have come out here for some shooting."
This statement had a curious effect on Mohun Dass. All his class stood
in awe of the military, but toward the globe-trotting, sporting
Englishman they could hardly conceal their natural arrogance. A look of
assured familiarity crept into his fat countenance; he showed his white
teeth with the little, reddish lines between them, due to _pan_ chewing.
"You are globe-trotter gentlemans--I know. Will you writing book, too?"
The captain nodded.
"You will get Forbes Hindustani dictionary and spell bungalow
'_bangla_,' and the book will stink like the lamp because of academic
propensity. Never mind, kind gentleman, the publics will think you know
about India and caste, too."
The captain noting Perreira's eyes devouring the bottle shoved it toward
the half-caste. Gilfain, with a sigh of not understanding, rose, went
along to their rooms, and returned with slippers and some cheroots.
Perreira had helped himself and the baboo to another generous drink, the
latter protesting weakly.
"I see you know about guns, Perreira," Swinton said, lifting the rifle
to his knee. "How do you happen to know this is a Cordite?"
"Cordite? Ha, ha!" And the half-caste's cackle was a triumphant note. He
put a pair of attenuated fingers into the top pocket of his jaran coat
and drew from beneath a very dirty handkerchief a lump of something that
resembled an unbaked biscuit. He flipped it to the table as though he
were tossing a box of cigarettes. "Yes, sars, that is cordite--dynamite,
whatever you like to call him."
"Good God! I say, you silly ass!" And Lord Victor, pushing back his
chair, stood up.
Baboo Dass, who had been sitting with his feet curled up under his fat
thighs, tumbled from the chair, and, standing back from the table,
cried: "_Mera bap!_ Tigers eating and explosives producing eruption of
death. O Kuda, my poor families!"
Swinton checked an involuntary movement of retreat, and the compelling
void of his eyes drew from the half-caste an explanation:
"Take seat, kind gentlemans and Baboo Lall Mohun Dass. This thing is
innocent as baby of explosion. It is cordite not yet finish. I was in
the government cordite factory here in----" He checked, looked over his
shoulder toward the front door, and then continued: "Yes, sar, I was
gov'ment expert man to mix cordite. If you don't believe, listen,
gentlemans. Cordite is fifty-eight parts nitroglycerin, thirty-seven
parts guncotton, five parts mineral jelly, and, of course, acetone is
used as solvent. Now all that is mix by hand, and while these parts
explode like hell when separate, when they are mix they are no harm. And
I was expert for mixing. I am expert on smokeless powder and all kinds
of guns because I am home in England working for Curtis & Harper Co. in
their factory. That why Rajah Darpore engage me."
Swinton's eyes twitched three times, but he gave no other sign.
Baboo Dass drew himself into the conversation. "This mans, Perreira,
been at school in Howrah with me, but I am now B. A., and trusted head
krannie for Hamilton Company, jewel----"
With a gasp he stopped and thrust a hand under his jacket; then
explained: "Sahib, I forgetting something because of strict attention to
tiger business. You are honourable gentleman who has save my life, so I
will show the satanic thing, and you can write story about some ghost
jewels."
He unclasped from his neck a heavy platinum chain, and, first casting a
furtive glance toward the door, drew forth a pear-shaped casket of the
same metal, saying: "You see, sar, not so glorified in splendour as to
seduce thieves, but inside is marvel of thing."
He thrust the casket toward Swinton, and laughed in toper glee when the
captain explored vainly its smooth shell for a manner of opening it.
"Allow me, sar," and, Baboo Dass touching some hidden mechanism, the
shell opened like a pea pod, exposing to the startled captain's eyes an
exact mate to the sapphire Finnerty had lost.
Lord Victor, his unschooled eyes popping like a lobster's, began: "Oh, I
say----" Then he broke off with a yelp of pain, for Swinton's heel had
all but smashed his big toe beneath the table.
"I am bringing for the maharajah," Baboo Dass explained. "The old boy is
gourmand for articles of vertu."
"Articles of virtue!" And Perreira leered foolishly. "Prince Ananda is
the Johnnie to collect articles of virtue; he imports from Europe."
"Mr. Perreira is gay young dog!" Baboo Daas leaned heavily across the
table. "Perhaps Shazada Ananda is in big hurry to sit on the throne."
"There's always a woman at the bottom of these things, sir," and
Perreira twisted his eyes into an owllike look of wisdom.
"You see, sar," the baboo elucidated, "Prince Ananda has give this to
the maharajah, and it is accursed agent of evil; because of it I am
nearly eated of a tiger."
On the sapphire was the same inscription Swinton had seen on the stolen
stone.
"That is Persian characters, sahib," Baboo Dass declared ponderously.
"It is used for 'mine,' but in learned way _madun_ is proper name for
mine, and _Rikaz_, this word, means buried treasure. I am learned in
dead languages--Sanskrit, Pali. It is sacred stone. If you possessing
patience, sahib, I will narrative obscure histories of Buddhism."
