After Zynool's departure, Mark sat down to examine certain blue books
which the Judge recommended for his perusal, but the late interview
rankled. He could not concentrate his attention, and thought, with a
sigh, how speedily he had been brought face to face with one of the
unpleasant realities of official life. Even his vanity had received a
shock. Did he look so clearly on the surface a man likely to have his
price? The idea was revolting. Should he tell the Collector what had
occurred or would it be best to bury the incident fathoms deep, was the
query which haunted him throughout the remainder of the office hours.
The Judge before leaving looked into the new Assistant's room with a
friendly smile to see how he had been finding his way, and suggested
that they should walk home together. Mark cheerfully assented, delighted
to find that in this land of carriages one was sometimes permitted to
use one's legs. The sun had lost its scorching element, and leafy
Puranapore was bathed in a soft yellow radiance which reminded him of an
autumn evening at home. A gentle breeze stirred the tree tops as their
lengthening shadows fell on the white ribbon-like road. The twilight
hour conduces to confidences, and Mark felt moved to introduce the
unpleasant experience of the morning which was still uppermost in his
mind, feeling that he could find no wiser confident than the trusty man
of law by whose side he walked. But just as he was bracing himself to
unfold the incident, he perceived Mrs. Goldring and her daughter coming
towards them. Recalling her supercilious nod of the previous evening,
he was surprised to receive quite a gracious greeting from the Judge's
wife.
Jane, with a joyous smile, sprang forward to take her father's arm, and
Mark found himself by Mrs. Goldring's side. After expatiating on the
pleasures of an evening stroll, she remarked that it was unfortunate the
Collector was unable to be at his office, though how she came to be
aware of the fact she did not divulge. Mark had yet to learn that the
station was like a glass house, all its happenings common property. It
is true Mrs. Goldring did not generally lay herself out for the
reception of servants' gossip after the manner of Mrs. Samptor, but her
encounter with the Collector still rankled, and she decided to follow
her little neighbour's methods in being on the outlook for gossip; and
also, for the present, to hide her adverse feelings towards the new
Assistant so that, if possible, she might sow discord between him and
his chief. Having heard from her ayah that the Collector was "resting"
to-day, she determined that she would waylay the young man, and give him
some hint of the foibles of his master. She certainly succeeded in
startling Mark when she suddenly glanced at him keenly, saying:
"You had a visit from that chief of snakes, Zynool, this morning, I
understand?"
Politeness forbade him to turn abruptly to his interlocutor and ask how
she came by this piece of news; he therefore only assented briefly.
"I may as well warn you, Mr. Cheveril, in confidence, of course, that we
all deplore the Collector's infatuation for Mahomedans. The favours he
grants them are spelling mischief down there in the town, as Dr.
Campbell will tell you, though my husband may be too loyal to his
brother-civilian to speak his mind," she added, turning half round and
rolling her protruding eyes upon the pair behind who were gaily
chatting, their thoughts far away from the squabbles of station life.
Mark's first impulse was to assure his companion that in the present
instance, at all events, Zynool Sahib had shown no desire to interview
his chief, but on the contrary had planned his visit in his absence so
that he might take stock of the new Assistant; but he felt disinclined
to make a confidante to the smallest extent of the lady by his side, who
continued excitedly:
"You will have the whole story soon enough, so I may as well unfold it
at once, Mr. Cheveril. That Mahomedan butler of his has great influence
with the Collector. My husband tries to excuse Mr. Worsley by saying he
is not in the least aware that the man goes out of his own province, or
he would not tolerate it for a moment. But do we not know there are none
so blind as those who won't see? Well, this Moideen is a poor relation
of Zynool, who is one of the richest men in the town, and it is he who
set him to work on his master for permission to build a mosque on an
ancient site."
"But that was surely a legitimate enough request," interjected Mark.
"Ah, but listen! The whole thing was a wicked plot on the part of the
Mussulmans to annoy their neighbours. The site was near the river and
the burning-ghaut of the Hindus; and so, of course, they have been up in
arms more or less ever since. Now wasn't that a most unprincipled
proceeding, Mr. Cheveril?"
"On whose part?" asked Mark coldly.
The chilliness of his tone was not lost on Mrs. Goldring, who tossed her
head, saying:
"On whoever the cap fits! For my part I've never had any doubt who is
the real culprit, but my position forbids me to say."
The usual tennis-party was to be held that evening in Mrs. Goldring's
compound. The hostess never doubted that the new Assistant would put in
an appearance after the favour she had been extending to him. She was
not a little mortified, therefore, when he politely declined, pleading
as his excuse, when she pressed him, that he must see how the Collector
was now, and, if well enough, keep him company.
"Believe me, you are wasting your fragrance on the desert air, Mr.
Cheveril. The Collector vastly prefers his cheroot and Moideen's company
to yours or mine," said Mrs. Goldring with a malicious air. But Mark
lifted his hat and disappeared down Mr. Worsley's avenue.
