If we had followed Mr. Rayner to the High Court on the morning of the
day when his wife waited for him in vain in the verandah at Clive's
Road, his failure to return home might have been explained. Yet, when it
is told that it was only the sudden sight of a face which had scared him
and upset all his plans, and that, the familiar face of Zynool Sahib,
some further explanation of the circumstances seems needful.
For this we have to go back to his last meeting with the Mahomedan at
Waller's Stables, when Zynool had handed him a cheque for a further
loan, having taken over the mail-phaeton as part payment of the previous
transaction. In his haste, for he was anxious to catch the train for
Puranapore, Zynool had given Mr. Rayner the signed cheque still attached
to the cover of his cheque-book, believing it to be the last in the
book, and being careless as to retaining the counter-foils. Not till
Zynool had gone did Alfred Rayner observe that there was still an unused
cheque in the book. Smiling at his client's carelessness, he placed the
signed cheque in his pocket-book, and thrust the pink cover with the
remaining one into the pocket of his jacket, meaning to hand it to
Zynool with some chaffing remark when next they met.
Zynool's loan was much needed and was quickly spent. The absence of the
hitherto unfailing allowance from Truelove Brothers was making itself
felt. His financial outlook seemed at his darkest when, one morning, he
came on something in the pocket of his coat which suggested a solution
of his pressing difficulties. It was the crumpled remains of the pink
cover with the blank cheque still affixed to it which he had fully meant
to restore to its owner. But a good many hours had struck in Alfred
Rayner's moral life since then, and each had been dragging him steadily
downward. His determined repudiation of his father, his unbridled fury
at the thought of having any connection with Eurasians, the lies and
subterfuges which a false position entails, all had undermined a
character which had never been sterling. When, therefore, as his
fortunes were at their lowest, he came upon the blank cheque it
presented an overmastering temptation. He quickly formed the plan of
using it, saying to himself that, of course, he would replace the money
presently, and encouraging himself with the knowledge that Zynool,
though shrewd, had no business habits, and it might be long before he
discovered the little transaction--theft, he would not call it, for he
might be able to replace every pie in a few days. Having decided that he
might with impunity risk the fraud, it was quite easy for him to forge
his client's familiar signature, his sprawling handwriting lending
itself with facility to the deception, nor would there be any difficulty
in his cashing the cheque; it being well known at the bank that he was
Zynool's man of business and had frequent money transactions with him.
In fact, the deed was done with such ease that a more sensitive man
might have been startled at the ready complicity of fate in his crime.
He walked jauntily out of the Bank after having counted his notes and
exchanged a few pleasant words with the cashier. Then he resolved that
this new "loan," as he preferred to call it, should be devoted to
carrying his wife from the hot plains to a hill sanatorium, and had
eagerly hurried home to divulge his plans.
Nemesis, however, began to dog his steps with appalling swiftness. The
very next afternoon at the High Court, when he was engaged in conducting
a case on the success of which he was eagerly reckoning, it came with
rapid strides. Adorned with his wig and gown, he was holding forth,
unusually pungent and successful in his arguments, when who should he
see standing by the door watching him with a sardonic smile but Zynool
Sahib! The beady eyes flashed fire, and the amber face had the look of a
beast of prey. From the moment that Alfred Rayner's eye lighted on the
man whom he had wronged, he had not a shadow of doubt that the Mahomedan
was aware of the fraud so lightly perpetrated on him; and he knew also
that he could expect no mercy at his hands. There was a malignant
triumph in Zynool's eyes which told that he had trapped his victim.
"Trapped"--the word echoed in the barrister's head as he made a violent
effort to continue his speech; but he, who had been so glib in his
arguments a moment before, now stammered and looked so faint that even
the Judge did not fail to notice his threatening collapse, and more than
one pair of eyes were fixed on him with a questioning stare. Nor did the
torture of his spirit lessen when he observed that a Mussulman attendant
had crept up to Zynool and whispered something which caused the
Mahomedan to leave the court-room quickly.
"There's a warrant waiting for me outside," he groaned inwardly.
When the Court broke up Rayner quite expected to find his declared foe
waiting at the door, surrounded by emissaries of the law, but he was
nowhere to be seen. Presently, however, he was approached by a peon from
the Bank, who politely handed him a letter from the manager.
