Kalipahar, the highest of a long range of low-lying hills near Mynabari---a Bengali village in the district of Mynapur---had the curious appearance of having withdrawn itself from its brethren. It not only stood apart, but rose abruptly from the lower levels of undulations to meet the clouds, where it gave the illusion of occasionally screening its face from view, like a purdah lady with her sari when in the public eye.
It rained more on Kalipahar than elsewhere in the district, which probably accounted for the superstition concerning the tears of the gods for Kali’s implacability. Dour and dark under her shadow of clouds, this monument to the vengeful goddess sat hunched, an irreconcilable giant, with a forest of unruly locks streaming down her shoulders, the analogy suggested by the growth of vegetation clothing the top, which the humidity of the atmosphere at those heights encouraged, leaving unproductive soil on the lower slopes, which owed nothing to nature apart from the metallic quality of the massive rocks. These, black and alluring to stone-contractors, might have been a commercial asset but for the religious susceptibilities of the people.
When Ruth Gowan first saw Kalipahar with understanding after her return to the East, and heard the fanciful tales connected with it, she wondered if the prevailing scare emanated from the name, which had emerged out of the dim past, or if the curiously human shape was responsible for its fabulous history. It was foolish, she thought, to believe it was the abode of evil spirits acting as agents of the dread goddess, yet no argument prevailed to alter the conviction of the natives that they were eternally on the watch to avenge acts of sacrilege. And, apparently, there was no lack of evidence forthcoming, past and present, to prove that ill-luck generally attended a defiance of the hill’s traditions.
Ruth had returned gladly to the home of her childhood---the straggling, old, thatched bungalow just outside the station of Mynabari facing the range of undulations called hills, for she loved her precious memories and had glorified them till it was asking for disillusionment when she returned to realities with a matured mind and fastidious tastes.
Her disillusionment was complete, for her father being dead and her mother divorced, the place was no longer the same. Her uncle now worked the quarries in the lower ranges of the Mynabari hills, and her aunt and cousins made the home-feeling impossible.
Uncle Joe, her father’s younger brother, had fallen on hard times. He no longer made a success of the contracts that had once done the brothers so well, for competition to supply road metal to the municipalities of Bengal had cut away much of the ground under his feet so that he was finding it hard to make ends meet for the support of his wife and family, much less pay Ruth her share of the profits.
“I should have stayed in England and tried to get a job in something,” she told her aunt in a fit of homesickness when that lady’s grumbling began to prey on her nerves, for Aunt Ellen pitied herself exceedingly and wanted to know how a mother could do justice to her children when the business was going to the dogs. “You know there was nowhere for you to stay, and a young girl can’t be on her lonesome in London. Besides, could we have had it said that we refused to take in a niece who has as much right to be here as any of us? Had your grandmother lived, or your mother not deserted you as a little kid and been dropped by us all, something might have been done for you elsewhere. As things are, there’s nothing to be done but grin and bear things. But the cost of your passage was the limit!---yet where’s the good of grumbling?” and she who did nothing else retired to vent her irritability on the servants.
Aunt Ellen was jealous of Ruth and called her offers of help, “meddling” in what did not concern her. If she really wanted to be good-natured, she could have an eye to the children whose unhappy fate it was to be deprived of all the advantages of other children of their ages, for their father could do nothing to improve his prospects and was letting everything slide. What they wanted was boarding-school, but as far as that was concerned they might fish.
And, indeed, the two little girls, aged eight and six respectively, “fished” in earnest, watched over by an elderly peon who made fishhooks out of bent pins, and with earthworms impaled thereon, allowed them to sit on a mud bank of the nullah, hard by, and yank out tiddlers along with the children of the servants who had a common interest in the sport.
“The kids are running wild,” Uncle Joe would protest whenever he found them smeared with clay, dirty and unbrushed, returning from their favourite pastime. Occasionally, when their jars were full, the amiable cook would dish the fish up as whitebait, liberally disguised with condiments to kill the flavour of concentrated mud.
“What would you have me do? Spoil their innocent pleasure?” his wife retorted.
“They might find something better to do than mudgrubbing with native children and picking up their unpleasant ways.”
“If Ruth were less self-centred, she might give them school in the morning,” said Aunt Ellen unjustly. Nevertheless, the unmerited reproach had the desired effect of turning Ruth into a governess for half a day.
When Ruth discovered that she could not hope for any society at Mynapur, Aunt Ellen having withdrawn herself from the club where her company was not appreciated and thereafter having held herself aloof from her neighbours, she added loneliness to disillusionment. It seemed that Uncle Joe was only too glad, for society bored him as he bored society with his grievances against unfair competition, till he was happiest left alone and so spared the cost of entertaining.
Some young men called when it became known that a niece had been imported from home, and they had suggested meeting Ruth at the club at Mynapur, but the Gowans threw cold water on her efforts to go there alone since there was nobody from the house to take her, so she gave up hankering for society and made the best of things.
“I thought Mummy left many friends behind her when she---went away. Where are they all?” Ruth asked her uncle and aunt.
“Your Mummy might have had friends, but when she burnt her boats by behaving as she did, naturally her friends faded out and lost interest in you. The least said about your mother the better,” said Aunt Ellen acrimoniously. “It has been a hard business to live down the scandal she made.”
“Don’t bring all that up to Ruth. It is no fault of hers that her mother kicked over the traces. Now that we hear she is married and respectable once more, the past is forgotten and buried.”
“I have no patience with the hypocrisy of society. It doesn’t lessen her guilt that she abandoned her baby and went off with a married man. If someone else had not married her, as was rumoured, where would she be now?”
“I---don’t know---possibly very happy, married or otherwise. A great many married people who quarrel incessantly might reasonably envy women who ‘kick over the traces’ as Uncle says.”
“Please don’t air your immoral views. If that is your idea, it would be more decent for you to close your lips.”
“Bah! The world is not so hard and fast nowadays,” growled Uncle Joe. “If you went out a little more you would see that ideas on most points are rapidly changing.”
“I thank God mine are on the side of the angels. Ruth had better take care, with her loose way of thinking, that she doesn’t follow in her mother’s footsteps.”
“I don’t think I will have any opportunity,” said Ruth. “I don’t meet any men eligible or otherwise, do I?”
“Just as well, or you might be sorry for yourself. People have long memories and women aren’t too pleased to welcome into their circle a girl with your mother’s history. Like mother, like daughter.”
“Don’t you think you are rather insulting?” Ruth flared up suddenly. “If I am to live here, speeches like yours won’t help towards happy relations.”
“I’ll say what I please, and don’t you forget your age, you minx.”
“Hush!” Old Joe advised. “Servants gossip and you’ll have it all over the bazaars that you two don’t agree. Don’t mind her, Ruth. Her bark is worse than her bite. Don’t I know it?” He winked at her to be tolerant and Ruth left the room to still her anger.
Such scenes were beginning to be frequent and Ruth studied the newspapers for a chance of a situation within her capabilities. She could not typewrite, she was definitely weak in mathematics, she did not play the piano or sing. She might teach small children, but nobody wanted a governess. Mostly little children in towns went to infant or preparatory schools, and those upcountry had governesses on contract from home. Even Uncle Joe discouraged the idea of her working. It was something to be thankful for that she had a roof over her head and relatives in the country to look after her. When she married——
There again! “When she married”! What chance was there for her to fall in love and marry? She could not see herself marrying except for love.
The reproach that she was self-centred---a form of selfishness---made her recoil from all thought of repining at her lot, and she applied herself to small occupations hoping that something would happen to change everything. Things did happen unexpectedly---why not to her?
“Hope springs eternal in the youthful breast,” so Ruth smiled at trouble and tried to woo the children away from their native companions that they might become more English in their ways. Such un-English children, indulged and undisciplined, she had never known.
Sylvia aged six, still fat and baby-faced, would kick and bite when thwarted, screaming the house down the while. Maude aged eight, lanky, pale, freckled and pug-nosed, with teeth in the process of changing over, was defiant and intractable. Neither spoke the truth, and both were full of deceit.
When Mrs. Gowan’s attention was drawn to the fact, she would blame India. It was the influence of the country. Native servants never could be truthful---that was a well known fact. The ayah who looked after them lied brazenly in their presence when convicted of a fault. She broke things and warned the children not to tell. Oh, it was a terrible atmosphere in which to rear young children. Boarding school saved the manners and morals of those who could be sent there, she declared, but until the money was found to do the little ones justice, they would go from bad to worse till they were irreclaimable. Was it her fault? It was the one grief of her days. Yet she took no trouble to counter the evils she deplored, and weary of the struggle, allowed things to slide, the children to grow out of hand altogether. Nor would she allow Ruth to assume authority over them. If there was any scolding or punishment necessary, what was their mother for? Only a mother should have the power to inflict punishment for misdemeanours. However, she was generally too tired and out of health to do more than scold, which affected the children as water on a duck’s back.
Ruth was aghast to see the ayah following Sylvia around from room to room with a plate of food, coaxing and cajoling her to eat. Threatening that unless she took another mouthful the jackals would rush in and swallow her dinner. Both children’s table manners were enough to wreck the appetites of their seniors, but Mrs. Gowan seemed blind to their habits and their father’s head being buried in a newspaper or business document, no notice was taken till Ruth protested, only to be blamed for being hard on such little ones. All children, she was informed, went through phases of misbehaviour. One had to study tolerance, and it seemed that Ruth had none for her little cousins. After that she remained silent.
Ruth thereafter retired into herself and did no more than was expected of her. After all, the mother was responsible, not she. She amused herself in various ways. She would take the dogs for a walk, or would ride to the foot of Kalipahar and take stock of its interesting features. At close quarters she saw caves as dark holes in the hillside. There were ridges and hollows; here and there woodmen had made paths that straggled up to the forests. It made her wonder whether they were Hindus or of no caste thus to defy superstition and climb the hillside. It was said that none liked taking liberties with the hill since it was regarded as unlucky to do so. For that reason Uncle Joe was unable to obtain a lease of Kalipahar which had the best quality of stone for road-making to be found in Bengal, and he was loud in complaint. “It was ridiculous,” he fumed, that the old Nawab, to whom the entire countryside belonged, should be afraid to go against this age-old superstition and refuse to lease out Kalipahar for purposes of commercial enterprise. He, Uncle Joe, would have been able to defy competition in road metal contracts all over the country if only he were allowed to excavate his stone from there.
Moreover, the position of the hill would also render transport easy, the distance to the railroad, by a short cut, about halved what it was now. Think of the saving on conveyance; his ability in the circumstances to undercut other contractors, native or European! But the old fool held out for fear of a bomb blowing him to smithereens one day. These Hindus were the limit!
In the far distance, Ruth saw the smoke of an engine and located the Railway Halt used by the contractors for a branch line with trucks to make contact, and could imagine Uncle Joe’s disgust at the timorousness of the old Nawab that hindered an enterprise which would have made a fortune. Apart from the stone, if he owned the hill, Uncle Joe said he would build on it. Put a sanatorium or convalescent home on the top and coin money. By Jove! it wasn’t a bad idea and he would mention it to the Nawab’s son who would some day succeed his father.
The country round about Mynabari was mainly flat and given up to agriculture save where the hills rose to the west as if some prehistoric cataclysm had thrown them up. Paddy fields partly under water spread on three sides intersected on the north by a nullah which was fed by springs from Kalipahar. In the monsoons it was flooded, which was helpful to the paddy lands but not salubrious for the inhabitants of the villages who suffered periodically from malaria and cholera epidemics.
Looking towards Kalipahar from the verandah of the bungalow Ruth thought of Uncle Joe’s idea of a sanatorium, and believed it would be a godsend to the district, with motor roads to make access to the top almost as easy as driving up King Arthur’s Seat---except for the greater height. Two or three thousand feet, she was told, which was nothing to a climber. She would love to make it one day.
Some enterprising person with capital might lease the hill and turn it into a pleasure resort with a hotel in beautiful terraced gardens, and private individuals build themselves week-end bungalows. What a transformation of the hill such changes would effect! But there! the Hindus were the stumbling-block again. No liberties must be taken with the sacred hill, or the vengeance of Kali would descend on the district in some dreaded form---an earthquake, pestilence, drought.
Ruth recalled a conversation she once had with Mrs. Gowan’s ayah---made easy by the facility with which the language came back to her, she having been familiar with it in her early childhood.
“Why is Kalipahar considered sacred, ayah?”
“Who knows? Long before my grandparents were born was it named after the Hindu goddess.”
“Are you a Hindu?”
“Tobah!” the woman replied, shocked at the insult. “I am musulman, huzur. My people pray to the One True God and follow the wise teachings of the Koran. Since the Mogul Emperor conquered the country, have we of the south embraced the Faith.”
“The Hindus fear Kali greatly?”
The ayah lifted one nostril in contempt. “They make sacrifices to her lest she visits her wrath upon them.”
“And do they really believe that she lives in spirit on Kalipahar?”
“One says one thing, another says something else, but all agree that it is unlucky to take liberties with the hill, huzur. Coolies will not pass below it after sunset, they will walk many miles by preference. Men have been known to bow themselves before it when the sun first lights the shrine on top.”
“What shrine?” Ruth had not heard of a shrine.
“If huzur looks long at the top at the season when the trees shed their leaves, a speck of white is visible on the highest point. But generally the trees hide it and the clouds make the top invisible when there is the barsát, and rain falls continually. Men tell it is the shrine.”
“The Sahib has been warned to leave Kalipahar alone,” said Ruth, “lest the curse descend upon him. What curse? No one seems to know what will happen if he disobeys.”
“I know nothing, Miss baba, having no dealings with Hindus except with those who sell goods in the bazaars. Always, as a child I have heard of the sacredness of the hill and that only an aged priest has immunity, and he alone can come and go as he will.”
“A priest?”
“A Brahmin priest, Miss baba. A holy man---some say a Sadhu. He who cares for the shrine and offers petitions for the people. He is said to be a miracleman, for he has power over life and death. They say it was his touch that healed the son of Motilal the cobbler when the child lay bahose of a fever. His skin was hot and dry, he breathed with rapidity. The village koberaj was in despair when the Sadhu was passing and took notice. ‘It is Kali’s wrath,’ he said. ‘You, Motilal, have neglected to pay tribute to the hill.’ Motilal joined his hands and stooped low. ‘Holy One, I give much of my profit to beggars. I am a poor man.’ ‘Nevertheless, you are considered the most prosperous of all shopkeepers in this bazaar. You hoard your savings. What are you willing to do to save the life of your son?’
“‘Holy One, he is my greatest treasure. My only son. What would not I do to save his life!’ The Sadhu entered the cobbler’s dwelling and laid his hand on the brow of the child. Some say he put a white bead into his mouth. Mayhap it was a tablet like unto what sahibs take when their heads ache. Whatever it was, he said, ‘Give your son plenty of water to drink. I will call to-morrow. If he dies, it is Khoda’s will. But methinks he will recover from now on.’
“The following day the child was again unconscious and this time his limbs were contorted, his eyes turned up. Alas! there was great weeping and wailing in the house of Motilal, for they were sure the child was dying if not dead. But the Sadhu ordered a gumla to be produced, and as a dekchi of boiling water was in readiness for the cooking of rice, it was, instead, emptied into the gumla, and cold water added for the sick child’s bath---hot it was, for the steam rose, they told me. Nevertheless, the unconscious child was placed in the water up to its neck, by the order of the Sadhu, and a rag steeped in vinegar and cold water was placed on its head. From that moment the child recovered. In that day the fever left it, and he is now a healthy boy. The old cobbler gave a large sum of money to the Sadhu who spent it in offerings to the shrine.”
“I dare say he said so!”
The ayah shrugged her shoulders, remarking: “The Hindus are very simple people, baba.”
“Where does this holy one live?”
“None can tell. He just comes and goes. Some think his dwelling is on the hilltop. But all Mynabari regards him as one who can perform miracles.”
“It strikes me that he is a very clever man. One day I hope I shall climb the hill and take a look at this shrine.”
The ayah was horrified.
“Say no such thing, Miss baba! Let no one hear you. Others have gone up the hill. Of the two, to my personal knowledge, one did not return, the other came back raving mad and was sent to his people in Belat. They tell that some years ago a party of shikaris made the attempt to climb Kalipahar, and great misfortune befell them all. One was killed by a tiger, for tigers used one time to be seen up on a ridge by the forest. Leopards there were, too, and bears.”
“What happened to the others?”
“It was long ago---before my time, and I forget. There was something about a dinner at the dâk-bungalow on their return and the sahibs being taken ill. How many died, I cannot recall. But there was much trouble and the Mynapur doctor came with the magistrate. Afterwards the dâk-bungalow-khansáma was dismissed as it was believed his tinned provisions were at fault, but all in the bazaar knew that it was Kali avenged.”
“What do you think?”
“What is one to think, baba? The best is not to think at all.”
Ruth concluded that, in order to live at peace in a community where Hindus were vastly in the majority, Mohammedans were reared to be tactful in speech and manner.
After this conversation Ruth’s interest in Kalipahar grew. She enjoyed paying fleeting visits to the hill on horseback or on foot, with and without the children’s dogs that worshipped her and followed her everywhere. She would climb the knolls and ridges at the base and take snaps of the surrounding landscape. Sometimes she would stop half-way at some delectable spot and make a water-colour sketch of the hill from some new angle, only to realise that she had a great deal to learn before she could hope to convey all she wished of the scene to her block.
One day she followed the path made by woodcutters to the fringe of the forest half-way up, after learning that leopards and tigers had long ago forsaken the locality because of the liveliness of the quarries. Unafraid and without superstition, she enjoyed her adventure and the view she had of the surrounding country.
Paddy fields, water-logged and flourishing, spread dank and green before her; in the distance was the Gowans’ bungalow buried in shady trees with date palms piercing their density and waving graceful branches in the breeze; the station of Mynabari was visible to the north; the railroad, marked by telegraph wires, pointed the way to Mynapur, the headquarters of the Division.
She sheltered from the warmth of the sun under an aged tamarind and all but tripped over the palas saplings that flourished in the undergrowth. When she was thirsty, she cupped her hands and drank water from a gurgling stream, in spite of having been warned never to drink unfiltered water. How sweet the air was on the higher levels, and how much purer it would be at the top. But Ruth could go no further. The air was full of noises from the quarries elsewhere. She could hear the shouts and cries of native children at play among the black heaps of broken flint that lay in piles beside the quarries. Dogs barked, hammers tapped in their hundreds. Close at hand, crows cawed agitatedly as though in conclave.
The forest rose darkly above her, bearing, at close quarters, no resemblance to the flowing locks adorning the head and shoulders of the giant. All she could see was a mass of prickly growths, saplings of babul and palas, hoary old trees supporting long tendrils of wild creepers and much ragged undergrowth.
The uneasy action of her horse’s ears made her a little anxious. Perhaps it was foolhardy to be there and alone, even if there were no wild animals to harm her.
“Poor old Rufus,” she talked to her mount reassuringly. “You don’t like it? Come, we’ll go back.”
At that moment she felt rooted to the spot for the sound of footsteps approaching down the path was unmistakable. Something or someone was approaching.
Boots!
Who was it?
She had put her horse in motion when a white man in shorts lifted a branch and stepped from the forest on to the path before her. He stopped dead at sight of her. She saw that he carried a gun on his shoulder, and the gaping shirt showed a powerful chest.
“Hullo!”
“Hullo!” they exclaimed in a breath. He unconsciously raised his mushroom topi.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her in the accent she associated with the ‘perfect sahib’.
“I may say the same,” she retorted.
“I suppose you know that you are doing what is popularly supposed to be dangerous, or to say the least of it, unlucky?”
“I am doing very much worse---trespassing on the property of the Nawab,” she answered with a smile.
“There is no law against such trespass. Wisdom alone dictates a respect for religious superstitions.”
“What will happen to me if I despise ridiculous superstitions?”
“Now you’re talking heresy! We are told that anything can happen from an accident to disease, for Kali is a malignant deity and this is her own hill.”
“Poof!”
“You seem very much of a sceptic!”
“What are you?”
“I am not. I am willing to allow there is something in all fantastic beliefs. I keep an open mind and carry a gun in case of surprises from the jungles. I see you are rather daring and exceedingly foolish. You have no business here alone. Why haven’t you a companion?”
“That would involve too many explanations. What I want to know is, what is there to see up there?”
“I don’t know,” said he. “This is my first adventure, cut short, as the path ended among an outcrop of boulders in a woodcutters’ clearing. Apparently others like ourselves also defy Kali.”
“I suppose, so long as the woodmen stop at collecting faggots and never venture as far as the shrine on the hilltop, they can get on with it. I want to see the shrine, if there is one.”
“What?---alone?”
“If I had a gun and knew how to fire it, I wouldn’t mind.”
The gentleman collapsed on a boulder beside the path and stared. She liked the blueness of his eyes and the sunburn, and the way his cheek slid to his jaw, leaving a furrow that betokened much.
“You look like asking questions,” said she, laughing, well aware that she was acting unconventionally. But who cared at Mynabari.
“This is very interesting,” said he. “My looks certainly betray me. Where shall I begin?”
Ruth sat upright in the saddle and assumed a thoughtful pose. She, too, thought the situation most intriguing---the first real episode she had met with since her arrival at Mynabari.
“I imagine you would do well by introducing yourself,” said she, “and then matters will be easier.”
“Easier---for what?”
“Friendly intercourse. It is so unusual to meet anyone not an Indian in these parts, that one forgets to be formal and on one’s dignity with a strange man.”
“I did not know the district held such surprises as you in store for the adventurous,” said he. ‘My name is Forrester---Rob Roy Forrester. I’m a visitor from Calcutta taking a look around with an eye to business.”
“There is only one sort of business you can have an eye to on Kalipahar, and that is stone. I’ve heard that it has ideal road-metal waiting to be quarried---better than can be found anywhere else in Bengal.”
“Precisely. If a religious ban had not been placed on the hill.”
“Are you also a stone contractor?”
“I am not, but I shouldn’t mind contracting for stone if I could get the Nawab of Mynabari to grant me the right to work the hill.”
“My uncle says the same.”
“Then you are his niece, lately from home?”
“I did not know anyone knew about me.”
“Trust gossip. You are an object of some interest to the district.” He waved a hand towards the northern horizon.
Ruth’s eyes mechanically followed the direction of his hand, though the headquarters of the Division was invisible, being at least ten miles distant by rail and more by road. She, however, saw the outline of Mynabari, the subdivision, looking like an oasis of palms, plantains and mud huts, all grouped together in a waste of plain laid out with the season’s crops. She had no acquaintance as yet with Mynapur, but was familiar with Mynabari as the bazaar furnished the Gowans with all their stores.
“You surprise me. I have seen no symptom of it up to now. What did they say about me?”
“What they did not I am discovering for myself.”
“You make me curious.”
“It’s a feminine trait.” His eyes twinkled up at her.
How dare he tantalize her?---“fool” with her when they were strangers? Serve her right for unbending as she had done!
“Good-bye,” she said, wheeling her horse in the direction of home, lips demure and offended, and hoping he would say something to detain her. But he allowed her to go, which was very like a snub, and she cantered almost all the way to the bungalow.
If the fellow, who was evidently a gentleman and from Mynapur, wanted to know her there was nothing to prevent him following her up by calling. If he was not anxious for her acquaintance he could go to---the devil! There was nothing so humiliating as being taken up for amusement and being dropped when the fun grew stale, or if it was discovered that she had lost caste in the district. India was so snobbish.
She was at a nursery-school in the South of England when the Thing had happened that had made a big scandal of her mother’s name and given Mynapur something to talk about. But in the past fourteen years it should have faded out of recollection, and probably had, except in Aunt Ellen’s imagination.
Nevertheless, it was a fact that life was unforgiving, thought Ruth, and that it visited the sins of the parents on the children, for as yet none of her mother’s friends, still in the district, had made any effort to see her or ask her out. There would, Ruth supposed, be a bias against the daughter of a beautiful woman who had eloped with a married man; for heredity repeated traits as well as looks. They were not eager to cultivate one who might follow in her mother’s footsteps and prove as dangerous to society some day. Aunt Ellen was never weary of rubbing it in.
Ruth was not proud of her connections in India after the refined home of her maternal grandmother in Kent; not that Uncle Joe mattered, for at least he was obviously a sahib in spite of his slipshod attire and Koi hai ways. He had been too long in the East not to be wedded to its customs, and like her father, he loved his curries and his midday siesta, yelled abusively at his servants if they were neglectful, and loathed the English climate, its formalities and restricted spaces. But he had married Ellen Hamer, who was not a lady, and it accounted for the two together being gradually allowed to sink out of sight as far as social give-and-take was concerned.
Ruth saw it all and paid no attention to Aunt Ellen’s complaints of snobbery and neglect. The fault she laid at her sister-in-law’s door. They---the Gowans---had lost caste through her and that was the long and the short of it: but Ruth knew better. If Aunt Ellen had been the right sort, no one would have been so unjust to her. But oil and water never mixed.
It transpired that Uncle Joe had married the daughter of an Australian horse trainer for her money. It had saved his business when it was on the point of insolvency, and for a time he had improved his circumstances. But not for long. By degrees he was being beaten by native contractors against whose cheap workings he could not compete, and Aunt Ellen grew soured and disgruntled. She had indeed been “had.” Not only was her money gone, but life at Mynabari was hardly worth living. One day they would all “end in the almshouse,” was a favourite remark made in the hearing of Uncle Joe.
Ruth was sometimes disposed to be very sorry for her aunt, but reserved the opinion that things would have been very different for her had she been different, only it was not possible for her to see it. She was, however, a dutiful wife and an affectionate mother. She performed rigid economies and made her servants’ lives burdensome to them by the meticulousness with which she looked after the stores and interfered with unlicensed profiteering in each and every department of domestic economy. Thus in all else but social matters, she had proved a good helpmate for Uncle Joe.
The next time Ruth met Mr. Forrester was some weeks later in a mango grove not far from the Gowans’ bungalow.
It lay between Kalipahar and the subdivisional station, and from its leafy shelter gave an excellent view of the scarred hill, though it was not, in the opinion of Ruth, the best angle from which to make a picture---which was exactly what Forrester appeared to be doing when the dogs she was exercising ferociously attacked him and scattered his paraphernalia in all directions with disastrous results.
While he cursed the animals and tried to retrieve his belongings Ruth wondered at his ignoring their former meeting. She felt much disconcerted and at a loss till he antagonized her by shouting:
“Will you call off your dogs! People who own such a swarm of mongrels should keep them in better control.”
“They don’t belong to me, though I am sorry if they have done any damage.”
“Damage!” He sounded so angry---the brute! “They have only trampled my picture in the dust and wrecked my outfit.”
“What a pity. May I see it?” taking the drawing from his hand, hers shaking nervously, and adding insult to injury by passing him the bunch of leads that controlled the now apologetic and grovelling dogs. “I see---they have mucked it up---but it isn’t much of a loss as it’s a rotten effort,” wilfully unjust. “You’ve got a most uninspiring view---not worth painting. I know a far more picturesque one.”
“You do? Perhaps you could do it more justice?”
“I won’t go as far as to say that, but”---returning the unfinished sketch to him and recovering the leads---“you haven’t much to regret. Good-bye.”
He stared after her as he slowly tore the sheet across, and had she looked back she would have seen a comic smile curve a corner of his mouth. But Ruth disdained to turn her head. The man was a rude, unmannerly wretch!---very different from what she had imagined after that meeting on the hill---and she would have him know that she had lost all interest in him if, indeed, she had ever felt any.
When she peeped through the foliage of an overhanging bough, she saw that he was packing up to leave. His artistic ardour was finished for that day.
So he was an artist, if an amateur, and knew how to handle his colours, for she could not deny to herself that there was style in his work. A bold clean effect she could not hope to equal. But what did girls learn of drawing at school?
Her heart palpitated irregularly all the way home because of the unfortunate episode---of course, it would happen in the case of a most attractive young man. That put an end to all chance of their growing acquainted. He had lost his temper and not apologised. She had been intentionally rude and was glad.
“I met a man in the mango grove to-day,” she volunteered at dinner, not because she was in the habit of recounting her experiences to the unsympathetic ears of Aunt Ellen, but for the need to speak of what filled her mind.
“What man?” Aunt Ellen asked, sucking in her soup noisily.
“A gentleman, I imagine. He was sketching in water colours.”
“Eh? What is that?” asked her uncle, and Ruth repeated her information.
“I guess it is that blighter who is trying to get Kalipahar over my head, damn him! He was nosing about the quarries a few days ago asking questions of the babu in charge. He had better keep his fingers out of my pie, or I’ll let him know what I think of him.”
“How do you know he is my artist?”
“Because he carried a portable stool and easel under his arm and a paint box stuck out of his pocket. I would like to know exactly what he means to do. The Nawab isn’t likely to sign any agreement with him. He is definitely afraid to go against the Hindus in this matter as he believes they will blow him up some day with a bomb. He confided the fact to me. But his son, who has been educated in England, is more broadminded and fearless. He wouldn’t hesitate a moment. However, Kalipahar is not his property and won’t be till the Nawab dies. But that may be sooner than they think. That old man is losing weight rapidly. The last time I saw him he was half what he used to be last year.”
“Does he complain?”
“Doesn’t he! He is a hypochondriac with his complaints. Always suffering pains. I shouldn’t be surprised if it was cancer, only he refuses to be X-rayed. Funked they will tell him his number is up. Like an ostrich, he thinks that hiding his head will make him invisible. ‘Let be,’ he told me when I said how ill he looked. ‘It is Kismet. What is written will be fulfilled. Why torture the mind when it may only be the imagination that suffers?’”
“He should be a Christian Scientist,” said Aunt Ellen.
“He unconsciously demonstrates the New Thought doctrine,” put in Ruth. “But poor fellow! Why don’t they persuade him to consult the civil surgeon?”
“I tell you he is afraid that he will be told he is going to die. If it is his fate to die, nothing, not even an operation, can save him, he says, so why allow his mind to be upset?”
“What a silly argument!” exclaimed Ruth.
“All fatalists are mad,” Aunt Ellen observed.
“I don’t worry. If he is to die, the sooner the better, say I, for Yusuf Majid will make a very enlightened Nawab. I’ll then be safe to get my hill. He has the greatest contempt for Hindu superstition and is ready to defy the whole community, though the Mohammedans here are vastly outnumbered. However, that is his funeral. The main point is that I have asked him to dine and I hope you ladies will treat him cordially.”
“When do you expect him?” Mrs. Gowan looked anything but pleased at the news.
“To-morrow night. The fact is that he seems”---and Uncle Joe showed embarrassment---“that is, as a matter of fact, he is frightfully anxious to make--- Ruth’s acquaintance. You’ve scored a hit there, my dear. A bull’s-eye---what?---take it for what it is worth. But I’d advise you to make yourself agreeable, for you never know, you know.”
“What are you hinting at?” asked Aunt Ellen. “Do you suggest that Ruth might not do better than marry this Indian?”
Uncle Joe winced.
“I was only joking, my dear---though, when you think of it, India is not what it was in my youth, and the colour prejudice doesn’t prevent women from marrying Indians, or society from receiving them if their husbands have position and money.”
“Is it possible that you are entertaining the idea of Ruth——”
“Don’t lose your wool, old lady. Ruth will marry whom she likes. No one can persuade her against her inclinations or prejudices. Only there is a side to the question we should not miss, and that is---there’s that damned hill. Ruth could do a lot for us, if she cared---that is---when Yusuf comes into his own. But forget it,” and Uncle Joe, feeling that enough was said, fed in silence for a while, knowing that his remarks had sunk in as far as his wife was concerned. Of Ruth’s mind on the subject he could not hazard a guess, for the tilt of her chin and the little smile that curved her mouth gave nothing away. As proud as Lucifer’s own kid! But what a wonderful difference it would make in all their lives if only she were broad-minded and would take the lad! After all, who was there for her to marry? Year after year might go by and she become an old maid before she had the chance of meeting a likely suitor. The fellows in the district were all ineligible. Not one of them in a position to get married, or free, what with the slump in every branch of commerce and industry and young civilians of the Government coming out married or engaged. Moreover, they themselves could not afford to entertain for Ruth’s sake. Pretty girls before now were left, and were soon on the shelf if they never saw the right men. No one could afford to scorn money. What couldn’t it do! And if Ruth played her cards well, Yusuf would be eating out of her hand---a good fellow Yusuf. Make a kind husband, he had no doubt whatever. Kids? They needn’t have any.
It would have been amusing to Ruth had it not been rather tragic the excitement and anxiety of Aunt Ellen at having to entertain a guest at dinner. To her mind, Indians were of little account, socially, whatever their rank and position; but Yusuf Majid could be useful, if he were not antagonized, therefore it behoved her to put her best foot forward and do him well. He was travelled and, according to Joe, knew “what was what” in the matters of dinners and etiquette.
That was the trouble. She hated to feel that he could despise the Gowans as ignorant of European social customs. He dined frequently with the Government officials at Mynapur, she was told, and her trepidation was great concerning the little things she had not kept pace with, so that advice was imperative. Therefore she swallowed her pride and appealed to Ruth. She was lately from “home.” Perhaps she knew how to arrange a table for a dinner party in the latest style? One did not like to commit “fox pars,” she said pathetically, but she and Uncle Joe had so long let things slide that it was unfair to take her by surprise like this. She could have consulted him, but he was the most unobservant man in creation and could not recall how the best people decorated tables or what was the order of the courses at hotel dinners.
“Don’t worry,” said Ruth comfortingly. “I don’t think anyone expects great things in the circumstances. Mr. Majid knows you never go anywhere and are not given to making a show.”
“That’s not it. I’d like, for very self-respect, to show him that we know how to ‘do’ things. He mustn’t be allowed to go away laughing at us.”
“If he is a true gentleman he would not think of laughing at people who are kind enough to invite him to their house.”
“Tell me,” said Mrs. Gowan who was deaf to argument, “shall we have a table-cloth or not? Do people use table-cloths these days?”
“They do---and they don’t. It depends,” Ruth replied unhelpfully. “The question is, what is your alternative? Have you mats?”
“You mean table d’oyleys? I once had a nice, linen luncheon-set as a wedding present, but it was eaten by white ants in a bottom drawer and I gave it to the sweeper for rags. As to the table---it lost its polish ages ago. Really, this is awful! Nor have I a good table-cloth---they have been dwindling so till we are reduced to only two and the one at the wash is all darned while the one in use is stained with curry---that Sylvia! I don’t thank Joe for bursting this surprise on me without warning.” Mrs. Gowan looked like weeping.
“Why take it so seriously? It isn’t a matter of life or death, Aunt Ellen. . . . I’ll tell you what I can do---a brain-wave!” Aunt Ellen jumped. These sudden outbursts were so startling. “You must make the bearer polish the table---beeswax and turpentine with plenty of elbow grease. Nothing to beat it. It was a tradition in the family when Grannie was in India---you know---Grandpa was Commissioner of What-you-may-call-it, in the U.P., quite a big noise in his way, and Grannie always used beeswax and turpentine for her dining table. If you see to the table, I’ll do the rest.”
“What can you do?” Mrs. Gowan had little faith in any eleventh-hour make-shift.
“I have Irish linen handkerchiefs edged with real lace and with appliqué in the corners. With four joined in a square, we’ll have the centre-piece for vases and fruit. Single ones for plates. How’s that?”
“Too flimsy.”
“We’ll make the dhobi starch them, it won’t take an hour. No dishes on the table---if you remember they are chipped.”
“So are the plates,” ruefully.
“We’ll pick out four of the best of each size and dare they use any of the others! The khansáma or cook can carve in the pantry and things can be handed round. Only you must tell the ‘boy’ what not to do. He mustn’t lean across one but go round, and he must remember to serve on the left.”
“I won’t let him appear. He hasn’t the right clothes. The khansáma can manage alone with the cook in the pantry. But what are we going to have for dinner? I can order a duck to be killed, and there are green peas in a tin---at least, I think so, unless it’s been pinched. We have salmon, I know---but it mightn’t be safe as I got it early last year when we thought the officials were coming in camp near us and might have to be asked. But they didn’t even call! What manners! Your Uncle Joe said they were new to the district and possibly hadn’t even heard of us. They camped too far away, anyhow, and only stayed a night.”
“I don’t think they purposely slighted you. What else have you?”
“Nothing but Californian pears and custard powder. I’m thinking that Nubboo Singh might see if any little fish can be had with a net, like the children catch. Whitebait, you know, and—”
“I’ll ride into Mynabari and see what Bhose has in stock.”
“Think of the expense. There is the wine also. Gracious! where will it end? We haven’t any sherry and the ice is running low. Our consignment is not due till the day after to-morrow! There is whisky and soda, of course, but he might expect cocktails and what-not!”
“Then he’ll have to be disappointed. Probably he doesn’t drink at all. Anyhow, I’ll start at sunrise and return before the sun is too warm.”
“I’m not at all happy about Babu Krishna Habi Bhose’s tinned stores. He buys up from the Army and Navy’s sale catalogues, and heaven knows how long they lie on his shelves till they are sold!”
“I’ll warn him that we’ll have him up for manslaughter if we die of ptomaine,” said Ruth, twinkling. “He’ll then be careful what he sells me.”
“If he isn’t, much good it will be to us after we are dead!”
Ruth laughed outright, for Mrs. Gowan, who had no sense of humour, looked the picture of misery.
“What about dessert? Don’t forget that---and, oh! we have nothing to put under the finger bowls!” The tragedy of it.
“More handkerchiefs,” said Ruth. “I have quite dinky little lace ones.”
“Thank God for that!”
THE dinner-party was a success and Mrs. Gowan felt a sense of relief as she sat opposite her husband and viewed the scene of pink and white oleanders in an old-fashioned epergne rising above Ruth's four linen handkerchiefs. There were pineapples and lichis in a fruit dish, raisins and almonds in another, and Bengali sweets as a compliment to the guest, in two silver dishes. She had insisted upon these, since the nationality of the gentleman indicated the choice. The table actually gleamed the first time in years, and mercifully, the khansáma, who was a veteran at his job, needed no instructions. She could give herself up to conversation and act the lady she believed herself to be.
But she need not have existed for Yusuf Majid.
Mr. Majid had eyes only for Ruth and took no pains to hide the fact, being too ingenuous in some things to camouflage his feelings successfully. Ruth was good to look at, and he looked at her with his soul in his eyes. Food was as sawdust to him.
Uncle Joe chuckled and Aunt Ellen tried to smile. It was too indecently obvious what he wanted, the foolish lad, for it was inconceivable that Ruth would think of him matrimonially.
"How is it you never married, Mr. Majid?" Mrs. Gowan asked to relieve the tension of his dumb worship.
"I?---" Majid smiled apologetically. "As a child they wanted to betroth me to the daughter of my
35
father's best friend. But the question arose of my education in England. I was to go to a public school straight from my tutors, and I am afraid I proved somewhat headstrong. My liberty even at that youthful period was precious. I refused to consider an engagement till my return."
"When was that?" Ruth asked for something to say.
"Two years ago, to celebrate my coming of age. My father insisted, or I should have been in England now."
"You liked the life?"
"It became part of me and I was happier than I had ever been. But it was pointed out to me by my mother in a long and persuasive letter, that my father's health was breaking down---of course, I came home."
"And the girl they wanted you to marry?"
"She has married my cousin, a barrister in Bombay, I am glad to say. That has left me free to make my own choice. My parents have agreed that my training being very English I have a right to settle my future as Englishmen do when they wish to marry."
"I suppose you will one of these days," said Uncle Joe mischievously.
"Oh, yes! Of course. It is my ambition to marry one who will be an intellectual companion as well as a beloved mate."
"Do you believe in the emancipation of Indian women?" Ruth asked with her eyes on her plate as she shrank from Yusuf's ardent gaze.
"Most assuredly. It was inevitable that education should bring about freedom for women, though many stick to the purdah out of deference to the prejudices of their elders. But the older generation is beginning to realise that evolution must proceed, and so they, too, are abandoning their revered domestic laws and conventions for modern freedom. But it will take more than one generation for our women to know how to use it wisely. At present it seems to me that it is intoxicating. They haven't as yet found themselves, and so errors are committed."
"They haven't a very good example in certain fashionable sets. Most women seem to lose their heads nowadays, judging from the amount of drinking that goes on and the trend of European fashions. 'Pon my word, I am ashamed of our people sometimes," Uncle Joe remarked.
"That is all over the world. We who look on, use our discretion when called upon to criticise. We know what to expect from some and how greatly to honour others."
