On the morning of his return from Madras, as the train was sweeping into
the station at Puranapore, Mark Cheveril noticed among the passengers
gathered on the platform for the up train the Mahomedan, Zynool Sahib.
He had never exchanged words with him since the morning at the Kutchery,
of which he retained an unpleasant recollection. His feeling was
evidently reciprocated by the Mussulman, for a scowl was distinctly
visible on his ruddy brown face as soon as he caught sight of the
Assistant-Collector.
"That man suggests the hatching of evil plots every time I set eyes on
him," said Mark to himself, as he watched the heavy form lurching into
one of the carriages for Madras. "Fortunately we give each other a wide
berth!"
Mark stepped into his waiting bandy and was driven towards the
cantonment, as it was still called though bereft of its military
element. When about half-way to his bungalow, he perceived, under the
shade of a spreading neem tree, two men apparently engaged in earnest
conversation. Without difficulty he recognised one of them as Moideen,
the Collector's trusted butler. His companion was surely none other than
Zynool, though he had certainly seen his legs disappearing into a
railway carriage some minutes ago and knew that he must now be on his
way to the city. This then must be his double! Height, gestures,
features, and the dense black beard, all seemed an exact facsimile of
the Puranapore magnate. Mark, however, soon became preoccupied by other
thoughts, and the incident faded from his memory for the time being.
He found the Collector busy in his office preparing for his intended
tour on the following morning.
"I want to hear all your news presently, Cheveril," said Mr. Worsley,
glancing up from his papers with kindly greeting. "How did the meeting
go off--and your speech? Was your ideal Eurasian up to the mark? That
isn't meant to be a pun, by the way, though it might be mistaken for
one! And how is that charming friend of yours--Hester--hate to call her
by her husband's name! You saw her too, eh? Well, come and tell me all
about her to-night at dinner. I'll warn Moideen to excel himself in the
menu!"
The Collector settled himself to his files again, and Mark to his
yesterday's arrears.
When they met at dinner, Mr. Worsley was in his happiest mood and
encouraged his guest to give a detailed account of all his doings in
Madras. He seemed really interested in the opening of the new hall and
reading-room in Vepery, for the benefit of which he had gladdened Mr.
Morpeth's heart by sending a handsome donation. He was also eager to
hear the latest accounts of Hester, to whom he always referred in a tone
of warmest admiration mingled with pity. The incident at the close of
the ball at Government House still rankled.
"The worst of it is that the fellow scored--actually scored," he said,
describing the scene to Mark. "That sweet girl was punished for my
having angered her husband by a chilly attitude when we were introduced
earlier in the evening. I simply sat dumfounded on that sofa after the
wretch had, one might say, dragged her off! What a life she is bound to
have--what a vista of misery!" There was a sorrowful light in the
Collector's eyes as he spoke, and he went on: "I declare it's more
deadly for a woman to be tied to a bad husband than for a man to be
mated to a selfish, unprincipled wife! In the latter case one can
sometimes keep the seas between as a protecting barrier; but for that
poor child I can only foresee a cruel future. How different things
might have been--should have been," he added, darting a keen glance at
his companion, whose face looked grave and troubled.
"Well, the sea does protect her just at this moment," returned Mark,
rousing himself. "Rayner has taken himself off to Calcutta on a visit to
some acquaintance there. But even about that, according to Colonel
Fellowes whom I chanced to meet at the station, he behaved badly. The
trip was first meant to include Hester, and she was looking forward to
it, when Rayner is said to have stumbled on an undesirable acquaintance
who persuaded him to go to Bombay and have what he called a 'good time'
there."
"And so his poor wife was thrown overboard! Well, she's better without
him, anyhow!"
"I was glad to see her looking so well and happy. She was evidently
enjoying her visit to the Fellowes."
"I'm truly glad to hear it," said Mr. Worsley warmly. "She needs a
respite from that thraldom. Yes, Mrs. Fellowes looks good, and her
husband is an excellent fellow, quite the best type of sepoy officer,
and has a splendid record. Did very well at the Mutiny."
The dinner was now over, and the soft-footed servants having arranged
the fruit and wine, had retired. When Mark saw Moideen's retreating
figure, he was reminded of the incident of the morning.
"Has Zynool a twin-brother in town or anywhere?" he asked.
"I hope not; one of Zynool's kidney is quite enough!"
"I ask because I saw, on my way from the station, a man exactly like him
in close conversation with your butler."
"Zynool himself, no doubt! I wish he would let Moideen alone. I suspect
there has been more mischief done than I'm aware of by these two
hobnobbing," said the Collector irritably.
