THE BETTER PART
When Jack Raymond left Jerry painting the map red, he was in that
curiously ill-used frame of mind which comes to most of us, when a good
action--which we have steadily refused to do--becomes imperative, and
ceases therefore to have any virtue save the virtue of necessity; when,
briefly, we have neither eaten our cake nor have it. He knew perfectly
well that sooner or later that day--the later the better to his
ill-humour--he would go down to the city, make inquiries concerning
that letter, pay for its possession--here the remembrance of those
bank-notes, ready for use even on a Sunday, in his pocket-book, came to
make him swear inwardly at a coincidence that was too much like fate
for freedom--if needful, and then send it to Lady Arbuthnot, he
supposed, with a polite little note!
And all because a boy who reminded him of his own boyhood, had made him
feel that no other course was open to him--that he was bound to do this
thing--or shoot himself for not doing it!
The church-bells had just finished chiming as, on his way to the club,
he walked down the Mall; for the main entrance to Government House gave
on it, and not on the Garden Mound. In his present evil temper even
this triviality annoyed him. Why, in heaven's name, could not Lady
Arbuthnot have let him go as he had come? go back to his own life?--to
the philosophic peace which had been so pleasant! And now----
What cursed nonsense it was for him to put himself within the reach of
disturbing elements!--for they were disturbing. If it could even be of
any real use to her--here something in his own thought of her, so
beautiful, so good, made him realise his position in regard to her
still more clearly. No! despite his respect, and her goodness, it would
not take much to make him passionately in love with her again. And
would she----?
That was another question; but she had not forgotten!
As he told himself this, she and Lesley Drummond came by in the
Government House carriage, and he paused to let it turn in to the
church compound.
'We are dreadfully late, I'm afraid,' called the former concernedly.
'Are you coming?'
Was he coming? And she could fret herself over being two minutes late!
Good women were really quite incomprehensible, especially in India,
where they did so little to deserve the name. The hundred or so, for
instance, in church at that present moment--did they do an atom
more--no! not half so much as he did--for the good of the world around
them, or the Empire--except perhaps in supplying it with sons! Yet
there they would be, quite satisfied with themselves. The thought
attracted him. He was in no hurry himself to do the thing he knew he
must do--in fact, any delay was welcome--so he turned into the church
compound also, and stood decorously at the door till the Absolution,
which was being given, was over, before slipping into the nearest seat,
next to a very stout old lady whose only claim to be considered even a
Eurasian was her bonnet. But as he had stood for those brief moments
looking over the heads of the bowed congregation, he had noticed, with
a sense of the humour of the thing, that the percentage of dark blood
in the worshippers could be very fairly gauged by their distance from
the white robes of the choir boys! The good lady beside him, however,
ended the scale of colour, for the native Christian, _pur et simple_,
was, of course, absorbed by the Mission churches.
And the non-Christian native? There was no sign of him either. No sound
of him, no thought even of him from beginning to end! Jack Raymond
stood up decorously, and sat down decorously, knelt decorously, and
listened decorously, with a sense of unreality, a sense of dislocation
from his surroundings, that was not much less keen than Chris
Davenant's had been when he listened to the 'Society for the General
Good of Peoples' at Hâfiz Ahmad's house. The sermon--a good one in its
way--might have been preached in a London suburb, save for this, that
beyond a little perfunctory solacing of Eurasian paupers, there was
none of the active attempt to carry words into deeds which would have
existed in the listeners of a suburban congregation. Absolutely,
utterly, none. Not one woman there knew as much as he, the idler, of
the hard poverty-stricken lives of the people. Yet these very women,
when they went home, would feel themselves accursed as worldlings if
they did not district-visit or join the Charity Organisation!
These considerations did not improve one listener's temper. On the
contrary, they increased his desire for delay; for, having already
warned Sir George that, in his opinion, the city was more unstable
than authority seemed to think, he washed his hands of that
responsibility. All he had to do, therefore, was to get and pay for
this paper, if needful, and so prevent its being made use of against
the Government--prevent its being a worry to--to Jerry's mother!