His eyes languished in Ruth's direction. How carefully he picked his language, how well he spoke. If Ruth closed her eyes, she could have imagined him an Englishman. Only she wished that he would not stare so, or allow his languorous eyes to rest so devouringly on her throat and shoulders as if he could eat her if given the chance. In her evening frock of sapphire taffeta which left so much of her arms and shoulders exposed and contrastingly white, she was made, for the first time, to feel naked and self- conscious. And yet her dressmaker had considered the gown too modest when she had nothing to be ashamed of---on the contrary.
Mrs. Gowan having no evening dress fit to wear had turned down a 'V' in an afternoon frock of earlier days, and reluctantly removed her sleeves altogether. But her grievance was that the dress itself was out of fashion and smelt of mildew and camphor, as it had been hanging in her wardrobe since she last wore it at a gymkhana at Mynapur when she was clearly given by the "swells" in the station the "back seat". As the dress recalled a time of great humiliation, she suffered throughout the meal from an inferiority complex, and found it difficult to make conversation. Two vertical lines deepened beside her mouth and her expression registered mental acidity. Never had she seen Ruth look so "striking," as she put it. Her concession to Ruth's good looks. She could never call her lovely as she disliked her too much to see beauty in her. That she should pluck her eyebrows was an offence against nature, and for her actually to tint her lips!---it only showed how abandoned she was becoming. Her mother cropping up in her.
The children, however, were less prejudiced.
"You'se got funny eyes, Ruth," Sylvia once remarked in the presence of her mother.
"You mustn't be personal, Sylvia," Mrs. Gowan admonished her, as in duty bound.
"But she have," said Sylvia, leaning heavily against Ruth the better to pursue her examination. "They is the colour of those beads Mummy bought from Afghan boxwallah. You 'member, Mummy? Jane beads. All green, but with ikle brown specks inside. Did God change His mind at the last minute 'coz he liked green better'n brown?
"Don't be silly!"
"My ayah says that Ruth has pearls in her mouth. Have you, Ruth? I know! she means your teeth are like pearls," as Ruth burst out laughing. Isn't Ruth pitty, Mummy? Can I be as pitty as Ruth when I'm big?"
Ruth was human enough to feel flattered. It was so long since anyone had paid her so open a compliment and she hugged the child, though on most occasions she wanted exceedingly to spank her.
However Ruth's looks were not in question during that dinner, for Majid having been induced to talk, and whisky being useful for the purpose, he told stories. The family learned that the Nawabs of Mynapur originally came from the Punjab. Yusuf Majid's forbears had been great chiefs and landowners, but having espoused the cause of Nana Sahib in the Great Mutiny of '57, the Chief of the Majids was deprived of land and status. There was one Syed Ali Majid, the present Nawab's grandfather, who was a notorious gambler. His luck was devilish and his audacity equalled it when he boldly risked his fortune to win or lose it op a throw of the dice. One day, he was told that there was a Hindu living in Bengal whose reputation as a gambler rivalled, if not exceeded his.
" 'Where is he?' cried the Nawab. 'Take me to him at once.'
"This was done and he was conducted by elephant and palanquin to Mynapur---a journey of many days and much hazard, for the country in those days was undeveloped, and the jungles said to be infested with wild beasts. But, undeterred, my ancestor would not be turned back.
"In due course they met. It was on the high road when the Nawab was being directed to the palace of the Rajah, and the Rajah was taking an airing in his barouche accompanied by outriders and staff.
" 'Who is this one in so grand a palanquin?' the Rajah asked of his prime minister. 'He must be some person of note to travel thus and have so many retainers.'
"The question being put to the Nawab's men, the Nawab himself ordered his palanquin to be set down in the dust, and he spoke to the Rajah. 'I am told, Rajah Sahib Bahadur, that you gamble for great stakes and are a good loser. I, too, have that reputation, and no sum is too large for me to risk. Therefore have I come all the way from the north to test who is the greater sportsman, you or I? In my country they speak of me with baited breath. Nevertheless, your reputation has spread so far as to be the talk of our bazaars. What, therefore, could I do but travel so that we should meet. What say you? Will you appoint a meeting? I am ready.'
" 'Oh, ho!---so you are the undaunted Majid--- Nawab of the North who is fabulously wealthy?' cried the Rajah.
" 'Not so, Rajah Bahadur. I am not fabulously rich, but have enough to play with, even to buy up this estate you own.'
" 'How much have you brought in cash? Nb hazard is too great for me.'
" 'Nor me. I have here in gold and notes my entire fortune. I have nothing in land. This will keep us busy for days.'
" 'Indeed? But life is short. We may die in the night. I have a mind to take you on to the extent of my holdings in Mynabari. See,' and the Rajah descended from his coach, 'I shall accept the decree of my shoe. J hut ki put!---make your call and I'll fling it high in the air and let Fate decide the winner. Jhut is it?---then put for me. Here goes I If you lose you will pay to me the full value of these lands as agreed by the law.'
" 'I am quite willing', said the Nawab, who must have been feeling a little quaky. He had not bargained for such wholesale gambling, but was sportsman enough to accept the challenge, and the Rajah flung his shoe into the air."
Like a good story-teller, Majid, seeing that he had captured the interest of his listeners, paused and looked round at the company, a slow smile expanding his lips.
"Of course the Rajah lost," said Ruth, "or you would not be here."
"You are right, Miss Ruth. The Rajah lost like a gentleman. He laughed and never showed by the blink of an eyelid that he cared. 'You have won, so arrange to take possession, Nawab sahib. I go .South, where I have other interests. But you do not win a very profitable estate.'--- That was before contractors arrived in shoals to break stone on the range. 'There is the zemindari with the villages. But of one thing you must be warned. The hill, Kalipahar. It is sacred. Let no one persuade you to allow them to take liberties with it. There may be minerals within it, there may be precious stones, but the hill is Kali's and any who violate its sacredness or disturb its peace will be cursed. This we have been told from the beginning. You are a Moslem, we, Hindus, but even a Moslem can respect a faith not his own, and regard age-old beliefs with tolerance---even veneration.' "
"So the Rajah cleared out and left his precious hill to the mercy of Mohammedans? I wonder they cared two hoots for all that rot," said Uncle Joe.
"But they did. The fact is, Mr. Gowan, the Hindus were greatly disturbed by this wholesale transfer to Mohammedan ownership, and for a generation the Nawab who came into all that property, had his hands full placating the raiyats and Hindu landowners in his neighbourhood. Gradually, however, tact and generosity prevailed. He saw deputations and promised that Kalipahar should be left alone whatever might be settled regarding the other hills in the range. When leases were signed for the working of quarries, Kalipahar alone was exempted. It was not touched. Strangely enough, the superstition concerning a curse was strengthened whenever trouble befel those who were interested enough to climb the hill. And peculiar things happened, but that is a long story. From time, to time, when there have been epidemics of cholera or smallpox, there is panic among the Hindus who fear that it is a visitation on the district for allowing the hill to pass to the ownership of a Mohammedan. Nothing would content them but large donations of money to the priests for the service of Kali. Sacrifices and pujahs and whatnot. My father has had his share of it, and gladly would he see the hill blown skyhigh so that he need no longer be troubled."
Uncle Joe argued the point. Far better, said he, if the Nawab took a firm stand and made the Hindus realise that they cannot have things their own way. "To hell with their alarms and superstitions! Turn the place into a sanatorium, build hotels and let the blighters foam at the mouth. They can't do anything."
"Oh, can't they!---in the first place they would terrorise labour till you'd have to import every man who is wanted to work on the hill. There would be no carting done, not a man found to do a hand's turn for they are all frightened of the curse. No one knows exactly what it is, but something dreadful will happen to them if they defy Kali. Even our people would rather not be dragged into it. Haven't I sounded our fellows? We have just to wait till the Government takes a hand in it and the law backs up any scheme that may be for the good of the people, then perhaps opposition may die down and superstition be forgotten."
"Meantime, I would double my capital in a short while if only I could take my stone from Kalipahar!"
"I am sorry," said Majid. "Have you met a gentleman by the name of Forrester?"
"I know whom you mean. He has been prowling around asking all manner of questions."
"He is on the same quest. Someone or other put him on to Kalipahar, and he is ready to form a company to-morrow to work the hill. Road-schemes are crying out for just that quality of flint, but it is the same story. My father says he can't go against the Hindu community unless he wants a big fight. They'll oppose it, and it will lead to all manner of complications. I can see his point. He is an old man---a sick man---and all this worry is too much for him. He doesn't want the money. He wants peace."
"Were you in his place, would you be so ready to consider the religious susceptibilities of the Hindus here?"
"I am different. I might enjoy the fun of testing the worth of all this religious fervour. I should rather appreciate having a week-end bungalow on the top of Kalipahar. The temperatures must be delightful in the warmest weather. There is such a lot one could do with such a place especially when it has all the facilities for a sanatorium for these parts."
"Instead, we are made to covet it and swear at the fools who block the way!"
The subject of Kalipahar was dropped when Mrs. Gowan led the way to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to smoke and talk of other things nearer to Yusuf Majid's heart.
"She is very beautiful, your niece, Mr. Gowan," said Yusuf, the instant they were alone. "Forgive me for speaking so openly."
"I can make allowances. But I don't see that Ruth is more than a sweet-looking kid. A good girl, Majid."
"No one could doubt it." Majid tried to overcome his air of diffidence and shuffled in his seat. He pulled at his stiff collar which in the heat was collapsing, and shot his cuffs forward. In silence he upbraided himself for his lack of courage. After all, he was better
44 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
bom than these people. He was rich. Women were not unimpressed by money. It bought them things--- it promised immense advantages. He had been accustomed in England to achieving wonders with money. The fact had contributed to his self-esteem and he bolstered his fainting courage with recollections of his successes with the female sex.
Almost as if he could read the man's thoughts, Mr. Gowan said :
"You must have had a topping time in England if your father was generous towards you."
"He gave me a very liberal allowance."
"It is a miracle when you fellows, let loose on your own, don't run amuck and get into trouble."
"We don't all lose our heads, Mr. Gowan. But we know how to get what we want."
"Wealth is a golden key to many secret joys--- what?"
Yusuf smiled complacently and lighted another cigarette.
"English girls are generally very kind to you fellows, I imagine---for what they can get out of you, eh?"
"I could have brought out an English wife. But, as I said, I don't lose my head. When I marry, the lady will certainly be English but---not the type one sees too often."
"Mass production," Uncle Joe put in. "Gold- diggers and vamps."
After a pause, Majid said earnestly as he laid down his cigarette :
"I admire Miss Gowan immensely. Do you think I have any chance with her? I know the question of race may stand against me. There is a prejudice dying hard. But it will yet die. Meantime, men are men and women are vulnerable. If a---if Miss Ruth got to like me well enough, I don't think anything
would stand in the way of her taking me. That is how I read her. She is so delightfully independent. She is so charming, and so sweet. That little way she has. . . . I'm---let me confess it---her slave. What do you advise?"
"To do nothing in a hurry."
"I am burning with impatience."
"Give her time."
"You have no objection?"
"None at all in your case. I think a lot of you, Yusuf."
"Thank you, sir. I would count no cost to make her happy. As my wife she should command me. Her slightest wish it will be my ambition to grant. What am I to do about it? I have no chance of seeing her. As we live at Mynabari there is no club or English society to bring us together, and Mynapur is too far. How shall I make any headway?"
"You are welcome to drop in and out of this house whenever you please. You ride? Then take her riding. She loves it. Make her realise the sort of life you could offer her. I take it you could live abroad if it suited her?"
"I would live anywhere she chose to name. I would treat her as a princess. There is nothing I would deny her." Yusuf was quite breathless with emotion.
"Well---let us join the ladies. You have the field to yourself, Majid. I wish you luck."
"You are most kind. I am grateful for your cordiality and trust. Truly, I should never betray it."
Majid felt emboldened after that to court Ruth with old-fashioned impressiveness, and his immense respect for her was something so new to modem girlhood, that for a while her natural vanity was flattered.
The following morning at breakfast she confessed that she thought Mr. Majid very English and with perfect manners. She liked him very much. It was such a pity he was an Indian.
Mr. Gowan pricked up his ears.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Because that is that."
"What do you mean?"
"I should hate to raise his hopes, since you seem to think he is interested in me and that Indians do sometimes marry English girls."
"He is as rich as Croesus, my child, and your life would be a bed of roses if you married him. What the devil does it matter if he is "
"Black," put in Aunt Ellen with a wry face.
"Oh, no! Brown-skinned "
"Why quibble? 'East is East and' "
"Don't quote that, for God's sake. It's overdone." "He's very nice, all the same," said Ruth. "Perhaps if I fell in love with him it wouldn't matter what he was, but as that isn't likely tc happen, I hope you will discourage him, Uncle. Don't leave it all to me."
"I won't have it said that I pushed Ruth into marriage with an Indian," said Aunt Ellen. "She is a free agent and can do as she likes, but I agree that he is quite a creditable specimen of Young India, and might be a lot worse. We do not want you to think it is for our sakes, Ruth, that we are letting you associate with Yusuf Majid, however much it might be to our advantage if you made up your mind to marry the man. I know that people don't make such a fuss as they used to do over these mixed marriages, and that you'll be a very rich girl as his wife. But do please remember that you are in no way pushed. This is your home, such as it is---though I don't know how long your uncle will be able to keep it up I"
THE days following Yusuf Majid's visit wore out Ruth's temper and philosophy. The children felt the heat, Mrs. Gowan was irritable on account of the way business was going from bad to worse, and everybody's nerves were at breaking point.
Ruth wondered if it was self-pity when she wished she had never returned to India but gone into a shop instead when Grannie died and there was nowhere to go. Had her father been alive---but what was the use of regrets? She was made to feel that her share in the stone business gave her the right to Uncle Joe's hospitality, and her longing to visit India had been the casting vote against taking a job at home.
Little things occupied her in a fretting fashion. Mrs. Gowan declared she could no longer afford a darzi to sew and mend for the house and the children, and that she would die of overwork, snowed under as she was with mending, unless
Of course, Ruth came to the rescue and soon found she had all the mending thrust upon her in order that her aunt might be free to trail after the servants and catch them out at their various rascalities. She talked "servants" at every meal and could not get away from the subject. If she turned her back while the cook was weighing out the dhal and rice for the day's consumption, he managed to put a bias on the scales with his thumb, and she was robbed. The syce had been caught stealing a portion of the horse's grain in order to sell it back to her at the end of the week. Did you ever? while the "boy" who had charge of the chickens had been discovered by her with two fresh eggs rolled in his dhoti, that very morning. They were all rogues and thieves, and one day she would not be able to help chastising that youth with her own hands if he dared to be cheeky again. He would then lay a charge of assault against her and she would be fined five rupees.
"Cultivate a little tolerance, my dear," said her husband repeatedly, "and wink at their thefts. They all do it. Cheat right and left and call it their perquisite."
Ruth thought she would far rather be robbed by the servants than lead the life Mrs. Gowan led in the interests of economy.
But Mrs. Gowan was proud of her energy and perspicacity. She knew the native character, she boasted, inside out, and trusted no servant further than she saw him. Her ayah brought her tales against them all and was at times the most unpopular member of the domestic staff; often the centre of a brawl in the compound where she was called a prize chugli, a tale-bearer of the lowest type.
Frequently the master was called upon to arbitrate between the indignant and hysterical woman and her masculine accusers, while their wives watched from afar with infants on their hips, threatening to scratch out her eyes and render her unrecognisable by her own mother.
As frequently, the ayah would make peace with her enemies, having a certain amount of feminine allure, and would set each servant against his fellow and all suspicious of one another, when it suited her to gain extra financial assistance-for the support of an invalid husband in the south, whose letters through the post were calculated to melt a heart of stone.
Ruth watched the comedy of the compound with
amusement, for human nature being human nature in every grade of life, vain husbands could be vamped by an artful female under the noses of their own wives. Meantime, Moonia ayah added to her jewels against the inevitable rainy day, and jingled and tinkled merrily as she walked about her duties, her lashes blackened and her nails a saffron red. Looking at her, Ruth often wondered if the East had originated the practice of dyeing the finger nails and painting the lids black, which was so common a custom in bazaars. "That ayah of yours," Uncle Joe complained to his wife, "is the root-cause of all the trouble among the servants. You'd better keep an eye on her. I don't think she is any good here. One day the wives on the premises will mob her."
"She suits me all right and I have never had a better ayah for the children. She keeps their things tidy and can be trusted to keep them out of mischief."
"And carries on with Nubboo Singh when supposed to be on duty. She and the children's peon seem to me to be on excellent terms with each other. I hope she is discreet, for Maudie is a precocious kid."
"I can't go bail for the morals of my servants, for which I dislike letting the children out of sight of the bungalow with servants," grumbled Aunt Ellen. "I wish you, Ruth, would sacrifice a little of your unlimited leisure and have them more with you."
"I teach them most of the morning, when they come in from their walk."
"If you were a little considerate, you'd take them for a walk instead of leaving them to the servants." It meant, if Ruth consented, that she would have no time at all to call her own. Sewing took all the afternoon, so she thought it only fair that she should make a stand.
"I don't think that I am prepared to sacrifice myself
D
any further for anyone," said she, with spirit. "You should not expect it."
"I should not have asked the favour. I should have known you better," said Aunt Ellen, with a sniff. "Of course, the children can be utterly ruined. It is the fate of little ones who are kept too long in India."
"I am sorry, but they need not take walks if you have only servants to accompany them. The garden is large enough and they are exercising from morning till night."
Ruth refused to yield the point and calling the dogs after breakfast, took her usual outing across fields.
The dogs were in a sense her protection from mad dogs, diseased beggars and snakes. But Aunt Ellen eyed her jealously and saw no reason why she should allow Ruth the liberty to please herself in all things if she could make herself disagreeable and disobliging, so she refused to allow the dogs to accompany her on her walks.
"If you must go, then go alone. I don't want to hear that any of the dogs have been fighting with pariahs or been bitten by one with rabies. It is too great a risk, for they are the children's pets and if they were sickening for the disease, it would be dreadful to think of what might happen."
"The sweeper takes them out morning and evening if I don't. Are you going to stop him?"
"It is his duty to protect them. At least, he is responsible and you are not. Please don't raise an argument, for I have said all there is to be said on the subject.
Ruth accepted her decree and the next time she went out, it was alone.
The mood was on her to make another attempt to sketch Kalipahar, so she carried her impedimenta to the nullah that ran between Mynabari and the hill, and established herself in the friendly shade of a mango tree with her easel on a stand and her materials spread out before her. She laughed as she recalled her audacity in criticising the picture the stranger had been painting in the mango grove when she knew that she could not have done better. Its only defect was the view which was bald and uninteresting.
She had often recalled his looks after the dogs had scattered his belongings and ruined his work. How angry he was!---if looks could have slain! He was positively not a ladies' man. Nor could he have much interest in women if his picture weighed more with him than politeness to a girl. Nevertheless, she thought him definitely attractive if not handsome, for she liked his suggestion of strength and vigour, the straight, military lines of him and his ease of movement. She even liked his callousness towards her sex---as though he had seen too many to be charmed by any.
Most men did not treat her with indifference and she had been spoiled with attentions from young and old even in her flapper hood. She might easily have married after she left school, only the man who asked her did not appeal to her imagination, for he was too young and abject---like the Indian, Yusuf. She had an uncontrollable impulse to laugh when she thought of Yusuf Majid's languishing adoration.
How could anyone think it possible that she would marry an Indian for his money? She recoiled at the thought of intimate relations with one of his race and colour. Yet---he was a nice fellow and deserved to be well treated. She wanted to be friendly if she could be so without misleading him. But marry him? Never!
From her seat beside the nullah and shaded from the sun by a sturdy bough thickly covered with foliage she started painting, and thought the illusion of Kalipahar as a personality was peculiarly suggestive. The hunched shoulders, one protruding, the mop of unruly hair streaming down, the face averted gave it a sinister and threatening aspect.
The bare, black rocks below looked harsh against the green vegetation, and between them was visible here and there a silver trickling waterfall---possibly the beginnings of the now almost dried up nullah which was a rushing torrent in the rains.
Midway to the hill stood an object that fascinated Ruth and compelled her to include it in her picture. It was a once glorious and fruitful cotton tree of noble height which had been destroyed in a thunderstorm some years ago. The story said that it was struck by lightning as a gesture from Kali that her wrath was appeased; for immediately the rains broke flooding the district and putting an end to the epidemic of cholera then raging. There had been secret attempts to violate the sacredness of the hill. A party of shikaris had slain a bear in a cave. Two others bent on adventure had climbed to the top and misfortune had overtaken both, for one was carried down with sunstroke while the other fell a victim to cholera before the year was out. Coolies had accepted bribes to join the expedition, and of them, how many became the victims of tragedy, was unknown, for an epidemic broke out shortly after and devastated the villages round about.
Only the dead and stricken tree remained as a monument to the wrath of the goddess.
To Ruth it bore an uncanny resemblance to a spirit in supplication, for, with naked arms outstretched, it seemed pleading for mankind.
If only she could convey the impression to paper! But it was easier to feel the idea than to reveal it in colour.
After a while she leant back in disgust and surveyed
her effort. Impetuosity was to blame that the colours of the trunk had spread into the blue of the sky as on blotting paper, making the tree look out of all proportion to its surroundings. Moreover, her sky was too deep a blue and her greens too crude. There should have been some licence taken with lights and shades for the modification of realities, but she was too inexperienced to know exactly what colours mixed would produce the effects she desired, so the result was that her shadows looked smutty.
Just then a light sound behind her made her rigid with expectation. She had heard it a while ago, subconsciously and, from force of habit, had connected it with the dogs. But the dogs had not come out with her to-day, and the realisation made her jumpy. What if a mad dog was prowling near by---or a snake wriggling among the dead leaves behind her?
"The Miss-sahib pays regard to the stricken tree?" Ruth turned and confronted a curious creature in negligible rags with strange markings on his face. His hair and beard were matted, and he carried a small brass bowl in his hand. A native of the North, she assumed, judging by his light skin and pale brown eyes. But for a scanty loin-cloth and chudder over one shoulder, he was nude.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying not to look scared.
The man showed white teeth in an indulgent smile.
"I am a pilgrim, huzur, seeking that which is denied to man, though attainable through fasting and prayer. I perform miracles by the grace of the Unseen. I live by the generosity and faith of the people."
"Where do you live, pilgrim?"
"I have no home, baba. When night comes I sleep
54 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
at the root of a tree or under bridges and culverts. But why speak of me? I came because I saw that huzur was making a picture of the sacred hill, and would utter a warning. It is unlucky to cast your eye too frequently, baba, on Kalipahar, for the hill is possessed. Destroy your picture and go your way if you would be happy. All who have paid attention to Kalipahar either to put foot on it, or to make pictures have paid dearly. Cast it away, the evil thing! Pay me rupees and I will purchase a goat and make of it a sacrifice to slay the evil eye," and he held out his brass bowl with what Ruth thought, great cunning.
"How would you sacrifice a goat?" she asked him curiously.
"I would give it as an offering to the wild beasts in the jungles of Mynabari."
"Poor little innocent thing! It would be wicked.
I would never pay you to be so cruel."
"Then, with your permission I will buy fruit and lay it on the altar of the priest who is known to live on the hill. He passes at daybreak down the path of the woodmen, and I will waylay him with the fruit."
"I think you want the money yourself, Sadhu. Why not be honest and explain your need?"
\"Baba! What is money to such as I? I speak only for your sake, for you are well favoured by the Almighty and on your face it is written that you will be the mother of many sons some day. Would you wantonly bring on your life a curse?"
"I don't believe in all that nonsense."
"Salaam, Miss Sahib! I go. It is idle to speak to one who is deaf."
"Stop!" she cried. "You talk like a fortune teller. Can you tell fortunes?"
"To tell your fortune, baba, in the shadow of Kalipahar would be to bring down trouble on you. For
though I may say this and that, I cannot foresee all that folly may do to spoil a life that has begun with promise."
"What is the promise?"
"My lips are sealed. Igo." And the strange creature rose from the ground on which he had been seated cross-legged, and quickly passed out of sight.
Ruth stared after him in astonishment. What had it all amounted to? She had been warned to have no dealings with the hill as it would bring her misfortune even through such a thing as a picture, and she was to take heart as her life gave promise of happiness.
Somehow, she had lost the inclination to begin another sketch so spent the next few minutes thinking of the Sadhu, for there was an air of mystery about him. Why was he so insistent that she should cease to take stock of Kalipahar? Why should he offer to make sacrifices for her if she paid him a few rupees? It was surely a trick to get money for himself? Yet he had gone away empty handed when he could so easily have robbed her of her seed pearls or bangle. Not that they were very valuable, but a few rupees to a wandering beggar meant something.
Possibly he had feared to commit a violence lest someone might hear her cries for help? She could see coolies in the distance working in the fields. Others might so easily be near at hand.
In fact, he had possibly seen what she had not, and only now saw advancing towards her, therefore had quickly made off? A man in khaki shorts and a mushroom topi crossing a patch of uncultivated soil had evidently seen her and was hurrying towards her.
He spoke the moment he was within hearing, raising his hat.
"Where has the fellow gone?---quick!"
"Who do you mean?" she asked aggravatingly.
"You know. You were talking to him a moment ago. A /a&r-Iooking fellow, or a pilgrim of sorts---a lousy-looking wretch. In which direction did he go?"
"He went down there towards the water---what's the matter?"
But she spoke to the winds. The man, who wa-> Forrester, was gone in pursuit of the fanatic, and all was again silent.
He must have been absent for ten minutes, for Ruth
had begun to think of returning home when he reappeared.
"I apologise. I fear I must have sounded beastly rude. The fact is that I have been after that fellow
for a week, but he always manages to escape. The ground opens and swallows him up. Do you believe he has supernatural gifts and can make himself invisible when he likes?"
"He told me he could perform miracles."
Neither had uttered any form of greeting, which to Ruth seemed odd; and it was odder still that neither of them made any effort to repair the omission.
"I'd like to talk to him. I believe he could tell me more about things I want to know than anyone in these parts." Forrester seemed to be talking to himself when his eye fell on her block which she had turned face downwards.
"I see you've been sketching?"
She could be as offhand as he.
"I made a shot at the hill from here, but it was a failure."
"Let me see it." Before she could put it out of his reach he had taken it up and was examining it carefully.
"I wish you wouldn't. I said it had failed."
"In fact---it's 'rotten'?"
"I know it, and I'm sorry I was nasty about yours. It was wonderful, only you made me angry "
"But you were quite right. The view was poor. This is far better. And that tree!"
"Isn't it like a lost soul pleading for mercy?"
"I see the idea. Begging mercy of Kali on the hilltop! . . . I've a good mind to try my hand at a sketch from here. Would you let me use your materials?"
"Of course. I'd love to have you use them."
"Even though I paint so badly?"
"You know you don't. I envy your style. You are an artist while I am an amateur, and a very poor one at that."
"I would have been an artist if---how often there is an 'if' to change the whole course of one's destiny. I became a soldier instead. The War, you know. Still I sometimes do a little with a palette and brushes--- nothing much, but I please myself. My technique is all wrong---but who minds?" He sat down on Ruth's stool and taking one of her heavier brushes made an onslaught on her paint box. How free he was with the colours. None of her timorousness and finicky touches, but a sweep here and a splash there, and things seemed to emerge by magic.
Ruth knelt at his elbow spellbound, watching in silence the colours arrive and determine themselves into objects with a twist and a turn of the brush. He flooded the paper, he barely waited for the paint to dry before he knew just how and when to allow the blotting process to give his neutral shadows, and faraway distances the right atmospheric effect; and then the tree!
How boldly it stood out against the soft distance of shimmering sunlight on the range, Kalipahar dominating the scene with hoary-headed dignity.
"Look at the highest point on the hill, What do you see?" he asked while working on the tree.
"I see the outline of a tall pipal tree, and a fleecy cloud resting on the top of it. There are also a few smaller trees, palas, I think."
"Nothing more? Look again---there is a gap between---let me see, the first, second, third---no, fourth tree and the fifth---before you get to the pipal. The gap is negligible, but look hard and tell me if you can spot anything."
After a moment's silence Ruth said slowly :
"Do you mean that speck of something shining?" "Yes. But it doesn't shine all the time. There!
It's gone. Now what do you make of it? Sort of intermittent signalling."
"I can't make it out. Can you?"
"I could hazard a guess, but am very likely to be wrong. If there was a bit of glass---a mirror---or a sheet of metal in that spot, the sun would make it reflect just so. One heliographs like that, only whoever is manipulating it is using a private code."
"Mightn't it be that it is water on something? It rains a lot up there. Or a wet leaf moving in the wind?"
He laughed. "Some theory! I am inclined to think that some blighters are encamped up there for purposes of their own and manage to keep in touch with their friends by means of heliograph."
" 'Some theory' indeed I" she quoted, and echoed his laugh. "Nobody would dare to climb the hill after all the frightfulnesses of Kali. Though the Sadhu talked of a priest who pays tribute to the shrine."
"I doubt the existence of a shrine up there, and the priest, some say, is the Sadhu himself. Some day I shall make the time to climb Kalipahar and see what there is to be seen."
"But there is no road and a great deal of jungle to penetrate, to say nothing of meeting with bears if not leopards."
"Tigars and leopards abandoned the hill long ago, and bears are timid creatures. Besides, I'd take a gun."
She recalled that she had seen him with a gun the first time they met.
"Why are you so keen about the hill?"
"Curiosity and the love of adventure. Ever since I heard all that bunkum about Kali I have been trying to nose out facts. Did you know that Kalipahar has made history for us?"
"No. How and when?"
"In the days of Clive, the Mohammedans built what they thought was an impregnable fortress on the hill, which they held against the British till Kali caused them to lose the struggle---so the Hindus say. But we have it that the defending army was betrayed by a Hindu who feared the vengeance of Kali. There was a decisive battle fought at the base of Kalipahar and the retreat was cut off on the banks of this very nullah."
"How very interesting! I shall feel doubly intrigued with Kalipahar after this. Weren't there any relics of the battle dug up from time to time?---treasure and that sort of thing?"
"They have an old muzzle-loader cannon ornamenting the steps of the courthouse at Mynapur, and cannon balls have been found in the fields. Your uncle would know more about it than I. Anyhow, the British put the Hindus into power here and they have ever since been in the majority in these parts. The Rajah of Mynabari was made a 'Bahadur', and owned all the land that is now the Nawab's. Have you heard the story of how the property changed hands?"
"Yes. The Nawab told us the other night. I wonder what became of the descendants of the Rajah?"
"They were great gamblers and got into the clutches of moneylenders till they were ruined. The Rajah himself left the district when he lost his estate to the Nawab Majid, and his relatives and descendants are now tradesmen and merchants in these and the Mynapur bazaars. They loathe the present Nawab and are waiting a chance to get their knife into him, so to speak. It is my belief that they are at the bottom of the stories and superstitions concerning Kalipahar, so that the Nawab will be deprived of the use of the hill, which could be of great financial value to him were he to open it up to the public. The villagers are very simple and swallow all they are told, even that fairy tale of the sacrifice of the cotton tree."
"It is funny, though, how after it was struck the epidemic vanished."
"Not at all. The thunderstorm preceded the bursting of the monsoon. Cholera epidemics rage fiercely in the heat and drought, so it followed naturally that the torrential rain that fell immediately washed out the bogs and pot holes, flooded tanks to overflowing, and carried away the bugs."
"In fact, it's quite a normal explanation?"
"Precisely."
They talked for a long time while the sun mounted high and the heat intensified. Ruth felt a sense of gladness wholly unaccountable, and had never been so much at her ease since coming to India. Forrester treated her frankly as he would have done another man, which, though not flattering to her feminine instincts, was rather delightful as between pals. She had an instinct that airs and graces designed to have sex appeal would have scared him away immediately, and the easy footing would have been altogether destroyed.
When he rose and stretched his long limbs, both had forgotten the time, which was a shock to Ruth when she noticed the shortness of the shadows.
"I believe it is frightfully late and I have missed tiffin I"
"Does it matter? You'll raid the larder."
"Not I! I would not dare. Aunt Ellen sees to left-overs; and if I did, I'd be very unpopular with the sweeper who expects all that may not be of use to the household."
"Will you share my sandwiches? Do. I always feed the crows as my 'boy' thinks he is providing for two meals instead of one."
But Ruth refused with thanks. She was not hungry and was more concerned at the annoyance her irregularity would create than at the loss of luncheon. The picture was wonderful, and she said so with sincerity.
"It will test the Sadhu's right to prophesy. If you fall down and hurt yourself, don't think, like the Hindus, that it is part of the curse on the picture. That Sadhu knows more than you imagine why the hill should remain unmolested."
"I wonder!"
"Don't. It is as clear as mud. Yet no one who has seen the flashes from the top of Kalipahar would dare to question their meaning. Those who do not put the phenomenon down to natural causes prefer to shut their eyes to any explanation that would discount the existing superstitions. To doubt the powers of Kali, is to call down a judgment on the district."
How scathing he was! He seemed very sure that the flashes were signals, though why anyone should signal to anyone else from there, seemed unreasonable.
"I'll say good-bye. Thank you for a delightful morning," she thought it polite to say.
"Au'voir," he returned, handing her her paints and materials. "Don't forget your picture."
"Is it mine?" Her eyes widened with pleasure.
"Why---of course. I did it for you. Something to remember me by," he said lightly, for the first time personal.
Ruth thrilled unaccountably and the colour flooded her cheeks as she thanked him again, hugging the block to her breast. How very nice of him! What a compelling personality. Of course she must remember him always, whether she wished to or not.
A sense of exhilaration accompanied her to the bungalow and sustained her throughout the scolding she had merited. It served her right to have to go without her tiffin, but Aunt Ellen had ordered it to be kept warm for her.
Not that Ruth wanted anything but fruit, for the day was warm and she unusually excited. Moreover, the smell of curry on her approach to the house made her feel as if she had already fed. Both Uncle Joe and Aunt Ellen were devoted to curries and condiments, and it often put Ruth off food to see them tucking in to a plate piled high with curry and rice, augmented by dhal and an assortment of chutneys. Her fertile imagination saw a castle on a hill surrounded at the base by a moat, at the edge of which was an encampment of the enemy.
And the enemy was hot stuff, usually composed of green mangoes and garlic, oil and vinegar, and plenty of chilis; but the odour of the meal had a way of lingering in the rooms the best part of the twenty- four hours, which to Ruth was the principal offence.
However, she comforted herself that one got used to things when they happened every day.
RUTH was deeply ashamed of her weakness in the days that followed, for she had fallen a prey to Expectation. It was a wholly unwarranted feeling born of a sentimental complex that made her mentally run away with the most absurd longings and desires---the morning-to-night hope that somewhere in her walks across country, her rides when Uncle Joe could spare his one and only nag, she would have a chance meeting with her artist friend who had so generously confided to her his determination to get at the bottom of sinister mysteries.
Apparently he did not mean to call. He knew he was doing his best to cut her Uncle Joe out in the stone business and so ruin him; which was enough to make it impossible for him to call on the Gowans in a friendly way. Ruth saw that. She could not be unreasonable. But there was no use pretending to herself that she had not fallen a victim to the man's peculiar charm. He might ignore her sex---treat her like a boy---which she might easily have passed for in her hiking suit and pith topi, hobnailed shoes and swinging strides---he might even flash angry eyes at her, as in the mango tope, and openly show his contempt for girls, he was still the very type of man she had always wanted to know. A bit of a dare-devil, a little rude, blase, hard as nails. Yet, with it all, he could see the beautiful in nature and cultivate the art of sketching it with a fidelity that was genius.
She was given to wondering about him so much that 63
she had to take herself to task for her folly. What was it but foolishness to think so much about a man who did not think of her at all, or he would surely have insisted upon making friends, whatever were his intentions in business. How easily he could have returned any morning to her favourite haunt under the pipal tree on the chance of her being there. As a matter of fact, she was there at the same hour, much to her own disapproval, every day in the hope that he would be attracted to the spot for reasons identical with her own. But she always drew a blank, so had to try the hill instead.
As she was not allowed to take the dogs she went alone and wandered along the base of it, following always die path the wood cutters had made in defiance of Hindu supersition, for firewood had a market value on hdt days when the market-place at Mynabari became a scene of sale-and-barter. Competitors haggling over their wares and humanity in all stages of semi-nudity struggling for the best bargains with all the tricks and a few more, of bargain-hunters during the July sales, was an unforgettable experience. Ruth had visited one of the hdts, and had given all others a wide berth thereafter, for the mixed odours of bodies sweltering in the drought and heat, the smell of cattle and the noise, gave her nausea and confined her to bed for the rest of the day. Not for any advantageous prices would she again oblige Aunt Ellen by shopping at Mynabari on a market-day, even though the exalted Yusuf himself had since offered to be her escort and could command a way for her through the crowds, like royalty itself.
A strange thing happened one day.
Ruth was walking at the foot of Kalipahari when the sun was beginning to make its power felt, and took shelter for a while on the west side of a spur that towered above her. All round her was starved scrub thick with the dust of the fields, and barren rocks, black and lowering, that seemed to radiate a vicious heat where smitten by the sun's rays, but the sound of trickling water from a concealed spring sounded like music to her ears.
Suddenly the Sadhu appeared on the path----how and from where it was impossible to say, for there seemed no hint of a hiding place nor foot-track other than that which she was following. It gave her a momentary shock when she saw him shuffle towards her with bare feet, for she could not forget how in old days, when a small child, her ayah would threaten her with beggar-men and fakirs. It had given her a bogey complex, and though she knew these men to be perfectly harmless and law-abiding, she still shuddered a little, for it seemed that this particular fanatic was acquiring a habit of turning up in the region of the hill. More than once she had met him seated by the way eating parched grain from a fold of his chudder. Once she imagined he had been dogging her along the path, for sundry noises of falling rubble, crackling leaves and rustling undergrowth had suggested an escaping jackal---the most timorous of creatures when alone. Soon afterwards she had met him coming from the opposite way and had wondered if he could have managed it by a short cut. But why should he follow her? And why did he haunt the hill?
On this occasion when he seemed to appear as from the skies, he showed a disposition to detain her.
"The sun is hot, Miss Sahib," he remarked. "Too hot for those not born in the country to be out when it is high in the heavens---sit in the shade. Have you no fear that some evil influence might not make you fall by the way, bahose---struck down, people will say, by the glare and heat?"
"My head is well protected. But you are right. The sun is strong and I am going home."
"Sit awhile, now huzur feels the heat, and I will beguile the time with magic, calling to my aid unseen powers and things not of the earth."
"I would rather not stay, Sadhu. I have been out long enough."
"If huzur will pay tribute to Kalipahar I will show you strange happenings," he persisted, his eyes fastening on her twisted string of seed pearls which she had worn since a child. "Sit and watch what I do."
The strange insistence in his gaze made her nervous. Was he commanding her to obey him and daring her to refuse obedience?
What a strange creature! She was reminded of the morning Mr. Forrester tried to stop him by the nullah, but he had seemed to disappear. Tall, angular, bony, with matted hair and beard, and scanty raiment, his brow and cheeks having queer, painted symbols, she began to fear such a creature. If she defied him, what would he do? Rob her of her necklace---the only relic she possessed of her mother?
What magic did he mean to perform?
Nevertheless, in spite of her anxiety to be gone, she stayed. It was as if she had no power of resistance in that mysterious atmosphere of the hill and the man's uncanny insistence.
"Listen. I will call to the spirits that live on this hill and they will answer me." He put his hands to his mouth and made a long peculiar wail that resembled yodelling, then stopped and raised a finger to command her attention.
Ruth heard the reply returned distinctly from high up the hillside and felt unpleasantly thrilled to the marrow. What did it mean?
"That's an echo," she said. "The rocks have thrown back your voice. I am not a child to be taken in."
"No? Then listen again, huzur, I will ask a question and the answer will arrive. You know the language, so satisfy yourself."
Again he called to the hilltop, addressing the spirits who were the agents of Kali.
"Answer, O, Holy messengers! What penalty shall a trespasser pay for setting foot on the hillside?"
With head bent and finger raised he waited a fraction of time for the answer. And assuredly it came, making Ruth's blood run cold.
"Let her yield up all of value she wears upon her that Kali be appeased."
A gleam of triumph shot from the Sadhu's hollow eyes.
"Was that an echo, Miss baba?"
"Oh, no! That was a man's voice. Who is up there?"
"They are evil spirits that reply. Spirits that do the will of Kali, who is the Avenger. You have heard? If you would reach your home in safety, baba, it is as well to obey."
"What more of magic can you perform?" Ruth asked him, to gain time. If only someone would come that way! What a fool she was to think it safe to wander about unprotected! The dogs would have spared her this. At the moment she hated Aunt Ellen.