"Ha, the fat's in the fire, sure enough! I'm as good as hauled off to
prison," he muttered. Then an inspiration seized him. Glancing at the
phlegmatic peon he told him to wait for his reply. He went in search of
the Mahomedan official whom he had observed talking to Zynool before he
left the Court. The man being of a lower rank, Rayner decided that
Zynool would probably have made no communication to him concerning the
forgery.
"Is Zynool still in town?" he asked.
"He is not," was the reply. "He intended to remain in town, for he said
he had important business, but his son-in-law came with news--veree
grave news from Puranapore."
There was a threatening of a riot in Puranapore, it seemed, and it was
feared that Zynool's house might be attacked, so he had hastened back by
the earliest train.
"Just as I supposed," said Rayner to himself, having recognised the
youth who brought the news, and thought it must be some urgent message.
"So the fat's in the fire there too! Well, it's an ill wind that blows
no one good," he muttered, going into the writing-room where he set
himself to write to the manager of the Bank, acknowledging his letter
and explaining that he was detained by important legal business till
after the closing hour of the Bank, but that he would call early next
morning, and added:
"... If your note refers to the misunderstanding about my friend Zynool
Sahib's cheque, I have just seen him and it is completely cleared up. I
need hardly say it was his own blunder."
Handing his letter to the waiting peon with an easy air, he turned away
with a very different expression on his face. After standing hesitating
for a moment what his next move should be, he hurried out at a side-door
which opened on a back street. He saw a little country carriage, like a
box on wheels, which the natives call a _jatka_, standing near. Hailing
it, he jumped in with alacrity, telling the driver to go out the Mount
Road. He found no difficulty in concealing himself in the windowless
little box, though he cowered in a corner with a throbbing heart as the
pony ambled along. He was indifferent as to where he went, but on he
must go till darkness should throw its concealing mantle over him. At
length he reached the Thousand Lights Bazaar, and calling on the
jatka-wallah to stop, he alighted and paid his fare. After wandering
about among the stalls he explained to a bazaar-vendor in Tamil, which
he spoke with ease, that he wished to purchase a turban. Buying the
number of yards of muslin which the merchant assured him were
indispensable, he asked that it should be twisted into shape. The
request seemed to astonish the dealer not a little, that process being
generally accomplished by the customer himself on his head. However,
with a good-natured laugh he deftly adjusted the folds and handed it to
him. After paying for his purchase and the additional sum demanded for
the making up of the headpiece, Rayner hurried away, walking rapidly on
till he came to a patch of jungle which skirted the road. Plunging into
it, he caught sight of a small tank in its centre which reflected the
yellow moon. He dropped his sun-topee into the water, watching the
ripples that appeared on the smooth surface as it sank, for he had
attached a stone to it.
"Probably a needless precaution," he muttered, "but one can't be too
careful."
He adjusted the turban on his head, and divesting himself of his coat,
he turned it inside out, its lining being of a pale-coloured silk.
"In the dark I'll pass for some nondescript, at least. Nobody will
recognise the smart 'La'yer Rayner' in this guise," he said with a grim
smile, as he caught his reflection in the moon-silvered water. "Bother
this bright moonlight, but for it I might have no fear of recognition!"
Prudence seemed to dictate that he should remain for a time concealed in
the jungle plot. At length, after consulting his watch under the clear
light of the moon, he decided that it was safe to emerge and make his
way townwards. Consecutive thought was in abeyance, but his one idea was
somehow to reach his wife and throw himself on her mercy in his
desperate plight; for he was well aware he had only retarded his
possible capture by some hours. An unpleasant surprise in the shape of a
waiting police-official might even be in store for him when he reached
Clive's Road, but he thought he could reckon himself safe till next
morning, only he would take careful observation before he trusted
himself within the precincts of his own compound, and would not venture
near till the night was well advanced.
Steadily he trod townwards, his footfalls echoing on the empty road.
There was no need to divest himself of his boots and walk in his silk
socks as he had thought of doing, there being not a single soul to take
note of him.
When he reached the streets he congratulated himself there would only be
loafers and waifs about, who would take no account of such a hybrid as
he looked in his motley dress.