"No, it couldn't have been Zynool. There's the puzzle. Because I happen
to have seen Zynool stepping into the train for Madras. It's really
mystifying, now I come to think of it! If the man was not Zynool, as is
physically impossible, it must have been his double."
"I have it," exclaimed Mr. Worsley. "It must have been my _Tahsildar_ at
Lerode, Mahomet Usman. I once saw him and Zynool side by side, and I own
the likeness was remarkable. I happened to mention the fact and observed
they both looked displeased. Mahomet Usman looked particularly glum and
vowed he was no relative of Zynool's. But if the man is about to-day,
why did he not present himself at the office? However, I shall clear the
matter up soon, for I have intimated a visit to him to-morrow. I wonder
he didn't look in when he was here. But there's no use trying to fathom
these natives. Let's get to our cheroots and pass to pleasanter topics."
Mr. Worsley seemed in such comfortable health and spirits when Mark bade
him good-night, that he was not a little surprised next morning when, at
the hour appointed for starting on tour, one of the clerks who was to
accompany the party called at his bungalow to say that the Collector was
reported very unwell--quite unable to move from his bed, far less to
travel.
Mark hurried to his chief to find him haggard and suffering. He wished
at once to summon the doctor, but the Collector had a prejudice against
all medical surveillance and would not hear of it, setting down his
symptoms to mere biliousness caused by Moideen's efforts to please his
palate. He certainly recovered wonderfully before evening, but on Mark's
visiting him early next morning he found him suffering violent pain and
attacked at intervals by severe sickness. This time he did not wait to
consult the sufferer, but went at once to summon Dr. Campbell, just
catching him before he started for the Dispensary in the town.
The doctor soon showed by his manner that he regarded the case as
serious. The patient was fast sinking into a comatose condition. After a
minute examination Dr. Campbell turned to Mark, and taking him aside
told him that he had no doubt it was a case of poisoning, probably an
overdose administered last night, which, with the help of the milder one
on the previous night, was threatening to prove very serious.
"The action of the poison has been more effective than the poisoner
intended probably," remarked the doctor.
"This is very serious," said Mark, alarm written on his face.
"Serious! I should say so! But I'll try to save him yet. I'll be back in
a minute. Meanwhile, Cheveril, see you keep close watch by his bed.
Don't leave him for an instant," whispered the doctor, and hurried away.
He returned in a short time followed by his assistant, and the needful
antidotes were skilfully applied with good result.
Neither the doctor nor Mark ever quitted the patient's bedside till the
sun went down. Mr. Worsley seemed to be having some peaceful sleep,
though his face looked as drawn and haggard as if he were emerging from
a long illness.
Putting his arm through Mark's, Dr. Campbell drew him to the verandah
which adjoined the bedroom.
"He's safe now, Cheveril, but it's been a close shave. Look here, this
has been Moideen's work. It must be brought home to the villain at
once."
"Yes," answered Mark. "I'm confident that man is at the root of it. But
what if the Collector won't believe it? He has a very soft side to
Moideen, you know."
"Too well I know it! But the man's a criminal and must be brought to
justice. We dare not let his master be in his power a day longer."
Suddenly Mark recalled his glimpse of the butler in close conversation
under the neem tree with Zynool's double. That the interview was in some
way closely connected with the barely averted catastrophe, he did not
doubt? But how to prove it?
The doctor had now left, and he sat watching the patient, noting the
stronger breathing of the sleeping man, and trying to unravel the tangle
of recent events without success. He had always distrusted Moideen since
that first evening when he had watched his brown be-ringed feet planted
behind the screen door while the Collector explained some of the
difficulties of the government of Puranapore. He had no doubt of
Moideen's present villainy, but how to get the Collector to admit it to
his mind and to send from his side the capable servant of years, would
prove a difficulty. The doctor's statement he would impatiently brush
aside when he returned to health, and would point out that in this
country one is always liable to such visitations; milk, fruit, and water
all having possibilities of deadly effects. That this evil man should
continue to have his master's confidence would, Mark felt certain, prove
fatal sooner or later. Not that Moideen wished to kill his master, far
from it. Probably he only exercised his unscrupulous power when he
desired to further his own or his accomplices' nefarious designs. The
evil spell must be broken, he resolved--but how?
Help came from an unexpected quarter! The "maty boy," a humble
individual, and for a wonder, a Hindu, for Moideen generally saw to it
that his staff was composed of Mahomedans, now thrust in his turbaned
head at the door, but withdrew it again in an instant. Mark, perceiving
that something was amiss, went to see. On looking out he perceived the
"maty" and another servant exchanging dumb signs of dismay. On inquiring
what the matter was, they told him in chorus:
"Butler done gone--also Ismail"--the latter being the Collector's
dressing boy. "Not one left in godown; all empty, wife, children, all
done gone!"