"I'll show you."
He approached too near for her peace of mind, and became suddenly transfixed, standing within touch of her with body grown rigid, features diabolical, eyes straining from their sockets at hers, lips muttering incantations.
The horror of the transformation paralysed her with fear. She could not utter a sound but crouched against the rock till she felt the earth slipping away beneath her, the trees descending from the hillside to smother her. What was this?---sunstroke? . . .
She was conscious of the heat through it all and the peculiar being in front of her seeming to contract and expand, increase in height till his arms, curiously multiplied, appeared to be slowly descending upon her.
In that moment she lost consciousness.
When she regained her senses someone was seated beside her bathing her face with water.
"That's better," said a familiar voice, and she looked into the face of Yusuf Majid.
Memory returned and she clung to his hand in a fit of ague.
"Take me home! Take me home!" she cried through chattering teeth.
"Of course. You should never have come out in this burning sun. You have had a stroke, without doubt."
"Oh, no, no! It was the Sadhu---where is he?"
"The what---my dear young lady?" Yusuf cried indulgently. "You are upset. Be calm and I'll carry you myself to my car which is on the road below. How lucky I came up the path!"
"I am not talking nonsense," cried Ruth, trying to pull herself together. "I have been frightened---a fakir- sort-of-man frightened me with magic. He should be caught and punished. Where has he gone? Did you see him?"
Yusuf Majid looked commiseratingly at her. It was common knowledge that a stroke of the sun created delusions. "Let me persuade you to "
"It is true! But I see you don't believe me." She almost wept.
"I am willing to believe anything you say. Tell me more. Who is it that frightened you?"
She was convinced that he was only humouring her, so she rose and took his arm that they might drop the matter and make their way to his car.
"What's the use of saying anything? I suppose I fainted with the heat and fright---but he has got away, and that is all that matters. I will see what my uncle can do."
Since she persisted in her story of a holy man calling himself a pilgrim and his alarming her with a form of sorcery, Majid relapsed into gravity, and began to realise that something had actually happened to her.
"Did he lay his hands on you, Miss Ruth?"
"Oh, no I---at least, I don't think he did, but he looked quite mad and threatening. I did not know what he meant to do, and---then everything went queer."
"You fainted."
"Could I have been hypnotised? I thought the hill was falling on me. I imagined he had a multitude of arms---like the pictures of Kali, and that they were all reaching out to drag me away."
"It sounds very strange. There is a man who has been seen in the bazaars---but he is a priest and an ascetic, with a shaven head, and he carries a begging bowl. People say he is gifted with the power to heal by touch. Was this one old and of the same description?"
"Oh, no I He is quite different. Very straight and tall with matted hair---he is not very old at all. He says he is a pilgrim. I have seen him a few times but we have not spoken---except once when I was painting beside the nullah, and he left quickly because I think he must have seen a gentleman coming towards us."
"A gentleman?" Yusuf was immediately on the alert. He helped her into his car and they drove towards the bungalow. "Who was he?"
"Mr. Forrester."
"You have met him?" he asked, registering uneasiness.
"Yes. By accident, in my strolls."
"I know Mr. Forrester. He is staying at Mynapur ---or, maybe, has returned to Calcutta. He comes and goes, being interested in a scheme---perhaps you heard of it? I think we mentioned him at your dinner the other night. He would lease or buy Kalipahar if my father will part with that bit of his property. But I am not too keen on selling. If there wasn't all this trouble with the Hindus over tradition and superstition, my father would lease the hill to your uncle to-morrow. But to sell it outright is another thing. My father, of course, will not entertain the idea of antagonising the Hindus, so the hill lies untouched and the superstition goes on. The priest or Sadhu manages to make a good thing out of the Hindus, for it appears he, alone, is immune from harm. He is said to live somewhere on the hill. But I can hardly believe it, as it is no joke to climb up and down so frequently. Forrester and I discussed him. Forrester declares that there is something behind it all, and is concerning himself so much that the Hindu community will resent it and go for him some day---I warned him."
"He has met the man who frightened me, for he said he has been trying to catch him, but that he slips through his fingers every time."
"You seem to know this Mr. Forrester pretty well, Miss Ruth." A jealous light gleamed in Majid's eye.
"I have talked with him twice or three times." "And he is not known to your people?"
"No. He has never called."
Majid looked anything but pleased at the thought that she was on speaking terms with the stranger who had not thought fit to call on her people.
"Isn't it a slight if a man refuses to call and pay his respects to ladies when he comes into the district?"
"He may have a very good reason for not calling."
"Then would you acknowledge him and be on friendly terms with him in such a case?"
"I don't know. There is no question of my making friends. He is not seeking to improve the acquaintance and I do not care if he doesn't."
Majid looked slightly relieved.
"I hope you are feeling better? Do let me take you driving, Miss Ruth. I could call for you in the evenings and it will do you a lot of good these warm days. I think you should go to the hills till after the rains break, or at any rate for the hot weather which covers the monsoon season. If it is not a presumption, I would place a furnished house I own at your disposal at Sonaling. The mountain air is what you need. You could surely take a friend and be my guest. Occasionally I might run up for a breath of air. If I could with safety leave my father for the summer, I would make a prolonged stay in the hills as your host. But he is a very sick man and refuses to travel. He prefers his home while out of health. May I mention this to your uncle?"
Ruth would not hear of placing herself under such a deep obligation to Yusuf Majid and the matter was not mentioned again.
He, however, obtained her promise to drive with him occasionally, and parted from her at the steps of the bungalow, well pleased with his good fortune at having been able to serve her in a moment of distress.
Ruth went to her bath feeling curiously shaken and tremulous. Her experience on the hill showed her that she could never again go there alone. Not even with the dogs. The sight of the Sadhu would be enough to throw her into a fever. Somehow, she divined his peculiar hypnotic power, and was convinced that she had not fainted through the heat but had been hypnotised and rendered unconscious.
But why had he done it? He might have known she would not have much money on her. A few coppers for beggars, perhaps---and
Dismay seized her as her fingers reached automatically to unclasp her necklet of seed pearls to which she was attached more for sentimental reasons than their intrinsic worth, their value not being very great. They had gone. The Sadhu must have taken them for what they might be worth. She had been robbed.
Her first impulse was to tell her uncle what had happened and take his advice as to how she should act so as to recover her property. But that would entail a lot of explanation---her reasons for wandering about the base of Kalipahar would sound so futile. She could not say that she had lately been impelled by one object, for she was ashamed of it and selfconvicted of running after a man.
She had lost her pearls and would have to resign herself cheerfully to her loss, for if the Sadhu had actually stolen them she could not take steps to recover them except through the police, and that meant stirring up a scare and making herself the gossip of the district. She shrank from entering the limelight in any way after all that had happened in the past to make her mother's name a byword. Much better to say nothing about her pearls, for there was just the possibility that the clasp was weak and that they had dropped off while she was tramping over the rough paths on the hillside.
All day long the memory of the Sadhu's diabolical face when he became convulsed and rigid, haunted her. His transformation into a likeness of the idol with its multiplicity of arms convinced her that she had unquestionably been hypnotised. He was a clever brute and no religious saint as he would have had the people think. Forrester was right to distrust him and wish to track him down.
To whom had the Sadhu called up the hill? And what voice was it that replied? for a voice had come ordering her to give up all she had of value.
Was it by any chance ventriloquism?
She was inwardly convinced that the Sadhu had stolen her pearls and that she had not dropped them, when she thought of the covetous look in his eyes and the voice from the hill commanding her to give up all she possessed if she would escape the vengeance of Kali. But she preferred to keep the conviction to herself rather than face the police investigation.
How thankful she was that worse had not happened to her. It was lucky for her that Yusuf Majid was at hand---possibly the Sadhu had heard him and had run away.
"You look pale," Uncle Joe remarked at tea.
"It's the heat," was her reply to divert attention. In her bedroom, Moonia ayah, who had a soft corner in her sophisticated heart for the English girl who was so much alone and friendless, at an age when she should have been a wife and mother according to Eastern custom, commiserated her pallor and sickliness.
"It isn't good, Baba, to fail in health when young, for the sahibs have an eye to rounded contours and take delight in a wife with physical charms." Her method of expressing herself was somewhat cruder than the interpretation would suggest. "When will huzur take a husband? Time is passing and youth passes
too. This is the day of a woman's triumph---when she has beauty, and is new to the things for which she was born."
"Go to, ayah! You are very stupid. I have other things to think of besides marriage," was Ruth's retort. "I don't want your help to undress. Perhaps your mistress needs you."
"It is no pleasure assisting her," said Moonia, curling a nostril contemptuously. "Her tongue is like a hammer and she has forgotten the call of youth. With huzur it is different. All say that huzur has the face of a flower and your voice is music. Also it is a joy to see huzur unclothed, and the loveliness denied to man's gaze."
"Be gone, ayah. You are a flatterer."
"Wait till huzur has a lover. Assuredly that day is near. Moonia has eyes in her head."
"What are you talking about?" For a moment Ruth had a hopeful feeling that Mr. Forrester had been haunting the locality unknown to herself.
Moonia became immediately coy. "Haven't I a relation working at the palace of the Nawab Sahib? And has it not become common knowledge there how the Nawab has had to give his consent to his son's marriage with the Miss Sahib?"
"Oh, ayah! Surely you know I would never "
"He has a good character, Baba, and his wealth cannot be estimated. It is said that he has no thought for anything but huzur, and his mother is concerned by his rapid loss of flesh, for he takes no interest in the food that is placed before him, and his sighs can be heard in the night when he lies tossing and sleepless for thoughts of huzur, whom he desires to possess as his wife."
"I don't want to listen to all this talk, ayah, and you can tell your relations at the palace that the son of the
Nawab may continue to sigh for all it matters to me." "Of course, huzur will marry one of your own sort.
It is folly for a black man to mate with a white woman--- haven't I said so? But so many do it, and our people seem to hanker for what is out of their reach always, as in matters to do with the government. They will resist all that is to be settled for the country, but they will never resist a beautiful white Miss baba whose eyes are like stars and her teeth like pearls, while the whiteness of her skin is of the purity of a white rose. And I for one don't blame them."
"Oh, get out of this! You tire me," cried Ruth unable to resist laughing as she hurled a cushion after the ayah's receding form.
WHEN Uncle Joe heard of the offer by Majid of a furnished house in Darjeeling, he frankly said she was a fool to have refused it. Here was an opportunity for the family to have a change to the hills free of expense and she had turned it down!
Aunt Ellen said that some people never knew on which side their bread was buttered. To her mind, it was sheer selfishness that had made Ruth decline Yusuf Majid's invitation to be his guest in a hill station which would have done her and the children so much good. Of course she would have sent Maudie and Sylvia with her, and gone herself later. Poor mites, they looked so peaky from the heat I
"I should hate to place myself under an obligation to this Indian."
"Can't you forget he is an Indian for a bit? Take what you are given and be thankful."
"And make no return when I know what is expected of me?"
"That is a matter which you could have settled in your own way. Why shouldn't you allow yourself to know the man? It does not oblige you to become his wife. He himself would see the point of your giving him his chance to present himself in the best light. That's all the man wants."
"Does he? But I don't want him to go to trouble on my account."
Aunt Ellen turned her back on her and put her into Coventry for the rest of the day.
76
She was, however, partially restored to favour when Majid called in the afternoon and took her for a drive.
"Take the children too," said their jealous mother. "They too will enjoy a breath of fresh air and don't have many chances of a car-ride since the old bus broke down."
In this instance, Ruth was only too glad to be accompanied by the two little girls, for she knew their habit of intruding upon conversation and taking charge of every situation. It would save her from having to listen to fulsome compliments and fence with Yusuf's determination to court her in his heavy fashion. Possibly, he imagined she could be bought, and that he had only to make her appreciate his wealth and her good fortune, for her to yield unconditionally.
So they drove further than Ruth had yet gone in her walks and rides, and she was shown a goodly portion of the subdivision. But from his point of view the drive must have been disappointing to Majid, for conversation was rendered impossible by Maudie and Sylvia who were perpetually in need of control. They climbed over the seats in the tonneau of the high- powered tourer and were often within a hair's breadth of falling out. They shouted remarks at each other and at Ruth and plied Majid with so many questions that a less tolerant nature would have lost temper and driven them home by the shortest cut. But like most Indians, Yusuf was lenient towards children and expected the worst, for Maudie and Sylvia were replicas of a type he was familiar with in the zenana, where Indian children are notoriously indulged and spoiled. In this case bearers had done their bit towards the process of spoiling, which Aunt Ellen deplored, but was unable to prevent. It was India, and who could alter the unalterable?
The next time, the same party was driven towards Mynapur, and Ruth was shown a large morass which provided the district with feathered game. Shooting parties in the cold weather would meet on its shallow waters and be paddled through the reeds in canoes while they shot birds, and the event was usually made the occasion for a picnic under the trees. Ruth saw shelving green banks overshadowed by leafy trees of tamarind, kala jamun, and bhur, with here and there a feathery-leafed babul emerging through the riotous foliage, or a date palm drooping long branches above.
A few water-fowl made pleasant bird-music which mingled with the twittering and cawing from the trees. A blackbird added its long, sweet song to the choir, and a bulbul could be heard rolling its throaty notes in modest competition with the rest. There were sparrows and mynas in their thousands, and now and then came the flash of blue wings as a jay alighted on a branch.
It was a bird-sanctuary, judging by the quietude of the scene, for the field workers had no use for the jhil with its water-lilies and reeds and the dabchicks and other water-fowl disporting themselves among them.
"I love this spot," said Ruth, who wanted to linger awhile to take in the whole of the sylvan view as something to remember. "How far is it from the station of Mynapur?"
"Some few miles," said Yusuf. "Let me bring you here some day, and we can have a picnic all to ourselves."
"That is very kind of you---but, I couldn't spare the time. You may not believe it, but I have many duties at the bungalow."
"Take a holiday from them---for my sake," he pleaded earnestly, and Ruth smiled at his assurance.
It was for his sake that she had refused, had he only known it.
Just then there was a crackle of dead branches, and a man came through the tangle of creepers and dead twigs, following a path beside the jhil, and on the instant Ruth recognised Mr. Forrester.
"Hullo!" Yusuf cried.
Forrester replied by a similar exclamation and raised his hat to Ruth.
"I thought you had gone back to Calcutta?"
"I changed my mind as there is so little doing." "Can I give you a lift?" said Yusuf, reluctantly.
"I am just returning to the station---and that is out of your way."
"Why not come back with me to my place and have a spot of lunch?" Yusuf suggested manfully, anxious to do the polite thing and so impress Ruth.
"May I? Thank you, Majid. I should like that, for I wanted to talk with you about a certain matter."
"That's all right. I, too, thought we might have a chat over that affair---you know," with a nod in the direction of the hill.
"It is very warm for you, Miss Gowan," said Forrester, turning to her a sunburned face in which his eyes looked a wonderful blue. "Are you admiring this old jhil? One day you should ask Mr. Majid to tell you its history. There is a very thrilling story attached to this spot. What do you think of it?"
"It is quite a huge lake," said she, "and I was thinking you should sketch some of it where it is picturesque."
"It is just what I have been doing," he returned, tapping a case which hung from his shoulder and showing her that he was carrying a camp stool and a folded easel.
"Oh!---I wish "
"I'll show it to you as we go along." He climbed in to sit with the children and was instantly subjected to their overwhelming attentions.
"What you got in that bag?" piped Sylvia.
"He's got a snake. I can see its face---oo I" and Maudie simulated fear for Sylvia's benefit, which immediately made her dive for the front seat and land willy-nilly on Ruth's lap.
"Look," said Forrester. "It's nothing. Only a wee water-bottle."
Maudie went into shrieks of laughter and Sylvia was hoisted back to her place before the car was set in motion.
"Show me what you've got inside there," said Maudie.
"Naughty children never get shown anything that is nice."
"But I'm good. Ask Ruth."
"Ruth is too kind to you and would probably lie to spare your feelings. I never spare children's feelings when they look like you, cruel and---yes, dirty."
"I'm not dirty! I've a clean pinny. Sylvia is dirty. She has been playing with mud."
"Sylvia is a baby. You should take better care of her and not set her a bad example by not washing your neck," he said mockingly. "I like Sylvia, but I don't like you, for you are a horrid little girl, and cruel."
"I'm not crool I"
"You are. You frightened your sister. You are a bully." His voice sounded so implacable that Ruth had to peep at him over her shoulder only to surprise a twinkle in the eye that met hers.
"If you say that, I'll cry!"
"Go ahead. Cry! Who cares if you do? Mr. Majid can easily get rid of you by putting you down on the road."
"My Daddy would be angry if he did," and Maudie swallowed her disposition to tears. "You are a nasty man and I won't talk to you."
"Hopray I That's the best thing you've said yet. I'll have a chance to show Sylvia my pictures."
Forrester drew forth a water-colour block from his bag and allowed Sylvia a peep at it taking care to hold it so that Maudie was deprived.
This was unendurable.
"I'll spit on your picture," said Maudie defiantly.
"I am quite sure a child like you would. I knew you were dirty and ill-mannered. Such a pity, when a child so big should be a pleasure to know. Nice little girls don't spit."
"I---hate you!"
"You would. But Sylvia loves me. Don't you, Sylvia?"
"Yuss!" cried Sylvia, immediately demonstrative.
"Who is Sylvia I" scornfully.
"Do you want to know? I'll tell you," and he crooned softly in a voice of delicious timbre and richness---
"Who is Sylvia? What is she
That all her swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she,
The heavens such gifts did lend her
That ador-tfrf she mi-i-ight be-e . . .."
" 'That ador-ft/ she might be.' " The repetition was sung in a whisper. "Like it? It's a very beautiful thing to be 'ador-erf,' " he concluded.
"Wot is a-dor-erf?" asked Sylvia, while Maudie gaped at him open-mouthed.
"It is what happens to pretty girls with jade-green eyes."
Did he know that she could hear every word he was
saying? or did he mean her to hear? Ruth flushed. How dare he, in Majid's hearing, try to poke fun at her!
"But what does it mean?" Sylvia persisted.
"He means 'arfored,' stupid I" said Maudie. "Another way of saying 'worship.' The prince 'adored' Cinderella and married her. Isn't there any song about me?"
"You? . . . Let me see---of course! There was someone who wanted 'Maud' to come into the garden that he might love her, but that would never be said to you, for you are so rude and want to spit at pictures and things."
"If I promise not to, will you sing it?"
"Oh, no!---When you are quite grown up, someone might, if you become very, very good."
"What is that funny thing?" Sylvia asked, putting a grubby finger on the middle of his sketch. "Is it a cow?"
"Perhaps Ruth will know what it is," and he rescued the sheet from the pointing finger and passed it to Ruth in front.
Ruth thus challenged blushed even redder, for he had used her Christian name. It was not as if they knew each other---or that there was any excuse for the liberty. But she received the picture and gave it her attention.
A glance at Majid had shown him staring in front, gloweringly, hands gripping the wheel as if in a crush of traffic and he a Learner. Before him lay a stretch of glaring road on which not even a bullock cart was to be seen; nor even a goat tethered by the wayside.
The "funny thing" that had appealed to Sylvia was a gaunt vulture seated on a carcase in the shallows where the reeds were thin. Its bare, bald head and featherless neck, its hideous talons clutching for
support at the dead mass of corruption beneath it which it was apparently guiding to the bank with ungainly, flapping wings, was a gruesome sight and made Ruth shudder involuntarily, it was so realistic and well drawn.
What made him choose to include the carrion creature in a picture which was exquisitely complete with its misty horizon, its lotus lilies and reeds reflected in the shadows, while in open spaces the golden rays of the sun shimmered on the ripples that stirred the surface of the water and touched with high-lights the leaves of the overhanging boughs? And yet---that very inclusion made the picture, and distinguished it.
"What do you think of it?" he urged, his voice lowered for her ear.
"It seems a wonderful example of contrasts," she replied. "It is even better than that other with the cotton-tree."
"Contrasts either intrigue or repel me. For instance, in social life, beauty and the beast---or say the play, Othello---gives me homicidal mania."
What did he mean her to infer? She stiffened. This was a new side to his character---an extraordinary man! Did Majid hear?
"I don't know what you are talking about. Tell me," and she abandoned the subject in a panic, "have you been painting quite a lot since I saw you last?"
"Not---very much---chiefly from memory. But one's memory cannot be trusted to do justice to a haunting subject. It is given to exaggerating defects when the wish becomes father to the thought."
"I don't understand you at all to-day."
"No? Just as well. Would you care to take my portfolio home with you and see what I have been doing?"
"I'd love to, if I may?"
He immediately handed her his case, and leaning back, amused himself again with the children, making Maudie the butt for his provocative shafts. Sylvia insisted upon climbing into his lap while Maudie affected to despise him.
"That's right. Turn up your funny little nose at me," he told her. "You know what it means?"
"What?" Maudie condescended to ask over her shoulder.
"That you are simply dying to make friends. Girls are given that way. They love most whom they pretend to hate till they discover it's a waste of time. They then try modern tactics."
"I don't want to make friends," sneered Maudie. "You can love Sylvia for all I care. Besides, you talk so's I can't understand."
"That's because you're a baby."
"I'm not! I'm eight years old. I can be nice--- if I like," she volunteered over her shoulder.
"Really? What a pity you weren't from the beginning, then you might have found out what's in my pocket."
Both children were immediately interested. Maudie forgot her antagonism on the spot and became effusive.
"Let me see," cried Sylvia, struggling to introduce her fist into his coat pocket.
"It's nothing," said Maudie, trying to oust her sister.
"I know! It's toffee!" said Sylvia.
"It isn't. Gentlemen don't eat toffee. It's chockie. Daddy has chockies in his pocket when he goes out all morning," said Maudie.
"What a clever girl!"
"Children," cried Ruth in distress. "I am ashamed of you."
"Give me a chance," said Forrester laughing---a sound that was infectious to Ruth and brought out her dimples---"you'll tear my pocket and there is no one to mend it."
"Ruth will mend it. She mends everything at our house," said Maudie.
"Take care! It's alive," warned Forrester.
"I've got it!" shrieked Sylvia, and drew forth something soft and warm in her little fist.
"My! It's a squirrel!---a baby squirrel I" screamed Maudie.
"Go easy with it I---be gentle."
"Oh! Give it to me!"
"No, me I" cried the children in a breath.
"You'll kill it," said Forrester. "See, it is so small and weak, it will die unless it is very carefully handled and fed."
"Oh, the poor, ikle thing! Is it mine?"
"Or mine?"
"It is mine," said Forrester, "for I saved it from village kids. Two little urchins found it and would have tortured it, so I took it away. I bought it for a few pice."
"If you give it to me," said Maudie, her tone completely changed to sincere supplication, "I'll promise to take great care of it."
"You'll forget to feed it."
"I won't!---I'd love it so, I'd do anything so it won't die."
"Between you and Sylvia it will lead a precarious existence."
Maudie regarded him with puzzled eyes. He would talk in such grown-up English! "If you like, Ruth can see how I will care for it and tell you if I ever forget."
"It will probably be wisest to give it to Ruth and she can use her judgment when to let you play with it. Squirrels get very tame. But will she be bothered with it?"
"Are you speaking of me?" Ruth asked, having heard all that was said.
"Will you take charge of my small 'find'?"
"In the interests of humanity, I suppose I must say 'yes.' And perhaps I'll let the children have it by way of a great treat when they have been specially good."
"Bribery is sometimes useful when all other methods fail," he allowed with satire. "I shall be glad to know if I have been of assistance in moulding their characters by lessons in kindness to animals. How I should have loved a squirrel as a little child instead of tadpoles and frogs."
Forrester transferred the baby squirrel to Ruth's hands as the car turned into the drive and stopped before the steps of the Gowans' bungalow. All the while, Majid had not spoken. What he thought of the conversation he had been forced to listen to, Ruth did not know, but she sensed a decided change in his manner. Something of grimness had come into his face. His eyes regarded Forrester sullenly as though he were sorry he had unthinkingly invited him to lunch. His look as he bade Ruth good-bye held both reproach and alarm, and she wondered concerning the success of the tite-d-ttte luncheon.
Ruth came away from that drive with a squirrel to nurse and the feeling that Forrester had talked at her if not to her most of the homeward way. She recalled the first leap of surprise in his eyes when they saw him emerge from the track beside the jhil, and, possibly it was imagination, but when he had sung "Sylvia," his voice had been charged with magnetic meaning. "That ador-tfd she might be" had conveyed a wealth of feeling out of all proportion to the occasion and the mentality of his juvenile audience.
If he wanted to let her imagine that he was thinking of her throughout the song, why had he persistently kept out of her way for so many weeks?
His was a very disturbing personality, she decided, and the less she thought about him the better.
Had he any idea that by seeking to cut the ground from under Uncle Joe's feet in the matter of contracts he was, in effect, bent upon beggaring her?
She thought it would not be a bad idea to tell him so the next time she met him alone.
It would not be on the hill, that was certain, for her fear of confronting the Sadhu had increased to horror of the possibility.
The squirrel and the portfolio of Forrester's drawings were carried away to her room with the two clamouring children trailing behind her. Loud were their complaints that the lovely little pet had not been given to them for a plaything.
"I'll tell Mummy and she'll make you give it to me," said Maudie truculently.
"I want it. I want the squirrel. Give it to me!" bawled Sylvia, who had made up her mind not to listen to reason. Experience had told her that success invariably crowned terrorism and tears.
"What the hell is all this row about?" shouted Uncle Joe. "Damn it, I have only to come home and these kids are raising Cain."
"I'll cane them both if they don't stop!" cried Aunt Ellen, rushing after the cavalcade. "What's it all about?" arms akimbo, face expressive of distracted patience. "Ever since you came in," she screamed at Ruth, "there has been all this infernal row. Why are you teasing them, Ruth?"
"I'm not teasing them," cried Ruth, indignantly.
"They both want the squirrel and they are not going to have it. That's that."
"What squirrel? Whose is it? Where did it come from? Of course, they would want it! All children adore squirrels."
"I---I---worship it," sobbed Sylvia, profiting by the addition to her limited vocabulary. "It is ador-rrf by bofe of us. Tell her to give it up, Mummy!"
"Good gracious, Ruth. How mean of you. To think of depriving the children of such innocent pleasure. What can you want with a squirrel ? Heavens above!" as she caught sight of it climbing Ruth's shoulder, "the idea of your spoiling the children's tempers by your selfishness."
"It was given to me, and I am going to take care of it. It is very young and the children would kill it."
Howls from both children in protest, gave the lie to such a calumny.
"I got it first 1" wept Sylvia in a loud bawl. "The gentleman gived it first to me. I took it from his pocket. It is mine!"
"What is she talking about? What gentleman? Does she mean Mr. Majid ?"
Ruth related the whole story amid noisy interruptions from Maudie and Sylvia.
"The children have behaved abominably, absolutely out of control, and instead of your encouraging them by taking their part, they should be spanked," cried Ruth exasperated. "I don't know what Mr. Forrester thinks of the way they have been brought up!"
"You dare to cast a slur on the way I have brought up my girls, you ungrateful minx! I won't stand it, I tell you. You are nothing but an ill-natured, selfish girl. Instead of helping to teach the kids to be good and ladylike, you only tease and provoke them. If Mr. Forrester first gave Sylvia the squirrel, it is obvious you took it away from her."
"She did! She did!" cried the girls in a breath.
"I was asked to take charge of the squirrel. The children would not know how to care for it---it would die on their hands."
"Not if you kept an eye on it and saw that it was properly fed and looked after. I'll hear no more of this. You'll please give them back what is their own, or your Uncle Joe must arbitrate the matter."
"I acknowledge no one's right to arbitrate this matter. The squirrel is mine," cried Ruth, roused to make a definite stand for herself and establish her right to be fairly treated. "It was given to me---the children arc not telling the truth. Please get out of my room all of you." She took the children by the shoulders and ejected them with determination despite their uproar, and as Aunt Ellen had followed them out in an impotent rage, she shut the door on her and shot the bolt. Let her do what she liked about it. Ruth felt she had had enough. How dare the woman think she could boss her all down the line 1 She could exercise her authority where she had any, as in the matter of the children's dogs, but this was quite another affair and Ruth had never been a worm to be trodden under heel.
The poor little cause of the ructions was given milk in a saucer which a servant fetched from the pantry and delivered by a back door, and when it had disappeared up her sleeve, she turned her attention to the portfolio of sketches.
One of the first pictures to reveal itself was a crayon drawing of herself. She knew her own features well enough to know that it was meant for herself, though glorified out of all resemblance. But the strokes were strong and bold, and it was easy to judge that the artist knew what he was doing. He seemed equally at home with crayons as with water colours.
Another fancy portrait of herself showed her astride a horse in khaki Jodhpurs, shirt blouse and pith hat. She thought her face looked childish and rounder than it naturally was, but the horse seemed wonderful.
A snapshot which proved to be of herself was a thunderbolt. How and when was it taken? The spot was under the pipal tree at the nullah with her back propped against the trunk, an open box of colours in her lap engaging her attention. Evidently she was rearranging its contents.
How did he take the picture when she had never seen him do it?
It was a mystery she would have to solve. She had only once met him by the nullah and he had no camera with him at the time. Could it be possible that he had been in hiding somewhere and had gone away without revealing himself? That was the only explanation.
If she were anything like what his memory had painted her in the two pictures she was justified in being vain. But Ruth knew she was no great beauty except perhaps to the eyes of love, and as Forrester was not in love and only in need of entertainment at a girl's expense, she was ready to believe that he had taken the licence of an artist, as he invariably did when making shadows purple and blending marvellous hues in painting the foliage of trees. His pictures of her were artistic flights of his imagination and could only invite disillusionment for him when he was confronted with the original!
Ruth laughed, then sighed, for she wished she had just so sweet a face ; for a face went far to create romance for the possessor, and truly beautiful women managed to get twice as much out of life as their plainer sisters.
The other pictures were landscapes she did not know---painted in other parts of the country and the district. She liked his treatment of them, but her palpitating heart bound her to the study of those more personal to herself.
How mischievous of him to have said---what he had said about being haunted! This was a new revelation of the man who was one of moods and mischief, for how he had tormented Maudie! Nor did he seem to give two hoots for what Yusuf Majid thought of it all.
And this was the man she was told had no use for women; who had piqued the ladies of Mynapur into flattering and pursuing him, only to show an indifference to their society which must yet make him the most unpopular of men.
Ruth took the warning to heart.
TRUE to her sex, Maudie showed a distinct interest in the man who had chastised her---with his tongue. She talked of him to Sylvia, she wondered about him at meals, she wanted to know why he never came to see them, till her mother turned upon her in anger and forbade her to mention the name Forrester in her hearing.
"He is one of those snobs who think they are too good for us. Your father hasn't the money to cut a dash in the district, so people don't come here or ask us out."
"But he has a nice face and he makes pretty pictures."
"One had a cow in it," put in Sylvia with her mouth full of dhal and rice, the food of the country on which she was being brought up.
"It wasn't a cow, stupid 1 I saw it. It had a beak. It was a ostrich. Will nobody love me when I'm big?" Maudie asked her mother.
"Who said so?"
"Mr. Forrester. He said there was a song about 'Maud' but no one would sing it to me. If I become pretty, like Ruth, will they sing it to me ?"
"What are you talking about?" snapped her father, who was trying to balance his accounts while lunching. "These children have a way of taking charge of the conversation and talk for the sake of talking. Shut up!---will you?"
"Who said Ruth is 'pretty'?" Mrs. Gowan asked harshly.
"I know Mr. Forrester thinks so by the way he looks at her," remarked the observant Maudie, turning a deaf ear to her father.
Ruth reddened helplessly, and her embarrassment was not lost on Mrs. Gowan.
"It seems that this Mr. Forrester is not at all backward," she remarked icily. "It is very rude of him to say such unkind things to the child. You needn't mind what he said, darling. He can't be a gentleman."
"But he is," said Sylvia, with conviction. "He wears trousers like Daddy."
"He is a friend of Mr. Majid," said Maudie.
"That's nothing to do with it. He's trying to cut our throats."
Sylvia's eyes grew shocked and opened their widest.
"Oh, Mummy!---and I sat in his lap. He didn't look like he wanted to kill me."
"Of course not, silly. I meant something quite different. Anyway, I don't want you to speak to him again, do you hear?"
"But I want to I" wailed Maudie.
"He paints lubly pictures. I want him to paint my dolly what has its face melted."
"I said to God in my prayers last night," said Maudie, "to make Mr. Forrester come to this house. I want him to see I've a clean neck."
"You needn't have troubled the Almighty to bring him here," said Mr. Gowan. "It is what I intend shall happen. That reminds me, I wrote Forrester a note to call on me as I have business I should like to discuss with him. The blighter is after forming a huge syndicate for working the quarries on Kalipahar and he's far too thick with Majid. If I don't look sharp he'll cut the ground from under my feet."
The children stared. What a marvellous man this Mr. Forrester seemed to be!
94 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
"If he does that, Daddy, how will you stand?" piped Sylvia.
"How funny!" laughed Maudie. "What will he do it with?"
"His money will do it."
"You mean he will pay people to break it up?"
"Precisely. I think, Ellen, I've a good idea. I see no reason why he and I shouldn't combine."
"Suppose he gets the hill from Majid---that's if Majid's hopes meet with disappointment in another quarter---what can you offer him that will make it worth his consideration? You've no money."
"Gosh, my dear! I could offer to be the manager of his company. No one knows how to manage labour better than I, and it's my life's job---quarrying stone. It's either that or---" and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Will he live in this house?" asked Maudie. "I hope he will. Then perhaps he'll give me a squirrel too."
Ruth took the earliest opportunity to leave the table as she was overwhelmed by the startling proposition. What if Uncle Joe's suggestion entirely met with Mr. Forrester's approval?
They would be seeing a great deal of him, and her reactions to the thought frightened her. What a fool she was! Why should she be so susceptible to Forrester's subtle flattery when the man was obviously one who well knew how to amuse himself at the expense of women?
What did he know about herself and Yusuf Majid to speak as he had done concerning contrasts? Of course he was probing and warning in a breath. Did he think she was likely to be charmed by the Mohammedan or his great wealth into marrying him? What business was it of his, anyway?
She wondered when, or if, he would come in answer
to her uncle's invitation. Wouldn't he be a little contemptuous of Uncle Joe for asking him to call when he had not made a point of paying his respects to the ladies of the house?
She felt ashamed to think that their position obliged them to overlook such slights.
Ruth wondered what passed between Majid and Mr. Forrester at the luncheon to which the Englishman was invited. If she could have had second sight, her embarrassment would have been unspeakable.
"I don't know what you think of mixed marriages, Mr. Forrester," Yusuf Majid had said as they sat over their iced whisky and Coronas, "but my people have waived prejudice and I am free to ask Miss Gowan to be my wife---I love her, and that is the sublime truth."
"I can quite understand that you do," Forrester had replied, not showing by a quiver of an eyelid whether the confession had shocked and startled him. If he had suspected it, there was now no longer any doubt of Majid's intentions.
"Who could help it? What a character! What spirit---what a lovely girl !"
"U-m-m-yes."
"I am surprised that your praise sounds qualified. If she is not perfect by features, the effect is enchanting. I have never seen such charm. It's that little way she has of silent laughter---dancing eyes, dimpling mouth, that has me enslaved. Forrester, I'd consider myself the luckiest man on God's earth if she said 'yes.' "
"And do you think she will?" Forrester inhaled and blew a long cloud of smoke into the room, which the electric fan dissipated.
"It won't be my fault if she doesn't. I shall commend myself to her by every means at my command. I am advised by her uncle to go slowly---not rush her. She's like a timid gazelle. Did you ever see such eyes?
I have not yet discovered their colour---hazel---or green---or both?"
"Green," said Forrester. "Ever heard of the 'green- eyed monster'?"
"Symbolical of jealousy? My God! I'd be insane with jealousy if she were mine and fellows came after her as I have seen them do with English wives."
"I was thinking of that."
"I should say that there is no true love without jealousy."
"With or without cause?"
"Often without cause. It's 'trifles light as air'--- you know your Shakespeare."
"We have an example in the case of Desdemona."
"I was not thinking of that play," Majid frowned. "I think it the only one of Shakespeare's plays that revolts me."
"It has always fascinated me---I believe Desdemona loved the blighter."
"Unhappily---Othello's undying reproach."
"When are you thinking of 'putting your fate to the test'?"
"When opportunity seems favourable. They will send those miserable children along whenever I take Miss Ruth driving."
"They are little devils. I'd like to have the handling of them for a week. You must wish them to hell every time."
"Wouldn't you in my place?"
"I'd---oh, never mind! I shouldn't dream of advising you. Now let us see what can be done about purchasing the hill."
"Not in my father's lifetime. That is positive. I want to make that point clear. Also another. Should
I as Nawab---which is an eventuality---marry Ruth Gowan, the hill will be hers to do what she likes with. Hand it over to her Uncle---which she is very likely to do, for she has a half share in his business. If the business revives thanks to the superior quality of the stone, all the better for her. So that ought to finish your scheme altogether. I should not advise you to add to the competition that exists already, as Mr. Gowan, I believe; is very nearly "
---"On the rocks---most apt. He is throwing good money after bad trying to compete against Indian contractors who can undercut him every time. Why doesn't he try something else?"
"He is living in hopes of the hill. Like you, he knows it would make his fortune, and "
"He is using his niece for the furtherance of his hopes?"
"I am glad to say he is a very fair-minded fellow. He knows that I worship the girl and would make her a better husband than most. There is nothing against me but a prejudice that is fast disappearing. After all ---we are Aryans, aren't we? The colour-question is not a terrible bar---as in the case of negroes. That, I grant you is insurmountable and everlasting. Mr. Gowan has spoken freely with me on the subject and is satisfied that his niece's happiness will be in good hands. It now entirely depends on her if there is no outside interference. " This last was said with meaning. "Perhaps I've said enough to convey what's in my mind. 'A wink is as good as a nod,' according to your proverb."
"I see. You'd advise me to give up all thought of the hill?"
"Yes. It may yet prove my ace of trumps. My father is dying. All know it but he. Very soon I shall be owner of all his vast property in this district. I shall then show my hand, and, if I know Miss Ruth, who has a lovely nature, she will yield to circumstances and save her people from starvation. Though they are not her sort, they are still her family and if she is not one to shake them off to suit herself, she must do the other thing. When shall you be leaving the district?"
"Not just at present. I am engaged on a crossword puzzle and mean to solve it if it is possible."
"I---don't understand. You are speaking in metaphor?"
"Perhaps."
"Well, when it is solved I hope you will discover some other proposition which will be less speculative than stone, and that you will yet do well. You seem to have had a long run of ill-luck."
"I am not altogether blameless. One can't eat one's cake and keep it. But sometimes wisdom arrives too late to be of any use. However, thanks for your frankness. I am glad to know just where I stand. One other point remains to be cleared up. Suppose your hopes are doomed to failure ? Where there is a girl in the case, there is always the unknown quantity to be reckoned with."
"In that case---I shall have to reconstruct my programme. It might be that I'll use the hill as a toy. There are many possibilities to be considered, and it is good to have a hobby."
"You would refuse all applications for a lease?"
"Definitely. There is no reason why I should not work those quarries for my own advantage. Money makes money and the power to spend money on a whim can be a mighty distraction when the heart is sore. I am sorry I cannot be of any use to you, Forrester, or assist in any way to build up your fortunes. It is hard luck to be a poor man and unable to consider marriage---especially if the moment seems ---favourable. Have another cigar?"
Forrester helped himself to a Corona and took the lighter. It gave him time to consider his reply.
"To marry one must have the vocation. I am not at all clear as yet that it is mine. Too much else to think about. As you may have noticed, I leave the ladies alone."
"Quite right. The struggle to live by one's own exertions must become an all-absorbing problem in these times. You have my sympathy, though I cannot give you any hope. You are wise in the circumstances to give ladies a wide berth. Possibly they would be less pressing with their attentions if the district knew your circumstances."
"There is no secrecy, I assure you."
These mad Englishmen!---one could never understand their mentality. They were honourable in all things save sex, and would steal a friend's wife though they would not dream of stealing his money. Was Forrester falling in love with Ruth Gowan in spite of the fact that he could be nothing to her?
Such things happened, and there was no accounting for love.
Already "trifles light as air" were beginning to harass Majid. It frightened him to think of how things would be for him, married to an English girl who was bom to freedom and the mixing of the sexes. Majid trusted no man, for he had no faith in human nature. He personally might respect the tie of husband and wife, putting himself in the husband's place, but fidelity to one love was not his principle. He was a Moslem and might reasonably have many loves. But his wife, part of himself, must think only of him. He believed in one all-absorbing passion for women, and that, as a man, he had a right to possess what he coveted.