He did not follow a direct route to Clive's Road, but thinking he had
made sure that his direction was towards it, he was surprised to find
that he had, all unwittingly, stumbled into Vepery. Never had he set
foot in that quarter since his return to Madras. He glanced at the
silent rows of shabby houses, with feeble lights still flickering from
some of their windows in spite of the lateness of the hour. As he passed
a corner house which was in darkness, he saw a figure leaning against
one of the chunam posts where a gate should have swung. It had so lately
received a fresh coat of white that the female figure stood out in
relief. Rayner glanced towards the woman involuntarily and started. The
girl also gave a start. In spite of his disguise, Leila Baltus had no
difficulty in recognising him. A quick hope seized her, "Alfred's
repented! He's come here in that comic make-up to make it up with his
old love! Alf, I'm here--waiting for you," she said in a loud whisper.
"Here's a pretty mess--of all people to stumble on _her_!" he muttered
to himself, quickening his steps.
But Leila Baltus would not allow him to escape. Running after him, she
laid her hand on his arm.
"Don't be shy, Alf! You know you've come to kiss and be friends! La, but
whatt a guy you do look!" she exclaimed with a giggle, getting in front
of him. "I say, did _she_ turn you out like thatt after hearin' the news
from Aunt Tilly and me this veree afternoon thatt your pa was a
half-caste? I swore I'd be even with her and I've got my wish. Ha, ha!"
And she danced in front of him, obstructing his efforts to pass her.
"You fiend! What are you saying?" cried Rayner in a desperate voice.
"You didn't dare to do that! Get out of my way, I'm in no mind for your
jokes!"
"Ho, ho, thatt's how it is--your fine wife's done with you, and yet you
won't be in with me! Come, Alf," she said in a persuasive tone. "I'll
get you a nice prawn curry for the sake of old times, late though it is.
What a good thing I was taking a gasp of air past midnight!"
"Out of my way, girl! Do you wish to drive me mad?" cried Rayner, as he
forcibly detached the girl's hand from his arm and pushed her against
the wall, while he took to his heels and ran till at length, hearing no
footsteps behind him, he concluded that he had got rid of his tormentor,
and slackened his pace.
"I wonder if the spiteful minx did really go and pour out her venom on
Hester? Well, I feared it might come, and now that everything is
tumbling about my ears it doesn't much matter. There's no future for us
in Madras, that's clear, but I've sharp wits, I'll make a living at
home--and the Bellairs have influence. Hester will never forsake me," he
murmured with an encouraged air. "We'll set sail at once for England."
He was now passing a riotous haunt, which even at this hour echoed with
boisterous voices and laughter, and flaring lights streamed from the
verandah where loungers drank and smoked, but he turned away his eyes
in disgust and sped on his way. As he walked along one of the more
secluded roads of Vepery, his eye lighted on a white gate on
which was written, in letters that he could trace in the clear
moonlight--Freyville.
"Why, that's the name of _his_ house," he muttered, staring with
fascinated eyes on the abode of his father. "Strange that I should have
stumbled on it to-night of all nights!"
It had a placid, winning air; two of the wide windows which gave on the
verandah stood open and a light burned within. He could see a grey head
bending over a big book which lay on a table.
For a brief moment a sudden impulse came to the fugitive in his
desperate plight. Should he walk in and present himself to the old man?
A swift intuition whispered that even after all that had come and gone a
hand would be held out at the eleventh hour to save him. The threatening
hoofs of the Australians, the insulting words spoken in his verandah,
and the repudiation at the beach--all would be blotted out by that one
word "father"; ay, and more, the means to extricate him from the pit
which he had digged for himself and into which he had fallen, would most
surely be forthcoming. Even now it was not too late to compromise with
Zynool and the Bank. The man seated there could doubtless do it for him.
Would he say that needful word, he asked himself, as he laid his hand on
the latch of the white gate. Just at that moment, the silent reader in
the silent room raised his head. The searching eyes looked out as if
stirred by some consciousness that something untoward was afoot.
"No, I shan't play the returned prodigal--not in my line," muttered
Rayner, suddenly dropping the latch. "I'll rather cut the whole
concern--work my way to Karrachi, arrange to meet Hester when safer,
hurry home to England, and turn over a new leaf there."
Striding rapidly on his way, he never halted till he reached the
precincts of Clive's Road, where he began to tread more cautiously. He
removed his boots, pulled his turban down over his eyes, and kept close
to the hedge which skirted the compound, starting even at his own
shadow, and listening intently to every sound that broke the silence of
the Indian night.