He therefore had lunch and a cigar quietly. It was, in fact, close on
four o'clock when he started, riding, for the city. But at the nearest
gate to the bazaar, whence the threat of using the information had
emanated, he gave his pony to the _sais_, bidding him go home; since he
knew by experience the attention which a European on horseback excites
in a native town, and without in the least wishing for concealment, he
had no desire to be followed by gossip-mongers. The gate in question
was that giving on the poor Hindoo quarter, the glass-bangle makers,
the poultry keepers, the burden carriers, and--in a sort of off-shoot
half-in, half-out of the city--the leather workers; that curious class,
apart from all caste and creed, yet necessary to all, and from their
ignorance, their isolation, the most difficult to civilise.
So far Jack Raymond, personally, had seen and heard nothing beyond Aunt
Khôjee's tale, as reported by Lateefa, to give grounds for more than
caution; but he had not gone a dozen yards down the miserable bazaar
which served the neighbourhood, before he realised that action might be
necessary. Most of the shops were shut, and scarcely a human being was
to be seen; signs--in upside-down Eastern fashion--that the peace of
the people was disturbed. And it might mean more. These signs, to be
seen of all, might have been duly reported to the proper authorities
and been disregarded by them. But if they had not been so reported,
there could, considering the perfection of organisation for such
reports which exists in every native town, be but one explanation of
the fact--treachery! He would find out about this, he told himself,
merely for his own satisfaction, on his way back, since the minor
treachery of police constables and such like had its price, and he had
five thousand rupees in his pocket towards a good deed! It would be
curious if, after all----
The thought of Lesley made him smile good-humouredly. What with the
_râm rucki_ and the green sleeves, and now this possible good deed, it
was hopeless to escape that young person. He walked on more cheerfully,
and in a few minutes found himself in the courtyard of Dilarâm's house
on his way to Govind's den on the second story; since his--as yet
unknown--quarry had given that address. The whole house, however, was
so still, so deserted, that he half feared his journey might be in
vain. But it was not so. The door, marked 24 in rough white letterings,
was ajar, and Govind, yawning, dishevelled, rose from a corner with an
apology of a _salaam_ as his visitor entered. The room was almost
empty. Even the printing-press had disappeared, gone, like all else, in
the attempt to live upon lies; for, even with Govind's nose for
nastiness, he had been driven to sell the goodwill, stock, and block of
the '_Ear of the Wise_' to another unwise aspirant towards literary
fame. His last issue had been the one detailing the horrors of Sobrai's
disgrace and Noormahal's death; to the unusual success of which,
especially among the Mohammedan soldiers in cantonments, had been due
the unexpected offer to buy the going concern. The would-be purchaser
being a new discontent, who, having been turned out of a regimental
office for falsifying returns, was keen on revenging himself by
spreading disaffection in the native army. Govind had naturally jumped
at the offer, and for two days past had been debauching himself on the
proceeds, in certain anticipation of more money to come from the sale
of something which could no longer be used as copy; for, he told
himself, even if his first bold bid for a buyer produced no results,
almost every native newspaper in Nushapore would be glad of anything
which might help to damage--when the proper time came--the good faith
of their rulers.
But now, as the figure of a _sahib_ showed at the door, his
_bhang_-dulled eyes lit up with triumph; the next moment, however, he
was murmuring a humble '_Gharib-nawâz!_' and wishing that the earth
would open and swallow him--wishing he had never sent the letter! But
who could have dreamt of its being answered by _Rahmân-sahib_!
'Oh! it is you, is it?' remarked Jack Raymond, recognising an old club
_baboo_ whom he had run in for theft of cigars. 'You are Govind Râm,
editor, are you? That simplifies matters. I suppose you wrote this, and
that the talk of knowing a man who knows, etc., is the usual business.
You have a paper--you want five thousand rupees for it--just like your
cheek! You'll get two. Hand it over.'
He made the offer advisedly; for he knew the man to have friends in the
Secretariat; knew, briefly, that he was a likely man to have got
hold--if not of the lost letter, yet of something confidential. To
haggle with him, therefore, was mere waste of time; more especially as
he himself had long since ceased to regard the five thousand rupees he
carried about with him as his own money. So it might as well go--in a
good action!--and save him bother.
It did. Govind, who at most had expected five hundred, lost no time in
producing the paper.
