It was growing dark as the train from Bangalore rolled into Madras
Station, and the ceaseless moaning of the surf fell once more upon the
ears of Mallender, who promptly descended from his carriage, and looked
eagerly about him; as he did so, he noticed the stately approach of a
gorgeous peon, who with a deep salaam enquired:
"Is it Captain Mallender?"
"Yes--all right."
"Then, please your honour, to come with me."
"What about my luggage?" indicating bag and suit-case.
"That we will send to cloak-room."
"Evidently I am not expected to stay the night," thought the
traveller, with amusement. When his baggage had been disposed of, he
accompanied his guide, to where a fine closed motor was waiting to
receive him; as soon as he was seated the peon mounted beside the
chauffeur, and they glided swiftly away. It was a magnificent car,
evidently of great horse-power! Mallender noted its luxurious and
expensive equipment, as he leant back and lit a cigarette, with the air
of a man who has not a care in the world!
"This," he said to himself, "is the rummiest thing, that has happened
yet! I'm in someone's two thousand guinea car, and I have not the
faintest notion of who it belongs to,--or where I am going!"
He was undoubtedly on the track of an adventure; and this agreeable
beginning, was much more auspicious than his various other openings.
Madras at this hour was crowded. The World had now descended from the
Hills and Society was once more abroad. Many cars and carriages were
flitting to and fro. Mallender noticed that he was not about to visit
"fresh fields, and pastures new," but was being taken along a familiar
road in the direction of Hooper's Gardens. Surely not there? No--they
swept smoothly by the entrance, and as they passed, he looked out, and
noticed, that there were lights in the house. So the Tallboys were at
home! The next moment, the car came to a sudden stop, and then turned
into a dark and densely overgrown drive; in places, the crowding shrubs
seemed to lash, and oppose the motor; as it moved steadily forward,
Mallender caught casual glimpses of a vast compound, and an impression
of cattle, and tethered horses. The house, as they approached it, had
an air of gloom and reserve, but when the car came to a standstill
under the portico, he noticed a crowd of men, numerous as a Royal Body
Guard, who were assembled in the lower verandah. Most of them were
smoking and playing cards, but one was evidently doing "sentry go."
Undoubtedly this was the residence of some wealthy native. Why, how
stupid of him! how infernally stupid, not to recognise the premises
of the relative of the Prince of Gulberga; that pungent atmosphere
of green burning wood, huka smoke, and boiling gram, had frequently
assailed his nostrils, when he occupied a tent in the neighbourhood.
The door of the car was flung open, as Mallender alighted the sentry
presented arms, and he was invited to ascend to the verandah. A peon
held a flaming lamp at the head of the marble stairs, where stood
a tall slender woman, evidently awaiting him. She wore a richly
embroidered satin _sari_, and massive gold ornaments. In this dress,
the now experienced eye of the traveller recognised the costume of a
high-born Coorg lady, or Princess.
As she turned, and the light fell on her face, he saw that she was no
longer young, but still preserved the remains of astonishing beauty.
The nose was delicate and clear-cut, the skin like ivory, the drooping
lips, and dark tragic eyes, told a tale of sorrow,--yes, on the whole,
here was the most striking personality that the young man had ever
beheld.
"So you have come," she said, speaking English in a low full voice.
"You will be very gentle and patient, will you not? Remember that your
Uncle has not spoken to a kinsman, nor an English officer, for many
years."
"So then my Uncle _is_ here?" cried Mallender excitedly.
"Yes," she assented, "now you shall see him," and with wonderful grace,
she glided out of the verandah, and across an antechamber, pushed open
a door into a large dim apartment,--and there abandoned him.
Mallender stood for a moment gazing vaguely about. In size and shape
the room was a counterpart of the familiar drawing-room next door
(the houses were precisely alike) only there, was brilliant electric
light in the French chandeliers,--here, on a table, two candles in
old-fashioned shades merely made the darkness visible. The room
appeared to be almost entirely empty of furniture, and saturated with
novel and aromatic odours; but as the visitor's eyes became accustomed
to the twilight, he gradually made out some shadowy divans along the
wall, a few rugs on the floor, and--he gave a slight start, as he
discerned an arm-chair, and an outline of the spare stooping figure
of a man in Europe dress. As he continued to stare, he noticed that
he was wearing a black skull cap, a short black beard, and a pair of
black-rimmed spectacles.