The late conversation had by no means a reassuring effect on the young
man. He glanced with new interest on Moideen. Beneath his obsequious
demeanour, he thought he could detect an uneasy smile as he met him and
ushered him into his master's writing-room. The Collector welcomed him
with a cordial smile, making light of his morning's ailment.
"It was only a touch of liver, though Moideen tried to make me believe I
was in the grip of fever." Then he turned to talk of office matters, and
was anxious to hear Mark's impressions of his first day at his new work.
After briefly recording the business which the clerks had put into his
hands, he led up to the visit of Zynool.
"So the rascal turned up at last!" said the Collector. "I've been
summoning him for weeks, and he has evaded me. Now he comes the only day
I've been away since I was on tour."
Mark was about to remark that it was clear now that it was owing to his
absence the Mahomedan had presented himself that morning.
"Then you don't like the man?" he asked, with an air of relief,
remembering Mrs. Goldring's assertion that Zynool and the Collector were
hand-in-glove. "My impression was certainly most unfavourable," he said,
the blood mounting to his face, "as you will believe when I tell you
that without any ostensible cause he actually approached me with a
bribe--drew from the inner folds of his muslin a bag of gold, and said
he wished to lay a gift in my palm. He looked daggers when I told him to
pick up his money and go. Rather a humiliating experience for my first
day in office, wasn't it? I hope I don't look a likely subject," wound
up Mark, with rather a sore smile.
"_You_ don't," answered the Collector, with frank emphasis on the
pronoun. "But that confirms my suspicions that such methods were tried
and succeeded not so very long since, and it throws fresh light on some
things. The blackguard! So he put forth that early feeler to see what
stuff you were made of! Good; he found his match this time!"
Mark, happening to glance at one of the screen doors at the moment,
perceived a pair of handsome brown feet with a massive ring on the great
toe planted on the rattan matting. He at once recognised them as
Moideen's and strode across to the door, but when he reached it, only
Sheila, one of the Collector's setters, stepped in with an apologetic
air.
The Collector, lying back in his chair absorbed in thought and taking
satisfying puffs of his cheroot, had not noticed the incident. Should he
call his attention to it, Mark pondered, but decided to ignore it.
Possibly the man was only passing the door, though certainly those brown
feet had had a stationary appearance.
Presently the Collector proceeded to unfold, in the frankest manner, the
circumstances which Mrs. Goldring had been eager to weave into a
sinister web. He narrated simply how he had been led to sanction the
building of the mosque in a neighbourhood which now suggested trouble
all round.
"The fact is, having more confidence in Printer than was possible later,
I left the negotiations to him, thinking it was a simple matter. It was
foolish and wrong, I see now, but these town squabbles have always been
particularly odious to me. As to Zynool, I only knew him by hearsay as a
relative of my boy Moideen, who was very eager about the mosque. I
believed it was solely on account of his zeal for the Faith, and was
quite touched by his religious emotion. He saved up his pay, made no
end of sacrifices to help to buy the site; but since then I've had
reason to suspect that he was used as a tool by that fellow Zynool, who
I know now to be a treacherous dog. He is backed up in his infamy by a
shady pleader in Madras, who secretly bought the site from an
unsuspecting Hindu for an old song. Then he and Zynool together sold it
to the Mahomedan community for twice the sum, getting the money out of
them on religious pretexts. I want to have it out with Zynool, and have
summoned him more than once, but I think he must be keeping out of my
way. Perhaps he guessed I was not at office to-day and went to take the
measure of the new Assistant," said Mr. Worsley, with an air of
discovery.
Mark, remembering the brown feet planted behind the screen door, was
about to say: "He got a message from Moideen that you were not to be
there. Possibly you were detained at home so that Zynool might have an
opportunity of sounding my depths"; but he forebore, contenting himself
by listening to this frank statement of affairs, open as the daylight,
and which he contrasted with Mrs. Goldring's jaundiced narrative. The
main point with him was to know that his chief was fully aware of
Zynool's villainy. It was not to be wondered at that such methods could
not readily be fathomed by the English gentleman, without fear and
without reproach.
As he sat by his side now in the gathering dusk, a recurrence of a
slumbering anxiety awakened in his mind. What was that remark as to
Zynool's being a client of "a shady pleader in Madras"? Alfred Rayner
had certainly mentioned his name as being a client, so it must be he! It
was bitter indeed that anyone should be able so to designate Hester's
husband, and yet had there not been suggestions of baseness in Rayner's
conduct on more than one occasion during his own brief sojourn in
Clive's Road? Could he forget the epithets he had used about the good
Morpeth? Was it possible that Hester Bellairs was mated to a man quite
unworthy of her? How futile was anything he could do to shield her from
the thorns and briars which must encompass her path even if their roads
did not lie apart? But he would be true to his promise given on the lawn
of the Pinkthorpe Rectory! He would take the earliest opportunity of a
visit to Clive's Road. Possibly Rayner might only be the dupe of the
wily Zynool, and, on being told his true character and methods, might
shake himself free of the plotter.
With hopeful thoughts Mark turned to interest himself in the project of
a tour through the District which the Collector was planning for the
following week.