Jack Raymond looked at it, then at Govind.
'You d--d fool,' he said softly, 'I don't think you'll find it worth
while.'
Then he looked at the crumpled document again. It was merely a _précis_
as it were, written in a clerkly hand, of what the rescinded
confidential instructions might have been, such as any one who by
chance had seen them--or any scoundrel who had not--could easily have
written. Absolutely unauthentic, and of no possible value, as proof of
anything.
It was characteristic of Jack Raymond that the idea of taking back the
notes which he had given Govind, as had been stipulated in advance,
never occurred to him. He was a backer of odds, a better of bets. He
had staked money lightly, and lost it. So far good; but he meant to
have his money's worth.
'Hold up, you brute!' he said, as Govind writhed at the first touch on
the scruff of his neck. 'I won't kill you, but you shall have the
soundest licking you ever had in your life.'
As he spoke the lash of the hunting-whip, with which he always rode,
curled round Govind's thin legs, making their owner in his sheer animal
terror escape from Jack Raymond's hold-strong as it was--to the floor,
where he lay on his back, his limbs crunched together like a dead
crab's--a hideous spectacle. So hideous that the very licking of such
an abject beast seemed impossible.
'_Huzoor_, no!' he gasped. 'No, _Huzoor!_ not that! not that! I will
pay it back! I will pay--I will pay----'
'Get up, you brute, and take it decently,' interrupted Jack, feeling
more decidedly that if the brute would not, he would have to give up
the sickening business. He emphasised his command by another flick with
the thong.
The crumpled crablike terror gave a sort of sob, and edged
itself--still on its back--till it could kiss Jack Raymond's boots
frantically. 'Not that! not that!' it moaned. 'I will pay--yea! I _can_
pay!' Then in a purely insane fear of physical pain, Govind's English
came back to him--'O my lord god almighty, I can give money's worth--I
can give cheap--O lord god, yes! I can tell--listen, listen!' So,
without a pause, he burst out into words which first made Jack Raymond
hesitate, and then--catching the lash of the whip back into his
hand--point to the corner and say, 'Sit down there, you skunk, and tell
the truth; don't try to escape, or I really _will_ do for you.'
The tale which came from between Govind's chattering teeth made the
listener set his. Here was confirmation of old Khôjee's story with a
vengeance; explanation also of the closed shops, the empty alleys. And
the explanation was so natural. Given an amulet which brought death by
the visitation of God at once, or, in lieu of that, death by removal to
hospital and subsequent poisoning, what more obvious palliative--since
God's act must stand--than to strike at the works of the devil? If, by
dawn, neither hospitals nor doctors remained, that would surely mend
matters. Meanwhile, in every house to which the cursed charm had gone,
there must be purification by prayer and fasting, by spells, and
incantations, and burnings of the hateful thing.
It did not need much imagination to picture the scene. A narrow court,
a dead child or husband awaiting dusk for secret removal, shuddering
excited women, hysterical from lack of food, listening to the
denunciations of officiating priests and _mullahs_, looking at their
dead, at their living--round whose wrists the amulet had been perhaps
an hour before--and remembering that though half the evil in the future
lay with God, Who was beyond coercion, the other half lay with men who
were!
Not a reassuring scene in a city whose two hundred and odd thousand
inhabitants were curiously unreliable.
Still less so, because, if those immediately responsible had been true
to their salt, all this information would have been in the strong hands
of authorities hours ago.
That it had not been so when he left the club, Jack Raymond felt sure.
Why! he had seen the city magistrate there reading the _Illustrated
London News!_
'Who is in it? Who is working it? Come, hurry up!' he asked, with a
significant dropping of the whip-lash.
Govind squirmed horribly, but protested ignorance. It was not that sort
of trouble. No one had thought of it twenty-four hours ago, in spite of
all the talk, all the misfortunes, in spite even of the conspirings. It
had come of itself.
That was true, the listener knew. This sort of thing always did; but
there were always people to help it on, and every hour that had been
lost had increased the aiders and abettors. By now, half the city might
be implicated.
He took out another thousand-rupee note and held it out.
'Take me to the most likely scoundrel,' he said briefly. 'You
understand!'