"You have arrived, Geoffrey Mallender!" said the figure in a harsh but
muffled voice.
"Yes, I'm here," he answered boldly.
"Grope," continued the bearded man, "and you will find an arm-chair,
draw it up to the table, and sit down."
Geoffrey obeyed without a word.
"So I have found you. You never found _me_," continued the mysterious
individual, and he chuckled audibly.
"Do you mean to say that you are my Uncle?" enquired Mallender
brusquely.
"I am."
"How am I to be sure of that? You see, I've been let in pretty often."
To this statement, a loud discordant laugh was the sole immediate
response; after an appreciable pause, the bearded man added, "Ask me
some questions, my doubting Thomas?"
"All right then. Tell me the address of our old town house?"
"Two hundred and ninety Bruton Street. Your father was born there."
"Good. Now the best fox cover at Opershaw?"
"Tylney Corner," was the prompt reply.
"And my grandmother's name?"
"Althea Chandos, she brought a beautiful foot into the family."
"Right, but perhaps you are a medium--or a clairvoyant or something."
"No--nor a tom-fool," he answered, "I am your Uncle Geoffrey."
Something in the accent--was it a faint resemblance to his father's
voice?--carried conviction, and there came to Mallender, a keen sense
of the importance of this revelation and interview.
"Now we are together," resumed his Uncle, "I may as well inform you,
that you have provided me with an extraordinary amount of interest and
amusement, during this last year."
"How was that?" asked his visitor sharply.
"_I_ pulled all the strings, and you danced beautifully, my good
puppet! I had Jaffer in my pay, and of course Shumilal his agent; it
was I, who sent you on all those crazy excursions; for instance, to
terrify Rochfort, and amuse old Beamish. I remember him thirty years
ago: a splendid fellow even then. Poor chap, he still clings like a
limpet to an outworn past. You see, I live behind the scenes; it is my
rôle in every sense; I am a wire-puller. I have assisted at meetings.
_I_ was the writer who sat with his back to you in Shumilal's office,
I was next door to you over the wall, when you stayed with Fred; I
paid you a visit one night at Panjeverram. This sort of half-light
existence, the life of a bat or an owl, is all that is left to me now."
He ceased to speak, evidently expecting his listener to make some
remark, but Mallender remained dumb; he was furiously angry with his
Uncle, and could not trust himself with words.
"I don't know how long I should have continued to amuse myself at
your expense. I intended to pass you on next, to a miserable devil of
a lunatic, who believes he has committed a murder, and has lived in
hiding for years--but you were spared that, by a paragraph in a little
local rag."
"Oh!"
"It mentioned that you had met with a frightful accident, and were
at the point of death; so then I realised that I had gone too far.
I despatched a special messenger to Wellunga, tracked you to the
Hills, and summoned you at last. I must confess, that the news of your
accident gave me a shock. I sent the paper in next door--of course by
post. I did not see why Fred should not have a bad shock too!"
Mallender made no reply, his heart was hot within him. So all the time
he had been--as his Uncle declared,--a mere plaything, or puppet, who
was made to dance for his amusement! Probably his companion was struck
by his silence, and the judicial attitude of his young relative.
Leaning suddenly forward in his chair he said, "And now I am going to
unveil the mystery; a mystery unexplained for a lifetime. Only for
you, it would never have been cleared up,--and I confess, that your
eagerness and determination to find either my murderer, or myself, has
touched, and flattered me. There was a smack of romance about the whole
thing! You have shown extraordinary pertinacity, and in spite of all
sorts of obstacles, and many failures, have held on with the grip of
a bulldog, or grim death. It's going to be a fairly long story, so if
you smoke--I know you do--pull out the drawer in the table, and help
yourself to cigarettes."
Geoffrey deliberately did as suggested, produced matches, struck one on
the sole of his boot, and throwing himself back in his chair, prepared
to listen to his Uncle's disclosure.