But as a diversion, it was no slight to his beloved if he varied his appetite in matters of sex as he changed his diet at meal hours. But if his English wife had the same human leanings, she might change his whole outlook.
Majid's sighs that night filled the palace with echoes.
"My son, he does not sleep," quoth his mother to the Nawab. "What to do ? My heart melts within me to think of him still unwed when Nature demands that he should have a mate. Why does he persist after this white face? She will yet bring him great misery."
"Till he has his way with her he will yearn, gentle one. Let be. He has pleasure at his command, but when the mind is in a tumult how can he give himself up to distraction? As for me---I have little thought for him while I am racked with pain."
"Is the pain worse than usual, my lord Nawab?"
"It is gnawing at my vitals. I think I shall be forced to listen to the advice of my son and his uncles, and send for the English Civil Surgeon of Mynapur. The koberaj in the Mynabari bazaar is a fool and he cannot even ease my suffering except by sleep. Can a man sleep all the hours of the clock? Can he attend to his duties when his brain is clouded with drugs and he can scarcely move one foot before the other?"
"Send, then, for the white doctor. They say he is, of a truth, very learned and brought a baby into the world in a manner the Almighty never intended it should come. With a knife he delivered it, and the mother was well in ten days, the son is a great big child."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, I could hardly credit it, but Byjnath Tawari, who has leased one of my lord Nawab's farms, was sore distracted with grief when it was discovered by
the memsahib at the Mission, who practices medicine, that his wife would surely die in childbirth. Nature had so fashioned her that she was doomed, with only one alternative for the saving of her life. What therefore did this husband do, but go weeping to the miracle-man, who is a Sadhu, to whom he told the truth. 'My wife will die unless I break purdah and let an English sahib cut her open. She will then recover and the child with her.' Then the Sadhu, he spake after looking for omens and communing with the gods : 'Human life is frail. Peradventure a male child may be born to you, Byjnath. Wouldst reckon thy wife's caste and our customs against a male human life? You could get another wife, but peradventure you may never have another child. These things are with the gods. Therefore do what thy sense dictates. Caste was made for man---not man for caste. The one can be restored, but death is eternal.' So Byjnath took his wife to Mynapur and, when the doctor sahib had seen her and learned her case, he sent her into the hospital, and there it was done as I said. All are talking of the miracle."
"Ji Allah! It is indeed a miracle. How can I bear more pain? Truly I am at the end of endurance. To-morrow, without doubt, I shall accept advice and let the doctor sahib in the service of the Sarcar do with me as he thinks best. If I hang back in fear, of a truth, I shall one day be found in my bed lifeless."
The following day the news was broken to Yusuf Majid. His father could no longer continue in suffering. He had grown so much worse of late that he knew that it meant his end unless something could be done to save him. The English doctors were by repute clever. They performed operations which made the dead live and the dying obtain a new lease of life. Send for the Government Surgeon.
The message went forth. It was known at Mynapur that evening that the Nawab was seriously ill. The Civil Surgeon arrived at the palace at Mynabari and made his examination. An X-ray was imperative.
Meek as a lamb led to the slaughter, the old Nawab was conveyed in his gilded Rolls-Royce to the headquarters of the division and great anxiety prevailed on his estate. It was mentioned with bated breath in the bazaars, it was the chief topic of conversation in Hindu homes.
He was a good fellow, the old Nawab. Heaven send that his life be preserved, for what would his son be like in his place? This son was alien in his habits and tastes. He dressed normally in European clothes. National dress was worn by him at national festivals and on state occasions, only to please his father, otherwise he was impatient of national customs and preferred to go his own way. It was told and told again, how he had refused to marry one of his own religion and race, and was bent on making an English girl his wife. It meant that the next Nawab after him would be a half-caste. Unspeakable humiliation! But who could interfere? It was hinted that he had no sympathy for the Hindus' respect for Kalipahar; that he was only waiting for the death of his father to make a gesture of defiance to the Hindu community. If that were so, then there was trouble coming.
Mr. Gowan brought the news of the Nawab's collapse to the family. The old man had given in as he felt himself in a bad way, and had gone into Mynapur for an X-ray. If there was an operation, he would never stand it. "The poor old fellow's number is up," was Uncle Joe's opinion.
"Do you think it is cancer?" asked Aunt Ellen.
"Looks like it---or gall bladder. In any case he has no stamina and will die of shock. What worries me is that he might leave it in his will that Yusuf cannot let Kalipahar. But I feel that he was too great a coward to write a will. Any mention of dying always gave him a heart attack. So different from Yusuf who is a fatalist and believes that one's destiny is fixed and that you cannot run away from it."
"Funny how mild and conciliatory the Nawab has always been," said Mrs. Gowan. "One would think he was afraid of the Hindus, and that is so different from his race."
"The reason of that might be an inherited complex. From childhood he has heard how his forefathers were humiliated for their share in the Mutiny, and how the Government deprived the Majids of their lands in punishment, so it was bred in him to fear fighting and aggression. Yusuf holds that theory. We often discussed it. Don't forget that Yusuf was brought up in England from a little boy, so he is very different and resents threats and Hindu terrorism. He would very likely show his independence by defying the Hindus to do their worst."
"It will be interesting to see what happens when he succeeds."
"The Nawab is not yet dead," Ruth reminded them.
"No, but he is a very sick man. The trouble is, if Yusuf doesn't get what he wants he might part with the hill over my head. For that reason I am keen on seeing Mr. Forrester. He might prevail on him to sell, and if we are together in the business I shan't have to go to the wall. Ruth, my dear," he said in conciliatory tones, "you have met Forrester. Possibly you could throw in a word in the right direction. Drop him a hint that we are not able to buy, but might be of use if he does. If he knows that he is beggaring us, he might feel like giving me a leg up in this."
"You have written asking him to call, Uncle?"
"And he has replied that he'll be here some time this afternoon."
"I'd rather not butt into this, Uncle Joe."
"You'd prefer to leave all the dirty work to me. Just what I expected. Well, I'll jolly-well let him know that he is turning you out into the street."
"Oh, please don't say any such thing I"
"It will be true in effect. Have you ever thought what is to become of us all at the end of this contract? I have lost money instead of making it and we'll have to go bankrupt. It means that your aunt and cousins will be without a roof over their heads. All might yet be saved if you are a little reasonable. Either have Majid or see what can be done with Forrester, who can raise the capital to pay Majid a sum he'd never refuse. Think it over. You've precious little time to make up your mind, for the Nawab is turning up his toes."
"I am sure it is cancer," said Aunt Ellen, showing a morbid pleasure in diagnosing a case she knew nothing about. "The symptoms point to cancer--- or why all that pain? If it were inflammation of the gall bladder he'd have fever, but the ayah says he has never had any at all. Isn't it life all over? All those riches and no health to enjoy himself."
"Why not appendicitis?" grumbled Uncle Joe.
"Because he would have been dead long ago. You can't procrastinate with acute appendicitis. The surgeon would not have asked for an X-ray. He'd have had the appendix out. Have some sense!"
"Of course, you know all about it."
"I pride myself that I have some knowledge of sicknesses. Our doctor told me I was a born nurse. Had I not married you, I would have taken nursing as a profession."
"God help the patients!" Uncle Joe felt sidetracked and was not disposed to be polite. What had he been talking about when she barged in with her eternal grouse! All his ideas were scattered.
"There is no call on you to be rude," snapped Aunt Ellen. "You are never polite if you're in a temper, and you wonder why the children quarrel and fight? They only imitate their elders, let me say."
"Then Maudie is the dead spit of you, the way she lays down the law about everything in the nursery and out of it."
As the argument waxed loud and quarrelsome, Ruth vanished to her room in a flutter of excitement, for Forrester was coming that afternoon and would probably stay to tea if asked by Uncle Joe to join the ladies.
MRS. GOWAN'S nerves were irritable for the rest of the morning while preparing for the entertainment of the stranger. Though she had always told Ruth that she had a contempt for the snobs of the district and would not put herself out a step for any of them, she existed in a flurry of suppressed excitement lest by chance she should not have things done properly. Ruth heard her scolding the servants for neglect of their various departments. The entire staff was galvanised into activity such as had not been seen in the bungalow since the dinner to Majid. The khansáma feverishly tried to make the old plated tea-service shine, testing the effect of powdered chalk and Scrubb's ammonia as the most satisfactory of all till he was pounced upon by his mistress and told in violent language more than was true about himself and his ancestors.
What did he mean by removing the little plating that was left? Didn't he know the teapot was not silver but only plated?
The khansáma viewed his own sabotage with dismay. All his life he had found chalk the best vehicle
"Fool!" Mrs. Gowan cried hysterically. "See what you've done! Oh, I'd like to beat you! But I'll fine you half your pay for this."
As he had a family in the backyard depending on his wages for their daily bread, he scowled murderously at her, but made no retort, lest she should take it into her head to increase the fine. There was
io 6
always the hope that she might forget all about it by the time payday arrived, as had happened before.
The sweeper made a great noise with his broom, while the bearer went about with a checked duster which he flourished vigorously against furniture at the risk of smashing ornaments.
"It is just like your Uncle Joe to spring surprises on me," Mrs. Gowan complained to Ruth with an air that showed she was about to ask a favour. "He is the most inconsiderate being in the world. How can I get cakes from the baker at the eleventh hour, I'd like to know. Mynabari isn't exactly round the corner, and unless I give the order overnight how is he to bake anything in time for tea? Truly it is enough to try one's nerves."
"What does it matter?" said Ruth. "One doesn't have a lot of cakes for tea, anyway, unless there is a party. Surely the cook "
"Don't speak of it!" cried Mrs. Gowan, ready to collapse at the notion. "What does he know about cakes? He can hardly make a decent pudding, leave alone confectionery. He tried once---long ago, when a missionary came along, and what he sent up was more like one of Uncle Joe's stones from the quarry. I remember I was so angry when I saw it that I flung it at his head. Mercifully my aim was bad, or anything might have happened. It knocked down a picture instead and Maudie ate the icing, the dogs the rest. I had to give her a dose of castor oil next morning."
"Let the khansáma make sandwiches. Men much prefer sandwiches."
"But---one must have something else---I can't imagine tea without cakes or scones or something 1"
"I can make scones," said Ruth. "They will take only ten minutes. Hot, buttered scones are delicious."
"Will you, then? I'll depend on you."
"I can also turn out a jam sandwich if you have the mould?"
"I'd be so much obliged if you do. It will save our lives. Now---about a tea-cloth. I haven't one that is fit to use. More or less they are darned and shabby. You know, for you've been mending them."
"You can use that table centre I made out of the handkerchiefs. It will look all right; besides, most men are not observant."
"Thank heaven, they are not! Only sometimes it's a misfortune---like when I entertained the missionary," said Mrs. Gowan in deep humiliation, since her sense of humour had perished long ago. "I actually forgot my skirt and came out in a petticoat and blouse---all because the servants had nearly driven me crazy with their ways. Would you believe it, I sat half through tea without finding it out, and your Uncle Joe hadn't the eyes to discover it and tell me even by a sign what I looked like. Not as if the petticoat was silk and lace. It was an old flannelette one I had made over from a nightdress, and it was only half-way down the legs
I could have killed Uncle Joe."
"When you discovered it, the shock must have been dreadful I" Ruth's eyes danced.
"Dreadful? I could have sunk through the floor 1 But I pride myself I carried it off with dignity. I just excused myself to see what the kiddies were about, and returned in my skirt. That's where breeding tells---not a word about it---just as if nothing had happened. Afterwards Uncle Joe tried to shelter himself behind the fact that the missionary was so blind that, short of my being nude, he was not likely to have noticed anything improper in my dress."
Ruth found that she had enough to do to help to make Mrs. Gowan's tea a success for, in the end, it all devolved upon her. Mrs. Gowan only looked on and abused Mr. Forrester, for he was one of the snobs who thought themselves too high and mighty for the likes of the Gowans. Why she should put herself out, she grumbled, when nobody troubled to ask her to tea, she did not know, except that it might be politic in the present case. It was humiliating to receive the man, she said, when he had purposely avoided calling and was only now coming because Uncle Joe had swallowed his pride for reasons of selfinterest, and had made him come.
Forrester duly arrived before tea-time and was taken to Mr. Gowan's private office. To add insult to injury, he brought a friend who had been an official at Mynapur for a year and had never called.
"Can you beat it?" Mrs. Gowan complained bitterly while concluding her toilet on the threshold of Ruth's room. "He's brought the senior assistant of police with him just because he has a car, I suppose, and he preferred to do the distance comfortably! That young man Howell has the audacity to drive him over when he should be ashamed to face us. I'll just let him see that I am not honoured."
"I think you'll score best if you are as nice as you can be. That will show him how little his neglect has troubled us," Ruth replied, cautiously using her lipstick.
"Really, Ruth, you are the worst possible example to Maudie. What is she to understand when she sees you doing that?" came in accents of disapproval from the doorway.
"What? Oh, this? I am only repairing the ravages of the climate. I could not help noticing how pale my lips are."
"When I was a girl, only the Jezebels of society
did that! All decent women never dreamt of doing more than rouge a very little so's not to make it apparent. Men don't think any the better of a girl who paints her face and lips."
"Perhaps these gentlemen are used to it. They see so much of painted faces that they can't afford to disapprove actively."
"I hate to think that Maudie should begin to think it the right thing to do."
"You can point out to her," said Ruth, completing the process with due attention to art, "that her cousin Ruth has a depraved mind. Only depraved natures like to make the best of their looks if the climate is unkind."
Ruth was not a little excited to hear that two men instead of one had come to tea, and she would not have been human had she not congratulated herself that she had taken some trouble to care for the refinements of the table. Her scones were good and she had a secret hope that something would be said about them. Merited praise is always gratifying.
Who was Mr. Howell?---apart from his government position.
When Uncle Joe suggested joining the ladies at tea, the visitors appeared in his wake, Forrester tall, wide and muscular, Mr. Howell straight, slim and slender, of medium height and very good-looking, with a free and easy style. His small, close moustache gave him a military air and his eyes hinted that he missed little of what he saw.
"Mr. Howell kindly brought Mr. Forrester down as he has to call at the rural thana on business. Of course I have insisted that he has some refreshment first," said Uncle Joe, as they all seated themselves, introductions having been duly performed.
"You must take us as you find us," said Mrs. Gowan, trying to be as gracious as her idea of breeding would permit, since Ruth's remark concerning the best way of scoring over snobs had sunk in. "We have very little to offer you except what you see, for we are entirely dependent on the servants, you know---no shops handy in an emergency."
"Don't apologise, my dear," said Uncle Joe. "You've done very well. I had no idea that the old cook could come up to scratch so well. Bread and jam is what one falls back upon out here."
It was Aunt Ellen's chance of paying Ruth a nice compliment for which Ruth waited expectantly, but Aunt Ellen was not going to give away secrets.
"Oh, he isn't a bad sort. I only hope you'll all like the scones."
"I have a passion for scones," said Forrester. "Allow me---" and picking up the plate of scones in one hand, the bread and butter in the other, he passed them round while Mrs. Gowan poured out.
Mr. Howell helped himself to two sandwiches at the same moment, thus both men scandalised their hostess at the start by their informality and ease.
She had never heard of "utter strangers" behaving like that! she remarked afterwards to the family at dinner. Surely they should have waited to be asked!--- and the greed of the man I---two sandwiches at the same helping 1
"My dear," Uncle Joe said tolerantly, "if you went out a little bit you would see that people do these things as a matter of course. Nobody is formal nowadays. These youngsters were very charming and easy to entertain."
"Too easy, it seemed, for they did not wait to be offered things---they just made themselves at home, which, considering that it was their first visit, and that I---I naturally had a grievance, it was too
embarrassing altogether. They simply took the wind out of my sails."
"They weren't apologising for anything. If they felt culprits for not having called before, the best way to get over the difficulty was to make themselves as pleasant as possible, and they did that."
Mrs. Gowan was not convinced. To her mind, they were guilty of bad manners for having taken things for granted as they did, forgetting that first visits were generally formal affairs.
The first visit, however, was a delightful change to Ruth, who found Mr. Howell very ready to make friends. He confided to her that he was really terribly shy and had not called since hearing of her arrival as he had gained the impression that the Gowans discouraged callers. What he had lost thereby, he was now estimating. This, with a long look into her raised eyes. Of course, when Forrester said he was coming, why---it was his chance and he took it. Mynapur was a good way off and a car was the only solution. He told her that he thought it was a crime that she did not live in the station, but surely she might induce her people to come in sometimes, and so forth and so on. While Uncle Joe engaged Mr. Forrester in talk that bordered on "shop," Howell kept Ruth engaged with persuasive arguments heavily sugared with veiled compliments. It was only when it was evident that Aunt Ellen felt neglected, a condition she tried to convey by a rattle of crockery and occasional sniffs, that Uncle Joe and Ruth brought her adroitly into the conversations.
Throughout the function of afternoon tea Ruth wondered when Mr. Forrester would address her directly. She wondered, too, concerning his extraordinary moods, for he bore no resemblance whatever in manner to the man who had given her his portfolio of drawings to look at, and had sketched for her under the pipal tree.
He was uninspired and dull, slow in the uptake and absentminded. Half the time he missed what Uncle Joe said to him and seemed not to be paying attention. He hardly spoke to Mrs. Gowan at all except when it could not be avoided, and then only succeeded in making her say something awkward and beside the point by deliberately taking her out of her depth.
He improved a little when the children came in, for he could not resist ragging with Maudie who sidled up to him for a renewal of sparring.
"Oh, I see you have taken to washing your neck. Bravo! Let me see your hands? Oh!" covering his eyes and simulating faintness. "Take them away---quick! they are in mourning for the cat!"
"Isn't he horrid I" cried Maudie, looking reproachfully at him, while her mother gazed at him as if she thought he was insane, for no gentleman could say such things.
"My cat isn't dead, so there!" cried Sylvia. "Maudie and I have clean hands, for the ayah washed them with a nailbrush."
"Let me look at yours. Quite right---very clean. But you haven't any nails at all. What have you done to them?" in mock horror. "Eaten them up?"
"Sylvia always bites her nails," said Maudie, only too glad to show up her sister's faults.
"I refuse to marry Sylvia if she bites her nails." "Marry me instead," cried Maudie persuasively. "Maudie I" cried her mother in shocked accents.
"How can you say such a thing?" Upon which the company burst out laughing.
"She isn't the first young lady who has proposed to a fellow," said Mr. Howell.
114 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
"And she's not going to be backward, either," said Forrester. "Wait and see."
"Go and play, children," said Mrs. Gowan severely. "There is nothing I so dislike as forward and precocious children."
Another shout of laughter which made Mrs. Gowan feel that she was being ridiculed and she stiffened visibly.
"Where is my squirrel?" asked Forrester of Maudie.
"You gived it to Ruth an' she won't let us have it," Maudie pouted.
"The dogs would have killed it by now," Ruth explained, for some reason unable to meet his eyes.
"It hides inside of Ruth's cammy," volunteered Sylvia, "and peeps at us from her blouse with two ikle black eyes."
"Lucky squirrel!" murmured Howell in Ruth's ear.
"Why is the squirrel lucky?" asked Maudie, giving away the whispered remark.
"You have the ears of a bunny," said Howell.
"I haven't---they're very small ears."
"Children---go and play!" Mrs. Gowan sounded in earnest, but not having cultivated the habit of obedience, Sylvia climbed on to Forrester's knee instead.
"See---I'm more lucky than the squirrel," she exulted over her sister, putting her arms round Forrester's neck. 'Tse got him. You haven't I"
Not to be outdone, Maudie edged nearer Mr. Howell, her intention unmistakable; but it was ruthlessly frustrated by her mother who thought it about time to interfere. Rising with determination, she took each child by a hand and marched them both out of the room, the air resounding to their shrill protests.
"Children in the East are prone to be spoiled," said Uncle Joe to cover the awkwardness of the moment.
"I like the fun they provide," said Forrester. "At least they are natural."
"Will you have your portfolio back?" Ruth asked him apropos of nothing.
"If you have done with it, thanks."
"Thank you for letting me see the sketches."
"What do you think of the crayon heads?" For the first time that afternoon he held her eyes.
"Has he allowed you to see his sketches?" put in Howell while accepting a cigarette from his host. "Damn' good, aren't they? I now know who he had in mind---brave attempts, aren't they, but they don't do the subject justice."
"Nobody could," said Forrester quietly.
"In your place I should not trust to memory. I'd arrange sittings."
"I would---but I shouldn't be able to fit them in."
"No? Man of leisure like yourself?"
Forrester allowed the remark to pass.
"What about moving on? You had some business in a village."
"That was a good excuse," said Howell, laughing. "The fact is, I had some curiosity concerning the crayon sketches---and guessed right. I am in no hurry if you are not."
"I unfortunately am," said Forrester rising. "It is awfully good of Mrs. Gowan to put up with us," he turned to Uncle Joe, and then to Aunt Ellen as she re-entered. "Thank you very much for a delightful tea, and now we must push off."
"The exactions of a busy life. Have you heard that the Nawab of Mynabari is very ill?" Howell asked.
The question caused a diversion and delayed the departure a trifle longer. Forrester, who was supposed to know young Majid intimately, was appealed to for information, and Howell, left to Ruth, pressed an invitation upon her.
"You must come to Mynapur. I could arrange it with people I know. Say yes, and I'll fix up a weekend with my friends the Abbotts---Mr. Mrs., and Miss---delightful people. He's our magistrate and collector."
"I---couldn't promise anything, thank you," said Ruth.
"You'll like it immensely," he pleaded.
"I am sure of it. But---I know no one in the station."
"That is easily remedied. Leave it to me, will you?"
"I---don't think so. Please don't suggest it."
"They'll all make a fuss of you. I feel it in my bones."
She shook her head. "I couldn't. Not unless "
"I know---you'll have an invitation, all right. Do come."
Glancing at Mr. Forrester his expression registered nothing. Was he pleased or not that she should be asked to Mynapur?
To-day he was not the intriguing personality of the nullah or the hill, but a complete stranger to her, showing an indifference that hurt. Surely, after the things he had hinted at in the car when he had shown himself capable of talking nonsense at her, he could make himself more agreeable instead of retiring into his shell like a snail, determined to show her how little she mattered beyond thfc shape of her head and the something artistic that had captured his imagination. She had evidently amused him for a while, but she was to understand that there was absolutely nothing in it.
All right. She would surely take the lesson to heart.
"If I were sure---" she hesitated.
"Sure of a welcome? I'll go bail for that," Howell said eagerly, trying to make up for the time he had lost by his own laziness and stupidity in following the station lead like a sheep. "I never struck a duller crowd than we've had for the past year at Mynapur. It is only since the Abbotts came that things have begun to hum a bit. Fancy your being buried alive here all this time! The better part of a year."
"There was nothing to have prevented you digging us out before, Mr. Howell," put in Mrs. Gowan stiffly.
"I've been run off my legs," he said with embarrassment. "That is, you see, we police fellows have had our hands full with trouble in the district. There have been dacoities in outlying villages, a burglary in the station. Also a case of abduction we've been working at for months---a wealthy Brahmin's daughter disappeared and was held up to ransom. All these things," he hurried on breathlessly in the hope of sounding convincing, "have not allowed me to be idle or to follow my own inclinations---till at last "
"I supplied the opportunity," put in Forrester. "You should be most indebted to me."
"I am---you have no idea how indebted! Join me, old fellow, in persuading Miss Gowan to spend some days at Mynapur."
"I imagine that Mrs. Abbott will have to do the persuading."
"That of course. It goes without saying that she will. A great sport, and a capital hostess. You'll
like Miss Abbott, too," he continued to Ruth. "Modern to her finger-tips---sticks at nothing, you never know what she's going to say next "
"She doesn't know herself."
"I dare say not when you start ragging her. But really, Miss Ruth, make up your mind to it. You're going to be invited, and I'll come and fetch you when the day is fixed."
"What is all this?" Mrs. Gowan asked in an offended tone. It seemed that she was being deliberately slighted.
"I'm trying to persuade your niece to give us some of her society at Mynapur. We'U do our best to give her a good time."
"Let me see," Mrs. Gowan considered she had the right to debate the point. "I never heard of a girl going on a visit to a station at the invitation of a young man."
"Mrs. Abbott---" Howell began.
"Let Mrs. Abbott account for herself. We do not know Mrs. Abbott."
"The wife of the new magistrate and collector."
"I knew that. But---she has not called."
"A---I am sure she intends to call---anyway, she is bound to invite Miss Ruth."
"At your suggestion? I think in Ruth's place I'd have more pride than to consent to becoming Mrs. Abbott's guest before that lady has asked her."
"I have not consented, Aunt Ellen."
"I should hope not. Mr. Howell may be very kindly intentioned, but I need hardly remind him that his methods are rather impetuous."
"I'm sorry if I have done anything wrong," said Howell contritely. "But it will be all right. I know the Abbotts very well---charming people "
"I have no doubt of it, but I have not had the
opportunity of judging them for myself," Mrs. Gowan sniffed.
"Most informal people---full of life and goodfellowship. Believe me, they are going to make things hum at Mynapur. Miss Abbott is already talking of a gymkhana and Forrester has promised to back her up. Tremendous sport, Forrester---whacks us all to the wide at tennis. I think we can promise to get up a little fun when you come "
"It is very kind of you, Mr. Howell," said Ruth, warming towards him in proportion to Forrester's unaccountable discouragement, and her aunt's coldness. "I know I shall love it. We haven't a very thrilling time here and I confess I am going jungli. I shall soon forget how to behave in company 1"
"That's a nice thing to say!" snapped Aunt Ellen.
"I am afraid Mrs. Gowan would be frightfully shocked if she saw us behave at Mynapur! I hope we shan't lead you astray, Miss Ruth "
"Say 'Ruth', I don't mind," said Ruth to annoy Aunt Ellen and test Forrester's reaction to the familiarity.
"Delighted. Then I am 'Dick', please remember."
"I much prefer 'Dicky'," she said mischievously.
"Then 'Dicky' it shall be."
To Ruth's disappointment Forrester did not even turn his head. He continued talking, unperturbed, with Uncle Joe, to whom he seemed to be expounding a theory, and Ruth was not sure that he had even heard her.
When the visitors had departed, Mrs. Gowan expressed her mind freely on the subject of modern licence and the way girls made themselves cheap with men.
"I am amazed at you, Ruth---and Mr. Howell
such a stranger. To have him call you by your Christian name at the first meeting."
"Why? Don't you think it nice and matey?"
"Heavens! What are you coming to? Did you hear that, Joe?"
"What? I was thinking of what Forrester was telling me."
"Ruth told Mr. Howell to call her by her name and said it was matey. I can't think what she means to imply."
"Girls mean everything or nothing nowadays, and boys know how to take them. Why worry? It isn't your funeral what Ruth does. Did you hear that Forrester is waiting till the Nawab dies to get Majid to turn Kalipahar into a great money-making proposition, with only part of it let to contractors for stone? He has an idea that it needs cleaning up. He is convinced that it is a hotbed of rascality. He and Howell mean to picnic on the top some day. Howell wants to make it a party, but Forrester is dead against it."
"I'm tired of hearing about Kalipahar. Why don't people let it alone?"
"Because of late there has been much too much said about its being unlucky, and queer things are happening on it."
"What queer things, Uncle?" Ruth could have told him of one to do with the loss of her pearls.
"Only lately a wood-cutter went up as usual to get faggots and never returned. His dead body was found a few days later trussed up in a sheet in the fork of a tree down at the base. He could not have trussed himself up, nor in that state have climbed. A Mohammedan shikari took a bet that he would climb to the top alone and down again the same day, and he has disappeared. No one knows if he even attempted the climb. He might have gone away to escape his debts to Mahajins. But all this doesn't sound healthy, so something will have to be done about it."
"Why doesn't the Government have the hill searched from top to bottom?" Mrs. Gowan asked, her mind successfully distracted from Ruth's misbehaviour.
"That was suggested to Mr. Abbott who could give the order, but there is no actual reason to think such a proceeding necessary. All these years there has been the same fear of Kalipahar, but nothing was done as nothing spectacular happened and there was always that need to spare religious susceptibilities. However, there is nothing to prevent venturesome individuals from taking it upon themselves to climb Kalipahar as they might any other hill and take the chance of Kali's vengeance."
"What does the Brahmin priest, or Sadhu, say to all this?" asked Ruth.
"Nothing at all. Forrester had a talk with him in the bazaar, and he denies that he lives on the hill. It is merely a fable grown out of gossip. He has visited the top of the hill where there is a shrine, nothing more, and sometimes makes offerings, and prays there. Anyone might climb if they feel inclined, but he is bound to admit that misfortune has overtaken those who have attempted to do so---why, who knows? Kali is a jealous and vindictive goddess."
"Tell me more about the priest, Uncle, if he is a priest."
"There is nothing to tell. He is a very elusive person, apparently a religious fanatic. I can hardly see how he can bother to make that climb. No one has seen him do it, but they believe it all the same, for he is very holy, they say, and can perform miracles."
It was surely the Sadhu, thought Ruth. Yet he and the Sadhu were supposed to be two different people, for the one was young and strong, and the other was said to be an old man. Ruth, however, said nothing about the man she had met, for it would have entailed the story of the pearls, and much more besides. As nothing could be done, it was just as well dropped. Majid alone knew of her adventure, though nothing of the disappearance of her pearls, but he had not suggested that anything should be done to punish the Sadhu.
The man was undoubtedly crazy, and it was quite possible that he had not touched her pearls. She should have had the courage to have taken a peon and hunted for them in that spot, but insensibly she, too, was superstitious concerning the hill.
The atmosphere of the bungalow was very depressing after the visitors had departed, for Uncle Joe, being pessimistic of the future, had recourse to the whisky bottle too frequently, which angered Aunt Ellen, whose soul was given up to economy. They quarrelled noisily and Ruth was deeply humiliated because of the servants, whose tact made them retire to their quarters so as to be beyond sight and hearing of the discreditable scenes.
What was going to be the end of this unhappy family, was an anxious thought for Ruth, who felt it was unfair that they should hold her responsible. She was not selfish; she would have given all she possessed to help them to recover their former prosperity, but not by the sacrifice of her own future happiness.
Yet it was pathetic the way Uncle Joe kept looking to her to pull them all out of the mire, so easily done were she to smile on the hopes of Yusuf Majid.
DICK HOWELL had reckoned without his host when he suggested to Ruth that she should visit Mynapur and the Abbotts, for when he returned home it was to hear that the Abbotts---mother and daughter---had been ordered by the doctor to the hills. A slight touch of malaria had sent Miss Abbott to bed for a few days and as the weather was not likely to improve, they joined the summer exodus to a favourite hill station, and Mynapur was deserted but for the men and a few wives who braved the worst rather than leave their husbands to look after themselves.
Mrs. Gowan found a moral in the tale and refused to believe that the departure of the Abbotts was anything but a snub. Serve Ruth right for being too ready to run after young men. Young Howell, no doubt, would have enjoyed the fun of having her at his elbow, but apparently "his lady-friends weren't having any." It was useless to argue the point or to try to prove that the attack of malaria was responsible for the Abbotts' quick change of plans. Mrs. Gowan thought she knew better, and saw in it a definite determination not to have anything to do with the Gowans. When Dick Howell came with the news and many apologies, promising that it was only a pleasure deferred, Mrs. Gowan smiled and looked volumes, as the least said was the soonest mended. But Ruth had to listen and profit by the hint she had received.
Other matters refused to be hurried. The old
H3
Nawab underwent an operation for an abdominal cancer and lingered through the rains only to die as the cooler monsoon weather came in with its promise of better times for all.
The funeral was a spectacular affair, and it was long before the bereaved family returned to the normal.
In the meantime, the new Nawab took over his responsibilities with a high hand. It was seen from the first that he had no mind to be dictated to by any of his relations or staff. He made drastic changes at the palace which he converted into a state dwelling where he could receive and put up European guests and entertain in Western fashion. His mother and her women were set apart in a house that was built to suit the requirements of Indian families, and life made agreeable to her with all the modern comforts money could buy. She had electricity, a refrigerator, gramophone, wireless, and cars at her disposal, so that she could always feel that her son had not neglected her, but they could no longer live under the same roof. The Nawab made it understood that he meant to marry an English girl whatever the cost, and would live her life.
When the Nawab lay dying Ruth was made to feel the pressure brought to bear on her. Her uncle, whose friendship with Majid grew more intimate, arranged that his wife and children---including his niece---should be Yusuf Majid's guests at Sonaling in the Himalayas, though he would be absent and unable to leave his dying father.
And only because she knew that Majid would not be there, Ruth consented to accompany her aunt and cousins. She disliked the arrangement, but had no voice in the matter as she was needed to help with the children and, without showing acute selfishness,
saw no way of escape. Her pride, too, dictated that she should leave the district for a time, as Forrester had cooled off unmistakably. Though he knew she was going away for the rest of the summer and probably knew to whom she owed the change to the hills, he made no sign. Dick Howell had become her constant companion, and occasionally Majid called, assured, complacent, immovable, with little to say to her but a great deal to her uncle, which filtered through him to the family. He, too, seemed waiting for his father's death to adopt a scheme which was going to be his answer to the Hindu community who had too long had their way with the Mynapur estate. He had no intention of selling the sacred hill, for he was considering a project that was going to make it a health resort for the district. Not only could the highest bidder have the lease of the quarries at its base, but he would open up the hill with hotels and a railroad to its summit. He would have it inspected by engineers with a view to beginning operations the moment his hands were free. But not a word of it as yet lest it should alarm his father or set the district gossiping. The subject was taboo, but Uncle Joe looked more cheerful as he was infected with Majid's conviction that if one's determination never wavered the hitherto impossible could be achieved.
Yusuf Majid's house in the mountains was a luxurious villa on the hillside looking towards the majestic Snowy Range, and down to sloping green valleys laid out in tea. The view was unforgettably beautiful and compensated Ruth for the loss of Howell's companionship and the ever-thrilling hope of meeting Mr. Forrester in her walks. But as she never walked far from the bungalow for fear of the Sadhu, and Forrester had no excuse for calling at the bungalow but to see her, this hope had been ever doomed to disappointment. She had tried to make up for it by making a pal of the police boy who fell frankly in love with her and proposed. But Ruth softened her refusal by a sweet friendliness and camaraderie which had to suffice till such time as the feeling ripened into love. One never knew what might follow propinquity, and Howell had seen to it that she could depend on him for all the pleasure she could get out of her days. She wondered what Forrester thought of it all.
"Does Mr. Forrester know?"
"Of course. I told him from the first that I had fallen for you."
"What does he think of it?" Ruth could never meet his eye when discussing his friend.
"He's a queer devil and rarely speaks. A good listener though, and that's all I need as a safety-valve, as I have to blow off steam on someone. But why should you be so concerned as to what he thinks? It almost makes me imagine that you have a soft corner for him," reproachfully.
"I---love his---pictures."
"He is a bit of an artist all right, but a moody devil. I imagine a wife would want to shy plates at his head sometimes when he won't talk."
"He may be in some trouble. People shut up when they have things to worry them."
"Some may. I want to talk and get them off my chest---as I do to Forrester when you keep on saying 'no'."
"It is dreadful that you should discuss me---I thought it was never done among decent fellows."
"It's never done if it's giving a girl away. But it is myself I am giving away, not you. Forrester ought to be sick of hearing what I think of you and all the wonderful things you are."
"Dicky---you are childish. Do grow up."
"I would if I had you for my wife. I wonder---" his face fell anxiously.
"What are you wondering about?"
"If---if it had been him instead of me, would you have turned him down ?"
"Really---I'll be very angry if you say things like that!" cried Ruth, her heart bounding uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry, old dear. But---Forrester isn't a marrying man. Everyone knows it, so he can flirt as unconscionably as he likes. Women know what not to expect---and that is a proposal. I have it 'from the horse's mouth,' so to speak, that he can't marry, being stony. In fact---he's living on his capital."
Ruth felt happier than she had been for a long time after hearing this ingenuous statement from Dick, for it accounted in a measure for things she had not been able to explain concerning Forrester. Instinct told her that he was not indifferent to her, but if his circumstances were embarrassed, it was his duty to avoid her and not raise hopes he could not fulfil.
On the other hand, was she not inclined to let imagination run away with her? Only fools and romantic flappers thought every man who smiled on them was a prospective lover and husband.
Ashamed and humiliated, she was in the right frame of mind to grasp at any excuse for fleeing the district till she had a better grip of herself. Thus she allowed the Gowans to settle the question of a change to the hills, which was entirely suitable to them, and commanded herself to consider her duty to others more than to herself.
Mrs. Gowan also used a convincing argument that made it good manners to accept kindnesses from those who desired to be kind, as it was hurtful to throw back their generosity in their faces. Whatever were Majid's motives in giving them princely hospitality, she knew Indians well enough to know that they enjoyed being hospitable and could be quite hurt if denied the opportunity of making a friendly gesture. Uncle Joe, she explained, was very friendly with Majid, and nothing was more natural than that Majid should place his vacant house in the hills at the disposal of Uncle Joe's family. It in no way obliged Ruth to accept him as a husband. If it gave him pleasure, that was all that really mattered.
"As you know, I'm not anxious to see you the man's wife. I don't hold with mixed marriages, for you cannot see eye to eye with an Oriental, however nice he may be. His psychology is different because he has been reared differently. But that's for you to decide when asked, and you can be tactful. I have no doubt at all that he feels convinced that you will find circumstances too strong to resist and will consent, dazzled by all that he will be doing for you, and through you to others." She refrained from saying "us."
"Hasn't Uncle told him that I will never marry him?"
"Your uncle would give anything to see you the Begum. It will suit him to fan Majid's hopes."
"That would be wrong and cruel."
"Your uncle has a very important axe to grind.
Don't forget it."
"He should never have accepted the loan of this house. It places us all under such deep obligations."
"That I am not sorry for. Majid can do what he likes about it---the children are going to benefit tremendously. I, too, needed to get away from Mynabari. Don't grudge us this change."
"But it is so mean "
"Not at all. He can't blame you. He'll vent it on Uncle Joe."
"How will he do that?"
"When he is Nawab and he begins to think of leasing out the quarries to anyone who can pay his price, your uncle won't have a look in. Mr. Forrester will get it. Your uncle offered Mr. Forrester to go in with him, fifty-fifty, but he refused. He means to float a company. Nor will he promise anything. He believes in new blood and thinks that old people work in grooves. Majid told uncle that he said as much. He has evidently told Majid his opinion of Uncle Joe."
Perhaps it was true, thought Ruth, that Uncle Joe was past work!
"If Mr. Forrester has made Mr. Majid think so of uncle, how could he favour him even for me?"
"When a man is in love, he'll sell his soul for the woman."
So Ruth was made to feel that she was directly responsible for the family fortunes. So much devolved upon her. Since she could not have the man she wanted, did it matter whom she married?
Mrs. Gowan, with Ruth's help and a bazaar darzi, was able to make herself a few simple gowns on a Butterick's paper pattern, so that with a new outdoor coat she was not actually shabby.
Sonaling pleased her immensely, for though she had no friends, she enjoyed the new life, the cooler air and rest from all household worries. She could give more of her attention to the children and attend the church services where she enjoyed studying the fashions and the personalities who were altogether beyond her reach. Ruth sometimes accompanied her, but generally she loved roaming the mountainside on the pretty green roads with their steep precipices and fern-clad banks.
One afternoon she was preparing to take the children shopping when to her surprise she saw, from a window, a rickshaw draw up at the porch of the villa and a lady descend. Someone who was a stranger to her, but who nevertheless asked for Mrs. and Miss Gowan.
It proved to be Mrs. Abbott calling on her way to tennis.
Mrs. Gowan received her stiffly as she was not too ready to unbend to people who had not chosen to recognise her at Mynabari. This Mrs. Abbott was, however, a happy-faced woman with a friendly air, and by her manner she made it impossible for anyone to suspect her of patronage.
"We have only just come to Sonaling," she explained, "as we have been staying with friends on a tea-garden at Koolapong. I have long been wishing to meet you and would have run out to Mynabari, but a thousand things interrupted. However, better late than never. As we are near neighbours in the plains, we should lose no time in getting acquainted."
"It is so nice of you to come," murmured Ruth, who wished Aunt Ellen could say something graceful and pleasing. But Aunt Ellen contented herself with offering the caller tea which was already oversteeped, and was not sorry to be refused as the caller was in a hurry to meet her daughter at tennis. She and Mr. Forrester were playing in a doubles match against a couple from Government House, and Mrs. Abbott said she would not like to miss it.