Govind understood perfectly, and from abject terror passed to such
infernal, such jubilant betrayal, that Jack Raymond put his hands and
his whip behind his back in fear of using them. For he was going to see
this thing through. He had still two thousand-rupee notes in his
betting-book, and that in a native city meant much; the only caution
necessary being not to bribe the wrong person.
He passed out into the bazaar with Govind, feeling a curious sense of
power, a vast antagonism. He would be wise, he felt, to assure himself
absolutely as to the trend any disturbance would take before going with
his information to those who could checkmate it; for, he thought
rapidly, a few companies of the native soldiers who were at hand could
easily stave off action until proper arrangements could be made.
'It is among the railway people, Protector of the Poor,' said Govind
fulsomely--he had reverted absolutely to Hindustani, its ways and
works--'that there is most turbulence. For the reason that there is a
_baboo_ in charge of works, so there is little fear among them. Then
the Bengâlis--they have a dispensary of their own, with a saint who
works miracles; so they----'
'_Chuprao!_' interrupted Jack Raymond sternly, 'and remember, if you
try and throw dust in my eyes, I'll kill you!'
Yet, half an hour afterwards, he felt that he was no nearer a clear
conception of what sort of solid backing these vague threats of
violence had, than at the beginning. Every one was only too glad--for
sums varying from ten to a hundred rupees--to tell what they knew, and,
what is more, to pass the tale-telling on; but the result was not worth
the wasted time.
He had told himself this should be his last trial, that time failed for
more, when a pure accident put him in possession of certainty. He was
coming down an almost pitch-dark tenement stair some little way behind
Govind, when a door at the turn below opened and a man came out.
'Lo! Govind! is't thou? Well met!' said the newcomer in a low voice,
looking no farther than the figure close to him, seen in the light from
the door. 'Be ready for midnight. Tis to be the _Generali-hospitarl_
first--all is arranged. I have a letter here----'
He was passing on downwards, but got no further in speech or step, for
Govind--impelled by a kick from behind--fell on him like an avalanche,
and the next moment Jack Raymond was beside the heap.
'The letter,' he said simply, 'give me the letter!'
He had a brief struggle for it, since this scoundrel had grit, till the
butt-end of the whip came in savagely handy. By that time Govind had
disappeared, rather to Jack Raymond s relief; so, leaving the owner of
the letter stunned, he ran downstairs and put an alley or two between
him and the scene of the swift scuffle, before looking at his prize;
since, Englishman as he was, that was no quarter of the city in which
to begin violence.
The letter, which was, of course, in the vernacular, was fairly
lengthy, but he saw enough on the first page to make him turn to the
end, then with a hurried exclamation take out his watch.
A quarter to six! The next moment he was off as quick as he dared for
Government House. He chose the gate giving on the Garden Mound as his
exit from the city, since once there, he could run without fear of
being stopped as a lunatic or a thief, and another reference to his
watch, following on a swift calculation, warned him he had not much
time to spare.
Being Sunday, there were no orderlies in waiting at the office
entrance, and, knowing his way and the way of the place, he did
not pause to call one, but passed on through the house to the
entrance-hall, where some one was certain to be found.
He was right; but the person was not the one he expected. It was Lesley
Drummond, ready in short skirt for a bicycle ride.
'Sir George!' he said sharply. 'I must see him at once!'
She stared at his hurry, his breathlessness. 'Sir George!' she echoed.
'He is not in. He has gone to lay the foundation-stone of the
College--every one has gone. I only stopped because of Jerry not being
quite well.'
She paused, startled, for Jack Raymond literally threw up his hands in
impotent anger. Fool that he had been to forget? Of course! Everybody
who could be of any use whatever, in this emergency, would be spouting
rot five miles away on the other side of the city! If he had only
thought of it before, and gone there instead of here! There might have
been time, then, to arrange the only plan which was in the least
likely--and now----
'What is it, Mr. Raymond?' came Lesley's voice. 'Let me help if I can.'
He shook his head. 'Nobody can--even I can't, though I know it's the
only thing--that it ought to be done at once--that----' he broke off
with an impatient gesture--'It's no use--it can't be helped!'
Lesley came a step nearer to him, with an odd look of resolve on her
face.
