old man. At his full height he must still have been tall, and the bent
shoulders were broad; broad enough to show up the line of war-medals on
the breast of his orderly's coat. They gave the new scarlet cloth a
certain personal _cachet_ and toned down its official garishness.
"Come here, Rex!" called Horace Alexander, and the child rose at once.
Though high-spirited and a bit of an imp, he was a reasonable,
obedient, little chap enough; obedient because he was reasonable.
"What's that you've got on your head?" queried his father irritably.
"It's my c'wown," replied Rex cheerfully. "Bisvâs cut it out for me;
and he's goin' to put b'wown paper to make it 'weal stiff--c'wowns
onghter be stiff, 'weal stiff, oughtn't they? an' he's going to put
things on it like the pictures in the papers, an' then I shall be a
'weal King, shan't I?"
"No, my boy!" said his father sharply. "Crowns don't make kings;
remember that always. There was Charles the First----"; then he paused,
recognising he was out of the child's depth; and the cult of the weaker
brother was not often forgotten by Horace Alexander. It was the secret
of his popularity; but how he managed to reconcile it with his passion
for progress remained rather a mystery to some people.
"And what were you doing," he continued.
"I wasn't doin' nothin' except be king," replied the child; "but Bisvâs
was doin' '_durshan_.' What is a '_durshan_,' daddy, 'weally?"
The childish forehead was all puckered beneath its crown, and Rex's
father, for all he was entitled to linguistic letters after his name,
hesitated.
"Sight," he began, "ur--appearance--ur--aspect----"
But Rex shook his head in disapproval. "Bisvâs says it's just for all
the same as seein' God--didn't you, Bisvâs?"
The liquid Urdu to which the little fellow's voice turned, echoed
through the sunshine to where the tall old trooper, risen to his full
height, stood smiling.
"Huzoor! so it is, without doubt. The sight of a King is even as the
sight of a God. It is a revelation of the Most High."
"Good Lord!" muttered Horace Alexander under his breath, yet with an
amused smile. "The child will grow up a feudal serf combined with a
feudal lord, if we don't take care, Muriel! He is too much with old
Bisvâs--You'd better take him with you--or--or not go."
His wife did not even frown: her position was too assured in the
household for her to be even alarmed. "Of course I must go. I
must wear my new frocks. Besides, you forget I'm President of the
Veiled-Women's-Guild, and they are going to present a casket. And there
isn't room in the Hotel for Rex--I was lucky to get _one_ for myself
this morning--besides, it would be bad for him. Of course, when you
were going with tents and all that it was different; but now that
you've been told to stop--Really, Horace, it is most annoying! What can
it mean? There is nothing wrong in the district, is there?"
Horace Alexander's eyeglass dropped again. It generally did when he was
asked for a personal opinion; not from any lack of decision in the man
himself, but from that habit of relying on collective as against
individual thought which distinguishes so many clever men nowadays; as
if the mediocre mass could ever outvalue superior sense.
"I cannot conceive that anything serious can be wrong," he began, then
paused almost pathetically before the certainty that his district was
admittedly the best managed in the province. "However," he continued,
virtuously remembering that the communication which stopped his going
to the Big Durbar was strictly confidential, "that is neither here nor
there. I have my orders, so that ends it, and----" he glanced out to
the verandah where the "_durshan_" had re-commenced--"I suppose Rex had
better remain, if you think it safe. I shall be very busy----"
His wife laughed, and stooping over his chair, kissed the top of his
head; it was a trifle bald.
"You dear old stupid," she said kindly. "You've nothing to do with it.
I wouldn't leave him if it wasn't for old Bisvâs! You and I, Horace,
have grown out of--what shall I call it--feudal relations--but we can
understand them. You don't suppose I leave the boy in your charge, do
you? No! My dear man! you're not up to it. But Bisvâs! Bisvâs was your
grandfather's servant when he was a boy, and he swears Rex is the
living image of '_Jullunder Jullunder baba_,' whom, I verily believe,
he mixes up with Alexander the Great! It doesn't do the child any harm,
though it makes him a bit autocratic now. He'll grow out of being King
at school. And really it is a pretty sight to see him with his
bodyguard of those marvellous old dodderers Bisvâs rakes up from the
bazaar----"
"I've seen them," replied her husband gloomily. "I'd have sent them
about their business if they hadn't been old pensioners--and in
uniform----"
Muriel laughed again. "Such uniforms! But they are magnificent to the
child and he's magnificent to them. It's all right, Horace. He is as
pleased as Punch, because I've allowed him, as he can't go to Delhi, to
have a sham coronation here."