All Ruth took in was that Miss Abbott and Mr. Forrester were playing. Was it---could it be---the Mr. Forrester?
Mrs. Gowan unconsciously came to the rescue with---
"Is it the same Mr. Forrester we know?"
"Oh, yes! He arrived two days ago and was forced to take Mr. Bonner's place in the match as poor Mr. Bonner twisted his ankle badly last week."
"I---didn't know that he was coming to Sonaling," said Ruth, her voice sounding queer in her own ears.
"Nor did we. He turned up at our hotel and took us by surprise, saying that he was the world's worst idler at that moment, so thought he'd follow the fashion and migrate to the hills. Bodge was delighted to see him. They're such good pals. By the way, I promised to apologise for Bodge who simply couldn't come this afternoon as she was already late for her appointment. But won't you," she turned to Mrs. Gowan, "and Miss Gowan dine with us to-morrow night?"
"Thank you---I'm most obliged," cried Mrs. Gowan deprecatingly, looking completely staggered. "It would be quite nice---in fact, I don't mind if I do, but---" she stammered and flushed while Ruth knew exactly what was the drawback. "The fact is---I--- I did not bring any evening gowns with me as I meant to have a very quiet time. You see "
Ruth squirmed.
"But---does that matter? surely---" Mrs. Abbott put in kindly. "We need none of us 'dress'."
"If you will excuse me, I think I'd better decline," said Mrs. Gowan nervously. "I never go anywhere and---in fact---I haven't been up to form lately. Early hours suit me best."
"Certainly, if you feel that it might upset you. But Miss Gowan will come, surely? Do, please. I am sure you and my daughter will be good friends."
"I'd love to come, thank you very much."
"It's not exactly a party---only a few of Bodge's tennis friends. You are sure to like them."
Mrs. Abbott was then trundled off to watch the tennis match, and Mrs. Gowan confessed to Ruth that she had no idea that Mrs. Abbott was so charming.
Of course, Mr. Howell had prepared them to like her, but she was very different from what might have been expected---which showed that Mrs. Gowan always expected the worst and was seldom disapponted.
"But I really could not have gone to her dinner. Think of it. What have I to wear?---one can't go to hotel dinners in high dresses. But it is nice to think that she asked me.'*
Ruth said that if Miss Abbott was as nice as her mother she would certainly like her very much indeed. But she was not concerned with possibilities regarding her acquaintance with Miss Abbott. The thought that Mr. Forrester had come to Sonaling eclipsed all others. She would meet him at the dinner. Why had he come? And yet, why not? Was she so absurd as to think that everyone but he must keep away from that queen of hill stations? Considering the heat in the plains and that he was a free agent confessedly idle at the moment, he had done what was sensible, especially as his friends the Abbotts were here.
Ruth could scarcely live through the hours to that dinner, and dressed for it with extra attention to good taste.
"Do I look all right?" she asked Mrs. Gowan, who was inclined to be far more pleasant than of late. She was realising that she could get on very well with Ruth so long as she refrained from interfering with her or trying to exercise her authority over her when she had none.
"My 1 Ruth, where did you unearth that smart gown? It looks like a new model and is quite up to date."
"It was the newest thing a year ago in London.
I had to make just a few alterations here and there to make it all right for now."
"It's rather low in the back," Mrs. Gowan murmured.
"It could be a lot lower, but I like it just so."
"It's quite dainty." If she had not been on her high horse with Ruth and afraid of flattering her, she would have said she had never seen her look so pretty, for the hill roses made rouge unnecessary and lipstick folly, both of which Ruth had had the wisdom to discard. The slim curves of her figure, the whiteness of her arms and shoulders, the lustre of her eyes, the youthful allure of her, were things that made Mrs. Gowan inwardly cringe. What a wonderful thing was youth. Surely many eyes would follow the girl wherever she went looking so sweet and lovable. "That shade of apricot suits you. I think I must have a black gown made like it. I wonder where it could be done cheapest of all?" the lady remarked, as Ruth went to her waiting rickshaw.
The cool mountain air, the star-spangled sky, the gleaming snows rising out of dark shadows to pile high against the heavens gave the mountains that air of romance and unreality which always made Ruth feel as if living in a dream. The hotel high above the roadway, all ablaze with electric lights, peeped out from among tall fir trees, and Ruth's heart beat furiously with anticipation.
It was a good thing to know she was looking her best, and that she had no need to nurse a feeling of diffidence or inferiority now. She was on her own ground again and Mynabari could, for the time being, be forgotten.
There was music in the air as Ruth entered the hotel and was met by Forrester; people everywhere, smartly dressed women and black-coated men, flowers
134 ^THE^ RIDDLE OF THE HILL and artificial daylight created by invisible lighting.
"I was on the look-out for you," said he, "for I am commissioned to take you to Mrs. Abbott. Were you surprised to hear that I had come?"
"I was---greatly. You had nothing to keep you in the heat, so you have not done badly."
"I should think not. It was a brain wave and Dick Howell is envying me like sin."
He waited outside the cloakroom till she had parted with her cloak, and led the way beside her to Mrs. Abbott's suite where cocktails and dinner awaited them.
"How long are you---staying?" gasped Ruth.
"Till I feel it necessary to return. You may have heard that the Nawab is dead?"
"No. Poor man!"
"You needn't feel sorry. He was in mortal agony. Majid is now getting the hang of things. He has promised to send me a wire."
Ruth was received a moment later by her hostess and introduced to Miss Abbott whom everyone called "Bodge"---a breezy young girl with plenty to say for herself and a habit of familiarity with men she had acquired from her cradle. She was quick-witted and clever in repartee, but definitely plain. Nevertheless, Ruth thought her very fascinating, for never having had brothers to knock back her self-confidence or point out her defects, she had all the assurance of a beauty and more than a beauty's charm.
She swept Ruth off her feet, metaphorically, by her frankness and warmth, whispering :
"I had heard you were pretty---Dick raves, you know---but I never expected this!" She caught Ruth's hands and squeezed them. "Roy, you pig! you never told me!"
"What?" he asked, pretending innocence.
"Why were you so close? Of course Mum always
gushes, but one never believes one's mother! You might have told me what a lamb it is."
"Does a wise man ever tell one girl that he thinks another is beautiful ?"
"My dear Bodge," exclaimed Mrs. Abbott, "you are most embarrassing. Come, Ruth," and she carried Ruth away to make many introductions for the room seemed full of black tails. Men predominated as was usual at the Abbotts', for, as Ruth learned later, Miss Abbott loved the men as she had their psychology and tastes, and at times their vocabulary. Her free-and-easy manners, her quickness in the uptake, her sporting sense, were characteristics that appealed to men and won the respect of women who would have given much to learn the secret of her charm which made her more popular than the prettiest girl in a room.
Ruth noticed that Forrester enjoyed her society and was at his best when sparring with her. How rude they could be to each other without either meaning the insults they hurled back and forth. But Miss Abbott seemed to expect him beside her all the evening though she was ready to please all her guests alike. Nevertheless she would turn to him for understanding before anyone else.
Dinner followed immediately.
"I must be boring after a girl like 'Bodge'," Ruth told herself sternly. "Why expect anything from him now you know his taste." She was glad she had come if it were only to learn her own level where a man of Forrester's type was in question. Yet, the folly of it! Seated beside a stranger, she took herself to task.
She was a fool and there was nothing to complain about. Mr. Forrester was not wanting a wife and could enjoy a flirtation like most men if encouraged. ... Or have the worldliness to marry money if
given the chance. The Abbotts were reputed to be very well off and Miss Abbott need not mind marrying a poor man if he did not object to owing the comforts of life to her.
A good deal of heart-burning accompanied the possibility suggested, and Ruth was glad to seek distraction after dinner in the society of attentive men and kindly women who were all ready to give her a happy time.
Mrs. Abbott was not a little proud that she was able to introduce someone so picturesque to her friends, and being altogether devoid of maternal jealousy, since her daughter had proved herself perfectly capable of holding her own against any other in the matrimonial field, she took Ruth under her wing like a fussy hen and talked "Ruth" to all who were interested.
"From our district---living with an uncle and his wife---rather out of the way of any fun. Poor kid! Uncle married someone rather common," she whispered, "but very worthy. One has to overlook many things in the mafasil. Ruth's mother was divorced and I believe married a few years later---not the 'co', oh, no! he had a wife already and she took him back. Such things happen! But Ruth's mother was very lovely, I'm told, which accounts for her marrying again and rather well. I don't remember being told the name, but he's in the I.C.S., I believe---quite distinguished, too. Men condone a lot these days. Morals are not what they used to be, you know. Little Ruth, however, seems such a child."
"She is the dead spit of a lady I danced with at the ball last night," said a man, "fair, and wearing a gold, shimmering gown. She arrived in the afternoon ---a charming woman. They said she was a divorcee--- Lady Darrel."
"Darrel? Gracious 1 Lady Darrel! Sir Angus Darrel is our new Commissioner---his wife's just out from home. How extraordinary! Dear me, it is a complication," and Mrs. Abbott was hot and bothered.
"That's her husband---I heard someone say 'Sir Angus,' when addressing him."
"I wonder if she is Ruth's mother---if she is like Ruth, there can't be any doubt of it. Of course Ruth does not know anything about her---the family saw to that. Awkward now she's coming into the same district. Please say nothing to Ruth about it---will you promise?"
Mrs. Abbott was thoroughly excited, but believed that it would be unwise to say anything to Ruth about Lady Darrel for the present. If she proved to be her mother, it would be desperately embarrassing, and the district would be thrilled to pieces when the truth got known. It might make it impossible for the poor child to visit them. How would Lady Darrel take it? The first move should come from her---particularly as she and her husband would be at the head of the station. On due consideration, Mrs. Abbott decided that she would say nothing to anyone---just mind her own business and see what happened.
She could not resist, however, probing Ruth's mind in respect to her feeling for the mother who had deserted her. Taking her apart where they could speak without being overheard, she opened the subject.
"You have never met your mother, Ruth, have you?"
"Not since I was four." The colour rose in Ruth's cheeks. How sensitive she was.
"Do you mind my speaking of her?"
"Oh, no! My aunt always felt that the district looked down on me because of her."
"Your aunt is not a woman of the world, my dear.
The world, if anything, would be all the more interested in you. Would you know your mother if you met her?"
"I should not recognise her for I have only seen a faded snap of her."
"How should you feel if you were to meet her again?"
"I don't know. I should be interested to know what she looked like---but otherwise she would leave me cold."
"They turned you against her, I can see that."
"Why did she desert me? I cannot imagine abandoning a little child of my very own for any man."
"Perhaps not. But then we are not all constituted alike. Some have less of the maternal instinct than others. Besides, children rarely repay a mother for all that she lavishes on them of love and sacrifice. At the bidding of a lover---all is forgotten! He is everything. It is human nature my dear. The mother never counts."
Ruth gazed at her a little bewildered. She had never had the point so presented before.
"Still---one's duty to one's baby
"You are now a woman, Ruth. Perhaps you will be able to judge better from your own feelings--- supposing you are in love---or a man has any power to make you weak for love of him, to forget duty--- everything---for the one thing, passionate love. It's a very beautiful but a very mischievous thing---love. I hope when you marry you will love your husband. Otherwise---anything may happen, even if you have babies to love and cherish. So many people can take your place with the babies---but there can never be another love like the one love, nor another chance to live life all over again and miss out one's mistakes."
Mrs. Abbott spoke so feelingly that Ruth wondered if she had once been tempted but had been strong enough to resist.
As if in reply to her thought Mrs. Abbott went on. "One doesn't need to have had personal experience of these things to arrive at an understanding of human nature, my dear. We see enough of life and sense the tragedies of others, if one has sympathy and understanding. My husband and I often discuss this vital problem, and the answer is always---'judge not that ye be not judged.' God has been good to us."
"Why have you mentioned my mother?" Ruth asked curiously. "Have you heard anything?"
"Only---that she married again---but not the man with whom she went away. Something happened, I believe, to disappoint her."
"I thought she stuck to him?"
"Possibly they told you so, or imagined it."
"I am glad, anyhow, that she is safe. But I don't want to meet her. I should hate to meet her."
"You feel she might want you to visit her?"
"No---I am afraid we'll have nothing in common, and that I should not be able to help showing her how I despise her, and women like her, who take their own happiness at all costs. After all---that man could not marry her. Was it worth while?---and I needed my mother. We could have been so happy together."
"There is very little of a moral to be drawn from life, my dear, for your mother is quite respectable now and probably a contented wife, no matter what laws were broken by her in the reshuffle."
"She is welcome to her respectability and I hope she is happy, but I never want to see or know her."
Miss Abbott darted across to them at this point of the conversation and drew Ruth to her feet by her hands.
"We are going to leave the older people to play bridge and are to play kiddies' games in the next room. Come, honey."
"What did you call me?" Ruth asked on their way to the room indicated.
" 'Honey.' You're so sweet, you know. I told Forrester that you will have all the bees in Sonaling swarming after you."
"But---what utter nonsense! You are only trying to make a fool of me." Ruth had no quarrel with the nickname, but it seemed surprising that anyone should call her attractive alongside of Bodge; or that Bodge herself should be so generous in her flattery.
"Don't pretend that you don't know you are the prettiest thing ever! Dick Howell is mad about you, and you are the sensation here to-night."
"I see no symptom of it. Take Mr. Forrester, for instance "
"Oh, he! Anyone so hardboiled is necessarily unimpressionable. I tell him he has no eyes for pretty girls, and they are the sauce of life in a hill station----the pivot on which society turns. What could they do without us! He disagrees, and says we are merely Necessary Evils. Impudence! But that is Roy. He is very stimulating, don't you think?" Bodge spoke as if she included herself among the pretty girls.
"I---don't know him---not really. We have met a few times and exchanged a few words, that is all."
"I see him every day, and I don't know him yet."
"Dick Howell says the same."
"So does everybody. That makes him all the more intriguing, I think. Don't you?---hush I here he comes."
The self-possession and self-confidence of Bodge with the men she knew made Ruth believe that she had been brought up in the illusion that she was lovely and magnetic. After all it was charm that counted most, and to be charming one must labour under the belief that one has every right to be so. How easy to become what we think we are and hypnotize the world into believing the same!
Ruth herself came under the spell of Miss Abbott's charm and envied it above all gifts.
IT was a wonderful experience to Ruth to be transported to heights on the Himalayas many thousand feet above sea level, and to be living among mountains celebrated for the most beautiful scenery in the world. The air was cool and invigorating, complexions defied art, health and optimism were at a premium. Never had she felt so strangely happy and so well. All about her lay the gay civil station with its hotels and private houses massing the hillsides, dominated by Government House and the palaces of the wealthy, with perfect roads at various levels intersecting the town and leading to distant tea-gardens and stations elsewhere. Over all could be seen the mighty range of Everlasting Snows with their dazzling peaks and opalescent slopes looking down on the station across precipices and valleys wrapped in shifting mists. The sunlight when it parted the vapours was warm and golden, and its beams lighted up the green and purple distances with magic beauty.
Ruth found the shops fascinating, the rickshaw traffic picturesque with liveried hill-men in attendance, and riding was a joy.
It became a common practice for Bodge and Roy Forrester to call for her with a mount in readiness that she should share their rides, a fourth joining them farther on as a companion for herself. It seemed that Miss Abbott regarded Forrester as her special escort, and he showed no inclination to have it
otherwise. When, as often happened, they changed partners on the way, he had very little to say for himself in contrast to the ready flow at his command when Bodge took charge of the conversation. He would, however, show that he was not unaware of the girl riding on ahead, by having an eye to her safety. It thrilled her when he broke off his conversation with Bodge to caution her, though she was companioned by a young subaltern from the Cantonments
"Don't canter round that corner, it isn't safe---I don't like the look of the bridge over there." Or "Randall---" to her partner---"I think Miss Gowan's girths want tightening a bit. Will you?---or shall I see to it?" Once he dismounted and examined one of the hoofs of her mount as he declared that the horse seemed to limp. All as a matter of course, while Bodge accused him of having lynx eyes. He saw what nobody else saw, though he was caught napping when Bodge's grey Arab dropped a shoe and tripped badly. Yet he never tried to engage Ruth in conversation; he was, however, willing enough once when Bodge arranged that they should ride in a different order on the way home.
On the homeward ride he asked Ruth if she was glad she had come to the hills.
"I am loving every moment of it. I never knew it was going to be so delightful---and the weather 1 What a difference from the plains."
"The Nawab has written that he is planning to spend the rest of the summer here. Did you know that?"
"No," her face falling. "Does it mean that he will stay---with us?"
"He need not, for his father's mansion is now his and vacant, and capable of holding the motley crowd he is bound to bring with him for prestige. He could
i44 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
not live in state in the villa which he has lent to Mrs. Gowan and you."
"I am so glad. It would spoil everything if he was here to act as our host."
"I dare say he'll do that all right no matter where he lives. Why did you accept his hospitality?"
"They did---I had to do what I was told."
"Of course, you know what it means?"
Ruth coloured. "He must know that I did not wish it. . I refused the offer once before. This time it was accepted over my head."
Forrester stared into space with a cynical smile.
"When you place yourself under an obligation to an Indian it can only mean one thing to him, whatever your personal reservations."
"I---know what you mean, Mr. Forrester. But you are wrong. I have always shown Nawab Yusuf Majid what is in my mind. I have never deceived him."
"He deceives himself, which amounts to the same thing. He is coming to single you out in the face of all Sonaling that everyone may know his intentions. To a man of his antecedents and traditions, however English by education, he regards women much as a slave-dealer does. He has a price for them according to their value in his eyes, and he believes they can be bought with gifts and promises. Don't be surprised if he brings you valuable presents. Most girls are flattered into accepting gifts from Indian chiefs and princes, after which it becomes difficult to deny--- favours. Majid is perfectly honourable in his intentions, I know. He wants to marry you---you know that?"
Ruth's head drooped and she turned her face away.
"Already he is showering favours on you "
"Not me! I have never accepte'd anything from him!"
"You don't realise what you have done by driving with him and by---coming here as his guest."
"I did not want to come."
"Nevertheless---you are here and now he is coming. I am only letting you know what to expect so as to be prepared. I have no right to say as much as I have, and am sorry if you don't like it."
"I am grateful, believe me. But please, please don't think that I am encouraging his hopes. Nothing could be more despicable "
"If you can possibly manage it, I would suggest your getting out of the house before he comes. If you move to the hotel you will be with friends."
"But---I---you don't understand. Aunt Ellen would be furious if I deserted her. She acts as my chaperon--- and she says my presence countenances her. It is only because we are together that we are there at all--- giving the children a change which they much needed."
"I still say you should leave---but it is no business of mine. Why don't you tell me to go to blazes?"
"Because---you don't know how much I appreciate your advice."
"Is it true?"
"Of course." She raised soft eyes to his---softer than she realised because of the yearning within her to reach a closer understanding. "You are such a stranger. I seem to know everyone I meet better than you. Yet---I have felt that we could be such good friends."
"Since when have you felt so?"
"From the time I watched you painting under the tree by the nullah. You seemed to fade out, after that," and she laughed uncertainly.
"Yes," said he, making no attempt to deny her accusation.
She wanted to ask why, but was restrained by an
146 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL accession of shyness. She was never shy with others, but with him she became stupidly so.
Nor did Forrester show any disposition to offer explanations. He was more concerned with the coming of the Nawab.
"What are you going to do, Ruth, in the matter of the Nawab?" he asked, returning to the charge.
He had called her by her name and it gave her a measure of comfort. How friendly he could be and how distant! She could hardly recognise in him the same man who ragged Maudie in Majid's car.
"What can I do, Mr. Forrester?"
"Need you be so formal?"
"I---don't want to be."
"Try again," and this time he smiled, his eyes softening with a new light that lingered till he looked away.
"Everyone calls you Roy . . ."
"I was christened Rob Roy."
"You want me to desert Aunt Ellen. You know I cannot do that."
"Are you going to be seen everywhere with the Nawab?---and leave it to the world to draw their own conclusions?"
"Never I You know I could never marry an Indian."
"Then make a stand now."
"I will. But I cannot leave Aunt Ellen in the lurch. She would never stay without me, I know, and cannot afford to live anywhere else."
"In fact, she knows that it is on your account she is a guest of the Nawab. She is to blame---she and your uncle. Ruth---" and there was sudden fire in his eyes as they met hers---"I cannot feel that you are safe in that house. You should not be there. When I heard you had come away as Majid's guest, I "
Whatever he was going to say was choked back as
better left unsaid, and he welcomed the diversion when Bodge called to them from a bend of the road, commanding them take notice of the view beyond.
Nothing could have been grander---a steep precipice, falling thousands of feet to lower levels; mighty, lichen-covered rocks piling on high above them. What immense depths! What majestic outlines beneath a sunlit heaven, while tall firs made the music of the surf around and about them.
There was another wooden bridge for them to cross, spanning a waterfall that rushed and tumbled down the mountain-side to fall in a long sheet of crystal water to a stream that fed the valley below.
As they crossed the bridge they had to shout to be heard, and so much noisy excitement adding to the roar of the waters came very near to causing a bad accident, for Ruth's horse reared as his hoof struck a loose board on the bridge and he would have fallen backwards had Forrester, who was ahead, not leapt at the bridle and brought him down on his feet again. His own horse was left to trot away till recovered by the second man of the party while he piloted Ruth's frightened animal safely across and to firmer and wider ground.
"Were you badly scared, honey?" Forrester was looking up into her face, his own as white as chalk.
"It happened too suddenly for me to think of being afraid."
"Lucky you did not tug at the reins."
They proceeded in quieter mood after that, Bodge feeling responsible for having been in high spirits at the wrong moment.
"I should never have forgiven myself if your gee had crashed over the side---think! nothing could have saved you. I'm trembling from head to foot at the bare idea."
"I suppose it was a narrow shave," said Randall, peering down to see what he could of the precipice.
"Why worry, since it did not happen. Forget it," said Ruth gaily, her heart singing for joy because Roy Forrester had called her "Honey." It might be Bodge's name for her, but he had adopted it secretly, and in a moment of shock it had escaped to her! What a little thing to make her happy, but her eyes were like stars and her lips curved with laughter and smiles in a manner that captivated all who accompanied her.
"You really shouldn't look like that, honey!" cried Bodge teasingly. "If it makes me want to kiss you, how hard it is on the boys!"
"How can you, Bodge I" cried Ruth, all blushes.
"I agree with Bodge," laughed Randall, while she burst out laughing.
"Isn't she a sweet kid!" to Forrester, who appeared absent-minded.
Bodge was incorrigible. But Ruth thought her a dear. She, who had been so friendless a short time ago, was now rich in friends.
Every day was full of engagements, made for her by Bodge who possessed no petty jealousy and sa.w no occasion to fear rivalry. Whatever Ruth's mother had done in the way of establishing a reputation as a destroying angel, Ruth showed none of her traits and erred rather on the side of being too ingenuous in a sophisticated world, too natural to be accused of affecting simplicity, and young enough to carry conviction by the innocence in her jade-green eyes.
Bodge called at the Villa Majid at all times of the day either to make plans or to inform Ruth of what was wanted of her. It was all very informal and delightful, particularly as occasionally these plans included Aunt Ellen and the children. Picnics were popular with the little ones, and Aunt Ellen never said "no" to a chance of mixing with the Abbotts and their friends. By their consideration of her she was beginning to be less suspicious of people's motives and inclined to encourage better feelings towards people whom she called "swells". They were not all the snobs she had thought them. But, if the truth were known, she was not in her element at these outings and was reduced to monosyllables while conversation sparkled around her, for it was as if she did not speak their language and she had nothing in common with them.
"These people bewilder me," she admitted to Ruth, when justifying her inability to join in bright conversation. "They jump from one thing to another, they talk slang, they have a different outlook from my time. I find it impossible to follow them, and by the time I seem to catch on, they are laughing at jokes I don't understand."
"They are very quick-witted and if you don't go out much you are bound to be topically a lap behind, and feel lost as to their meaning. But they are a delightful crowd. I do love Miss Abbott."
"I can't make her out at all. Everyone has the liberty to call her 'Bodge,' such a hideous name!--- and she isn't even pretty. But the way she carries on with the men, and they with her, you would think she was a ravishing beauty."
"It shows how little depends on looks, actually. It is personality, every time."
"I suppose so. But while we are on the subject, I don't need to have eyes that can see through a stone wall to tell who she is keen on. And by the same token she won't love you long if you begin to stand in her light."
"How could I?"
"They say that 'lookers-on see the best of the game. ' I don't trust that Mr. Forrester. He is playing you two off against each other."
"What a mistake! He never could. He's not that sort."
"Well---I caught her watching you both when he sat beside you at that picnic by the waterfall and shared a plate with you."
"The plates fell short when people joined the party at the eleventh hour," Ruth explained in embarrassment, for she had brought away from that picnic unforgettable memories of Forrester's subtle thoughtfulness for her and his ability to think of her needs even while occupied with others. Not that he had said a word that could have been construed into flirting. On the contrary, he was always strangely serious when with her, setting aside the cloak of levity he assumed with Bodge. He never wanted to spar, while with Bodge he was brilliant. It meant something, and it was her effort to understand what that something was that gave her her high spirits and that spontaneous laughter which others said was so infectious.
"I was only thinking that it is a great waste of powder and shot when men who have no money are attractive---like that Mr. Forrester. It is unfair to the girls he meets, for he can't do anything about it if they end by losing their hearts to him. He has no money---at least, it is said that he couldn't support a wife on his income. He might marry someone with money---so he and Miss Abbott are well matched, but you will have to be on your guard, Ruth, and not let him fool you."
The children were not a credit to Mrs. Gowan's upbringing when brought out among strangers and left to take advantage of circumstances in which no one could be stem with them or point out their misbehaviour. They both regarded Roy Forrester as their particular friend and tormented him with attentions. Sylvia would insist upon sitting in his lap and showering wet kisses on his face while Maudie would bombard him with innumerable questions till even her ingenuity was taxed to think of how much farther cross-examination could go.
"I didn't invite you to sit on my lap, why do you do it?" he asked Sylvia at one of the picnics at which he was victimized badly.
"I like you, that's why. Maudie likes you too, only she is getting too big to sit in gentlemen's laps."
"You go and try Mr. Randall over there. He adores children."
"He don't. He sent us to you. 'Sides, I had to tell you 'bout the squirrel what you gived to Ruth. She let it run away in the jungle and now it is eated up by a tiger."
"Silly!" cried Maudie. "Tigers don't eat squirrels. They eat cows and coollies. Ruth was mean to let the squirrel run away when she might have let us have it. I wanted it so much. I could have kept it in the box what had white mice that died."
"They died 'cause Maudie forgot to feed them," Sylvia added confidentially.
"I did feed them! only they was greedy and didn't leave any for the day when we went shopping in Mynabari with Mummy."
"Ruth said you was cruel and forgetful and mustn't have pets, and that the squirrel was happiest to be free, same as we are."
"Have you anything in your pocket for me?" asked Maudie.
"Why for you?" Forrester asked. "Girls who forget to feed white mice don't get surprises from pockets."
"Maudie!" Aunt Ellen cried with tired patience, "if you worry Mr. Forrester, I'll not bring you next time. Sylvia, get off his lap and let him have his luncheon. Naughty children!" and she sighed.
In the end Bodge came to the rescue and bribed them to leave Mr. Forrester alone. They were allowed to sit astride two of the ponies and be led up and down the road by syces for a spell, which was respite for the company.
"Why do children get so spoilt out in the East?" asked a young man when Mrs. Gowan and a few of the ladies had wandered up the hill and out of sight.
"They don't have to be spoilt," said Mrs. Abbott. "These two have been left too much to servants, and Indian servants have no control whatever over sahibs' children."
"Children are a great mistake out East," said Bodge. "If ever I marry and have a family, I'll leave them at home with Grannie from birth. What are baby colleges for?"
"Why have any babies?" said Randall. "Think of the money you'd save. All the good times you would have, and no anxieties."
"Quite true. One would feel so much freer when it came to eloping with another man."
It was only after she had spoken that she remembered Ruth's mother and felt shocked at her own bad taste. Upon impulse came her frank apology. "That was rotten of me, honey! I always put my foot in it," lowering her voice for Ruth's ear alone. "Poor little honey-bunny!---what a shame!"
Another time Bodge was disposed to be confidential. She had Ruth to spend the day with her at the hotel, and as they dressed for tennis they discussed the 'boys' who could always be depended upon to help them to a good time.
"How do you like Roy Forrester, honey?"
"I never seem to understand him."
"Nor I---quite. I think I do, and then I find I don't. Did you know that he comes of very good family? A younger son, and by rights 'The Honourable'---his elder brother is a viscount. It leaked out yesterday when someone who knew him at home met him at the club and gave the show away. I tackled him about his closeness and why he had treated us all as strangers. His answer was that he has no use for frills. Out here he has to make a living as his father can't give him an allowance big enough to keep him, and when a fellow has to work, swank of any sort is a handicap, not a help. He hates the fuss people are inclined to make of him since hearing who he is."
"It makes no difference who he is, does it, if we like him?"
"I agree entirely. I'd be all for Roy if his father was a shoemaker in the city. In that case he'd probably be very much better off and able to marry. I guess it is because he hasn't had much luck that he can't propose." It was plain to see that Bodge believed Forrester would ask her to marry him if only his position was more secure in business; and Ruth wondered if she was not justified, for Forrester was very much at her service at all times while enjoying his holiday in the hills. He gave the impression of a man at a loose end, mentally preoccupied but willing to be of use if needed, and since Bodge was never backward in using men for her plans and programmes he had fallen into the position of her handyman.
Through it all he was always the same to Ruth, watchful of and for her, never unaware of her needs and ready, unasked, to forestall them. It was this that puzzled Bodge, and could only be accounted for as Ruth unconsciously appealed to the protective instincts of all. She was dainty and gentle, and too ready to be self-effacing, in spite of a lively spirit of independence. Bodge scolded her for being backward and retiring, the outcome of shrinking from those who knew her mother's history.
"I think Roy likes you quite a lot, honey," Bodge admitted.
"Has he said so?" Ruth asked nervously.
"Can you see him talking about anyone, much less his feelings? I have gathered it from my observations. He treats you as if you were a little sister he is fond of and has to protect. In fact, don't we all?"
That was it. Ruth called herself a fool for nursing false hopes.
"You are all wonderfully sweet to me."
"And what a lot of time we wasted not knowing you! I think of you buried near those quarries and am sure you must have had a very rotten time. Roy used to be a lot at Mynabari because of the Nawab and that mysterious hill. I wonder you never became friends."
"It was his fault. He rarely came my way."
"Too much taken up with his business schemes to think of a girl. Dick Howell fell for you straight away, at first sight. Poor Dick! But to return to Rob Roy---I suppose you have guessed that I have a weakness for him?" Sometimes Bodge's frankness took Ruth's breath away.
Her heart beat so fast and she trembled so visibly that she was in mortal fear of giving herself away. After Bodge's confession she would die rather than show how Roy Forrester affected her.
"I've seen that you are inseparable friends."
"That's it. Inseparable, honey---I adore that man, and I should feel ghastly if I thought he wasn't equally
fond of me. I know he is not one to flirt or go out of his way to pretend he likes a girl if he doesn't, so naturally I am hopeful when he is such a dear---going out of his way to do things, and is so kind."
"Is he---or does he---show you in any particular way that he---he---cares a great deal?"
Bodge was long in replying for she was searching memory for something tangible to justify her claim.
"I'll tell you. You know he is my dancing partner at the balls we go to. If you had all the invitations we have and could see us at those dances here, there, and everywhere, you'd see what little use he has for anyone else. He places his programme at my service. I could dance all the evening with him if I like, and he dances divinely! But I have to change and take others turn-about. And what does he do? Talks to old fogeys and disappears to the bar! The women hate me here, for they don't care two hoots that he is poor. They think of his position at home and that his brother is a viscount, and they'd give their heads to have him dangling after them. You are coming to the race ball---I have secured Randall for you---he's delighted, as he can talk of no one else, so you will see for yourself why I feel so confident of Roy. I wish the Nawab would be reasonable and let him have the lease of Kalipahar. Couldn't you chouse him a bit?"
"I am expected to use my influence with the Nawab on my uncle's behalf," said Ruth, laughing to hide her pain. Bodge's story sounded so convincing that she felt she had been nothing but a blind fool all along. She would have to drop nursing false hopes and leave Roy Forrester to the girl who meant to win him, and could help him as no other could. "Uncle Joe has been after the hill ever since I came out and long before that."
"Then he'll get it, for the Nawab would do anything for you, I am told. It is common gossip at Mynapur that he actually aspires to marriage with you. I say aspires, for that is how it is to me, whoever the Indian that wants an English girl for his wife. He may be a prince for all I care. Of course, you wouldn't look at him, would you?"
"Of course not! And when I make him understand it as a fact, Mr. Forrester will then have his chance. I am afraid Uncle's is doomed to fade away."
"Then you'll not waste time about it, honey? I feel the sooner Roy can get busy, the better for us all. He laughs at the native superstition, and thinks it is time the Hindus were taught that they have no claim to Kalipahar because of its name. If there is a temple up on top, it can surely remain unmolested and as sacred to them as any other on the flat below? It's a shame to ban an entire hill because of its name as if Kali herself inhabited it! For who is Kali but one of their pagan gods no one else believes in? Roy often talks to me about the hill and its possibilities. I should not be surprised if the Nawab himself got bitten with the hill-fever and started a sanatorium on it for his co-religionists who will condescendingly permit hotels to be built and English people to use them when in need of a change. What fun!"
"It would make all the difference to the district. Now that the old man is dead, perhaps we'll be hearing something presently?"
"Are you ready? Let's be off."
They were near enough to walk to the Amusement Club and were greeted on arrival by eager young men who had been watching for their coming. Among them Randall, who took possession of Ruth and engaged her attention entirely for which she was thankful, as she could not bear to look on while Bodge and Roy Forrester gravitated to each other.
If Roy Forrester was not in love with Bodge, why should he be so entirely at her beck and call, letting everyone draw their own conclusions? "Truly---Ruth Gowan," she admonished her heart, "you are nothing but a weak fool!" and she behaved forthwith as though he did not exist---except when face to face with him, when she showed by her interest in others how little he meant to her.
"Ruth!" called Mrs. Abbott softly as she was passing a row of seats in the glazed verandah, Mr. Randall beside her, "a lady would like me to present you to her---Lady Darrel."
Ruth stopped and shook hands. She saw before her a youngish, handsome woman with red-gold hair and of a distinguished appearance, well-groomed and artistically made-up, who was with a party of smart people, all being served from the cocktail bar.
If she thought the lady young at first sight, she modified her guess a while later when she noticed at close quarters the threadlike lines that lay across her forehead and gathered under her chin.
"How do you do?" said Lady Darrel. "Perhaps you may not know that I am coming into your district. Mrs. Abbott and I have been making friends. It is so delightful to have had this opportunity."
Ruth expressed herself suitably while wondering vaguely if she had seen the lady before. - Oddly enough, there was something about her face that seemed familiar. Lovely colouring---great hazel eyes, red-gold marcelled hair curling on her neck, sweet curves to the lips and a beautiful figure. She must have been lovely when a girl. "Then we are bound to meet in the plains," said Ruth, and was allowed to pass on.
THE arrival at the gay hill station of the Nawab Yusuf Majid of Mynabari, was made the occasion of much pomp and display by his community. He and his fleet of cars were met half-way up the mountains by his personal friends and numerous sycophants, and escorted in state to his palace at Sonaling---a handsome modern edifice buried among trees on the side of the station hill. Here a great deal of bunting was to be seen making a splash of vivid scarlet, with flags waving in the wind, and floral decorations festooned from post to post in honour of the occasion.
"This is all very embarrassing," Majid told his secretary. "I did not wish this publicity and advertisement in a place where there are far greater men than I in residence. It might hold me up to ridicule." If there was anything Majid disliked, it was being made to look ridiculous. His sensitive pride revolted at anything that bordered on bad taste or lack of judgment on the part of his people, to whom pomp and circumstance were the natural outlet of their great respect for riches and position. Majid was finding it difficult to restrain this tendency to vulgar demonstrations.
His numerous cars were garaged on the cart road, of no further use till his return to the plains, as only important personages of the Government, and Indians of the highest rank were entitled to drive their cars in the narrower roads of the station limits, for
«8
the laws of the township were rigid on matters of precedence, and the possibility of accidents.
When his enormous retinue were housed in the rooms of the palace, and its balconies and glazed verandahs testified to Oriental occupation by the immediate airing of garments on long lines of string, Majid left his people to sort themselves out while he rode a handsome thoroughbred to the Mall, where the Villa Majid was distinguished by its Italian architecture. He came simply and alone, careful not to impose his new status on the English girl whom he meant should be his wife. Any possibility of a denial of his hopes, he refused to contemplate. She should see in him a gentleman as educated and cultured as the best of her people. He would show how deeply he valued her society, and that he counted no cost to please her. One pocket bulged slightly with his gift for her, for no lover should approach his mistress empty-handed.
He had purposely refrained from informing her of his intended visit as he wanted to take her by surprise. The boy in him rejoiced to think of the meeting--- unexpected and unrehearsed---and he swelled inwardly at the thought that it was through him she was able to be in that glorious climate where she could recapture the roses in her cheeks and the energy she was rapidly losing in the plains. But for him she would have been languid and pale, her contours sharpened, her beauty threatened with extinction.
Most of all, he was thrilled with anticipation of the pleasure he was about to confer on her by his exquisite gift. No one else of her acquaintance could afford such a gift, and she would naturally be overcome. What woman was indifferent to personal adornment? He knew of none who could resist anything like the present he was bringing to her, whom he intended
should be his Begum. He was glad she was poor, for as King Cophetua he would endow his Beggar Maid with untold wealth.
All the way up the hillside his thoughts were busy with that meeting. Soon she would be his affianced bride and he the most blessed of men. How others would envy him!---Englishmen who looked on her with covetous eyes. He had left one behind at Mynapur---obsessed with longing, but tied by obligations to his Service that could not be set aside. Then there was that fellow Forrester---most dangerous were he able to compete for the girl's hand in marriage. But Forrester was "out of it." He was poor and could hardly support himself, much less a wife. Thank God for that! Majid could almost afford to pity him. But Forrester was capable of being a stumbling-block ---a mischievous obstacle, for he did not believe in mixed marriages. Hadn't he admitted as much? Unfortunately, Forrester was in the station probably seeing Ruth Gowan daily for all he knew.
Jealousy surged uneasily in Majid's breast, and the blood of ancestors given to intrigue and unscrupulousness coursed revengefully through him. No interference from Roy Forrester would he brook. This was a matter of life and death to Majid, so other men would do well to keep out of his way.
Scarlet geraniums and fuchsias blazed from windowboxes outside the villa, the garden was heavily perfumed by summer roses. Majid looked up at the gables and miniature turrets of his private residence and was proud that it should hold the fair lady he had come to woo. He would ride out with her one of these days and show her his father's palace, now his; one of the noblest of buildings in the town, though somewhat apart, and tell her that it was hers for the asking. All he had---all he could buy was hers. He
loved her so . . . the beautiful witch with her dark jade eyes and rose-petal skin. The day he held her unclothed body to his heart and ravished her sweet mouth, would be the pinnacle of ecstasy for him.
Within the villa, Moonia ayah was the first to convey the astonishing news to Ruth---that the Nawab Sahib was at the door! She ran breathless into her presence, jingling and tinkling as every ornament danced musically, and gave the English girl her blessing.
"Smile, Baba---as only you can smile! See who is at your door! The Nawab himself, looking so manly and young. Hurry, Miss Baba! Go down to him. He will be awaiting you in the drawing-room, impatient for a sight of you."
"What do you mean by saying such things, ayah?" Ruth was moved to anger. "How dare you breathe such impertinence?"
"Ah, Miss Baba! I, too, am a woman and my heart melts within me for all lovers. This one is great and of wealth untold. That he should be paying court to you is a great compliment. Does huzur not feel flattered?"
"I am not at all flattered. And don't take so much for granted. What does it matter to me how the Nawab feels when he is nothing to me and never will be."
• "At khoda /" Moonia looked at her aghast. What heresy was this? A man with the hoarded wealth of kings had come to woo her---and she called it "impertinence"! "Miss Baba---the Nawab is a great man. He is not white like you, but all are the same in the sight of Allah---and it is the woman's part, isn't it--- to be grateful for the affection she has won, with all the dignity offered and the riches?"
"You are right, Moonia. No one should be ungrateful L for love. But don't run away with the idea that money and position can buy my consent to marriage with one who is not of my race or nationality."