The intelligence was certainly unexpected. As the doctor's assistant
appeared at that moment to relieve Mark at his post by the patient's
bedside, he felt free to investigate this extraordinary piece of news
for himself. Moideen was certainly nowhere to be seen; moreover, when
Mark was conducted by the "maty" to Moideen's godown, by which humble
name the comfortable and commodious quarters fitted up by the Collector
for his favoured servant were still called, he found them empty. A sense
of relief at once began to prevail. The man had by his flight sentenced
himself. Without being arraigned, he had realised his position too well.
Possibly the sight of Dr. Campbell's resolute face had struck terror
into his conscience-stricken heart, or perhaps he had overheard the
doctor's words in the verandah. Anyhow Mark felt that it was the best
news he could have heard, though the big Jailer shook his head over it,
when, on coming to inquire for the sick man, he was informed of the
unexpected event.
"I've a good mind to have him tracked and convicted. What do you say,
Judge?" he asked, turning to Mr. Goldring, who had also arrived to ask
after the Collector.
"If anybody except Worsley was in question I'd have no hesitation in
setting everything in train for a capture, but you know, Samptor, what
Worsley is! He'll simply set himself to obstruct justice in this case.
He'd hate the publicity of the affair," added the Judge, his blue eyes
full of perplexity.
"Well, after all, the wretch is jolly well punished," returned the
Jailer. "He's lost his fine soft berth and 'master's favour,' and all
the rest of it. But I don't believe we've got to the bottom of this
affair yet. Moideen didn't want to put an end to his master, be you sure
of that!"
"No, the doctor thinks it was an accident," broke in Mark, "an overdose
of the poison which acted with more deadly effect than was intended.
Probably he was frantic when he saw what he had done. There may be a
clue."
Mark proceeded to narrate his seeing of Moideen with the man whom the
Collector seemed to have no doubt was the Tahsildar of Lerode.
"A clue indeed!" exclaimed Samptor, much interested. "Mahomet Usman no
doubt desired for reasons of his own to have the Collector's visit
postponed for a few days. That's all--though a valuable life was to be
risked to attain that end. We're not unfamiliar with such methods, are
we, Judge?"
"Unfortunately not," responded Mr. Goldring, shaking his head.
"Something wrong with his accounts," suggested Mark. "That's the
conclusion I've come to. If the Collector will give me permission, as
soon as he's able to be left, I'll hurry off to Lerode and look into the
matter. We must get to the bottom of Mahomet Usman's tricks. Who knows
what frauds may have been going on!"
"Let me tell you, you'll find Mahomet Usman's books in perfect order,"
returned Samptor. "He only wanted the extra day or two to accomplish
that. They'll not be a pie wrong! It was to prevent any such discovery,
don't you see, that our poor Collector has nearly been sacrificed. By
all means, Cheveril, go to Lerode, but the wily Mussulman has got the
start of you. His revenue collection will be all square by to-morrow or
the next day. No doubt Moideen had his orders to keep the Collector
quiet till then. That comes of letting those natives creep so close!
Moideen was a clever dog, made himself indispensable to his master's
comfort. Poor Worsley, pity his wife isn't of the sort to be at his side
with the sharp eyes of my wife!"
Events turned out as Mr. Samptor predicted. Not the most searching
examination of Mahomet Usman's books disclosed the slightest
defalcation, though Mark felt convinced that the _Tahsildar_ was aware
that the new Assistant was watching for his halting, and also knew the
reason why. As to finding any explanation of his conspiracy with the
absconding Moideen, Mark was completely baulked.
The Collector had been very irritable and impatient when his health
admitted of his being told the cause of his illness, and the certain
proof which Moideen had given of his guilt by his flight only
intensified his annoyance. He seemed indeed aggrieved by the whole
incident and desirous of ignoring it.
Mark felt a new sense of anxiety and a need for greater daily vigilance
in the combination of circumstances in which he was now placed. The
relations of the Hindus with the Mahomedans in the town were
increasingly unsatisfactory, even threatening; though there remained a
difference of opinion as to who was the aggressive party. Dr. Campbell
continued to hold a brief for the Hindus, as indeed did all the members
of the little community except the Collector. Moideen had been replaced
by a Mahomedan from Madras bearing a good certificate from his former
master, and who seemed a much less complex character than the sinister
Moideen.
Perhaps there was no one concerned in the situation who took a graver
view of the possibilities of a disturbance among the seething masses of
the native town than did the young Assistant-Collector, who went about
his daily work with a watchful air and an anxious heart.