"My dear!" protested her husband; but at that moment an old-fashioned
buggy, with a flea-bitten Arab in the shafts, drew up, and Mrs.
Alexander discreetly withdrew before an official visitor.
Ere five minutes were over the new comer rose from the upholstered
chair, went to the four doors of the office room, looked round for
possible eavesdroppers, closed them, then sate down again; for John
Carruthers, the Superintendent of Police, was of the old school. He
suspected everybody. In his heart of hearts Horace Alexander loathed
him: or rather, his methods; but he had to admit that he was an
excellent police officer. Short and stout, he looked as if he had a
trace of native blood in him, anyhow, none understood the ways of
Indian wickednesses better than he.
"This is serious," he said briefly. "I always told you, sir, you would
have to face it some time." Then he paused. "I wonder if anyone
realises the relief it will be to our force when the whole show goes
off well--as it will do! But there's always that off chance--and here
is one----"
"I don't believe it," said Horace Alexander stubbornly; "it is
unthinkable, inconceivable----"
John Carruthers raised his shaggy eyebrows. "Nothing, sir, is
inconceivable in India. There's a lot of lees in four thousand years of
civilisation. So long as it's stagnant, well and good; but if you stir
'em up--However! you don't agree. And _this_----" he touched the
confidential communication--"has got to be seen to."
"Yes! it has got to be seen to--wrong or right," echoed the younger man
firmly. Outside, the sunshine shone in sultry drowsy peace; but within
the closed office room, the air seemed vibrant, as the two, mutually
responsible for so much in their world, looked into each other's eyes
in perfect unanimity. So it is often in India nowadays; something has
to be done and old and new must combine to the doing of it.
"Hullo! what's up?" asked the Superintendent of Police when, having
offered to drive his official superior down to the city, they stepped
into the verandah; and then he smiled. "The youngster seems to be
enjoying himself, eh!"
Under the _sirus_ trees on the opposite side of the drive were drawn up
five old men, headed by Bisvâs, who stood next something that was more
like a monkey than a man; for Bhim Singh, even when he had been the
most swaggering _havildar_ in a Ghurka regiment, had never been tall,
and was now almost incredibly shrunken and old. But his eyes still
looked out sharp and bright from his wizened face and his military
salute shot out smartly at the sight of the masters.
"It is all old Bisvâs' fault," excused Rex's father, giving a disturbed
look at his son and heir, who--with the gilt paper circlet still on his
fuzzy head--was apparently drilling the ancient warriors, "I've told my
wife that it's a mistake, but you see, Bisvâs looked after my
grandfather when they were kids together, and so----"
"And so," interrupted John Carruthers with a chuckle, "you have the
most valuable asset in the world! If I were you I would encourage it!
Good Lord! man!----" he forgot etiquette for the moment--"that sort of
thing is the safety of--of everything."
So the two men drove off to the office, to confer secretly with other
good men and true, and the child, with the gold circlet on his fuzzy
hair, stood in the half shade, half shine of the _sirus_ trees, and
dressed his army autocratically. And the old warriors--there was Bisvâs
who had fought at Sobraon, and Bhim Singh who had fought everywhere
indiscriminately for sheer love of fighting, and old Imân, the hair of
whose body still stood on end as he told tales of how he had waged war
for the Sirkar against his own brothers in Mutiny time, and Pir Khan,
Yusufzai, who still talked of _Nikalseyn sahib_ as if he were not dead,
and last but not least, most ancient of all, a nameless fossil of
humanity called by the others "_Baba_" (father), who bewailed the fact
that he had not been at both sieges of Bhurtpore--these all obeyed the
child's orders, and nodded and winked and swore that he was the living
spit and image of "_Gineral Jullunder Jullunder Sahib Bahadur_," who
had led them to victory again and again. The smallest cavalry officer
in _Jân Kampâni's_ army; but the bravest and the best loved!
II
Three days had passed, and once again the two men sate facing each
other in the tidy, conventional office room. The confidential box was
open and papers littered the table; but the hint of possible trouble
remained still a mere hint.
"And yet," said John Carruthers thoughtfully, "I don't like it. I told
you about that temple incident? Quite a trivial affair, but in my
experience--and that is pretty wide, sir--that sort of thing always
means something. But the fact is, I haven't time----" his bright eyes
grew restless--"to unearth anything."
