Alfred Rayner in disguise, limping over the hard road with his bare
brown-stained feet, and trammelled by his unwonted garb, made slow
progress. At length he reached the railway station. It was empty save
for a few stray passengers who had stepped out of a train which had just
steamed in. He hurried to the ticket-office, and adapting his "munshi"
acquired Tamil as closely as possible to the servants' patois, asked for
a third-class ticket for Beypore, the clerk volunteering the information
that a train was just starting.
Rayner hurried to the platform and saw some passengers, all natives,
scrambling into the carriages of the waiting train with many bundles and
much vociferation. He reckoned himself fortunate to secure an empty one,
and seated himself on the hard bench with a relieved air.
"Off at last, and not a single pair of eyes to pry on me--or worse,
thank goodness!" he muttered. "There might have been a force of police
lying in wait. But who would recognise the defaulting barrister in this
old hag of an ayah? I mustn't forget for one instant that I am an old
ayah, or else woe betide me!"
The fugitive tried to make himself as comfortable as his circumstances
would admit, resolving to secure a period of sleep and at the first
break in the journey to fortify himself by a good breakfast. This,
however, he feared might not be for some time seeing the train, for an
express, was going at an unaccountably slow pace. Sheer exhaustion came
to his aid, and he fell into a deep sleep, only to awake when the train
pulled up at a station.
"Now for some breakfast, I'm desperately hungry!" he said, yawning and
stretching himself with an air of satisfaction, which soon changed to
bewilderment when he observed that the few passengers were all tumbling
out of their respective carriages, and that the train had evidently
reached its terminus.
Rubbing his eyes he peered out, perceiving to his dismay the familiar
station of Puranapore. Mistaking this train for the express for Beypore,
he had been carried to the place which of all others he would have
wished to avoid.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, throwing himself back on the carnage bench.
"And the very first person I see may be Zynool himself!" Then to his
relief he remembered that, after all, he appeared as an old Hindu ayah,
on whom the haughty Mussulman would not deign to look.
He slipped out of the carriage, saying to himself: "I must feign
rheumatics and limp a bit!"
In spite of his confidence in his disguise, he could not help glancing
furtively round. Nobody, however, seemed to be taking any account of the
harmless looking old woman. In fact, there seemed to be some absorbing
preoccupation filling the minds of all the bystanders. The new arrivals
hung about with an air of trouble on their faces, their bundles
deposited by their sides, as they listened open-mouthed to the native
porters, who were expatiating volubly on some matter which was evidently
of general interest. The Eurasian station-master had a worried air, and,
in coming in contact with the supposed ayah, bustled her unceremoniously
aside.
The question with Rayner, meanwhile, was not to discover the topic of
interest, but how he could proceed to Beypore. This involved some
inquiries, and he was timid in his first attempts at personating his
fictitious character.
"After all, I'm not an ancient crone but a man of the world," he assured
himself, as he limped towards the little shelf behind which a Eurasian
boy sold dog-eared, dust-begrimed books and newspapers. He laid his
hands on a time-table, and threw down the required anna in payment, then
without uttering a word he withdrew to a quiet corner to study it. He
found to his disappointment that only by returning to Madras could he
entrain for Beypore. To the Central station he must go, that was
inevitable, but at what a risk! Ever and anon during his cogitations he
had to remind himself that owing to his disguise the chance of discovery
was slight. Still, in the familiar precincts of the Madras station, the
risk in daylight would be too great to run, besides he had not nerve for
it, he decided. He must then perforce linger at Puranapore till after
dark, and then take a return train which would fit in with the express
for Beypore in the early morning.
To be a whole day in Puranapore was a dismal prospect, but it had to be
faced. As an old ayah he could sleep away most of it in the women's
third-class waiting-room. He resolved now to secure breakfast, but there
were no possibilities for this in the little station. He therefore
prepared to make his way out, not without some trepidation, as it was
his first real experience of testing his disguise. Addressing the ticket
collector who stood at the gate, he explained that he had stepped into
the wrong train at Madras, being bound for Beypore, not Puranapore, and
was therefore minus a ticket, but had the fare ready in his hand.
The porter replied in a kindly tone in his native tongue.
"What matters the ticket, old mother, on this day--an unlucky day for
you to come to our town. We need more the soldiers than an old woman."
Rayner, in a humble voice, asked the reason of this.