'Do you mean that it would be wrong of you to do it, or that you
haven't the right? I mean, is it something you could do if--if you were
Sir George?'
The quickness of her perception made him say 'Yes?' frankly.
'Would Sir George do it if he were here?' followed sharply.
He gave another gesture of impatience. 'Don't let us play clumps, for
Heaven's sake!' he exclaimed. 'I'll tell you--though it's no good.
There is a row on in the city to-night--the native regiment is in it--I
have a letter here--or at any rate they won't be much help; and if once
we get fighting in the streets----' he shrugged his shoulders--'the
only way is to prevent it starting. And Morâki is beyond call. But
there's a wing of the Highlanders at Fareedabad, forty miles down the
line. If I could have got a wire sent there before the mail passes--the
up-mail which left here a little ago--it could have been stopped and
sent back with troops. For Fareedabad is only an outpost--no railway
stock--so there is only that one chance before midnight. There would
have been time then--but now----'
'Then why don't you send one?'
'I?'
'Yes, you! You know the cipher. You know that Sir George would send
it.'
'Pardon me!' he said, recovering his breath, recovering his obstinacy,
his dislike to coercion, 'I am not in the least sure that he would.
Judging by this morning----'
'Then _she_ would--Lady Arbuthnot, I mean. And you--you are bound to do
it for her-you know you are bound----'
'I?' he echoed again.
'Yes, you!' she repeated, and there was a quiver in her voice--'because
you loved each other once. Oh! she didn't tell me--I have been learning
a lot of things for myself lately, and I learned that because--but that
is nothing! What I mean is, that it hurts her most, for she was
wrong--quite wrong--she spoilt your life----'
'Perhaps I may be allowed to differ,' he began, stiffening himself
again after his surprise; but she took no notice of his remark. Her
face was troubled by her own thought--she was absorbed in it.
'It has come between you and everything, not the regret, but--I don't
know what to call it quite--the value you have put upon it. And she has
put it too. So you want to forget, and yet you don't. You think it so
big a thing that it must be forgotten--made a fuss about. But it isn't.
It isn't really part of one at all. I've learned that lately. And there
is a better way'--she broke off, and came quite close to him, looking
him in the face: 'not to forget, and yet not to care. Do this for her,
Mr. Raymond, do it as you would do it for me?' Here, for the first
time, a faint smile showed in her eyes, not on her lips. 'It is a funny
thing for me to say, perhaps, but--but I gave you the _râm rucki_,
didn't I? And so, no matter what else there is in the world that,
perhaps, we can't help, I want you to do this for her and for me
together, as you would for a man, as I would do it for a woman.'
She laid her hand on his as she spoke, and held it there; not in a
touch, but a clasp.
'And--and forget--whatever else there may be--always,' he asked
steadily; 'forget for you both?'
'Please,' she replied quietly; 'for her and for me--always!'
For an instant--one short instant--the man's instinctive recognition of
woman's goodness and kindness--and of something else, perhaps, which
had lain behind the appeal--made Jack Raymond feel as if he must kiss
the hand that lay on his; then he laid his other one on it, returning
the clasp.
'But how on earth is it to be done?' he said, frowning as they stood
thus, like children playing a game; 'the office won't take it without
authority--some one's name--'
'Couldn't you sent it from here--I can signal. I've learned--oh! such a
lot of things that have never been of any real use, and--No! they keep
the instrument locked, I know--that won't do! I'll forge the name--I
could--and I don't mind.'
He smiled. 'Nor I--they can't stop my promotion now. But the
telegraph-office will be closed. I might get hold of some one, perhaps,
by saying--No! for why shouldn't it have been sent from here! That
question would stump us. We might try the railway station. Yes! of
course! The wire to Fareedabad is only a railway one. Even the regular
office could only pass it on. By Jove! that's lucky all round.'
She caught at the idea. 'Write it out quick--there are forms in Captain
Lloyd's room over there! My bicycle's ready, I'll take it. How much
time have I?'
'Plenty still.' He glanced round the room they had just entered and saw
another bicycle. 'I'll take that, and save you lending yours.'
'But I'm coming too,' she put in swiftly. 'I must! I'm only going,
while you write, to tell the bearer to look after Jerry--he's in bed
already--while I'm away. It won't take long.'