Horace Alexander smiled. "Because, my dear fellow, there is nothing to
unearth. I told you so from the beginning. I am pretty well up in my
own district, Carruthers----"
"That you may be, sir; but pure anarchism isn't a thing of districts:
it's--what do they call it!--a _zeit geist_! How many fools do you
suppose are in your towns and villages, sir? Well! everyone of them is
a danger if there is a good agitator within hearing. Anyhow, I am so
far dissatisfied, that I am going to propose to you a plan----" He got
up as he had done before, closed every door after a good look round for
eavesdroppers, and finally paused before little Rex, who was sitting in
a corner of the room, playing with a pen and paper and some red and
black ink which his father had given him. His mother having gone off to
the Big Show, which was to take place next day, the little fellow had
been tearful and needed consolation. Now, however, he appeared quite
absorbed in his occupation.
"What are you doing, Rex?" asked John Carruthers.
The child held up a round of white paper with cabalistic signs on it.
"I'm makin' a medal to give to my army," he said with importance. "And
'Wex' is to be in 'wed and so's 'Imp.' Then 'et' will be black, don't
you see?"
The men laughed, and settled themselves over the railway map which John
Carruthers spread out on the table.
"You see," said the police officer in a low voice, "the Royal train
focusses anxiety according to these hints----" he pointed to the
confidential papers--"and I can't help a feeling that they are right.
I've got a sort of second-sight in these ways--perhaps because I was
born and brought up in the country--and I believe there is something in
it. I'd ferret it out if I'd time; but I haven't. So why run risks? The
Royal train is timed to run the sixty odd miles through your district
on the _direct_ line between three and five a.m. to-morrow morning--
just before dawn. Now why should it? Why shouldn't it do the eighty odd
miles of the loop line?"
"But that would bring it right here--right in the very heart----"
interrupted Horace Alexander.
"That wouldn't matter, provided _nobody knew_," came the quick reply.
"And nobody need know--except, of course, the railway bosses. Just look
at it on the map. Points changed at Barâwal Junction--then straight
away, past us, to the northern branch, and so back a bit--only a
bit--to the main line again. It wouldn't delay them half an hour, if
that----"
Horace Alexander's finger traced out the line on the map.
"But the direct line is guarded," he began.
"Inadequately," persisted John Carruthers, "at least, to my mind. Now,
by taking this new loop you are safe. It only needs a telegram--for the
trains haven't begun yet to run at night, and it will be 'line clear'
all through. The usual pilot engine, of course--so no one need know."
Horace Alexander nodded. "No! poor devils!" he assented, a bit
irrelevantly, "and dozens of them would have rejoiced to do
'_durshan_.'"
The child in the corner of the room looked up at the familiar word and
listened.
But the men were too much immersed to notice him.
"Well, it may be wise!" said Horace Alexander at last. "I don't agree
with you, Carruthers, of course. The whole thing's a mare's nest. But,
as you say, it won't disarrange anything. The Royal train will be up to
time for early tea at Sonabad, and there all is safe: so if you'll
drive me down to the telegraph office, I'll send the cipher myself."
"H'm," said John Carruthers thoughtfully, "I wouldn't cipher. Don't
trust 'em a bit. The clerks in my office know 'em, I'm sure. Try
French--it's safer."
Horace Alexander laughed a superior laugh.
"Mine don't! not the _real_ confidential one. Why! I don't suppose you
do."
"That's a different matter," replied the police officer drily.
"However! it's for you to decide."
"Yes," said the District Officer firmly. "Well! goodnight, Rex! I
shan't be back, child, till breakfast to-morrow."
"Where are you going, Daddy?" asked the boy.
"I'm going to do _durshan_," replied his father carelessly.
The child rose and came towards the table with shining eyes, the medal
in his hand.
"Daddy!" he said, "I should like to do '_durshan_' too. Mayn't I?"
His father shook his head and smiled. "Impossible, Rex! You can't ride
forty miles over the desert along a railway as I shall, can you? You
wouldn't like to do what Daddy's got to do to-night, I can tell you,
young man! Wait a while! Your turn'll come." He was busy locking the
confidential box.
"But I meant _here_, Daddy," persisted the child.
"Here?" echoed his father carelessly, "Oh! here! Yes! You and old
Bisvâs can amuse yourselves with doing _durshan_ as much as you like.
Now good-night--and--and be sure to say your prayers, Rex." He stooped
down to kiss the child, and as he did so, "_Rex Imp_" in red with the
_et_ in black, caught his eye. "Rex, Imp," he muttered, "not a bad name
for you, though you're a good little chap on the whole."