"What, you don't know there's fighting and rioting between Hindus and
Mahomedans afoot here since last night? It is said they are to be at it
again to-night only worse. This is the Mohurrum; but like me, not being
caste Hindu, you don't bother about their squabbles."
Rayner assented with a nod.
"All the same, old mother, guard your venerable bones when you get into
the streets," he added.
Rayner remembered his _rôle_ so well that he salaamed profoundly as he
passed out, and the ticket-collector looked after him, shaking his head.
"It's a far cry from Puranapore to Beypore, poor old amah! She'd have
been safer there to-day than here!"
Rayner could see from the changed appearance of the passers-by in the
streets that the town was roused. There seemed also to be a large
addition to the usual population. Haughty, stalwart groups of
Mussulmans, evidently from the Mofussil, strode about, casting looks of
hatred on the Hindus, many of whom were hurrying to close their shops
and stalls, whispering ominously to each other. Even the boldest beggars
rattled their gourds with less confidence than usual; and from the
windows of the houses which gave on the streets he could catch glimpses
of female forms looking down like startled birds. Everywhere extreme
tension was visible.
"I expect they're only bottling up till nightfall," muttered Rayner. "My
programme, sketched to Zynool, has evidently been adopted. Clever
dog--an apt pupil, in fact! He should forgive this little blunder of
mine, seeing I've proved such an excellent teacher! All the same, I
little thought I was to be in at the death!"
He crept cautiously along the narrow streets in search of a bazaar where
he might pick up a native repast.
"An English breakfast might give the show away," he sighed, remembering
the dainty breakfast table at Clive's Road at which Hester would now be
seated, but from which he was banished. Finding a stall where eatables
were displayed, and cooking in progress, he crept up, asking in a
humble tone for a cup of coffee, and some rice cakes. An excellent meal
was provided, but after partaking of it he had to withdraw to a corner
to extricate the payment from his pocket beneath the folds of his saree,
so he decided to purchase one of the gay little cotton bags which he had
noticed was an invariable part of the ayah's dress, and to keep some
small change in it for emergencies. The bag also suggested a supply of
betel-nut; for he remembered the stained lips and teeth would all go to
enhance the needful "make-up." Having made his small purchases
successfully, he wandered about the streets for a time, but the sun was
now beating mercilessly down on his head, which was uncovered save for
the muslin wrap, and his feet were beginning to be scorched and
blistered by the burning pavements till he felt obliged to seek some
cooler retreat.
He now made his way to the outlying portion of the town. He glanced up
at the mosque as he passed it, recalling how Zynool and he had plotted
that this bone of contention should be planted in close proximity to the
burning-ghaut of the Hindus. Then he strolled down to the river-side,
and took a closer survey of the spot than he had ever done before. Some
oleanders threw out graceful branches which suggested a possibility of
shade, but they afforded no shelter from the fierceness of the sun. He
began to fear sunstroke if he lingered longer without cover, but to seek
shelter in any house might have evil consequences.
Limping slowly along the road, he came at length to a palm-tope and
threw himself on the burnt-up grass in the best shaded corner he could
find. A spell of sleep soon granted him some relief. When he awoke he
glanced at his watch, and was thankful to see that afternoon was
approaching. Soon he could take his way to the station, but being
unwilling to enter the town again he was desirous of postponing his
arrival there till close on the hour of the train's departure for
Madras. He decided to stray further into the jungly scrub which
stretched beyond the palm-tope, and would fain have rested in the
cool-looking rank grass which abounded; but Indian jungles were
treacherous, teeming with insect life, not to speak of the possible
lurking presence of snakes, and he did not dare to sit at ease. The
shade, however, was refreshing, and he would while away the hours till
the darkness fell.
For the first time since he was faced by the fear of detection he felt
inclined to review his plans for escape. Self-pity entered largely into
his thoughts. He regretted he had not made definite arrangements with
Hester to have some needful belongings forwarded to him, and resolved to
send her an unsigned memo, directing her to dispatch his dressing-boy,
whom he regarded as specially faithful, with a portion of his wardrobe
to Beypore. He felt a certain interest and excitement in making a list
of his needs on the leaf of a scribbling book which he discovered in his
pocket, though he had got rid of his pocket-book when he visited the
river, fearing lest it might become a witness against him. He began to
write minute directions to his wife about various matters.