"What will be, huzur, when the Nawab hears you say such a thing, I don't know," said the woman in dismay. "They tell of how he would lay all he has at your feet. That his passion for huzur consumes him. Then, too, huzur came to live here with the aunt. Was not that like telling him you would listen when the time came for him to speak? All have said it was a sign of consent. It is the talk of the bazaars at Mynabari and Mynapur. Alas! What will be?" Always a privileged servant, Moonia revealed much of the gossip afloat, which had assumed too much.
Ruth hurried down when Mrs. Gowan sent for her. She had received the Nawab and having heard his request for her niece, had sent a messenger to call Ruth. Now that the time had come to face the consequences of having accepted the Nawab's hospitality, she was scared, for Ruth's value had risen in Mrs. Gowan's eyes since her reception by Mrs. Abbott and her "swell" friends. If Ruth had a chance, she would marry very well---finding a husband in her own set. It frightened the lady to be made responsible for this mixed marriage, which meant so much to the fortunes of the stone business.
"Ruth"---she met her husband's niece at the foot of the stairs---"he's here---and I don't know what is to happen. He seems to take so much for granted. Please don't blame me for that. What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry," said Ruth. "I'll try to be properly grateful for his kindness and let him know exactly where he stands."
"Be tactful, Ruth. There is so much at stake."
"Of course. But he has got to know that there's nothing doing as far as I am concerned."
"How can we stay on here? Let us return at once to Mynabari."
The season was at its height and Ruth had many engagements in the coming weeks. To return to the jungles of a rural sub-division when she was enjoying every minute of her stay was unthinkable. She wished there was a way out of her dilemma without having to quarrel with the Nawab. To incur hotel expenses was out of the question.
"If we could only stay somewhere else!"
"If! Where's the money to come from? I'd better arrange to return. Perhaps we should never have come, but it has done us all a deal of good. The children look different beings. Dear, dear! What on earth will your uncle do? It's wholesale ruin. I could just have nervous prostration to think of it. But you had better go to him---he's asked for you."
She vanished up the stairs to her room, leaving Ruth to face the music.
If she could only have realised the effect of her appearance on Majid as she entered the room---her cheeks flushed, her eyes anxious and dewy, her manner unconsciously propitiatory---she would have been yet more alarmed than his presence made her.
She saw Majid rise and step forward to greet her, a sturdy, middle-sized man, dark-skinned and Eastern though dressed faultlessly in English riding breeches and tweed coat. If his hair was slightly more oiled than was usual and his cheeks more shiny, it was because he was a dandy at heart, and perspired freely from inward excitement and seething emotions.
"How d'you do?" said she, feeling tongue-tied.
"I am delighted to see you again, Miss Ruth," he replied almost incoherently.
"I hope you had a pleasant journey uphill?"
"It was perfect. A few rain-storms held us up, for the rain was torrential; otherwise, the cars came on without a hitch. And how are you? I see you looking more than ever like a rose."
"I have been having a lovely time, Nawab Sahib. It is very gay here and such a contrast to Mynabari."
"In fact, you feel spoilt for the district?"
"Entirely!"
"It will be hard to settle down again, I suppose?"
"It will, indeed. It is very kind of you to have lent us your house," Ruth hurried on almost with a gasp. "But it has done the children good and everyone, in fact, has benefited."
"I am so glad. I would do anything---anything for you, Miss Ruth. You know that?" he spluttered, getting incoherent again, as his hands fumbled in his pocket and produced a jeweller's case that immediately ' reminded Ruth of Roy Forrester's warning. How well he had gauged the Oriental mind! "I---I have brought you something that is only a small tribute to your loveliness, Miss Ruth."
"Oh, no, please!" She shrank back.
But the Nawab opened the case before her and revealed a single row of exquisite pearls. They lay soft and glowing on a satin bed, exacting her admiration in spite of herself.
"I ordered this from Calcutta---the best obtainable ---and have insured it heavily. It is yours." He laid it in her lap tremulously and waited.
Ruth was dumb with shock and distress.
She began to protest, gently, tactfully. Never had she accepted presents from men and it was impossible to do so now. She couldn't with any self-respect take so wonderful a present when she had nothing to give in return
"It is just that," the Nawab broke in. "You can give me---yourself, Ruth. I want you for my wife and no other. The one woman in the world for me." His voice shook with agitation, his features quivered, his eyes devoured her face. "There isn't anything I shall deny you but what is beyond my power to buy. Oh, please don't say anything just now---not a word if it is going to dash my hopes! I would rather leave it for the present waiting for you to soften towards me ---I will press nothing now. Only be kind. Let me see you---serve you as a queen. I adore you, Ruth!" His voice choked and tears gushed from his eyes. "Anything but 'No.' I could not bear to hear that word."
"Nawab Sahib," Ruth herself was trembling, "I have never by a word led you to think I cared for you and might marry you. Have I?"
The Nawab shook his head, being past speech.
"I have regarded you as a friend---as I regard others. I like you, Nawab Sahib. But that doesn't mean I love you. There is a great difference."
"I have never expected you to---love me." He recovered his voice by an effort. "It meant a great deal to me, but I felt that it was expecting too much in the beginning. I only wanted to be allowed to love you. English girls are romantic. They have ideals impossible of fulfilment---haven't I read your novels, seen your plays in which these ideals are all abandoned for reality?---and happiness is only for those who are practical and kind. If it is a romantic marriage you favour, what man is good enough for such as you? Soon there will be disillusionment. So I say that it is only such love as mine and gentle tolerance from you that will, in the end, make life all you would wish. Think it over."
"I have already thought it over---and I knew at once how impossible it would be."
"Is it because I am an Indian---of a dark-skinned race---that you shrink from marriage with me?"
"I have always intended to marry an Englishman, Nawab Sahib."
"Say in your English fashion, 'Yusuf.' It will sound like music from your lips."
Ruth looked and felt distressed. She had no wish for a greater intimacy, but feared to hurt him more than she had already done.
"Perhaps I'm not modern enough, but I find it difficult to form the habit of calling men by their names. How can I convince you that you must not think of me any more as likely to say 'yes.' Nor can I accept these pearls." She tried to return them, but he would not take them back.
"No, no! They are yours. My gift to you because I see in them a symbol of your loveliness and purity. Keep them, Miss Ruth."
"I cannot. I want to make this final. Please, Nawab Sahib "
"Perhaps some day I shall yet see them adorn your throat," he said, receiving the case from her when he saw she was in earnest. "They are yours. No other shall wear them. To-day I have failed to impress you. So gentle and tender---yet so determined! But I still hope. I am sorry if I have upset you," seeing how obviously she was unnerved, "forgive me. I'll go, but do not let this make any difference between us. I am still your friend, Miss Ruth. Say I may call and see you, that you will not turn your back on me."
"I could not do that 1 I should be ashamed to show myself so ungrateful. You have been very kind."
"And you will please stay on here?"
"As a matter of fact, my aunt was talking of returning to the plains. I cannot bear to accept so much from you, Nawab Sahib, knowing that I cannot be all you wish."
"You will be giving me supreme happiness by staying here---you and Mrs. Gowan. Let me, at least, feel you are my guests. It is an honour I appreciate."
After much persuasion, Ruth consented to please him in so small a matter, feeling that she had said enough to make him understand that he was never again to ask her to change her mind. He must understand that she would never be his wife. But he still wanted her to use his villa---very kind of him, she thought, and so did Aunt Ellen, who was only too glad to grasp at the chance of staying till the end of the season.
They discussed it together in all its aspects, and concluded that, oddly enough, they were conferring a favour on the Nawab, not he on them, by their consenting to use his vacant villa. A wonderful sophistry used by Aunt Ellen and accepted by Ruth since both found it convenient to stay on. The only other alternative would be to return to the plains. Uncle Joe's letters were full of the heat and the mugginess. Though the rains had broken and it poured like "billy-o," it was as hot as blazes and a fellow could not get cool. They were lucky to have the chance of staying in the hills at so little cost to themselves, and would be fools to insult poor old Majid by clearing out. He was a great sport, and Uncle Joe doubted if Ruth would ever find a kinder husband. But that was her business, and if they were all landed in the almshouse, she would have herself to blame.
Actually, things were beginning to move at Myna- bari. It was said that the Hindus were discussing the rumour that Majid was having the hill surveyed with a view to demolishing the jungle on it and opening it up for a great enterprise. It naturally was creating a
sort of panic among the villagers, as they were encouraged to believe by the priest, or a Sadhu-fellow who was busying himself overmuch with the affair, that something terrible would happen to the district. Kali's sacred hill was to be violated. Already surveyors had been round the hill taking measurements. An architect had called to consult the Nawab, but the Nawab was in the mountains paying court to Ruth. The next thing would be getting him to lease the quarries---and it broke Uncle Joe's heart to think that he could so easily have had the monopoly of the best stone obtainable---if the fates and Ruth had been kind.
All this was read out to Ruth by Aunt Ellen who refrained, she declared, from creating a bias. Ruth had the right to decide her own destiny, and if she could not favour the Indian, that was the end of it.
In the meantime, Ruth went about with the Abbotts but failed to enjoy herself. At the back of her mind was the feeling that she was acting unfairly to Yusuf Majid. As long as she remained his guest at the villa he had the right to hope that she might yet weaken and give way.
She found she was apt to meet him in public at functions to which Indians were also invited. She even had to dance with him at a charity ball, since to have refused would have been an insult. Many women danced with the Nawab of Mynabari and other Indian gentlemen, and they spoke well of him. He could dance extremely well and some thought it an honour to be asked.
But Ruth was afraid, for she knew his feelings for her and that his arm round her meant more to him than it meant to anyone else. His hold conveyed emotional complexes, and the wine he consumed did not tend towards self-control. He poured honeyed
speeches into her ear; he flattered her and made her conspicuous by his attentions.
When she danced with others he would follow her with his eyes consumed by the anguish of jealousy till he was the talk of the guests.
Most of all he seemed to resent Roy Forrester as her partner and if looks could have killed, Forrester would have fallen dead.
"What are you going to do, Ruth?" Forrester asked her in an interval while helping her to refreshments. "This Othello-business is getting beyond a joke. I have been asked several times if there is any truth in the rumour that---you know what I mean." He could not bring himself to speak of it in plain terms.
"I feel in a sort of net," said Ruth. "I wish---I wish I had the courage to do as you said---leave Sonaling at once that he might take 'no' for his answer."
"Come away and let's talk this out," said he gravely. He led the way through the crush of guests to a recess in a passage where a divan screened by curtains was built into a niche of a window.
"I wonder if we will be allowed to hide here for a little while without being tracked down by Othello."
Ruth wondered why he should be so concerned on her account if he was more than ordinarily interested in Bodge. Her effort to avoid him had had the opposite result, for he had enlisted Bodge's co-operation and both had adopted the part of brother and sister to her. Bodge seemed so sure of her ground with Roy that she could consult with him how to rescue Ruth from the net her uncle was spreading for her, and Ruth had to listen to arguments from them both, seated on either side of her, why she should make a definite stand.
"Listen, honey," said Roy persuasively in their retreat. "That man, Majid, is mad. He'll go to any length rather than give you up. He makes no secret of his intentions and hopes you will find it impossible to get away from his clutches. The latest thing is that he has lent Mr. Gowan money. You know why. He has increased the obligations of the family so that they must put pressure on you."
"But---it will be just as bad at Mynabari. He will be there too!"
"For the present I should have you leave his villa and put up at the hotel with the Abbots."
"I can't afford it."
"They would take care of that "
"No! I could not hear of letting them pay."
"Let me---please."
His tone compelled her to meet his eyes, and their illumined eagerness was disconcerting. Almost, she might have thought he loved her---but that was impossible when he was openly for Bodge; her cavalier---her "boy."
"You know I could never do that! No---I have told the Nawab that I can never change my mind. He knows---and if he persists, it will be his funeral, not mine."
"I have been feeling a little mad this evening, honey," he said, erratically. "I'd give a lot to be able to run away with you out of all this. Would you come if it were possible?"
Was he, in truth, mad? Ruth looked at him wide-eyed, then laughed, for wine had flowed freely and she was not at all sure that it did not affect people queerly even when they were not "tight." He was a man of moods, and surely this was a new phase?
"Where would we run to?"
"I am quite serious."
"It is difficult to believe it, after what you have said."
"I know. It sounds insane, for my hands are tied. I am as good as a boxer challenged to fight when he's trussed up and tied to a stake."
"I wonder what Bodge would think if she heard that?"
"She'd begin to see daylight---and it is time she did. Dear old Bodge!"
"I love her."
"So do I---but in a different way."
"Naturally."
"Here's your 'friend,' " bitterly, as the Nawab came into view obviously looking for Ruth.
"Our dance, I believe," he said monotonously, as he came to a halt beside the partly drawn curtain.
"It's very clever of you to find me, Nawab Sahib I" Ruth flung at him defiantly. "I thought I was almost invisible. My partner and I were discussing a problem, and so far have failed to find the solution."
"I knew you by your foot." He glanced at where it was protruding under the curtain. "There is no other like it here. There is nothing of you I do not recognise at sight."
"I'll puzzle it out yet, Miss Gowan," said Forrester, reverting to his last statement as he rose with her. "It's a problem that must be solved without delay."
"I'll leave it to your brains," she laughed. "That outrageous suggestion you made rather appeals to me," she added provocatively, "only I am afraid I am not a thief and would never rob a friend. She might not believe in philanthropy."
"I shouldn't blame her."
Ruth left him and danced again with the Nawab, her mind revolving round Forrester's strange remarks to which she had no key. Was he just flirting with her or acting dog-in-the-manger?
The Nawab was ominously silent, his dark face looking darker by the brooding of his eyes. At last he voiced his grievance.
"Mr. Forrester is a friend of yours, Miss Ruth. You have seen a great deal of him I hear The Abbotts from Mynapur are staying at his hotel and throw parties. I just wanted to say a word, if I might?"
"Please do."
"Mr. Forrester knows how I feel towards you, and I do not trust him. He also knows that I would naturally favour your uncle, because of you, when it comes to granting a lease of the quarries both he and Mr. Gowan want. Naturally, he would turn you against me---secretly undermine my chances with you, so that I shall withdraw my bias in Mr. Gowan's favour and call for applicants. He is playing a deep game. Ask yourself, Miss Ruth, if he is not grinding his own axe at this moment? I am not blind. I can see he hates to lose in a game, and will go to any length rather than be beaten. He is no friend of your uncle, who is his rival in business, believe me. He is deep in a venture and is working for success, only he makes the mistake of thinking I am blind---a damn fool !" Majid panted. "But I am very wide awake, and feel I must warn you. Listen---I have made inquiries and have learned something of this gentleman's past which is unknown to his friends in India. He is the younger son of Lord Morganfield and brother of Viscount Forrester---this is becoming generally known. But no one knows why the Honourable Rob Roy Forrester has been obliged to leave England and fish for himself. That was covered up. But money unlocks many doors. This gentleman quarrelled with his people over an actress. I am told that he married a music hall dancer and very soon repented his choice for the lady is a dipsomaniac. Naturally, he was only too glad to leave England to make his way in the East. They have very little money in that family, and his allowance was cut. I should not have confided this to you----which I have done in the strictest confidence, please----had I not the best authority for all I have said. If you doubt me, challenge him. I have no objection. But I prefer not to be mixed up in the scandal. I would rather it were allowed to be forgotten. So long as Forrester does not interfere with me, I shall leave him and his past alone. The only time you will be justified in speaking will be if he is about to commit bigamy. I hardly think he will be such a fool, but one never knows."
"Are you so sure you are right in all you have said?" Ruth felt her knees giving way and she sank into a seat by the wall.
"I would not have dared to invent this. It would be a very serious thing to do."
Ruth said nothing further for she felt faint and sick. She was thankful the dance was nearing its end and that Mrs. Abbott was signifying her wish to leave.
The bottom of her world seemed to have fallen out. He, a married man, could afford to suggest eloping with a girl when he knew what that girl's mother had done for another such as he! He could never have dared to say the same to Bodge.
The cruelty of it! . . . Why had he not proclaimed the truth concerning himself from the housetop, so to speak? Why have allowed people to be deceived?
A'RICKSHAW with liveried attendants drew up at the gate of Villa Majid, and Mrs. Abbott descended. She had heard from Mr. Forrester, who had heard from a servant when he had called that morning with a note to Ruth, that the dear girl was in bed with some sort of upset. Probably been doing too much. She did not look strong.
Mrs. Gowan agreed with her, but thought it was more a question of nerves.
"I think a little change is indicated, so, with your permission, I shall carry her off to my hotel for the week-end."
"How very kind of you," said Mrs. Gowan. "I must say, Ruth is fortunate in her friends."
After some argument with Ruth, who wanted to be allowed to lie in bed and see no one, the matter was settled over her head that she should get up, dress, and transfer herself to the hotel where she would not be troubled to see visitors---meaning the Nawab, who called daily and would not be denied.
It was a welcome change, for Bodge was affectionate and cheerful, and full of local news. Soon Ruth was able to take herself in hand and, after some useful psycho-analysis, feel better able to meet people. The rest had done her good and a fellow-feeling for Bodge, who did not know what Ruth knew and was going to be as great a sufferer, drew her closer to her friend and gave her more to think about than her own feelings. Then came an invitation to an At Home given by Lady Darrel at her hotel. As that lady was about to leave for the plains and Mynapur, she was interested in cultivating the acquaintance of the Abbotts and Ruth. Would Mrs. Abbott be sure to bring Ruth Gowan with her?
It was in the nature of a command, and as the wives of officials studied diplomacy when dealing with the station's leading lady---which the wife of the Commissioner would be at Mynapur---Mrs. Abbott was pleased to consent. Her sense of humour was not a little tickled at the comic turns the wheel of fortune took for some. Knowing what she knew of Lady Darrel's past, it was "nothing if not a scream," she said, to think of her dictating to the very district that had once thrown the proverbial stone at her. However, it was quite possible that she would never be recognised. Time brought changes in fashions and looks, and the lady was obviously dyeing her hair, besides having acquired a tendency to a double chin and more weight.
Mrs. Abbott thought fit to take Bodge into her confidence respecting the relationship that existed between Ruth and the new Commissioner's wife, which accounted for Lady Darrel's great interest in the girl. A certain amount of resemblance, visible only to those on the look-out for it, supplied what might have been lacking in proof.
As usual, Bodge's level head settled the subject entirely to their satisfaction.
"It's no business of ours, anyway, and we must not interfere or spoil things for Ruth. Lady Darrel could do wonders for her if inclined, and Ruth would be her own enemy if she knew the truth, for she is prejudiced."
"Quite right. She need not be put wise till Lady Darrel herself wishes it. If she is recognised in the
176 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL district, time enough. But in all these years there is hardly a soul left who was here in her time, and the natives are not very observant. Whatever happened so long ago is wiped out by her present position and unquestioned respectability . . . except, perhaps, by the Queen---but that's neither here nor there. We've all got to be nice."
Ruth having recovered, was easily persuaded to extend her stay with the Abbotts, for she felt safe from the Nawab's attentions.
Unconscious of the conspiracy, she accompanied the Abbotts to Lady Darrel's At Home and made the acquaintance of the lady whom she did not know was her mother. She shook hands with fellow-guests and passed on to mingle with the crowds, for everybody who was anybody was there, likewise the Nawab of Mynabari whom the Commissioner of the Division refused to slight. Sir Angus had spent a short holiday in the hills in order to escort his wife to their new station with which he was already acquainted. Being a Government officer of exalted status, he was sensitive on the matter of official etiquette, and tactful in his dealings with Indian gentlemen. The Nawab could not very well be omitted from a function so general as an At Home to which certain other Indian notabilities were invited, especially as he was a neighbour in the plains and a member of the club.
The Nawab therefore arrived full of dignity and very much the Indian aristocrat.
"A nice fellow, he seems," Sir Angus told his wife in a snatched aside. "Make yourself agreeable to him, my dear, for he could do a great deal for the district if he liked. That hill, for instance, which I wrote to you about. There is likely to be a shindy over it with the Hindus. Yet his schemes for it seem public- spirited and excellent. If they are carried out peacefully
the district will have its own hill station---a sort of family affair where one could have a breather for a week-end. A glorified club at the top---I am told there is good water and many facilities for social amusements. With tact I think the bogey of Kali can be laid and there need be no ill-feeling. You see my point?"
"I do---but it is rather awkward as he seems to be very much taken with---Miss Gowan, and rumour says would marry her if she is willing."
"Which is Miss Gowan?"
When Ruth was pointed out to him, he was like most men, struck by her appearance.
"A very pretty girl---funny, too---rather your type, my dear."
"Really?" Lady Darrel flushed and glanced at a mirror on the wall. "I'd be glad to look like that--- you flatter me."
"I couldn't, my love. You were pretty enough ten years ago---and now can hold your own easily with the best."
"How nice to hear you say so! But this matter of the Nawab and the girl. He's extremely wealthy."
"Rolling, my dear. Rolling. Buy up any venture that appeals to him. But I don't hold with mixed marriages."
"Nor do I. But after all, money counts. I see no reason why an Indian shouldn't make a good husband. They often do. Personally, I have lost all my earlier prejudices. It is not as if these people are negroes. Husbands are hard to get in these bad times."
"Girls do as they please nowadays," was Sir Angus's reply. "They are gold-diggers, most of them, and would sell their souls for money."
"And poverty is a terrible thing. I don't blame girls for marrying money, irrespective of the man. It
178 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL all boils down to the same thing---give-and-take, companionship. If there are children, money and position will make even a half-caste independent."
Lady Darrel's eyes strayed to the Nawab and lingered as she watched him making his way to Ruth Gowan like a needle to the magnet. It was only a matter of colour, and she had lost her prejudices. She had heard a great deal of the Gowans and had seen Ruth's Aunt Ellen from a distance---a freak. How could a girl like Ruth exist in poverty among such relations ? she asked herself. If she had forgotten her prejudices in the new India that her husband was helping to advance, she had also lost her illusions respecting love and romance. She was happiest now when shorn of them, married to an ugly little man of ability and brains who was able to restore her self- respect and give her money and position. Though she did not love him, having outgrown sentiment, she could respect him for his character and brains, and reconstruct her sense of values.
What she most wanted in life was someone to mother, and in lieu of children she had mothered Sir Angus till the sight of her own child grown into a lovable personality with definite claims to beauty, made her yearn for maternal influence and authority. With a daughter to bring out in society she would have had a very interesting time. But Ruth was lost to her.
She would probably despise the very name of her mother---her father's relatives would have seen to that. And what relatives---judging by the woman her first husband's brother had taken to wife! Mrs. Gowan's entry into the family was of a later date than the scandal of the divorce, so that she had never met her immoral sister-in-law. Lady Darrel was glad of that, as it simplified matters for her and Ruth. Officials in every district were birds of passage, and many had come and
gone so that there was no one left to recognise in the wife of the new Commissioner of the Division the lady who had eloped long ago with a married man and been divorced by her husband, Alfred Gowan of Mynabari. If the Indians retained a memory of her, they would not recognise her now with her peroxided head and stouter build. Her altered colouring made a wonderful difference in her looks. Thus she ruminated.
If she could, she would do her best to warn Ruth against marrying into poverty. It was the biggest handicap any woman could carry in the early days of married life. Alfred Gowan was a struggling contractor when they married---and troubles had grown and multiplied, till life had become insupportable. Ruth must be saved from all this.
Her eyes followed Ruth while entertaining her guests, seeing more than others through eyes that were quickened by understanding.
A man seemed anxious to claim the girl's attention. He was a distinguished looking fellow---fair and sunburned, tall and rather silent. Very good style. But Ruth seemed to ignore him---answering him reluctantly over her shoulder. Who was he?
She soon learned that he was Mr. Forrester---a company promoter; a free lance, said to be living by his wits.
She reminded herself to learn more of him. She did not like his persistence.
Finally, the two passed out of the room together.
"Why are you so short with me, honey?" Forrester asked Ruth when at last he could speak to her unheard by others. "You are deliberately avoiding me."
"Yes."
"What have I done?"
"Nothing---at least it is no business of mine." "You'll tell me what it is. It is only fair."
"I'd rather not. Well"---as he held her with his eyes---"I have heard things that have altered my opinion of you. I think it dreadful that Bodge should trust you and be ignorant all the while of the truth."
"You have been listening to stories of my youth?" As he was still young it showed how far he had travelled from the days of his folly. "What have you heard?"
"I know---all there is to know. Someone enlightened me, and I think it would be kinder if you went away. I am thinking of Bodge."
"Bodge can take care of herself. What about you?"
"It is nothing to me. I just don't want to talk about it. I have told no one---because it is not my business, but I would have respected you more if you had been less secretive."
"A man doesn't give himself away with both hands. What harm have I done you, Ruth---for that is all that matters?"
"Me? Oh, nothing"---her voice choked.
"Ruth"---his voice suddenly broke. When he had regained self-control he continued. "I don't know what has been told to you, or by whom, but if I have been secretive, at least credit me with playing the game. My past life concerns no one---it has no bearing on the present."
"Weren't you misleading---people?"
"No. People have nothing to do with me---nor I with them. I have made no secret of the fact that I cannot marry "
"Have you given the true reason?"
"Why, of course, honey. If I am the greatest sufferer, that, too, is my affair."
"Of course---but it is not fair to Bodge."
"Again 'Bodge'! I have tried to be fair in my dealings with you. Have you anything against me?"
"No," said Ruth, feeling ashamed of her argument. She could not tell him that it was she who had been a fool. "I am sorry I said anything."
"I am not. I had to understand---and I don't yet. Why are you avoiding me? I thought we were friends. Are we?"
"Yes---of course." Suddenly the tears gushed, and Ruth turned her face aside. The next thing she knew was that Forrester had her hand in his, which he was holding crushed between his, while her heart raced wildly.
"Thank you, honey. I wanted to know something ---that's all." He laid down the hand and taking her elbow piloted her silently back to the crowded rooms, a strange illumination in his eyes.
Before giving her up to her party he detained her to whisper reassuringly :
"No more tears. Be happy, honey---as I am happy ---inwardly. It is a marvellous thing you have done to me."
"What have I done?" She looked at him in shy bewilderment.
"Only put a doubt at rest. I want you to tell me everything that happens---henceforth I want to take care of you. Will you promise?"
"Roy---I think you are quite mad," she tried to laugh. "You always leave me in mid-air."
"I hope I won't always. I'll explain some time when we are not likely to be disturbed. I have so much to tell you."
"Why didn't you before?"
"I have been riding my impulses on the curb, and I'm thinking it's time I gave up trying to be too good. It doesn't seem to pay."
What did he mean? Why did he talk so mysteriously? She had started by scolding him and had ended a weak fool giving away the fact that she was
personally concerned and not only thinking of Bodge. Of course, he had leapt to an understanding---or why had he pressed her hand, making it tremble so in his that she was ashamed of herself?
He said she had made him happy? What was she? She should have been miserable thinking of her treachery to Bodge, but her heart was beating joyously, for Roy Forrester made her feel that it was she and not Bodge he loved---though he could not offer her marriage.
What did it matter so long as he cared? She could be happy alone in the thought. Love was what mattered most.
While her thoughts ran riot Bodge was taking her to Lady Darrel.
"She has been asking for you. Lady Darrel has taken a great liking to you, honey, and I'm so glad, for she could be a very good friend. Think !---she's now living in the Burra Koti---a fine bungalow which is always used by the Commissioner. She could give you a lovely time, and I'd enjoy seeing you every day. Don't you like her?"
"I think she is splendid. Of course I like her. Who wouldn't?"
Ruth was hot with shame with Bodge's hand within her arm and a feeling that she was acting Judas. Had Roy ever made love to Bodge?^1^. . . Surely Bodge would never be so assured with him unless he had. It was torture to think of Roy and Bodge as lovers after what had passed. Could he be so insincere? A flirt of the worst type. . . .
To love Roy and cheat her friend was impossible. She must get away from everybody and think things out---reminding herself that Roy was married. He was acting dishonourably and no question about it. Was she going crazy like any sentimental fool?
Bodge was talking confidentially of Lady Darrel. Did Ruth know that she had lost her own little girl years ago---little wonder that she was aching to mother anyone so much alone as Ruth! "Make friends with her, honey, and we'll be a happy family, all of us, at Mynapur."
It was easy to see that Lady Darrel was greatly charmed with Ruth. A worldly woman, unquestionably, but Ruth thought her both interesting and likeable. It was flattering to feel that she was anxious to be friendly.
"I am very much alone, Ruth," she said intimately, as if she had known her always. "Will you take pity on me and come back with me to Mynapur? I know all about you and how you are placed. You will be doing me a favour by saying yes. My husband will be delighted."
"I'd love to go back with you---it's so kind of you to want me," answered Ruth like a drowning man clutching at a straw. Anything to get away and be given time to think. "But are you sure you wish it?"
"Would I ask you if I did not? I'd love to make friends. I want to steal you altogether, but that you'd object to---eh?" She laughed. "Can you be ready in two days?"---very short notice, but Ruth was glad and raised no objections. It was an inspired invitation.
"You are the sweetest thing! Then it is settled?"
"Yes, if you wish it."
"I do---very much."
"Aunt Ellen talked of returning shortly, so she won't be left long in the lurch. Thank you, Lady Darrel. It is lovely of you to want me."
"From the moment I saw you I knew I should love to mother you. Will you let me?"
"You'll find me rather troublesome."
"I'll take the risk. I told my husband that I would
184 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL like nothing better than to adopt you. How would you like that?"
"It depends on what it means."
"That I would be in loco parentis to you---responsible for your well-being---your chaperon and your--- guardian, in a sense---unofficially, of course. We wouldn't have to go to law about it. Your uncle would still have the last word."
"How kind you are."
"I want you to know that I mean to be very kind if you will let me."
"I think that wonderful. I must be a very lucky girl."
They discussed the journey and Lady Darrel made plans, Ruth feeling all the while that the invitation had come as a godsend to prevent her from losing her head over Roy Forrester, who could never be anything to her. Things he had said returned to mind---"riding his impulses on the curb"---"It was time he gave up trying to be too good." Was that the reason why he had kept away from Uncle Joe's bungalow? His sketching her head because it had "haunted him," was another enlightening remark.
Ruth felt frightened, for she remembered how no moral sense had restrained her mother when she loved a man---was she also as bad? Love was like an avalanche the way it swept one along, willy-nilly.
"How does it feel to you, being motherless, Ruth?" came the unexpected question.
"I suppose I am used to it."
"Yours is a sad story. Do you mind my speaking of it?"
"No," said Ruth, wincing slightly at the lie. She hated to speak of her mother but could not snub one so kind as Lady Darrel. "Only there is nothing I can say about her. She left me when I was very young."
"And, of course, your father's people have taught you to despise her?"
"They did not need to. I have always felt resentful and could not help hating the memory of her, for she could never have cared for me. Why, even animals protect their young and never desert them."
"That is true. Yet women sometimes have to choose between a child and happiness."
"How can a mother find happiness away from her own baby?"
"She never really does. A time inevitably comes when she realises what she has given up---a case of the substance and the shadow, my dear. Men are not worth it, Ruth. But an angel from heaven could not convince a woman, who is obsessed with love of a man, that such is the case. Women have sold their souls for love---we are weak and foolish creatures, Ruth. That is why one has to learn to forgive those who make mistakes and are their own enemies."
"We are weak and foolish creatures," found an echo in Ruth's heart, for what was she but weak and foolish where a man was concerned---and he the property of another! She knew the truth and there was no excuse for her,---but poor Bodge!
Lady Darrel dropped the subject, for she had her duty to her other guests, so, after making plans for the journey, she yielded Ruth to her friends and shortly afterwards the party broke up.
Evidently Lady Darrel knew her own mind, Mrs. Abbott said to her daughter when they discussed Ruth's news. She did not allow the grass to grow under her feet. Possibly she feared that some busybody would be enlightening Ruth on the subject of their relationship and she preferred that it should not be done as yet. Not till she had obtained a bias in the girl's mind in favour of herself.
"If Lady Darrel has never known mother-love, mark me, she is awakening to it now. I could tell how she felt, for she could not keep her eyes from Ruth all the evening."
"It is a tragedy, isn't it?" said Bodge. "I'll run along and tuck Ruth into bed. We love our gossip the last thing." And Bodge visited Ruth in pyjamas and shared her bed for half an hour according to an established habit while they discussed their friends and individual experiences. On this occasion, Bodge was less voluble, and a new and pensive note sounded in her voice.
"Do you know, old thing, I'm coming to the conclusion that I've been a conceited ass," she said, after stumbling over an account of her evening at Lady Darrel's party. "I take things too much for granted."
"What is wrong, Bodge? I thought you looked peeved about something."
"I'm not peeved. I'm only wondering a little about Roy. I dare say I am a fool. I made a pal of him--- he's the sort one can be at home with. If I had done the half of that sort of thing with anyone else, he'd have proposed by now. We've been living in each other's pockets, but we don't seem to get any further. I have given him more leads than any fellow I know, and he always boggles at the fence, so to speak. I am sure he knows I'm in love with him---I don't care if he does. But he doesn't do anything about it, and it's driving me daft."
"Oh, Bodge!---why give yourself away?" Ruth pleaded.
"How can one help it? I do love him, honey. He's such a boy in some things---very lovable. I can't think he is cold. Artistic natures are romantic and warm-hearted. Still he's as aloof as---as a brother. How do you find him?"
Ruth trembled. How could she confess the truth and keep her friend? She loved Bodge and feared to earn her contempt and distrust.
"I have never really understood him," was all she could say.
"Nor I---I say it reluctantly. Of course, he is poor, though of good family---an aristocrat, really---but without any swank. He lets it be known he isn't a marrying man. But, I dare say if he fell in love he wouldn't be such a fool as to lose his girl. He'd marry her if both had to live on fish and chips like any 'arry and 'arriet."
"Suppose there is another reason why he can't marry?" suggested Ruth guiltily. She was not asked to pass the news on, and it was no business of hers, but she felt she had to help Bodge to a solution.
"He has never hinted at any such thing and we are absolutely frank with each other. I have been wandering---if you will not mind my saying so---if there is anything---between you? He has been queer lately over you and the Nawab. He sees red at the thought of your marrying an Indian---but so would any Englishman, I imagine. . . ."
Ruth felt as though the question wanted a reply and hardly knew what to say. There was nothing tangible between them. She believed he was human enough to enjoy a flirtation if he got the chance, and was heading towards one with her. What else could he mean when marriage was out of the question?
Apparently he had not been flirting with Bodge. He respected her too highly. She felt she had only given her own jealousy away when she had accused him of misleading Bodge.
"Do you think I would flirt with Roy Forrester?" she asked, feeling it was all she could say.
"I have known you well enough to believe that you couldn't flirt to save your life. You'd be in deadly earnest if a man like Roy made love to you. Yet--- I don't think he has done that---it would mean business, for you are such an ingenuous little kid and he'd be a swine to give you a sore heart when he isn't able to marry you. If I thought he has got as far as caring for you, I'd know where I stood and retire gracefully, anyway, for I shouldn't want to make a fool of myself to him. He has never told you he loves you, honey?" The question was wrung from her in shame and humiliation, making Ruth feel very sorry for her, and distressed.
Could she honestly say that Roy Forrester had spoken to her of love?
Ruth felt relieved to be able to answer truthfully that Roy had never uttered such sentiments. His instincts towards her were protective, she ventured to believe. He wanted to "look after her," he had said, and she was to promise she would "tell him everything," she explained.
"I thought so---brotherly. He's funny, our friend. Not very susceptible, I should think, and definitely not a flirt."
Bodge cheered up considerably, kissed Ruth good night and retired to bed.
It did not take Ruth much argument to be allowed to return to the villa and pack her modest belongings. In two days she would be on her way to the plains by Himalayan railway, to be met at the foot of the mountains by the Darrels who had no room for her in their car. They would then all travel together by train to Calcutta and Mynapur.
She wondered what Roy Forrester would say to her sudden change of plans. For one thing he would be pleased, for it would remove her from the persistent attentions of the Nawab and show him very plainly that she was in earnest in her determination to have nothing to do with him. The Nawab would accept the situation with common sense and, whatever his feelings, cease to trouble her any more. Of this she was convinced. He might, however, be terribly disappointed for he was giving a great reception at his palace on the hillside, at which he was looking forward to entertaining the best people in the station with the probable intention of making her conspicuous as his future bride. Never was a man so hard to convince that he was not wanted. Ruth wondered how else she could shatter his hopes than by escaping the honour he intended for her in this way---as brutal a snub as ever a man received.
When she was out riding with Miss Abbott in the afternoon, the news was broken to the Nawab, who made one of his unexpected calls in the hope of finding Ruth in, and Aunt Ellen was in a quandary how to explain the sudden arrangement.
"You see, my niece is very much sought after and she did not like to refuse so kind an invitation from people like the Darrels. Of course you will understand and forgive the suddenness of it. She is very much indebted---as I am---for your kind hospitality, but I have no influence, and girls are headstrong creatures." "You have told me before, dear lady, that Miss Ruth's affections are not engaged. That is my comfort. I have faith in waiting. But this is a blow to me. I have set such store by having her to grace my entertainment and now she will not be there."
"You have been wonderfully patient, Nawab Sahib," Aunt Ellen said, full of apologies. "But what can I do?"
Majid sighed heavily. "All this is so unsettling to me. I can attend to nothing. So much depends on my decisions at my home, and I have been wasting my time here, making no headway. Did you hear that she refused my gift of pearls?"
"I am not surprised. Nice girls do not accept gifts from men to whom they are not engaged. Keep the pearls for your wife when you marry, Nawab Sahib."
"I am doing so, and long for the day when she will wear them. No one could grace them so well. They are expensive jewels, Mrs. Gowan. I paid a lot of money for them," he could not help saying. "I wonder if you could not assist me in furthering this great desire of my heart?" he asked earnestly. "There is nothing I would grudge"---he coughed to gain time, while watching her reactions to his hint. "Your co-operation would be valuable, and would earn a handsome reward. A few thousands here or there I should not feel, if only I could rely on you to assist me in gaining my object."
Mrs. Gowan moved uncomfortably in her chair. She had heard how commonly Indians resorted to bribery to gain their ends, and the mention of "a few thousands" made her heart twist with envy. What could she not do with the money, particularly as her husband was drifting on the rocks.
"How could I help you, Nawab Sahib?"
"When is she leaving for the plains?"
"The day after to-morrow morning, by train." The Nawab thought deeply.
"I have a plan, if you will persuade her to adopt it. If you will cause her to miss her train, she can borrow a car to follow the Darrels. I will lend it and drive her myself. This she need not know till it is too late for her to refuse. After that---leave the rest to me. Will you?"
"I shall have to say that you'd be willing to lend a car?"
"Oh, yes I She couldn't refuse to accept such a trifling service from a---friend, and let her know that I shall provide a driver I can trust for her safety. She has been my guest. It is the least I can do."
"Is that all? But surely you don't mean me to understand that you are willing to---to pay me handsomely for helping you to drive her to meet the Darrels?" Aunt Ellen thought it the easiest way of earning money she had ever heard of.
"I do, indeed." The Nawab drew out a cheque book and wrote out a cheque on the spot, and Mrs. Cowan saw that it was for one thousand rupees, and her throat grew dry. What did it feel like to act Judas?
But she thought of the poverty facing the family and saw no harm to Ruth by her benefiting in this way. If he was so ready to pay her a thousand rupees for a trick like this, why should he not make it five thousand? so she reared her neck out of her collar and looked down her nose at the cheque.
"You forget, Nawab Sahib, that it is not a little thing you are asking of me. Firstly, I am tricking my niece into doing what I know she would hate to do. Secondly, if ever she found this out I could never look her or her friends in the face again."
"Name your sum, Mrs. Gowan. Money is nothing to me in my present state of mind."
"Make it five thousand. I might be willing to risk a lot for so much money, but hardly for less."
The cheque was destroyed and another written with alacrity.
IT was at the end of the rains and the weather was fair with a nip in the air and a warm sun flooding the hills and valleys. The Snowy Range was a dazzling sight with its silvered peaks and melting shadows; purples and blues blended their shades on the distant mountains while dark firs and green vegetation clothed the ridge on which the station lay spread out, its red- roofed buildings making spots of brightness everywhere.
Sorry to leave it all, yet glad to get away from pressing problems, Ruth put her final touches to her packing and saw the hill coolie burden himself like a pack-pony and leave for the railway station below. From the villa she could hear the engine shunting and all the activity common to a terminus when a train was due to leave.
Her 'rickshaw stood outside the small green gate awaiting her, while Aunt Ellen gave her breakfast.