And he went off, feeling virtuous. Whatever his own beliefs, or rather
lack of belief, might be, no one could say that he was forcing it
prematurely on the weaker brother. Perhaps, however, the thought that
his little son's lips--which had never to his knowledge been soiled by
a lie--had begged dear God to take care of his Daddy, was unconsciously
a help to the man during the anxious night. For it was anxious. To be
responsible meant much to both those men, and this sudden change of
plan--though it certainly removed risk--threw a still heavier burden of
care on the shoulders of those two who had suggested it.
Therefore, when, just as the primrose dawn of another day had begun to
dissipate the shadows of the night, the Royal train, safe and sound,
steamed into the station at Sonabad, Horace Alexander and John
Carruthers looked at each other as they stood on the platform and
positively laughed.
"That nightmare's over," said the latter.
"I always said it was a mare's nest," replied the former.
"Well! we needn't quarrel about it now. I've handed over charge to
Evesham, and you to Coleridge, and that's all. And I shall be glad to
have a cup of tea. I've been too busy to eat for the last few days."
Half-an-hour afterwards they were in Horace Alexander's motor, going
full speed along the Grand Trunk road.
"We shall be back by breakfast time," said John Carruthers, whose
thoughts ran upon food.
But Horace, as he steered his way past the long lines of lumbering
wains laden with corn, which still, in India, cling to the roads,
despite railways, was jubilant over his district.
"I told you it was all right," he said finally, "but you and your
sort, Carruthers, can't see that we are in a new age. We are out of the
past----"
"That doesn't look like it," interrupted John Carruthers, pointing to a
group in the verandah; for at that moment the car swept easily into the
gateway of Horace Alexander's house. The latter frowned, for Rex's army
was awaiting them, drawn up to stiff military salute, while in front of
them, his small broad face full of smiles, was Rex himself holding a
box in his hand.
"We got it, Daddy!" he shouted. "We got it all 'wight, and the men 'wan
away, and Baba-jee emptied it, because he was the older-est, and it's
all quite 'wight."
"Good God," cried John Carruthers, leaping out of the car, his eyes
almost out of his head. "It's an infernal machine. I--I--I--'ve
seen--'em--before--I--I----"
Horace Alexander turned pale as ashes. "Put it down, Rex.
Gently--gently--but--but----"
Old Bisvâs salaamed down to the ground. "The Presence need not fear.
The child did not touch it, of course, till the poisonous thing had
been emptied of its venom."
"But how----" began Horace Alexander helplessly.
John Carruthers, however, had his wits about him, and said in a low
voice, "Look here, sir! This had better be kept dark; for the present,
anyhow."
Old Imân, who understood a little English, nodded approvingly.
"Without doubt it is a concealed word," he said suavely. "And
so I told Bisvâs. Therefore none know of it save those here present.
So we had to do often in Mutiny time when news meant much; and
_Gineral-Jullunder-Jullunder-sahib-bahadur_ would say----"
The police officer cut the old man's reminiscence short. "You have done
well, _risildar-jee_," he said curtly, but the praise brought an
unwonted flush to the withered cheek. "We'd better hear the story _in
camera_, sir."
So the five old warriors filed into the office room, the doors were
shut, and Rex sate on his father's knee, while John Carruthers
carefully examined the infernal machine which had been laid on the
table.
"Paris," he said laconically, "one of the latest sort. What did I tell
you, sir--anarchy isn't a thing of districts."
"Go on, Bisvâs!" replied Horace Alexander evasively.
"As I was saying, Huzoor, when the Huzoor left to do _durshan_ last
night, _Jullunder Baba_ came to me and said, 'Bisvâs! get ready to go
and do _durshan_ likewise; my father said I might----'"
"And you did, daddy, didn't you?" broke in the little lad's voice
confidently. His father hesitated, then remembering his uncomprehending
words, nodded and held the child closer.
"So I, knowing that the word of _Jullunder Baba_ is even as the word of
a King, unbreakable, said, 'But whither, my lord?' And he said, 'That
will I show thee! Do thou as thou art bid, slave!' Now the night, as
the Huzoor knows, was dark, and I grow old. So I bethought me of help,
lest evil should befall. Therefore I said, 'Lo! it is not meet to go
without the Army.' So these came willingly. For, see you, Protector of
the Poor, we are all old, and the _durshan_ is even as the sight of a
god--it heals sin. Therefore, in the darkness we set off, and I wrapped
the _chota sahib_ in blankets and took the _trick_ lamp and a _ternus_
of hot milk also----"
John Carruthers looked up.