"All this will need cash, of course," he muttered, "but since she was
too proud to share mine, she must manage as best she can. There's still
the landau and the horses and a good many assets. She may even be able
to assist me with some money. As for me, I'll ship at Kurrachi as a
humble ayah--a steerage passenger; then I'll watch my chance, and come
off at Aden, then with the help of my bundle--I only wish I could risk
my own portmanteau--I'll be able to appear as an English gentleman, and,
as such, continued my journey home under an assumed name. What a
blessing it will be to get out of this vile petticoat!" he wound up,
impatiently extricating the end of the saree which had become involved
in some straggling tendrils.
He was delighted to find how quickly the time had passed since he got
his mind into working order, and decided that he might now venture to
emerge from his retreat. As he stepped out to the road, a bandy passed
him, but he failed to catch sight of the passenger. Presently a man on
horseback intercepted the bandy, and its occupant jumped out. Rayner had
no difficulty in recognising Dr. Campbell, the rider being Mark
Cheveril. After a moment's parley both gentlemen continued their journey
townwards, which finally decided the fugitive to turn in the opposite
direction.
He had not gone far when the big Jailer, mounted on a strong brown
horse, appeared, also making for the town.
"They're all agog, seemingly! Zynool hasn't been able to keep his plan
of attack so secret as he ought," muttered Rayner. "But it will give
them a bit of a scare anyhow!" he chuckled.
Presently two Eurasian clerks passed him on foot. In their haste one of
them knocked up against him.
"Out of the way, old amah, if you don't want to be shoved down," he
said, brushing past; then remarked to his companion, "I daresay the poor
soul thinks she's safer on the road to-night than in the town."
Rayner followed them closely, and in the stillness of the evening air
could catch fragments of their shrill conversation.
"Oh, my gracious, what a lark this is! I wonder if the Collector will
come in? The Doctor thought he should, but I could see the 'Sub.' didn't
want it."
"That's because he wants to protect the Collector from the row. Mr.
Cheveril adores him and looks after him as if he were a babee ever since
his poison illness."
"Mr. Cheveril is an awfulee good sort--and to think he is one of us! I
say, Mike, don't it give a fellow more heart to have him taking up our
cause like thatt? Though to my eyes, he looks more an Anglo-Saxon than a
Eurasian."
"Just what I told the young fool," muttered Rayner. "If only he hadn't
mixed himself up with that lot, he might have passed anywhere for a
pucka Englishman."
The clerks had now disappeared round a bend of the road, and the silence
remained unbroken till the noise of horse's hoofs sounded behind. It was
the Collector himself, riding a beautiful black mare. Rayner shrank into
the shadow as much as possible, but he could see that Mr. Worsley's face
looked grave, though his eyes were bright, and he managed his mettlesome
steed with elegant ease.
"Why, the whole _sahib-log_ has turned out," thought Rayner. "I'll give
the town as wide a berth as possible, and slink up by the back streets
to the station."
He walked on, congratulating himself that at least there was no risk of
meeting any of the English contingent, seeing they had all gone
townwards. Soon he came to the little English cantonment, as it was
still called, though the military element had been withdrawn. It was not
unknown to him. He had visited it and left cards on some of the
residents in earlier days, before he began to intrigue with Zynool and
became conscious that he was a suspected person. He liked to dwell on
these days now.
"I was a fool ever to have leagued myself with a native," he sighed.
"It's only brought me bad luck in the end."
He remembered, too, a pleasant afternoon he had passed as the recipient
of little Mrs. Samptor's hospitality. He was trying to identify her
bungalow when he heard voices. Two ladies stood talking at a gate. He
was startled to recognise Mrs. Samptor's voice, but decided his best
policy was to creep quietly past, sustaining his _rôle_ as an old ayah
in every particular.
"Don't you fear, Mrs. Campbell, Samptor will make them scuttle like
sheep!" remarked one of the ladies, and Rayner had no difficulty in
recognising Mrs. Samptor's sharp tones. "I say, whose ayah's that? Can't
be Mrs. Goldring's--too tall! Is she yours, Mrs. Campbell?"
"No, mine went to eat rice; besides, she's quite short in comparison to
that one."
"She's not the Meakin's either. I know their one. Yes, she is tall--she
doesn't look the right muster for an ayah somehow. I say, what if she's
a Mahomedan in disguise come to murder us all when our men are away!"
Rayner had heard too much for his peace of mind. These were no safe
quarters for him. He wheeled right about and began to walk hastily
towards the town again.