"You'll feel the heat of the plains in contrast to this delightful air," she said, pouring out a second cup of coffee. "I hope it won't be too sudden and make you ill."
"I feel very strong and well, and what Lady Darrel can endure I can."
"I can't think why she did not stay to the end of the season. It is not far off."
"Sir Angus had to return, and she says the house needs rearranging to suit them. Besides, he cannot look after himself and she feels it her duty to be on the spot."
"A wonderful wife. So many don't seem to care what their husbands are doing in the heat. One looks around and wonders how men are so confiding as to believe their wives are here only for their health. It's a case of Jack and Jill on all sides. Each young wife with a young man to devote his time to her, and I'll not go bail for their innocence." Aunt Ellen, middle- aged and dowdy, being in the position of a spectator felt she could afford to criticize her neighbours. " 'Poor husbands,' say I. If only they had second sight! It's positively scandalous to see how these grass-widows carry on, spoiling things for the unmarried girls, for why should the men want wives if they can have love-affairs without any responsibility attached?"
"I never knew you could be a scandal-monger, Aunt Ellen! After all, you are a grass-widow, too!" Ruth's eyes twinkled.
Mrs. Gowan reared her neck with self-righteous satisfaction.
"No one could point the finger of gossip at me," she remarked loosely. "I would not have been here but for the children. Otherwise I should never have left Uncle Joe."
"I think it is about time I started. It's funny how long the morning seems." The sound of-a prolonged whistle and train movements rose on the air. "Surely that isn't my train?" Rose rose hurriedly and compared her time with the dining-room clock. They were the same. She was not to know that Aunt Ellen had paid a midnight visit to her room and set Ruth's wrist-watch which was on the dressing-table in accord with the only other time in the house. Great compunctions had assailed her during the operation, for Aunt Ellen had never before in her life lent herself to underhand practices, but in this case she believed no
harm was intended. Majid only wanted his chance, and if it failed, he could not blame her. She had to do her bit in return for that generous cheque.
"In case the clocks aren't right, you had better go," she said as a sop to her conscience. "Servants are known to meddle with the time when they rise late."
"My time was all right yesterday, and it is the same as the clock. Anyhow, I'd rather be early than late. I wonder what train that is---going out now?"
"Possibly a goods."
Ruth said good-bye and was wished a pleasant journey after which she was wheeled away in the 'rickshaw.
She had hardly gone out of sight when the Nawab called, as was his usual practice during a morning, and he smiled as he looked at his watch.
"She'll be back in half an hour, much disturbed at having missed her train," he said, taking a seat. "I thank you very much, Mrs. Gowan.
"I don't feel very happy about what I have done," said that lady, fidgeting about the room. "I have never acted like this before and I almost wish I hadn't consented to it."
"You have no reason to worry. Ruth is as safe with me as with anyone. I'll manage this---only don't let her suspect anything."
"I am not likely to give myself away, and I only hope she will never know I had any share in this trick of yours. My husband would be shocked if he found out."
"Nobody is going to know anything about it."
When Ruth returned, much distressed at having missed her train, she was not surprised to find the Nawab in the drawing-room or to receive his sympathies for her upset plans. Why should the clock
have been slow? A servant must have tampered with it, he was certain. But Ruth's watch? Did she set hers by the clock overnight? She certainly did---and that accounted for it. At bedtime? Yes. It was explained. One of the servants had done it before retiring.
It was an argument that led nowhere. What was past repairing was her having missed her train. Now what was she to do?
If she had money to spend, she could have telephoned to the nearest garage and hired a car to take her to the foot of the hills. It was an expensive trip, but having no money to fling away, she would have to telephone to the hotel in the plains at which it was arranged she was to meet the Darrels, and tell them what had happened. If they could not wait, she could easily follow them to Calcutta and meet them at the Great Eastern Hotel where they were booked to stay a day or two.
The matter was debated with the Nawab, who wished only to serve her. He then propounded his idea. He had cars---plenty of cars lying idle. He would at once telephone the palace and order a car to be at Ruth's disposal. A good driver would run her to the plains before the train could get there. She was not to trouble a moment.
"Oh, but---how can I take advantage of you like this?"
"Why not? You know I am happiest doing what I can for you."
"You are very kind---thank you so much. Still, I don't feel that I should let you."
"Don't be so rude, Ruth," cried her aunt. "The Nawab Sahib is kindness itself, and it is your duty to accept his offer gracefully rather than put the Darrels out. If you don't go at once, they might think it
196 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL necessary to spend the night at a hotel in that muggy swamp---malarial and unhealthy. All the drainage from the mountains lies there and they won't bless you, I am sure."
"You think I should accept the Nawab Sahib's offer?" Ruth wanted to, yet hated to lay herself under further obligations.
"I should feel frightfully hurt if you refuse," said the Nawab, and that settled it. He left the room to telephone for the car to be at the foot of the road to await Ruth, and returned well satisfied with his plan.
"I am very grateful," Ruth assured him.
"Say nothing. I am only too happy to be of use," was his reply. "If you wait for half an hour and then get carried to the main road, you will find my car either awaiting you, or it will not be long coming. I will say good-bye," and he shook hands with Mrs. Gowan and Ruth in turn, a little hurriedly she thought and retired to his horse at the gate, which he mounted and was seen to spur in the direction of the palace.
Aunt Ellen covered the awkwardness of the moment in praise of Majid's generosity. They owed a great deal to him. But for him they would never have had so splendid a holiday in the hills. Really, she took back all she had ever said against him and thought he was a very charming fellow, indeed.
Everything seemed to be turning out quite right after all. Ruth felt sincerely grateful for such timely assistance and was inclined to regret her studied coldness towards the Nawab. She had hurt him gratuitously and he was uniformly good to her in spite of her snubs. After all, though she could never marry him, she might have been less offhand and cold. He had deserved better at her hands. Rather wonderful that he should forgive her and still do her kindnesses. Poor
Yusuf Majid! How mad of him to persist in his hope of marrying her when she had made it so plain that she never would do so under any circumstances.
Presently she thought it time to start and the 'rickshaw trundled her along to the main road which, at that hour, was busy with traffic. Lorries and carts plied to and fro between towns in the mountains, and cars passed each other full of Indian and European passengers. The gradient was gentle to the plains, the road perfect and bordered by a low stone parapet on which grew ferns and lichen; tall trees on the mountain-side interlocked their branches, shutting out the view in parts.
Presently a long, dark Bentley drew up to the kerb, and to Ruth's surprise, she saw that the Nawab was at the wheel. This was a shock to her. He had promised a driver. What was she to do?
He stepped out full of apologies, and explained the cause of the change in his arrangement. It was discovered that the Pathan driver---the only one he would have trusted to drive her---was down with a fever. It was impossible to make him rise from a sick bed to drive a car. Would Ruth forgive what had happened, and would she allow him, Majid, to do the needful?
He was very humble and deprecating, more as if asking a favour than granting one. He, personally, was at a loose end that day. No engagements---it would take no time to run her down to the plains. By evening they would be there and he would hand her over to the Darrels.
Ruth felt she had more reason to thank him gratefully than to hurt his feelings by refusing the kindness. How very unselfish of him. How could she have the face to say : "I would have gone with your driver but not with you"?
"It is tremendously good of you," she hesitated. "But I hate to take you away for a thing like this. I ought to telephone and go by train to-morrow morning."
"That would show you could not trust yourself to my care." He sounded very hurt.
"Of course I trust you, Nawab Sahib."
"Then say nothing more, but step in. We can pick up your luggage at the station and pile it into the back seat."
This Ruth did without further argument, feeling that she was needlessly ungracious and distrustful. He could drive as well as any, and was very good to have offered to take her at the cost of diminished prestige, for the Nawab of Mynabari was not supposed to do a chauffeur's job.
They drove through the bazaar which swarmed with hillmen of all types, and soon collected her luggage, after which they sped away down the road, Ruth seated beside the Nawab and the back seat crowded with luggage.
In spite of herself she enjoyed the experience, which was far more interesting than travelling by train. Far below she could see the mountain train passing over a viaduct or curving round a bend, its smoke following in its wake and dissolving in the summer sunshine. Round every bend the scene changed, disclosing a panoramic view of rugged mountains rising and falling, cloud-capped and mistily beautiful, showing through gaps a vision of the plains spreading like a vast sea to the horizon.
Ruth congratulated herself for being in luck, and she smiled to think how annoyed Roy Forrester would be if he knew she was being escorted by Majid. Roy did not like Majid and did not trust most Indians, as he said their psychology was vastly different from that of Englishmen. It was, however, possible for Roy to
be badly prejudiced, and there was no necessity for her to pay attention to his likes or dislikes. He knew by now that she never intended to marry an Indian, and that was all that really mattered. Moreover, Roy could never be anything to her, and the sooner she put him out of her mind the better for her.
By noon they had travelled a good distance on the descending road, and called a halt for petrol at a garage-hotel by the wayside. The Nawab thought a little refreshment and rest for half an hour would not be amiss. So Ruth entered the hotel and a while later she had tiffin at a table for two with Majid. The room was full of visitors on their way up and down hill, and the glazed restaurant was an entertaining sight. Voices chattered and smoke hung in the air, while through the glass windows could be seen a glorious view of stately mountains and distant tea gardens with all the melting lights and shades of atmospheric effects.
"It is all very lovely," said Ruth, feeling ashamed of her fears and her distrust of her companion. He was, after all, a very gentlemanly fellow and could make an agreeable companion.
"It is---but---excuse me---my eyes can take in only one form of loveliness---and that is yours."
"I am flattered." She winced.
"You don't know how happy I am to-day," he said, his dark eyes worshipfully on hers. "I live in imagination---if you only knew the flights mine take."
"I often indulge in imagination, too---making up stories for myself and thinking I am someone else."
"I dream day-dreams about---you, Ruth. I have been trying to kid myself into thinking you and I are---married and on our honeymoon, and you have no idea "
"I have no wish to have any on that subject, please. You would be wiser if you stopped dreaming nonsense."
"I wonder if you have ever felt so mad to attain the desire of your heart that you would willingly die after achievement. I would gladly end my life to-day if it were possible to make you mine."
He talked low and monotonously, his eyes on her face, his glass of wine to his lips. Ruth, looking at him, had a curious pang of alarm. She did not like that sleep-walking look in his eyes. She wished he would return to his normal self and think of something else. In order to end his folly, she suggested a move. She had had enough to eat and did not think they should waste time unnecessarily.
Majid rose immediately and called the waiter to settle the bill. "I, too, see no object in wasting precious time. Let us be gone. I like to have you to myself, and these crowds irritate me."
Ruth did not feel the same resentment towards the crowds of travellers. They gave her a sense of security, but she had to push on and the sooner she was with the Darrels the better.
They returned to the car and were out on the road again, travelling in the same gliding fashion that made the ride a joy. Only since luncheon Ruth had a definite feeling of anxiety, and watched Majid surreptitiously.
She had no fault to find with his manner when they were again on the road, and for some time they spoke only of the view; but it was easy to see that Majid had a divided mind. Presently he talked of himself. He expressed a wish that Ruth should know how completely he was in her hands, which was contrary to the Mohammedan ideal. His English training, however, had made him very English in his outlook, so that as an English lover he was at his mistress's feet, hers to command.
"If you marry me, Ruth," he continued tremulously, "my whole life and all I possess will be at your service. I have had no time or opportunity to tell you all this. I want you to know that you may choose the country you would live in. I have outgrown the customs of my people and they are not pleased with me. They would much prefer it if I appointed a relative to look after my affairs and the needs of the tenants. I want to devote my life to you---my wife. Why set yourself against me, Ruth?"
"I don't love you, Nawab Sahib. That is reason enough for me to say 'no' to you as often as you ask me. I am very sorry. If only you would realise that I am in earnest!"
Her words seemed to have no effect, and Majid went on as if she had not spoken her mind.
"If I could make you understand the situation, perhaps you would be more inclined to consider facts."
"What facts, Nawab Sahib?"
"That I stand between your relations and their ruin. I am anxious and willing to help them---to put your uncle on his feet again---that is, to let you do it with my help. Would you see them beggared and still reject my offer?"
"It is not fair to make me responsible for their state."
"Is it nothing to you what becomes of them all?" "I believe Uncle Joe will find something to do, and that Aunt Ellen's people will come forward. I am in no way responsible for what happens to them. I shall have myself to look after."
"You would work?"
"I would far rather work than marry---anyone I do not love," she substituted for "you."
"A girl like you must not look for work. It is a man's duty to protect and care for you---as your husband. You will probably marry Mr. Howell---
but he can only drag you down to poverty as he has nothing but his pay. I could not bear to see any man snatch you from me, Ruth---and give you nothing--- nothing! I have sworn---I have taken a solemn oath never to lose you to---another."
"Nawab Sahib, please say no more. I have heard enough."
In the stress of the argument Ruth had not noticed that the road had become extraordinarily bumpy. When her head all but hit the roof, she was forced to pay attention to what was happening and to her surprise noticed that the way had grown narrow and rough, the gradient steeper, and no low parapet bordering the outer edge.
To her horror she discovered that they had left the highway and were travelling down a rather steep cart- track in the direction of a tea garden. Already the road they had been upon was far above her head, and its stone parapet, marking the way, was losing itself in mist.
In fact, a pall of mist was advancing slowly down hill and very shortly would envelop them.
Where were they? What was Majid doing? Did he know that he had left the road for a private track?
"Where are we? Why are we here, Nawab Sahib?" she cried out anxiously. "This cannot be the road we must take."
"Isn't it?" he replied, peering ahead at the narrowing track.
"You must have turned off somewhere. What are you going to do? Look up---there is the real road. Oh, dear I" She was thoroughly alarmed. Surely he must have known what he was doing?
Majid stopped the car and craned his neck to see the main road skirting the mountain side far above, its stone parapet covered with moss and ferns.
"How did this happen?" he asked the sky and air vaguely.
"You couldn't have paid attention to where you were going. There must have been a fork and you took the wrong one! What shall we do? You must get back somehow."
"That goes without saying," said he, not showing the concern Ruth expected, which made her fear he had done it deliberately. "But the road is too narrow to turn in. I'll have to go farther down to find some place where I can turn the car."
Ruth was sure this would never have happened if he had sent her with a driver. Could he have done it intentionally?
Feeling very uneasy, she watched Majid steer the car along the uneven road and round each bend till it narrowed down to little more than the width of the car. With the steep hillside on one hand and a khud, or declivity, on the other, it was a terrifying ordeal.
Tea bushes appeared on the slopes---evidently they were on the property of some tea planter, and the track one for horses, not cars.
"We cannot go on, Nawab Sahib!" cried Ruth. "We are too close to the edge."
"We cannot go back. But don't be afraid. Trust yourself to me, I'll get down to the tea house below and turn there. You can see, if you look down, that it stands on a flat. It will be all right."
Ruth tried hard to be courageous but could not rid herself of the feeling that Majid was rather enjoying the adventure. Was it a preconceived plan?
Her query was answered when she howed a complete knowledge of where they were.
"This is the Boglabund Tea Estate," he said, instructively, "and Syed Mustapha Khan, who owns
it, is a very good fellow. I know him well and he will do everything he can for us."
"Then---you knew this road all the time?"
"I've been down here a few times," was the cautious reply. "It accounts for my taking it mechanically. One does, if one's mind is divided---that is to say, act mechanically."
It took another half-hour to crawl round the hairpin bends to within a short distance of the tea factory, when a heavier bump than others produced an ominous sound and brought the car to a standstill.
"What has happened?" Ruth was in a panic. Time was passing and if it took all that time to go down, how much longer would it take to climb up ? was her problem. And if the car was put out of commission, what hope had she of proceeding at all? She was literally in Majid's power.
"I'll see," was his reply as he climbed out carefully on the inner side and squeezed past to the rear. Ruth saw him bending to examine something. After appearing to crawl about on the little space in which he had to move without falling over the rim of the road and down the khud, an exclamation broke from him.
"Damn and blast 1" Majid was nothing if not English when with English people.
He straightened himself and crept carefully to the window.
\^"I'm frightfully sorry, Ruth!" This time he omitted the prefix. "The fact is we've smashed the back axle and that's that." Certainly the car was somewhat down at the back which Ruth had imagined was due to a rut.
"Does that mean that the car is useless?"
He explained at some length, but all that really mattered to Ruth was that the car was done for.
It would have to stay where it was till coolies brought it down hill to the tea factory.
"I am afraid there is nothing for it," said Majid sounding rather unconvincing, "but that you must get out and walk to my friend's bungalow. He'll be able to suggest something. At any rate, nothing can be done without his help."
Ruth felt very angry and not a little hysterical. She could not help believing that it was not entirely an accident that they were there. Majid may not have wanted to smash his car but he was not a good actor and could not simulate distress when he was only too glad to have caused the delay. It suited him well that she should be dependent on him and be compelled to submit to his society and arguments from which she had always run away.
"You took the responsibility of driving in the place of the Pathan, and you have done this! I'll never forgive you." Ruth felt frantic.
"Oh, please don't be hard on me, I beg of you! I am not to blame. It was a sheer accident "
"Was it?" she cried sceptically.
"My dear girl---I swear "
"Save yourself the trouble. I think you have done this purposely. You don't care if I am delayed. It suits your purpose to delay me so that I can listen to you. Let me say here and now that nothing you can say till you die will make any impression on me. I have no intention of marrying you, Mr. Majid--- whatever happens."
"Let me assist you," was the controlled reply. "We must get down quickly as the mist is thickening. If we delay it will be difficult for us to see our way- dangerous too. Come." He opened the door and Ruth allowed him to help her out and guide her past the car.
"This way. Let me take your arm."
She wrenched it away, but he gripped it again and more firmly. "Don't be foolish," he said persuasively. "I refuse to be responsible for an accident to you, whatever could not be avoided to the car. Besides, you might be killed and that would be very awkward for me apart from devastating to my life. Be reasonable. The only thing to do is to let me take you to my friend's house. You can see the bungalow from here, opposite, and the footpath leading to it. A matter of twenty minutes walk from here. Possibly he'll be able to get my car down to the works, or, if the worst comes to the worst, I might telephone to the nearest garage to send a car for us. We could ride up to the cart road and meet it."
Clearly it was the only thing to be done, and Ruth hated having to be assisted along the way by Majid, his arm within hers and the mist driving down on them in waves of increasing density.
They could see nothing of the view now that the mist enveloped them. The tufts of grass and clumps of ferns at the edge of the road seemed to have a background of opaque fog, and visibility was a matter of only a few yards.
In the circumstances the road seemed unending, and Majid tried to pass the time by cheerfully describing his friend's place. Syed was a Moslem, he said, of rigid views. He disliked western ideas and customs imposed on Orientals. He refused to believe that Indian women were ready for emancipation, for those he knew who had been given freedom, had lost their heads and behaved immorally. He preferred to be sure of his womenkind, so they were all strictly purdah and lived in an extension at the back of his bungalow, and saw no society but relations and old friends. Nevertheless, there was no more hospitable fellow. Though they never agreed on a single subject, they agreed to differ, and Syed was one of Majid's best friends. He would help him in any trouble or difficulty, and not count the cost.
"So it was very convenient to have this tea garden of Syed's on the way so that you might break journey here, and your car too, for all you cared, that you might force me to put up with you for as long as it suited you to delay me." Ruth could not resist the taunt.
"Of course I cannot prevent you from thinking ill of me," Majid sighed.
"It all looks very circumstantial. Anyhow, now that I am in this dilemma, I hope you will get me out of it quickly, so that I do not have to miss my friends or put them out."
"I have said I shall do all I can. I love you so, Ruth, that I would gladly die to serve you. All I ask is---understanding. This looks as if we have reached the flat, the spur where Syed has built his tea factory. Yes---here is the first shed---I know exactly where we are. Hi !---anyone there?" he shouted in Hindustani, raising his voice above the grinding sound of machinery in operation. "Here's the tea-house. Now we shan't be long," as a peon appeared through the curling mist. "Where is your master? Tell him that Nawab Yusuf Majid is here and needs help."
"Huzur" the peon salaamed low. "There is no one at the bungalow. It has been empty this past month as our Sahib, of this estate, is away with his family in Calcutta. Only the manager, Ahmed, is in charge. I will call him."
"Heavens! What a chain of mishaps 1" cried Majid. "I was sure I'd find Syed here. When did your master leave for Calcutta?"
"Last month, Defender of the Poor. He told me that
there would be no visitors till he returned for he had written to inform all his friends of his plans. His daughter's betrothal to a servant of the Government has obliged the family to make great the occasion with much rejoicing and formality. Did huzur not hear of it?"
"I have had many things to occupy my mind and must have missed the letter. Send Ahmed to me. Say I await him here."
A chair was produced for Ruth from the tea-house, and in a little while Ahmed arrived, flustered and perturbed. He looked from the Nawab to Ruth and back again, evidently drawing his own conclusions and entered upon a voluble exchange of conversation in Hindustani, most of which was unintelligible to Ruth whose knowledge of the vernacular was the jargon spoken by the uneducated classes and a mixture of many dialects.
Ultimately Majid explained it all to her deprecatingly. He was very sorry, but Ahmed could not fetch the coolies from the lines that afternoon as they were celebrating a festival and were mostly all intoxicated. There was a lull in tea-plucking, and the hands in the factory were mechanics and of no use in the circumstances. They would have to wait till the morning to drag the car down hill. Meantime Ruth was recommended to take shelter in the bungalow as it was beginning to rain. A few servants could be found, possibly, in their dowras who could cook the evening meal and give the visitors tea.
"But---what are you suggesting, Nawab Sahib?" Ruth asked, astonished. "Am I to make no effort to reach my friends? I cannot spend the night here."
"I am afraid you must."
"But---you said you would telephone for a car and that we could ride to the cart road?"
"I was talking through my hat, as you would say. I did not know that my friend was away and that the horses have gone down to Calcutta. Also that labour cannot be had to bring my car here so as to clear the way for us should we even borrow ponies from a neighbouring garden."
"I would walk up rather than remain here if you will telephone for a car."
"You couldn't---in this mist. It would be too dangerous. I would not be responsible if you made the attempt."
"I'll take the responsibility, for I cannot stay here."
"I refuse to allow it," Majid spoke with determination. "Not only is it a long way up, but you could not do it. You could not walk up hill in high-heeled shoes, and you'd be caught in heavy rain. What is the need for all this scare? To-morrow I can take you to Calcutta, if need be. To-night I'll telephone to Sir Amos Darrel and ask him not to wait but go on, for you have been unavoidably detained. In the meantime, it is coming down hard. Ahmed has an umbrella, and we must get quickly to the bungalow."
RUTH'S feelings were unenviable when she took shelter in the deserted bungalow of the Mohammedan tea planter, Syed Mustapha Khan, and knew that her sole companion was Nawab Majid. The position was to all appearances, isolated, with steep hills on all sides many thousand feet above sea level, and unmade roads connected with other tea gardens, the main road to be seen only in clear weather far up the mountain-side. How could she get anywhere without assistance?
It was alarming to think of being at the mercy of a man madly in love with her, who had confessed he would sacrifice his life gladly if given his heart's desire. It meant anything, and she trembled to think of passing the night in that lonely spot, alone with him.
She had been a fool to trust herself to him.
If only she had allowed Roy Forrester to see her off at the station as he had wanted to do, this could never have happened, but she had strenuously opposed his doing any such thing in case Bodge should suspect more in their friendship than met the eye. She saw no necessity at the time for anyone to "see her off," for nothing was simpler than catching a train so close to the villa---a matter of a little way down the hillside, with innumerable porters at her command and a seat reserved in a first-class compartment.
Now she was full of regrets. But regrets were unavailing. The misfortune had happened and she would have to think of a way out of her dilemma, for to
pass a night in that desolation in the power of Yusuf Majid, who was behaving in an unbalanced manner, was unthinkable.
The bungalow was long, low and commodious, with innumerable rooms leading one into another and a large lounge furnished with easy chairs, arm-chairs, a dining table and divans. The walls were covered with prints from Christmas annuals, the floors had loose druggets on boards, and the whole---behind glazed verandahs---smelt musty and ill-ventilated.
The first thing Ruth saw was a telephone standing on a writing desk in a corner and it gave her a glimmer of hope.
"I shall have to telephone to my friends," she said to Majid.
"Of course," said he. "Most certainly. Not that they can get here to-day. Certainly not with all this mist hanging about. By the time they come to your assistance it will be morning, and we shall be on our way, I hope. However, you must do as you please," and he went cheerfully to the telephone. "What is the number you want?"
"I'll manage all right myself," said she.
"Why should you trouble? It is my business to see you out of this unfortunate business. The number?"
Ruth gave it and waited while he talked to the management of the hotel at which the Abbotts and Roy Forrester were staying.
"Well, if they are all out, will you take the message? Say that Miss Gowan could not reach her destination as the car has broken down. She hopes to continue in the morning. That's all."
It sounded like a one-sided conversation with no sort of indication that anyone was at the other end. Usually there were noises of some sort audible to a bystander, but Ruth had heard nothing. She was deeply perturbed and anxious. Had Majid only made a pretence of telephoning? Surely he was mad to think that any trickery on his part would not be found out?
How strangely he was behaving! He said he would interview what servants he could find and order a meal to be served. Meantime she would like a cup of tea. He left her alone and she could hear him talking to servants in the rear of the bungalow.
Ruth thought it her chance to try the telephone again and get into personal touch with friends. It was possible that the Abbots were out, but Mrs. Gowan was bound to be in. She would try her aunt and ask her to do something to relieve the ghastly situation.
The telephone sounded dead when she took it in her hand. Do what she would there was no sound of life in it. It was an old type of machine but apparently disconnected, or out of order.
Her eye following the cord saw that it had been severed where it should have entered the bell box and her heart leapt to her throat and beat heavily. What was the meaning of the deception? Had Majid cut the cord while appearing to telephone to her friends? He had actually deceived her for some purpose.
She waited in growing panic, till he returned satisfied that they were not going to starve.
"This is a great adventure, isn't it?" He tried to sound cheerful, but his eyes refused to meet hers and Ruth felt she had reason to fear him. She had heard of men going mad on one point while remaining sane on every other. Was she at the mercy of a madman?
"Nawab Sahib---you telephoned just now. Why did you make all that pretence when you must have known that the cord was cut?" she almost panted.
He smiled reassuringly.
"My dear Ruth"---how she hated the familiarity!--- "I saw that the cord was cut, but did not dare to tell you lest it gave you a bad shock. You are not very confident, are you?"
"How was that cord damaged?"
"How can I say? My friend has an economical twist and must have done it to prevent anyone using his telephone in his absence. I have tried to spare your feelings, and see, you misunderstand me. Why do you distrust me so?"
"No girl would care to be in my position."
"I can understand that. But you, who know my feelings towards you, must know that there is nothing to fear. There is an easy way out of any scandal that might follow. We marry, and nothing can be said."
"Is that why you staged this accident?"
"Now isn't that unfair to me?" He sighed. "Will you never credit me with good feeling? I am not a brigand, Miss Ruth."
"I am sorry if I have distrusted you. I apologise."
"I see nothing for it but to make the best of things," he said brightly. "We'll have tea and you will feel better. Let me show you my friend's bungalow while the kettle boils."
Ruth tried hard to appear to take things naturally. It was not politic to antagonize him any more than it was wise to treat him too kindly. But she had no excuse for discourteousness since he was uniformly respectful and well-behaved. She therefore allowed him to take her through the rooms and show her the women's quarters, which were even worse ventilated than the bungalow. Small rooms in a chain with a verandah glazed-in, and barred windows to shut out romantic intruders. Mattresses on string beds, low
214 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps} wooden tables used as divans, and heavy iron-bound chests for the accommodation of personal belongings made up the only furniture she could see, and the lingering odour of soiled linen and mustard oil made her only too glad to return to the one living-room.
Tea was served by a Mohammedan cook clad in a dhoti and jacket, a skullcap on his much-oiled head, and Ruth did her best to accept the situation with courage since she could do nothing to relieve it.
Majid did his utmost to commend himself to her. He was abjectly attentive to her needs, his concern that she should pass a comfortable night made him order his friend's servants about imperiously in her cause. She was to have Syed's bedroom and he would occupy the next best, which was on the opposite side of the house. Did that meet with her approval?
It certainly did. Ruth expressed her gratitude, and turned a deaf ear to his flattery and his persuasive tones.
She found her luggage in the room which she was to occupy. Apparently, some coolies had been found to fetch it away.
To Ruth it felt like living in a bad dream, as she could not be happy in the thought of her helplessness and isolation, and the conviction that it was uncommonly like a planned interference with her own arrangements, a gamble by which she would be forced to consent to the Nawab's proposal rather than have her name the subject of gossip from end to end of Bengal.
The Darrels would hardly want her as a guest if it looked as if she had arranged to break journey for the night with the Nawab on a tea garden---making an accident her excuse. Ruth could even imagine evil-minded people believing that she had made a lot of money out of the occasion, especially as it was
known how wealthy the Nawab was and how much in love.
Majid knew how she would hate such publicity, and was trading on her consent to marry him rather than allow it to appear that she was a bit more modern than most girls prided themselves on being.
Even Roy Forrester might begin to think there was something in it, or surely she need never have allowed the Nawab to escort her to the plains ?
Scandal was difficult to stifle once it got a start, and Ruth exaggerated her case to herself till she was in a fever of alarm.
When the time came to retire to the room that she was given for the night, Ruth felt that her knees could hardly support her, for Majid had been drinking heavily---and his manner was less polished and controlled. He had even hinted that, as they were situated, she might remember the old proverb concerning being hung for a sheep. If she were sensible, she would enjoy life as Kismet had ordained, and give up treating him as if he were a brigand or a seducer. He had no wish to treat her to violence. It was entirely up to herself. He was offering her marriage. There was a registry office at the next station at which they could be made man and wife, once he obtained the special licence. That would not take long.
"You don't know what you are saying, Nawab Sahib. You have been drinking."
"Of course I have. But I know what I am saying," he said somewhat thickly.
She bade him good night and retired to her room, convinced that she would soon be called upon to defend herself against attack, for with alcohol in his brain, the Nawab was less likely to be responsible for his actions than earlier in the day, when he had shown so clearly what he wanted of her.
A quick look round the room showed her that the two doors leading elsewhere had no means of affording privacy. They shut with a vertical bolt to be manipulated from outside as well, with Venetian blinds that could be raised or dropped giving access to a hand if necessary.
The situation was desperate and wanted desperate measures to meet it. She looked out of the private verandah to the hills that seemed to frown menacingly down on her---piling one on another. She had lost her sense of direction though the mist had entirely cleared. Wherever she looked were dark hills under the stars, heavily clothed in verdure, some with serrated lines of tea bushes rising and falling with the slopes. Deep ravines yawned below, and somewhere on a flat not far from the ledge on which the bungalow stood, was visible the roofs of the tea factory.
It seemed to Ruth that she would have to get away in the dark anywhere, rather than stay with an intoxicated madman in the bungalow. It would be small satisfaction to her to see him properly punished afterwards when it was too late to serve her. She might then shrink from the publicity of it and feel that marriage was her only way out, even if she loathed the sight of the fellow.
There was no time to lose, nor to consider how she should proceed or where she should go. She must find her way back to the road.
With that object in view, Ruth buttoned up her coat, seized her handbag and crept silently from the house into the dark and the starlight. If only there had been a moon I
She made her way down rude steps to the flat on which stood the tea houses, and searched for the road down which she had walked piloted by Majid. The night was mercifully warm enough for her not to feel chilled by the absence of the sun. Excitement kept her blood at fever-heat as she crept along in the shadows till she found what looked like the track.
Surely this was it?
Rough and full of ruts. It was difficult in her shoes and she repeatedly risked twisting her ankle as she climbed. How narrow it was! Nothing but a hand cart could have travelled up this end of it.
She walked on and on, very soon footsore and desperately weary. Still no sign of Majid's car. If it had been lighter she might have looked for the impress of its tyres. How could it be possible to bring it down such a narrow path, for it was little else.
A glow in the sky and a gradual lightening of the darkness told Ruth that the moon was rising. She knew that some part of the night had moonlight, but, for the time being, had lost sight of the fact. How welcome was the pale glow as it topped the trees and shone down on the way.
In that light it was impossible to trace any resemblance to the road she knew. There was no car anywhere in sight and she was beginning to realise that she had missed the track and taken another. Where it was leading her she had no idea, and felt it useless to retrace her steps for it would only bring her back to the tea-houses.
Moreover, certain noises on the air made her blood run cold, for it convinced her that her flight had been discovered, and people were being called out to look for her. On no account must she be caught and taken back. Majid could only have discovered her absence by entering her bedroom---which made Ruth glad she had risked being lost on the mountain rather than left to fight Majid. The man was mad--- she had no doubt of it. Temporarily insane, and while such might even have killed her rather than let her go.
Such things had been done before by men, all over the world, when thwarted in passion. Newspapers had made her familiar with evil in many forms when human nature lost self-control.
Ruth delayed no longer in searching for landmarks. There was none to guide her for the path was strange and she had only to follow where it led. Mercifully, no wild animals were on tea gardens and she was safe from them. Man was her enemy---and fear gave fresh strength to her frame and steadied her feet as they climbed.
Now and then the path ran almost level and Ruth felt she could breath again.
Meantime torches appeared like pin-points below--- moving this way and that. There was no shadow of doubt in her mind that Majid was looking for her. If he was personally incapable through drink he had organized a search party, and by the line the torches took they were climbing by way of the other road on which the car was stranded, hoping to overtake her and bring her back. It was natural to suppose she had gone that way, and they would certainly have overtaken her. It was providential, she felt, that she had missed that road and taken this unknown one.
She lost sight of the torches presently, as the bends and curves carried her round the mountain side to other parts, she knew not where. Surely a road always led somewhere? This one would have to stop.
Once or twice she stumbled and fell. Her shoe lost a heel, she was now in stockinged feet. Blisters were arriving. After a while she was forced to sit on a boulder and massage her aching feet.
Once while so seated, she thought she could see a steady light in a window. It might be a hut on the hillside opposite, or it might be a bungalow. Whatever
it was, she began to hope that she was getting somewhere, especially as the path began to descend to a valley and it would be the only means of reaching the light opposite, apparently half way up the other side.
Ruth walked with her shoes in her hand. They were torn, her feet were blistered, still she persevered, slowly but steadily till she neared the valley and saw more lines of tea, which indicated a tea garden---there were many on the hills, she knew, and she had struck one of them. She had done the unbelievable thing, walked in the darkness along a rough unknown track on a mountain side, to escape from what she instinctively felt would have been worse than death. Unaided, she had found another plantation where she hoped she would find an English family who would take her in till help arrived.
At the foot of the hill she came upon a gurgling stream which sparkled in the moonbeams as it tumbled over the stones. The path she had used ended at stepping stones which invited Ruth to cross. Great flat boulders set in crystal waters, they were, and Ruth cautiously made her way across to the other side. She was stung by thorns and bitten by leeches, but nothing could stop her from making for the light she still saw burning in somebody's room. There was a house among the trees a little way up the hill and a well-beaten path led her upward to it.
She found the light. An electric lamp burning on a table and shining on the blond head of a young man who had fallen asleep over the book he was reading. She flattened her nose against the pane of glass in utter thankfulness, and sank on the step trembling from head to foot.
She could not sit outside long---she must wake him, so knocked timidly. Again. This time he started up and saw her.
"Who are you?" He assisted her into the room and seeing her exhausted condition poured out brandy at a side-table and put the glass to her lips.
Ruth sat almost fainting on a divan bed, tears of relief raining down her cheeks.
"May I stay here to-night?" she pleaded. "I have had a nasty adventure and will tell you all--- presently."
"Don't speak," said the man. "Here---lie back and rest." Placing cushions under her head and a rug over her feet, he sat by waiting till she had recovered sufficiently to speak. But the feeling of well-being was so overpoweringly soothing that Ruth slept as suddenly and as profoundly as a little child.
When she awoke it was daylight and she was in sole possession of the room. All she knew was the utter sense of prostration that held her pinned to the couch and the painful throbbing of her feet.
Forcing herself to get up, she rose and looked about her.
A nice room---obviously a man's, for certain garments on a peg gave it away and such impedimenta as pipes, a tobacco-jar, a sola topi lying promiscuously about. She recalled what had happened and the light-haired young man who had given her such a stiff brandy that it had drugged her and made her sleep. Where was he? This was a plantation and he probably the manager.
It happened that he was the assistant manager, he himself explained when he came in with a tray of tea and asked anxiously how she felt.
"You gave me such a start," he said, "looking like a ghost out there in the moonlight. I am still wondering about you."
"It was a godsend that I found your house," said she, "or I should have collapsed on the hillside. I saw
your light and made for it. I---I---was lost," she added lamely, dreading to begin explanations since there was too much to tell. The fewer people told of her strange experience the better, since gossip once started got out of hand.
"Where do you come from?"
"I was motoring on the main road to the plains and the---the driver took a branch road and we met with an accident. The car was broken and I started to walk. I seem to have been walking for hours."
"When did it happen?"
"In the afternoon---near tea-time. I first struck a tea garden belonging to Indians and"---she gasped as she skirted the truth---"and found it was impossible to stop there for the night. The master of the house was away and I was nervous---so came on, looking for help when I saw your light." She had avoided bringing Nawab Majid's name into the story and hoped that no one would know anything about him in connection with her midnight escape. It would have been awkward to account for her running away from him without entering upon a long story.
"In the meantime, what a thoughtless brute I am," said the young man, who had introduced himself as Sidney Bates. "You need to have your feet attended to. They are cut and inflamed. Just stay where you are and I'll fetch water and dressings. Then you must have some breakfast. It happens that I am quite alone, as my boss has gone home on leave and I am running the show."
"I would like to telephone to my friends, if I may. Have you a telephone ?"
"I have. You'll find it in the lounge. Get on to your friends while I get all I want for your poor feet."
What a nice, friendly boy, Ruth thought, as she limped to the telephone and called up Lady Darrel, who would be in ignorance as to why she had not been on the train. But what could she tell Lady Darrel that might not lead to an inquiry by the Government, since Sir Amos was the Commissioner of Mynapur and she, as his guest, was involved? It would be a very grave charge to bring against the Nawab, and as there was his word against hers and no act of which to charge him, she did not see how she could make any complaint. It was enough that the car had broken down and that she was waiting for another while sheltering at the house of a tea planter. It sounded plausible. Anything more meant trouble and she could not bear to tell the world of all she had suffered mentally while in the Nawab's power. All's well that ends well.
Nawab Majid was going to be let off cheaply.
WHEN Yusuf Majid learned from the men who had spent the night searching for Ruth that she had been found safe on a neighbouring tea garden, he expected trouble and prepared his excuses in self- defence. He did not doubt that Sir Amos Darrel would write to him on the subject, and that matters would be difficult for him although Ruth had no witnesses to support any accusation she might think fit to make.
It was clear that his best plan was to return to his palace in the station at Sonaling, for he could not hope for a kind reception if he followed her and was conciliating. He must allow matters to simmer down, face the worst, and see what could be done about it. Ruth's luggage he forwarded at once to Bates's garden where she had taken refuge, and he hired a car for his return home.
When he arrived, he retired within his shell and saw no visitors. If they called to see him he was prepared to plead ignorance. The lovely Ruth had allowed her nerves to get the better of her, and her rooted distrust to make her imaginative. He had done nothing. Not even she could accuse him of insulting her. He had been greatly misunderstood and was deeply aggrieved.
It was a good line and he brooded upon it till he accepted it as true. He would yet make her sorry for her treatment of him.
However, no one called and nothing was said. In 224 ^THE^ RIDDLE [of the hill]{.smallcaps} two days there had been ample time for much to be said---even for letters to have been written---but apparently Ruth had spared him. For some reason, possibly a distaste for gossip and publicity, she had put the simplest construction on her midnight flit and it had been accepted by the planter and her friends.
He learned, in due course, that Bates had himself put her into the down train at noon, and that all believed her flight from Syed's place was occasioned by her panic at being alone among natives in an empty house where she feared anything might have happened. His own name had not appeared.
Majid breathed more freely and he was not a little surprised at Ruth's restraint. It explained why he had heard nothing from her friends, among whom was Forrester, who could have been a nasty customer. He had long made up his mind that Forrester was more than a little interested in Ruth Gowan, consequently he would make matters very difficult if he knew.
Not even was Mrs. Gowan given any news by Ruth of her experiences on the drive. She complained bitterly, when the Nawab called wondering if he could learn something from her, that Ruth had treated her abominably. Not a word from her since she had left, and by now she was with the Darrels Mynapur!