"He means electric and thermos," said Horace Alexander, with an odd
sort of cackle in his voice; something seemed to have risen in his
throat and prevented his speaking clearly.
"We carried the _chota sahib_ by turns, seeing there might have been
serpents in the way," continued the old man, "and made for the railway,
since that was all the direction _Jullunder Baba_ would give. Then
Imân, remembering the old tomb--the Huzoor will remember it also, since
there was a case about it in his court----"
"And the Huzoor," broke in Imân, "decided virtuously, that being the
tomb of a saint, it should stand, and the railway move----"
"Remembering it," went on old Bisvâs, "he said, 'It would give shelter
to the child.' So thither we went, and there the _chota sahib_, having
remembered he had not said his prayers as he had promised the Huzoor,
said them. He knelt, Huzoor, on that slab, lest the floor should be
damp----"
"Yes," assented the child's father as the old man paused. Once
again there was that lump in his throat. He saw, as in a vision, the
old Mahomedan tomb rearing its half-ruined dome so close to the
railway--the white-faced child praying God to bless everyone he loved,
those dark faces standing round reverently.
"Lo!" continued old Bisvâs gently, "I think the saint down below must
have heard--Imân says he did--for what followed was of no man's making.
We were all drowsing in the tomb--'tis a good five miles from the
Huzoor's bungalow to the railway, for all it goes so near to the
city--when _Baba-jee_--he hath the ears of a mouse still--said 'Hist!'
"So I looked out, and there were men--five or six of them, on the line.
Then it came to me what the ill-begotten hounds had been doing in
Bengal, and a sort of fury seized on me. So I crept back. _Jullunder
Baba_ was asleep among the blankets on the tomb slab, but I whispered
the others, and they unbuckled their swords and made ready."
The faces of the four old warriors who, standing two on one side two on
the other of the speaker, had watched his every word, were a study.
Exultation, pride, absolute satisfaction showed in every line of them,
and the lean old fingers gripped their sword-hilts once more.
"Then _Baba-jee_ gave the word--he was '_senior-orfficer_,'
and--and--Huzoor, they ran away!!!"
Even John Carruthers' chuckle had a suspicion of a sob in it.
"And then! Oh! hero!" he said, "what then?"
"Huzoor! I looked out over the desert and far, far away on the straight
line I saw light. And there was a faint rumble in the air. It was a
train. Mayhap the _chota sahib_ had been right, mayhap it was the
Train-of-Majesty! So I turned on the 'trick lamp,' and there it was on
the line--that thing--it had a string to it that lay on the rail.
And--and--Huzoor! my memory fails me--There was the child, and there
was the train!--I had to decide----
"Then I cried to Imân, 'Quick! the _chota sahib_! Run far with
him--far!--far!' So when that was done I up with my sword and I smote
the string that lay on the rail!----" he paused, then went on--
"So that was done also; and Imân brought the child back, and the train
sped past, and we all stood in a row and did _durshan_; though I know
not if it was _durshan_ or not, since, mayhap, it was not the Royal
train after all."
The old eyes looked almost wistfully at those two men in office, but
the child's were on his father's confidently:
"But it _was_ the Royal train, wasn't it, daddy?" said the child's
voice, and Horace Alexander's answered huskily:
"Perhaps it was, _Rex_; anyhow, you and the others did _durshan_. Of
that I am sure."
Content settled to those two faces, the old and the young, and the
ancient warrior went on--
"Then there was nothing to do, Huzoor, save to come home and bring the
poisonous thing with us. I was for sending the _chota sahib_ on in
Imân's care and carrying the thing myself; but _Jullunder Baba_ would
not go without it. So Bhim and the Father took the devil's box apart
lest it should kill everyone, and with Bhim's _kukri_ they prized it
open"--a faint sigh came from the Europeans--"and spilt the witches'
brew in the sand. That is all, Huzoor! Your slaves did what they could.
The men ran away so fast, it was not possible for us, aged ones, to
pursue them."
"But," broke in the most aged, "they were dressed like the Huzoors--in
trousers, and my sword was bloody, so I must have hit someone."
"And so was mine," said each of the ancient warriors in turn.
Horace Alexander cleared his throat.
"Really!" he began, "I scarcely know how to thank----"
"Daddy!" said Rex's eager voice, "I know! I'm goin' to give each of 'em
my army medal with '_Wex_ and _Imp_ in 'wed, and _et_ in black on it;
an' they'll be orful pleased--won't you, Army?"