Two evenings after this boating party Mr. Lepell and his nephew had
a long interview with Mr. Chandos, who heard with astonishment that
in Abdul Buk's house in the bazaar part of his daughter's jewellery
had been recovered. That Abdul Buk's money ledgers had been examined,
and he stood exposed as a cheat, a swindler, and a thief. He was a
true wolf in sheep's clothing, who had contrived to pass himself off
as an inoffensive, if somewhat garrulous, old man. Terrified by his
situation, Abdul had turned King's evidence, and had confessed all, and
figuratively given away his employer. His employer--incredible as it
seemed--was Mrs. Chandos.
It was she, who for twenty long years had been the chief usurer in
Rajahpore; she it was, who had lent money, taken bonds, charged huge
interest, extorted pitilessly, ground down the faces of the poor, and
was very wealthy. It seemed inconceivable, but it was proved beyond
doubt that Rosa Chandos was no other than the notorious "Saloo." Her
husband lived too much with his splendid dreams, his books, and his
opium (alas! for those little black pills), to realise who Saloo was;
for, as he had repeatedly assured Mr. Lepell, he had nothing to do
with soucars now. His monthly salary he handed to his wife; and Rosa,
his wife, was a notorious usurer! At first he declared that it was
impossible--for one thing, she had no capital.
"She had a large amount of capital, secured in her mother's name, in
the Bank of Bengal, as well as shares in half the good things in India.
She had impressed deeds and papers which did not belong to her, and
she must relinquish them at once, or her office would be searched. We
will wait here, Chandos," said Mr. Lepell, "and you can talk to your
wife about it. These papers are the property of zemindars, her debtors;
she has come by them illegally. If they are not given up, there will
be a row. Salwey and I wish to manage this thing quietly, for the sake
of you and your family, and that is one reason why Brian rode out here
before dark and came first to me, so as to disarm any notice; but he
has a search warrant in his pocket."
"God knows, I have gone through many things in my life," declared Mr.
Chandos, with dignity, "and I have been brought low in the world; my
wife has her faults, but she is no money-lender, that is certain."
It was also certain that Mrs. Chandos happened to be in a peculiarly
bad temper that evening; she had had a quarrel with Dominga; and
although she adored Dom, they had their little differences.
Dom was the only creature who dared to withstand her mother, and their
disputes were terrible. Beginning in the ordinary every-day English
tongue, as the altercation waxed in fury, they passed into shrill
Hindustani, from that to "Gali" (abuse), and to hear the pair when the
battle was raging an outsider would have supposed them to be a couple
of mad grass cutters! Mrs. Chandos was walking about the dining-room in
a highly-strung condition, when her breath was almost taken away by her
husband entering the room and demanding "the keys of her office!"
At such an impudent request, she simply laughed in his face.
"Give them at once, Rosa," he said, with astonishing decision, "and
clear your character; there are terrible charges against you. If
what the police say is true, you have covered us all with shame and
disgrace."
For a moment Mrs. Chandos was too paralysed to speak, but she speedily
found her tongue, and overwhelmed her husband with such a torrent of
wild, shrieking abuse, that she literally drove the poor man before
her, backing him down the verandah steps into his own sanctum.
Then turning swiftly about, she found herself face to face with
Salwey--Salwey, in full official dress (a khaki uniform, with narrow
red collar, spurred boots, and cord breeches).
"The keys of your office, if you please," he said, holding out his hand.
"Get out of my house," she screamed. "Get away!"
"The keys of your office," he repeated, with the utmost composure, "I
do not wish to proceed to extreme measures, but I have a search warrant
here, and I will break open the door."
"What do you want, you thief! you beast! you spy!"
"Stolen bonds and documents which I've every reason to believe are
in your possession. The keys!" He spoke with an air of decision and
command.
The keys were not to be had, and to the astonishment of the peeping
servants, the door of the dufta was taken off its hinges and Mr.
Lepell and Salwey entered in the wake of two men in blue coats and red
turbans--in other words, constables. The desk was opened, also the
press. These did not yield much, but thanks to a hint from Abdul Buk,
the rug was lifted, and the trap door laid bare. Everything necessary
to incriminate Mrs. Chandos was found in this secret hiding-place.
Their owner looked on in silence, but her pocket handkerchief was torn
into rags, and in her eyes sat two devils. The bulk of the papers were
carried into Mr. Chandos' smoking-room, and subsequently examined at
leisure.
Yes, these were the books of "Saloo"; there were her webs, there were
her flies. There were receipts, there were letters from Abdul Buk,
replying to certain instructions; there were bags of rupees and notes,
the ledgers disclosed receipts for very large sums invested in various
ways. Mrs. Chandos had followed her effects with hysterical screams,
precisely like some bird of prey whose nest had been robbed! Finally,
she stood in the middle of the room, unashamed, furious--and at bay.
Mr. Lepell, Salwey, Dominga and Verona were present, as well as poor
old Mrs. Lopez, who cowered in a corner muttering to herself and
weeping audibly.
When these proofs of guilt and rapacity, cruelty and avarice had been
exposed, Mr. Chandos turned to his wife, and said in a shaky voice:
"So, for twenty years you have secretly carried on your father's trade.
Whilst your children have lacked education and common necessaries, you
have hoarded money and been the ruin of hundreds. And I thought, till
to-day, that I was beyond the reach of shame! I thought that after long
penance I might once more venture out and face the world. My cousin
is dead and, as Mr. Lepell is aware, I have been summoned to England
to take up my place there as head of the family. Since Nicky is gone,
there is no heir to come after me; but for the sake of my girls I had
almost decided to claim my own. This," turning fiercely on her, "I will
never do now. Do you suppose I will put such a woman as _you_ in my
aunt's place? No, I will let my name be called across the seas in vain.
I will live and die out here--an obscure Anglo-Indian."
At the name of Charne, and the news of her husband's succession to the
property, Mrs. Chandos' face changed, her eyes lit up like beacons.
"Bah! you old guddah!" she cried, "these men have stuffed your head
with silly nonsense; if I did take interest, what harm? I traded with
my own money. As to Charne--since you are hanging back, _I_ will go to
England, and claim it _for_ you."
From many years of terrible experience her husband knew that she
invariably carried out her threats, and in a sudden transport of fear
and fury he snatched the picture of Charne off the wall, smashed the
glass, and destroyed the sketch.
"Idiot!" jeered his wife, "you will be sorry for that to-morrow. You
have broken your fetish!"
"And these papers," he said, dragging a packet from a drawer, "are the
proofs of my identity." He held them towards his wife, and then with a
sudden, furious energy, tore them into shreds, and scattered them over
the floor.
"Charne is only mine for life," he gasped breathlessly, "the place is
strictly entailed. For the rest of my days I live here--because of
_you_. I am sorry for the girls; and of all my children, I am most
sorry for Verona."
"Verona!" interrupted Mrs. Chandos, at last finding her voice; her face
was working and livid with fury. "You throw away your great estate to
punish _me_! Oh, ho! Well, now! see--I will punish you!"
She glared at her husband, as if she was going to fly at his throat;
then she drew one long breath, and announced with grim composure:
"Verona is not our daughter."