She was down the stairs again as he was wheeling the cycle into the
hall, the still wet telegram loose in his hand.
'Hold that a minute,' he said, 'that tyre wants a pump--it will save
time in the end. It wouldn't do to have a smash--would it?' He spoke
quite cheerfully.
'No!' she replied, smiling back as she helped him. 'Not if there is
going to be a "weal wow," as Jerry calls it.'
'Something very like one, anyhow!' he answered. 'And you never can tell
what may happen if these things aren't stopped at once. We might have
them all over the place by to-morrow morning--trying to pull down the
flag perhaps--who knows?' He spoke lightly again, but for all that he
had thought it worth while to pocket a revolver, which had been lying
on Captain Lloyd's table; and as Lesley passed out first, with her
bicycle, he gave a look at the weapon to see how many chambers were
loaded; that was always a wise precaution.
So, being busy, neither of them saw a little figure in a scarlet
flannel sleeping-suit which had stealthily followed Lesley downstairs;
a listening little figure with wide grey eyes.
The next instant those two were careering down the Mall, fast as wheels
could carry them.
'It is a quaint cipher,' said Lesley, who, hands off, was folding the
now dry telegram.
'Yes!' replied Jack Raymond absently--he was working out what had to be
done. 'I might send it plain, but for the _cachet_ of authority--Heaven
save the mark!--it gives. And, of course, the contents are better not
known, even by the _baboo_. But I'm afraid he must know something; for
I must first of all wire direct to the station-master at Fareedabad to
stop the up-mail--there isn't time for the order to go through the
magistrate. And that's really the thing to make sure of, for the
down-mail doesn't pass Fareedabad till midnight, and it would take
almost as long to get steam up from here--especially as it is Sunday
and the railway people all over the place.'
There were not many of them certainly in the wide deserted station,
which echoed under their hurrying feet. Indeed, barring a few would-be
native passengers, huddled up listlessly in their shawls waiting on the
steps outside for the train, which experience told them would come
sooner or later--figures common to every railway station in India--not
a human being was visible. That, too, was nothing uncommon, when trains
come four or five times a day at least. And the up-mail had passed but
a short time before; so all things were at their slackest after that
excitement.
'There must be some one, somewhere!' remarked Jack Raymond, 'and if
not, I must break in to the telegraph-office, and you must signal.'
Then he laughed. 'You are leading me horribly astray, Miss Drummond. I
shall be transported for life before I know where I am.'
'They will have to transport me too, then,' she said cheerfully.
But there was no need for felonious entry. The telegraph-office door
was open, and Jack Raymond, seeing a native clerk asleep inside, told
Lesley she had better remain unseen for the time.
So she walked up the empty platform with its closed doors and looked
down the lessening ribbon of line to the drawbridge pier, and came back
again. Absorbed in her own thoughts, it was not until she heard the
click click of a telegraph instrument, clearly audible in the dead
silence, that she recognised she was passing beyond her goal. She
pulled up to wait, to listen.
T--U--M-- What on earth was the man signalling? And what symbol was
that? Something she did not know. Had they a different code? No.
S--H--S--H--K--those she recognised. But what a combination! Was it the
cipher? No! she had seen that--that was mostly vowels----
Then it flashed upon her that the man was telegraphing nonsense--he was
not telegraphing at all!--he was against them!
She had hardly realised this, when Jack Raymond came out. 'There!
that's done, and God go with it,' he said hurriedly; 'the only thing
is--what had we better do with the _baboo_? He must suspect. I have a
thousand-rupee note left of your money. Shall I bribe him with it to
keep quiet for two hours?'
'No!' she said swiftly, savagely; 'you had better kill him!' He stared.
'He hasn't sent them--the telegrams, I mean--at least not the last. It
was all gibberish. I was listening.'
He gave a low whistle. 'By Jove!'--then he looked at her--'you _have_
been of use.'
His pause was only for a second. 'You 'd better come in with me, and
lock the door--we shall have to see this thing through, I expect. I
remember they told me some of the railway people were in it, and if
that is so we must prevent them getting wind of this, till it's too
late for _them_.'
With that he drew out his revolver and went in; and Lesley, following
him, locked the door behind her.