"Oh, my aunt!" The already bored Lord Victor yawned.
But Captain Swinton declared earnestly: "If you do, baboo, I will place
your name in my book as an authority."
Mohun Dass' breast swelled with prospective glory.
"I say, old chappie, if we're to sit out the act I'm going to have a B.
and S.," and Gilfain reached for the bottle.
"We'll all have one," declared the captain to the delight of Perreira.
"Kind sar," Baboo Dass pleaded, "do not speak these things to-morrow,
for my caste frowning against bacchanalian feast."
"We promise, old top!" Lord Victor declared solemnly, and Swinton
mentally added: "The Lord forbid!"
"Now, sar," began Baboo Dass, "in Buddhist book '_Paramamsa Maju_,' is
describe the Logha, the earth, telling it rests on three great
sapphires, and beneath is big rock and plenty oceans. And according to
that book is three sacred sapphires knocking around loose. If any man
have them three together he is the true Buddha and rules all India.
Prince Sakya Singha got those sapphires and became Buddha; that was up
on the hill where is Maha Bodhi Temple. The sapphires got hole because
one is to hang in the temple, one hangs on a sacred elephant that guard
the temple, and one round the Buddha's neck."
Baboo Dass lifted his glass, his heavy ox eyes peering over its top at
Swinton, who was thinking of Finnerty's elephant that had the sapphire.
Baboo Dass resumed: "And here, kind gentleman, is the hell of dilemma,
for one sapphire is Brahm, the Creator; one Vishnu, the Preserver; and
one Siva, the Destroyer. So, if a man got one he don't know if it is
loadstone for good fortune or it brings him to damnation."
"But, baboo," Swinton objected, "those are Brahman gods, and Buddhists
have practically no gods."
"Sar, Buddhism is kind of revolted Brahmanism, and in the north the two
is mixed."
The baboo pointed gingerly at the sapphire in its platinum case: "That
is the Siva stone, I believe. Maharajah Darpore is sending to my company
in Calcutta by special agent for them to find other two stones like it.
See, sahib, he is foxy old boy. We make that chain and casket--his
order. That special agent disappeared forever--he is vanish the next
day; the workman that fitted the stone in the case died of cholera; some
devil tried to steal the sapphire; all the workmen get a secret it is
evil god and they strike. The manager, Rombey Sahib, swear plenty
blasphemy and command me: 'Baboo Dass, you are brave mans, take the damn
thing to old Darpore and tell his banker I must have rupees twenty
thousand; they owe us sixty thousand.' Rombey Sahib knows I will give
the dewan a commission, and the old thief will write a money order."
"What did the maharajah want of the three sapphires?" Swinton asked
innocently.
Baboo Dass leaned across the table, and in a gurgling whisper said:
"Because of this foolish belief that he would rule all India. The
Buddhists would think he was a Buddha. That word _Rikaz_ means, in
theologic way, that in the man possesses the three sapphires is buried
the treasure of holy knowledge."
Swinton, turning his head at a faint sound, saw his bearer standing in
the back doorway.
"Did master call?" the servant asked.
"No. Go!"
Trembling with apprehension, Baboo Dass slipped the case back in his
breast. A revulsion of bibulous despondency took possession of him; he
slipped a white cotton sock from one of the feet he had pulled from
their shoes in his exuberancy, and wiped his eyes.
"Baboo Dass is right," Perreira declared, thrusting into the gap. "On
the hill I am working like mole in the ground, but I got my eyeteeth
looking when I am in the light. I am Britisher--Piccadilly Circus is
home for me--if I work for native prince I don't sell my mess of
pottage."
Perreira tapped the breast pocket of his jaran coat. "I got little book
here----" The half-caste gulped; a wave of sea green swept over his
face; he gurgled "Sick," and made a reeling dash for the verandah. At
the door, he recoiled with a yell of terror. The baboo dived under the
table.
Thinking it was the tiger, Swinton grabbed his rifle and sprang to the
door, discovering a native standing against the wall.
"What do you want?" the captain asked in rapid English.
"Sahib, I am the night _chowkidar_ of the compound."
"Sit on the steps there!" Swinton commanded.
Back at the table, he said: "Baboo, you and Perreira go back to your
bungalow now with the _chowkidar_, but I warn you he understands
English."
Trembling, Perreira whispered: "That man spy. Please lending me rupees
two."
Baboo Dass revived to encourage the deal, saying: "Mr. Perreira is
honest man; I endorse for him rupees five thousand."
Suspecting that the requested loan had something to do with the
eavesdropping _chowkidar_, Captain Swinton went to his room, returning
with the silver, which he slipped quietly into Perreira's palm, saying
in a low voice: "Come to see me again." He stood watching the three
figures pass down the moonlit road, and saw Perreira touch the
_chowkidar_; then their hands met.
Going to their rooms, Lord Victor said: "Don't see how the devil you had
the patience, captain. Are you really going to do a book and were
mugging up?"
"I may get something out of it," the captain answered enigmatically.