Majid smiled complacently. So he was to be let off after all. Wonderful girl! His adoration for her increased, though he was more than ever determined that she should pay for cheating him out of his triumph and the five thousand rupees, cashed by Mrs. Gowan without loss of time. Never had a girl made him suffer so much humiliation and agony. Yet---he suffered from a madness over which he had no control---he adored her and meant to get her before long.
Ruth, however, had reckoned without considering Forrester's pertinacity.
Having called on Mrs. Gowan for news of Ruth, who had not written to the Abbotts immediately to announce her safe arrival, he had gleaned the fact of the car accident and did not let the matter rest there.
Mrs. Gowan had been told the bald fact by Majid and saw no reason why she should not pass it on.
No, she said in reply to Forrester's questions, Ruth had not taken the train---she had missed it, and was given a car by the Nawab, for the journey. It was the most sensible thing to do rather than put out the arrangement made by the Darrels. But apparently there had been an accident---no one hurt. Oh, no! and she had gone on by train the next day, helped, apparently, by a tea planter.
Why a tea planter? Forrester was puzzled and said so.
Mrs. Gowan had never met anyone so determined to get at the bottom of things. Who had driven the car? Mrs. Gowan believed the Nawab himself, though he had really promised a driver. But he admitted being on the spot as he had to explain that he was ocularly a witness that Ruth had not been hurt. Mrs. Gowan had needed reassuring for the very mention of an "accident" had thrown her into a fluster and she would have wired. But apparently there had been a delay. Ruth could not reach Gorisal, at the foot of the hills, that evening. It seemed, Mrs. Gowan answered further inquiry that might almost have been cross-questioning with herself in the witness box, that a tea planter had taken Ruth in for the night. Yes, for the night. Majid said she had been very foolish and had given him an anxious time, for she had left him of her own accord without warning as if he was to blame, and had spent the night with a young tea planter. A very
226 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL foolish thing to do as there was bound to be talk in the planting community. And how would it sound if it got around ? Truly girls, these days, were a great responsibility. Majid had been quite ready to hire a car for her, but this was what she had done, and Mrs. Gowan thought it imprudent and foolish indeed.
But as Mrs. Gowan could not name the planter or the garden, Forrester had no further use for her. He had no intention of calling on the Nawab for particulars as he did not believe he would get at the truth. Nor did he feel disposed to take Bodge into his confidence, for, if Ruth had not told her anything, he had no right to pass on the story of the accident. He would return at once and find out for himself all about it.
A telegram recalling him to Mynapur was therefore indicated. In little matters of this sort Forrester's conscience was as elastic as most men's. He bade his friends a regretful farewell and anticipated their return to Mynapur by a fortnight.
However, chance sometimes comes to the aid of the determined.
While partaking of luncheon at the road hotel at noon, half-way to the plains, he heard two planters at the neighbouring table discussing the very subject that concerned him. Ruth's name immediately arrested his attention.
"Didn't Miss Gowan tell you any more than just those facts?"
"I couldn't very well question her when I saw she preferred to leave it at that."
"But you weren't convinced! I shouldn't have been."
"I wasn't. But what could I do? I did what I could for her feet---poor kid!---they were badly messed up, as her shoes weren't equal to the trek---think of it
---all the way from Syed Khan's place to mine?" "Quite five miles, I should think."
"And in shoes with brown paper soles and high heels!"
"I am not surprised that she had to go barefoot most of the way. Have you heard from her since she left?"
"Oh, yes! A charming letter. I've quite lost my heart to her."
"I wonder what made her bolt from there? Did you make inquiries at all ?"
"To confess the truth, I did."
Forrester ceased feeding so as to hear every syllable.
"I knew there was something behind it all to put a girl like that into a flat spin, so rode over to Khan's place, Boglabund, though the owner was away. In substance it was all correct. The bungalow is vacant and she got scared. What I don't like is that she was with an Indian fellow---a Nawab, I believe. Apparently she ran away because of him."
"I see. Got a bit fresh, I suppose?"
"I have no doubt of it. She made a bolt of it round about midnight and found her way to me. Slept like a babe in the lounge till morning, after which I saw her off by train. Her luggage arrived in time or she could not have gone."
Forrester followed the two men out onto the verandah and introduced himself as a friend of the lady whom the planters were discussing. Naturally he was concerned to learn particulars, as he knew of the car accident, but nothing more.
They talked over the extraordinary occurrence, and Forrester left for Mynapur, able to piece the bit of jigsaw puzzle together and make a complete story. The only thing he did not know was Mrs. Gowan's complicity in the affair. All he could gather was that, having missed the train, the Nawab who had called, came to the rescue with a car which he personally drove though it seemed he had promised a driver.
It was his opportunity to get Ruth all to himself, and he had taken it. Why the car had turned off to Syed Khan's tea garden seemed part of a devilish plot. He did not expect to smash the axle, or to meet with defeat through Ruth's courage and initiative. He had dared to trade on her ultimate submission and marriage or to put a tragic ending to her resistance. With his riches and power to bribe witnesses, he possibly believed he could make any story good to escape discovery and punishment. Money had taken his people a long way in the past, and tradition supplied many a precedent for unscrupulous conduct.
Forrester returned to Mynapur to find Ruth fully recovered and happy with her new friends. She still maintained a reserve on the subject of her journey to the plains and could not be induced to discuss the accident. Her first act on meeting him was to discourage questions that showed he knew too much, and when she found herself alone with him at the club, to ask him earnestly to say nothing to the Darrels that might lead them to suspect that she had not told them the facts of the case.
"I don't want Sir Amos to exaggerate what really happened---in fact, it's nothing even to you. I would rather it was forgotten."
"That's a tall order, Ruth. You are asking me, who happen to know quite a lot about it, to take no notice of a very grave matter that needs an inquiry."
"It's my affair---no one else's. You must know that this is the way gossip starts and things are magnified. Nothing happened, so why worry ?"
"Nothing happened because you ran away in the
darkness and, by a lucky chance, landed yourself on a neighbouring tea garden to Boglabund."
"Who told you so?"
"I happen to have discovered most of what there is to know," he answered angrily. "You don't realise that you need someone to take charge of this affair for you. If you had a father or a brother he would have had an interview with the Nawab that would have left a very strong impression on him---physically and mentally."
"And had the whole district humming with scandal. No. Please leave it alone. It is all my fault for placing myself in the way of---danger. I know better now, and forbid you to say anything to anyone as to how or why I missed my train. It is true that the clock and my watch were tampered with. Who did it is a mystery. I may never find out, but I have my own ideas on the subject, which I see no use in airing."
"You know that it was a plot?"
"Possibly."
"Someone was bribed---a servant, possibly---to make you miss your train ?"
"And I believe I know who did it."
"And yet you are sparing the Nawab?"
"I am sparing myself a great deal of distress and humiliation. Can't you see that? The Darrels have not been told anything. I am not the first girl who has missed a train or met with a car accident. They think it was very decent of the Nawab to send me in his own car." Ruth laughed hysterically.
"To take you, you mean?"
"They believe I was sent, so leave it there. Please, for my sake."
"I shall want to wring his neck."
"I'll accept the will for the deed! Come---let us talk of something else. Will you take me to Mynabari to see Uncle Joe? I have somehow lost nerve and hate doing things alone."
"Of course I shall. I'll borrow Howell's car."
As Howell came up to them at the moment, the car was bespoken for a drive to the quarries at Mynabari.
As it was a busy time for Howell, with fresh lawlessness in the district and more wealthy Indians robbed, he could not offer to drive them, which did not at all seem to distress Forrester. He was the world's greatest idler, he said, and was glad to be useful to his friends.
Ruth was beginning to feel sorry for Dick Howell, whose pleasure at her return was pathetic. All Mynapur was welcome to know that he was in love, and though he was not in a position to marry, he was always pleading for a chance with her. If only she cared for him they could at least be engaged. He poured his soul into Forrester's ears for sympathy, and had it affectionately.
Forrester sympathised for reasons of his own, but had no faith in long engagements. "When I propose to a girl," he said in Ruth's hearing, "I'd be for marriage within the week if not sooner."
What audacity to talk of proposing to any girl when he knew he was not free.
Forrester drove Ruth to her uncle's bungalow to allow her to collect a few more of her belongings, as the Darrels had asked her to prolong her stay with them as a favour to Lady Darrel.
"If you are too proud, then I shall offer you a billet on a salary. Would that suit you better?" Sir Amos said, at which Ruth was shocked. She would be taking payment, in that case, for enjoying a very comfortable existence with practically nothing to do but arrange flowers in vases and write a few letters to save her hostess the trouble.
So she prolonged her stay as a guest and found herself growing attached to her hostess.
"You like her?" Forrester asked her in the car.
"I almost love her. She is so sweet to me."
"She is very fond of you," he said, with reserve, having heard in confidence from Bodge of the obviousness of the relationship existing.
"Dick thinks we're very much alike---and I see it too, in some ways."
"In looks---nothing else."
"She says she wants to adopt me as a daughter."
"Why don't you let her?"
"How could I put myself under such obligations to a stranger?"
"You have a mother---somewhere."
"It is no secret."
"Doesn't she ever make a sign? Where is she, Ruth?" Forrester's eyes searched her with curious intentness.
"In England, I believe. We last heard of her there. She was quite alone---working in a domestic science establishment---I think as the principal. There was some rumour that she had married again, but nothing authentic."
"Have you no wish to know her?"
"None whatever. She can have very little heart.
I have no use for selfish people."
Uncle Joe was delighted to see Ruth, but showed himself greatly depressed and pessimistic. While she collected her things he discussed business with Forrester, of whom he was a little suspicious. How were things going? He had seen the Nawab last. What was he going to do? The worst of the fellow was that there was no knowing his intentions. He seemed to have a great many schemes afloat for increasing his wealth. Uncle Joe did not like the temper of the district, for on all sides he heard of disapproval and alarm. The villagers were in expectation of grave misfortunes following any attempt on the Nawab's part to turn the hill, Kalipahar, into a social and commercial centre. The enterprise would cost a fortune to start with, but in time would make fortunes. It was bad enough when it was suggested that the quarries should be worked and a railway line of narrow gauge laid down the hillside for the conveyance of the stone, but to raid the top and build all over the hill had started a great scare.
Forrester showed very little interest in the subject which proved that he no longer had any hope of doing business in stone with the Nawab. He was concerned far more deeply in another matter of which he declined to speak, and was only staying on at Mynapur to see it through. He hurried Ruth away and drove home by way of Kalipahar, using the cart track which skirted the foot of the hill. The hill like an excrescence rose abruptly from the plains as though it might in prehistoric times have a volcano but had failed in the effort, and had, instead, spent its force in creating the undulations that gave Mr. Gowan his living as a stone contractor.
"How ridiculously small these hills seem after the Himalayas," said Ruth.
"Kalipahar is nothing of a hill to climb, though it seems high enough in contrast to the flatness of the fields surrounding it. I wonder if anything will come of the Nawab's project of building on it."
"Do you believe the Hindus will let him?"
"The Hindus will soon get accustomed to the idea when once they find that nothing happens to destroy the health and the peace of the district. It is the agitators, like that Sadhu, whom I would deal with first, were I in the Nawab's place. He is far too much interested in the hill, and I shall yet run him to earth."
"How can you?"
"I have had my eye on him for some time, and Howell's secret service has some queer information on the subject of his friends. But---it's the mischief to fight the superstition that will not allow either Hindus or Moslems to climb to the top. They don't mind following the road---where I met you first---do you remember?---but jink at going farther."
Ruth had never forgotten every detail of that first meeting, and could have told him all he had said.
"Of course I remember! You gave me a fright. But it was not so bad as the one I had later---when I lost my pearls."
"You---lost your pearls?"
"I never mentioned it, for I did not know if I had dropped them, or the Sadhu had taken them." She then related her story.
"I wish you had told me this before. Show me exactly where it happened."
They descended from the car, and Ruth led Forrester up a path to the spot beside the rock which had sheltered her from the heat of the sun that morning, when the Sadhu had frightened her with his occult powers.
"He called up voices which I believed were echoes, but perhaps it was ventriloquism, for he was answered from above in reply to a question."
Forrester was so much concerned and interested in her account of that exhibition by the Sadhu and in her loss of the pearls, that he insisted upon having minute particulars of the occasion.
"He must have heard the Nawab's car approaching below and thought he might be discovered and caught, so cleared out. Lucky for you. If you had complained
234 THE [riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps} he would have suggested sunstroke and have produced the pearls from your handbag. No one seems to know what he is doing in these parts, but apparently he has been here for years."
"He said he was a pilgrim."
"Bunkum! He is getting a very good living out of the people by his sleight-of-hand tricks which he passes off as magic, and there's his fortune-telling. He calls himself a Brahmin and they treat him with enormous respect. I shouldn't be surprised if he is a fraud. The hill and the superstitions concerning it give him plenty of scope for rascality."
"Let us have a picnic some day on top of Kalipahar," said Ruth daringly. "Is there any law that can prevent us?" She lost her fear of the hill when with him.
"None at all. It would not be even trespassing as it is not forbidden ground. Merely a taboo by Hindus who have no rights at all. I see no reason why we shouldn't picnic on it, since the Nawab doesn't object."
"Then---can't we?"
"You and I?" he asked, obviously intrigued by the idea.
"I should love it. We could take our sketching materials and make a day of it."
"Aren't you at all afraid?"
"Of what? Wild animals?"
"There are none---only jackals---and possibly a bear or two. It is too near the stone-works for wild animals to exist. In any case, I should take a gun. Would you like to come with me?"
"I would---I would, indeed!" Ruth cried enthusiastically. "We could bring others, if you like. Bodge and Mr. Howell."
"I hate crowds. Just you and I."
It was easy to see that he did not want Bodge to be
of the party, nor Dick Howell, and Ruth's heart beat like a sledge-hammer.
"I'll borrow Uncle Joe's automatic."
"You needn't. I'll give you one. Can you use it?"
"Of course. I learned when I first arrived in the country. When shall it be?"
They discussed it all the way back to Mynapur and it was settled that they would make a day of it presumably sketching, and return at sunset. Half the morning to climb and an hour to descend would give them a reasonable time on the top of the hill to look around and paint a picture, if inclined.
"We'll have to bring back something to show for our trip."
"I suppose so. I am so glad."
"And you are willing to trust yourself to my care? How do you know I'm not a wolf in sheep's clothing?"
"I---know all about you and am not afraid."
"All?"
"I---think so."
"Tell me what you know."
"Shall I?"---the colour flooding her cheeks. "I have never spoken of it to anyone."
"That was rather wonderful. Who told you, for I did not?"
"I could not tell you the name of my informant."
\"But haven't you heard the axiom, 'Never believe the half of what you see, and certainly not anything you hear '?"
"I have not known what to believe."
"Out with it!" There was anxiety in his voice.
"That you quarrelled with your people . . ."
"Yes---go on."
"Your elder brother has a title."
"What else? Why did we quarrel?"
"Because of an actress." She saw him wince.
"You---married her years ago."
"Did they tell you that?"
"Yes."
"Anything more?"
"No. That was quite enough."
He laughed suddenly as if seeing a humorous side to the story that had escaped her.
"And you told no one. I am learning what a marvellously discreet little girl it is. She meets with adventures and---keeps them to herself. She loses her jewellery under extraordinary circumstances and puts up with the loss rather than have a police inves- gation and the publicity of it. She hears a scandal concerning a personal friend and buries it out of sight. She doesn't even tell her bosom friend. Why, honey?"
Again the use of that name which always thrilled her when uttered by his lips.
"I have a horror of being pulled to pieces by people; of my affairs being the subject of gossip. And I felt the same for you. It was not my business to pass on what I had heard."
"Firstly, I wonder who told you? . . . But I'll not press that. If you were told it in confidence, I shall not urge you to blab the name of your informant, though I should dearly love to have a shot at---whoever it is. Never mind," he smiled irresistibly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The Abbotts know quite a lot already. Bodge is a great pal." Here his face fell and the smile vanished. "But even she does not know the story you have just told me. Will you be shocked if I tell you something more?"
"Tell me what you please. It will remain with me."
"As if I have not discovered that already! It is that I'm not here because I have quarrelled with my people. They love me in spite of my misdoings. I am here to make a living, for my people are not wealthy. There is nothing to spare for a younger son but a mere pittance. Out of that pittance, honey, I am supporting two people. Not a wife---because I never married. But a woman and the child of whom I happen to be the father. Isn't that enough to put me beyond the pale where my family at home are concerned? They are rightly ashamed of me. I am of myself. But that's that. Perhaps I had no business to tell you this sordid piece of news," because Ruth's face was averted and she breathed quickly. "But when a fellow makes his own bed, he has to lie upon it and not whine from self-pity. I have never felt that I was good enough to tie your shoestrings, honey. But there are things that are past praying for, and that's the case with my acts in the years gone by, for I am now having to pay for them---and more heavily than you can imagine, not only in money---believe me."
"I am so very sorry for you," murmured Ruth tremulously, gaze downcast, tears glistening in her eyes. The words, "because I never married," were ringing in her ears making her feel that nothing else mattered.
"That is very lovely of you!"
"I feel that it isn't fair to have to pay eternally for a mistake. At least, you will always have the love of your people and their forgiveness---and, perhaps will find happiness some day."
"You amazing little prophetess!"
IN a few days the whole district was buzzing with excitement over the news that the Nawab of Mynabari had returned and was beginning operations on Kalipahar. Because he had received an anonymous letter threatening him unless he dropped his schemes for commercialising Kalipahar, he had forthwith defied the sender by accelerating his plans; Like the proud Moslem he was, he stiffened under the attempt at terrorism, and immediately allowed it to be known that he was not one to be intimidated.
He called on the Commissioner for a consultation and advice, and won that official's admiration for his stoutness of heart and fighting spirit. If he was wrong to go ahead with his plans, only the Government should stop him, but as there appeared no just reason why he should not build on his own property, the Commissioner said he had no intention whatever of interfering. Was there a temple built on the summit?
That remained to be seen, and the Nawab commissioned a party of surveyors to climb the hill and make their report.
This was done within a few days. The two surveyors and an escort of coolies to clear a road for their ascent, reached the top without encountering difficulties and returned the same day to say that no sign of a Hindu place of worship existed. There was a pipal tree and an outcrop of rocks at the highest point, and on the trunk were faint daubs of paint and an old stone slab
possibly used in times gone by as an altar, but it was green with age, moss covered, and neglected. It was evident that no Hindu prayed there. Nor was there any sign that the hill was used by any but wood-cutters, for the paths were almost indistinguishable and of the roughest. Only the semblance of one of trampled vegetation reached the top by a direct route, steep to climb, and probably made by goats or monkeys.
The surveyors' report was favourable to building, as the hill had many level spaces that would lend themselves to residential sites; and as there were no animals seen larger than jackals, there was nothing to worry enterprising builders. The air was definitely cooler at the top and in the rains would suffer from plenty of mist, otherwise Kalipahar had everything to recommend it for the schemes of the Nawab.
A second visit of surveyors to the top was more business-like, and was joined by Forrester and Ruth, who would not be denied. As the way had been made easier by the first party, Forrester saw no reason why she should be excluded, so they made a picnic of it with a luncheon basket provided by Lady Darrel, who wished she was young enough to have been with them. Only the natives looked on aghast. It was flying in the face of Kali, and if anything happened, who would be surprised? To avert evil consequences to themselves, some more anxious Hindus said extra prayers and paid for immunity to the Sadhu, who sat back prepared to profit by the religious ardour of the Hindus, a smile of ineffable virtue on his face.
Forrester and Ruth followed the surveying group, keeping within reach of the last man up the steep ascent which was the shortest cut they knew to the summit. Ruth loved the exertion as the temperature cooled, and Forrester assisted her to leap rocks and narrow gulleys, her hand in his.
"Isn't it fun?" she cried. "How Bodge would have loved it!"
"You're as agile as a kid. I never knew a better climber," said he. Sometimes he lifted her bodily to a rock and sprang up after her, every moment of contact with her slim form breaking down barriers so carefully built up, till Ruth was conscious of the longing for no barriers at all and his arms round her, his lips on hers. Why should he hold himself so much in restraint if she did not mind? She was not thinking of marriage, but of love---the supreme moment of declared passion which was mutual and aching for expression.
But Forrester showed that he possessed an iron selfcontrol.
When they reached the top, passing through the last of the dense growth, they found open spaces and natural terraces of grass and rocks. The surveying party had disappeared down the other side to take stock of the difficulties of road-making, leaving Ruth and her escort to lunch under a tree together.
To them both it was a spot of the utmost desolation, not even a bird was to be seen, and a passing cloud flying low enveloped them for awhile in a soft grey mist. Ruth thought it smelt of the Himalaya mountains. "Very much in miniature," said Forrester. In fact, the whole of Kalipahar would have fitted on a single spur of some tea garden on those regal heights.
"I am so glad you brought me, Roy!"
"I am so glad you came. I never knew you were so plucky."
"One doesn't need pluck for an adventure like this."
"I have known girls jink at the bare thought of being scratched by thorns and seeing snakes. We've
seen several, and I noticed that you never turned a hair."
"You forget, I was in India as a little child and grew used to seeing snakes."
Then :
"Aren't you sorry Bodge is not with us?" she challenged him.
"No," after looking full into her eyes. "I am not. I shall have nothing to interfere with the memory of a wonderful day. And you, honey?"
She again thrilled to his use of the pet name.
"I am loving every minute of it. I am grudging the way the sun seems hurrying to the west, just as if it was jealous of my happy time."
Forrester looked as if there was something he wanted to say, for his eyes were suddenly luminous, his hand went part of the way to hers, but the impulse was checked, and the return of the party for drinks and sandwiches put an end to further confessions.
There was much talk among the men concerning the facilities of Kalipahar for the sanatorium project, but Scott, one of the surveyors, thought the place had an uncanny feel. He was not superstitious, but there was an air of ghostliness over the whole hill, particularly when the mist rolled down on them and blotted out visibility beyond a few yards.
He was a lank Eurasian with a life-long experience of India and Indians, and he mopped his head every now and then as if his nerves were getting the better of him.
"Do you think there is anything really in the curse they say attends all who have anything to do with this hill?" asked Ruth. She recalled how Moonia ayah had scorned the Hindu tradition, but would not herself go within a hundred yards of the base.
"I don't suppose there is, but people who are
ignorant allow it to prey on their minds and as likely as not come to grief. Then of course it is said that Kali did it."
"I don't know much about this goddess of theirs, but she seems from all accounts to be a rotten bad sport," said the other surveyor named Ashton. "Personally, I pay no attention to such tommy-rot, but in Scott's place, if I felt windy about it I'd stay away."
"I'm not 'windy' by any means," snapped Scott. "You fellows from abroad have no imagination Let me say there are more things in heaven and earth "
"Oh, yes! Spiritualism and the rest of it. But if we're through I think we had better make a move. The sun will be setting before we are out of the jungle."
"Wait a minute. We must check the area of this part of the summit," said Scott.
Forrester and Ruth did not wait to see that done, but started for home along the same track on which they had come up hill. Occasionally they noticed what seemed like a footpath crossing the trail. Once Forrester followed it, wondering where it led and how it had come there.
"Possibly the Sadhu has been up and down, unbeknownst!" she suggested.
"What would he be doing as high as this?"
"Does anyone know anything about him or who he is?"
"I've had my eye on him, but I haven't learned anything. He is rather clever, I think, in putting people off the scent. I'd like to have him shifted from here, as he is a first-class agitator."
"He must have an object in living in the district."
"Does anyone know where he hangs out?"
"No. He said he sleeps under bridges and culverts and calls no place his home."
"Howell laughs my idea that the Sadhu should be watched. He calls him a harmless lunatic."
Ruth thought he must assuredly be mad from her recollection of his conduct on the occasion of their meeting and the loss of her pearls.
As the paths seemed to disappear in tangled jungle, Forrester wasted no more time over them, but brought Ruth safely back to the Commissioner's bungalow, only to find that the Nawab was calling and had been asked to stop to pot-luck. He was closeted with the Commissioner at the moment on a matter of business.
Forrester refused the invitation to stay on for the informal meal, as he feared he could hardly help being rude to Majid if they met. He bade Lady Darrel and Ruth good night and went to the chummery, leaving Ruth to be enthusiastic on the subject of her day, which she did while changing for dinner.
"You look very sweet, Ruth," said Lady Darrel, kissing her impulsively. "Your mountain roses have lasted very well, unless it is excitement. I dare say you had a gorgeous time with Roy Forrester."
Eyes like twin stars shot a shy glance at her from the mirror.
"I am so glad the Nawab is going to do so much for the district," she said. "The hill is perfect."
"You, of course, found it so!---but, my dear kid, a word to the wise. Where can all this lead you? It's common knowledge that Forrester is not a marrying man."
"I know that," pettishly.
"Yet---you are in danger of losing your heart to him, dearest?"
"That's nobody's business."
"I deserve the snub."
"Oh, no! Please forgive me," and Ruth flung her arms round Lady Darrel's neck. "You are so kind to me. My nerves are on edge. It has been an exciting day."
"I think I know how you feel, and before you let feeling run away with you, I do so want to talk. You see, kiddie, I---I feel like a mother to you. I have fallen in love with my honey-bun," she coaxed, kissing Ruth's cheek and calling it velvet. "I would be so unhappy if you made the mistake of marrying into poverty, even were Roy Forrester thinking of asking you. I know all about his people. They have no money and he has just enough to keep the wolf from the door---his mother's gift to him. They are Irish and improvident. The elder brother is a bit of a lad---keeps horses, hunts, races, never has a bean and is always up to his neck in debt. The estate is mortgaged, so Roy knows that he has to work or marry money. His brother is doing that to save the estate, and is marrying a woman much older than himself, while Roy knows exactly why he must not make love to a nice little girl like you. If he does, he is not an honourable man.
"Now there is the boy Howell who has opened his mind to me. Do you mind me talking to you in this way?"
"Not at all," smiled Ruth. "For it makes very little difference. I'll still do what I have to do."
"Which is what your heart dictates irrespective of wisdom?"
"I don't think we can school our hearts beyond a certain point."
"Perhaps not. There are sentimental and romantic girls, and girls with sound common sense. I am hoping you are in the latter category. I know your circumstances and believe that your uncle will soon be unable to carry on. You, I believe will lose all you had---by his failure in business and will have to get a job. Let me say here and now, that your job will be here, with me. I need you, Ruth. So, till you marry the right man, I shall take care of you."
"But I couldn't let "
"Hush! My husband and I have made up our minds on that point. But I have something I wish to discuss with you. It is a crude subject---money. It is in your power to be a very rich woman. You know that? Wealthy, as they say, beyond the dreams of avarice 1 To how few such a chance comes! And believe me or not, it is money that counts in this world. Nothing else I"
"I---don't agree with you. Money does not buy happiness."
"It is a very good substitute when happiness is threatened. Lovers may think they are in heaven when they marry, but let poverty hamper them at every turn and embitter their relations, then you learn what little stability there is in love when there is nothing to back it. I talk through experience. I have loved---greatly." Lady Darrel smiled with disillusionment. "I would have given my soul for love. I sometimes think I did---but that is neither here nor there. I learned that love is altogether a temperamental affair, depending entirely on the means to keep it alive. Money alone defies misfortune."
"It cannot give health or life 1"
"It gives one the chance of saving one's health or lengthening one's life which poverty would have ended in dire suffering."
"You think a girl should sell herself to the highest bidder I"
"No. I only think she would be a fool not to accept the adoration of a multi-millionaire who would lay himself and his fortune at her feet, just because she does not happen to be infused by a sickly sentimentality
246 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL ality concerning her physical relations with him. Do I speak revoltingly?"---for Ruth had shuddered. "My child, believe me, one can be used to sacrificing oneself for the common good, and the satisfaction to be derived is greater than if one selfishly plunged headlong into matrimony with a fellow who hasn't a bean to his name."
"People look at things differently," persisted Ruth, and Lady Darrel held her away with her hands on her shoulders while she looked earnestly into her eyes.
"Ruth---you know whom I mean as the wealthy lover?"
"You mean the Nawab. You forget he is an Indian."
"I do not! It is only that I have come to see that mixed marriages don't matter as much as they once did. An Indian who happens to be a personage---a sort of figurehead in a province---a man who is entitled to recognition by the King Emperor, who has the right, socially, to move in the best society, may marry whom he pleases, and she would have to be accepted by society with a big S. . . .
"The Nawab has confided to me how he feels and has long felt with regard to you. I do honestly think that you would be foolish to turn him down. He can do more for you and yours than anyone. How can you refuse him only on the ground of nationality?"
"Have you no feeling against this sort of mixed marriage?"
"I got over that long ago."
"I have not. I could make a good friend of an Indian, but I could never be his wife."
"Well---we can't argue that question now as it is on dinner time. Let it be---only try to keep an open mind. Yusuf Majid is a gentlemart and well born.
His people have always been noblemen in India. I believe he would make an English girl a good husband."
"She would have to love him, or she would hate him in the end, and herself too."
"How obstinate, you are, darling!---or perhaps you have already fallen in love?"
The colour in Ruth's cheeks told their own tale as they passed into the drawing-room.
"My husband not here?" Lady Darrel asked the Nawab who rose from a chair. "He must be struggling with a tie or a collar-stud and cursing his bearer for a fool. Dear thing 1 There is no one like a wife, after all," and she swept from the room leaving Ruth and the Nawab face to face for the first time since their parting at Boglabund Tea Estate.
\' "I have to thank you," said the Nawab in low and humble tones, "for being very generous to me. I have no words with which to apologise for what happened."
"Please say nothing about it, Nawab Sahib."
"I am deeply indebted to you for not relating the circumstances to your friends. I am so thoroughly ashamed, that I do not know what to say except that I was---in truth, drunk. I was not responsible for my acts, and that is God's truth, Miss Ruth. I pray you to forgive and forget that episode. I lost my head when I found we were alone."
"You first planned to take me to Boglabund?"
"I swear it isn't true. It was an accident 1" Ruth could tell by his face that he was telling a lie, but she preferred to pretend to believe him.
"I have been told that people may do, when drunk, what they would not dream of doing when sober. We needn't refer to it again, please."
"Thank you. I respect and honour you for that."
The hideous memory was thereafter buried between them, and Ruth tried to speak of other things, but Majid was full of repentance and the desire to atone.
"May I offer compensation? I would ask you to name anything I may do for you---if it is in my power---and I will grant it. All I want is forgiveness and good-feeling."
"I have nothing to ask of you, Nawab Sahib," Ruth returned convincingly.
"A gift---name it?---a favour?"
"Nothing. I should not be happy to accept compensation of that sort from you or anyone. In our country and among our people, we don't exact any such thing." As Sir Amos and Lady Darrel entered at the moment, nothing more was said between them on the subject. Majid mopped his face and recovered his equanimity while Ruth related to the company something of her experiences on the mountain.
All the while the Nawab listened mutely, silenced by the jealousy that gnawed within. Forrester had all the luck. It was Roy Forrester all the time. The hang of his mouth showed that inwardly he was cursing Forrester with bitterness and malice.
"The air up there is delicious," Ruth continued under a fire of questioning at the dinner-table. "It felt like being again in the Himalayan mountains."
"What does it look like up there on Kalipahar?" asked Sir Amos.
"Quite a bit is level and will need very little to make it a lovely site for an hotel or a club with tennis courts and a swimming bath. There is a spring quite near, and lovely shady trees, with a mass of rocks on the highest point. They may need blasting. The pipal tree had old daubs of red and yellow paint and a huge stone slab at the root on which people must have prayed long ago before they were frightened off the hill."
"Is it a loose tile or a rock?"
"It is a slab of rock hewn that shape. It was too heavy for us to lift, or we might have tried to raise it. Mr. Scott said it would have to go and the tree with it when the time came for laying out the site for building purposes. Large rocks beside the tree will also have to go."
"My first idea," said the Nawab, "is to make a good driving road. When that is finished, I'll go up myself and have a 'look-see.' We might leave the piped tree and the slab, so as not to give the Hindus a handle for accusing us of sacrilege."
"Quite right," said Sir Amos, and was discoursing on the tact that was necessary in communal matters where races and religions clashed, when a noise of a sudden arrival and excited voices outside made him pause. "What's happened?"
A servant entered in excitement to say that the party from Kalipahar had arrived to report a tragedy.
"A tragedy?" All started to their feet and the table was abandoned.
"They have come, huzur, from Mynabari to see the Nawab Sahib," said an orderly at the door.
The Nawab instantly excused himself to Lady Darrel and went out to the men, where a babel of tongues tried to make clear the fact that a member of the climbing party had disappeared. Mr. Scott had vanished.
This was terrible news, for it appeared that the others had spent more than an hour searching for him.
"Tell me what happened," asked the Nawab.
Mr. Ashton was spokesman.
"We can't say how it happened at all. It seemed suddenly in the midst of our work in the afternoon that Mr. Scott was not with us. We called to him, we looked for him. We seemed to make the place echo with our shouts, but not a reply! I can't think, sir, what could have become of him."
"Where was he when you last saw him?" asked the Commissioner.
"He was standing with his back to the rocks by the pipal tree on higher ground than I was. He had just spoken to me to measure a certain distance. When I reached the spot, I turned, and he wasn't there. I thought perhaps, he had fallen backwards down the khud, but there were lots of trees and he could only have rolled a little way. Yet there wasn't a sign of him. I shouted for the coolies "
"Where were they all the time you were taking measurements?"
"They were resting a bit lower down at the mouth of a cave---a shallow cave---like many we came across. They came immediately and helped in the search. When all we could do proved unavailing, they turned and fled---I, of course, had to follow or be left all alone up there, and alone I could do nothing at all. The men would cry that a devil was in it---'Bhooth pukra!\' was their cry and I never saw such a panic. They are not Hindus. Mostly Untouchables---no caste---but they had the colossal wind up. The thing is, what are we to do? Scott is somewhere up there--- but where?"
"I take it this happened after Forrester and Miss Gowan left?" asked the Commissioner.
"Yes, sir. They had been gone a good while---were probably half-way home."
Ruth listened petrified, as also Lady Darrel. What
were they implying? Where could Mr. Scott be, but somewhere on the hill ?
"He couldn't be playing them a practical joke?" Lady Darrel asked.
"Not he, Madam. He was, funnily enough, in rather a nervous state and said he was justified, or words to that effect, as there were 'more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy.' "
"We've got to find him," said the Commissioner.
"Unquestionably. We must organize a search party," cried the Nawab, looking strangely pale through his dark skin.
"Call Howell Sahib at once---wait, I'll telephone to the Superintendent Sahib," said the Commissioner to the orderly, and made hurriedly for his study.
"What could have happened to Mr. Scott?" asked Ruth of Mr. Ashton.
"God knows, lady. I am completely stumped."
"Does Mr. Forrester know?"
"We came straight here from the palace."
The Commissioner returned within a few minutes, having communicated the shocking news to the Superintendent and started the ball rolling that was to ravage the sacred hill from top to bottom.
"This is a queer business, Majid. What do you think of it?"
"I don't know what to think," cried the Nawab looking for the first time nervous. "It looks fishy. There is some sort of hanky-panky going on. I wouldn't for a moment believe that there is anything supernatural in it. Let us hope the poor fellow will turn up presently. If he doesn't, we've got some weird business operating under our very noses, and we must get at the bottom of it without delay. I don't like the panic of the coolies. It will have a
bad influence on the natives and it is difficult to do anything when there is all that fear to fight."
The Commissioner scratched the back of his head.
"I certainly don't like the look of this at all. Especi
ally following on that threatening letter, Majid."
"It does look like an organized ban."
THE sacred hill was searched by the police throughout that night without result. There was no sign of Mr. Scott, the surveyor, anywhere. His disappearance was more than a mystery, it was positively uncanny. None but supernatural agencies could have effected such a complete translation of a human being. Seen standing in one spot and the next instant vanished into space. The residents of the neighbouring villages were convinced beyond all doubt that Kali the goddess was at the bottom of it and had destroyed the surveyor as a lesson to the Nawab and all who defied her power. To keep the devil at bay, they beat tin cans and tom-toms daily for a week till the air was filled with the din, and the superstitious were driven into a frenzy of fear. "Soon we shall all be killed," they told each other. "Watch and see---there will come a plague on the district---all because of that unbeliever, the Nawab!" "Let us make sacrifices to Kali---slay goats and pay tribute to the Brahmin priests," they said fearfully, and the priests reaped a rich harvest, the Sadhu of the bazaar having more livestock than he could conveniently convey for a sacrifice to the offended deity.
Into the midst of this the holidaymakers returned from the Sonaling to take up the old life of the plains, and Mr. Abbott went to Calcutta to meet his family and escort them home. The story of the Eurasian surveyor had travelled far and wide so that he had little to tell them that they had not already
353 *254 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps} read about in newspapers, except that Ruth and Forrester had been of the same party on the top, but returned home earlier.*
Bodge's only reaction to this item of news was a regret that she had not been there to join them.
Never had Mynapur been so full of strangers. Newspaper reporters harassed the life out of the police, they even assisted in the search for the missing man, following Roy Forrester everywhere with exasperating persistence till one morning Scott's body was found in a gully half-devoured by jackals and only a cracked skull to show how he came by his death. The gully was, moreover, one through which the searchers had passed more than once, and the mystery was thereby enhanced. How did he get there without hands? Whose hands had carried him to the spot? Where had the body been for a week?
No answers forthcoming, the conviction of foul play was confirmed in the minds of the police and of all thinking people. Only the simple village folk and peasants continued in the belief that Kali had condescended to return her victim to be an outstanding example of her vengeance.
Majid was asked if he still contemplated carrying out his plans for the hill, and replied that the murder of Scott had only crystallized his determination to hurry things on. He was not one to let his enemies think he could be terrorized. He would yet get at the bottom of the whole business if he had to blow up the hill altogether. Bravo! was the verdict of the station.
The question of labour was, however, the great stumbling block, for not a local coolie of any race or caste would set foot on Kalipahar for any money. The hill was possessed by the devil, they had no doubt whatever, and if the Nawab persisted in his wicked
defiance of the outraged goddess, some terrible calamity would descend on them all.
For the sake of one obstinate wealthy Moslem the entire community of Hindus would be wiped out.
Ruth returned to the Gowans' bungalow one day to break the news that she had consented to live permanently with the Darrels. They wanted her, and to refuse them was discourteous.
"I knew that would happen," said Aunt Ellen. "Of course you are wise and know on which side your bread is buttered." Which, to say the least of it, was provocative of a quarrel. Ruth, however, understood her aunt and took no notice of her jealousy.
Aunt Ellen had arrived with the children looking extraordinarily smart after her sojourn in the hills. She and the little ones had blossomed out into new clothes and matters pointed to an improvement in Uncle Joe's prospects, till Uncle Joe himself grew suspicious of his wife's banking account and demanded to know how she seemed able to break out in extravagance at a time when his business had never been so bad.
But Aunt Ellen had relatives and it was easy to make him believe a sum of money had been placed to her account by generous parents. Not that they could afford much, poor things, but they had family feeling, and it was about time something was done by someone.
Ruth accepted the explanation till one day Moonia ayah was communicative. She was dismissed for theft, when caught red-handed with a diamond ring of Aunt Ellen's buried in cottonwool and stuffed in her ear as a cure for alleged earache. Maudie pulled it out as she thought it rather bulky for the purpose, and the loss of a valuable ring was explained.
But the ayah, who should have been grateful for not being prosecuted, showed how gratitude was not one of her attributes. In fact virtue and Moonia were estranged from the days of her adolescence. She was malicious because of her dismissal, and before leaving the premises, insisted upon imparting a piece of news to Ruth which for ethical reasons was wrong to withhold from her now that self-interest no longer bound a servant to secrecy. She squatted on the floor at Ruth's feet, her bundles of worldly possessions beside her, and was full of mysterious hints.
Did the Miss baba know that Moonia understood the English language? No? But it was true. It was not her business to confess the fact before, but now it was an obligation so as to explain how she came to know certain things the Miss baba should know so as to be warned concerning whom to trust, and whom to regard as dangerous.
"Ayah, I know you for a gossip. If this is gossip, I will not listen to a word."
"Huzur, may I be struck dead where I sit if I am telling aught but the truth which it is necessary for you to know. You remember that time in the Villa Majid how Miss baba lost her train and went by motor-car to the plains? Ah, ha! I will tell what happened. Always it is good to know things, for that reason do I sometimes find it necessary to stand behind a curtain and take heed of what is said."
"You wicked creature!"
"No, Miss baba---if I had not done so how would I have been able to say this thing that the baba must know? The Nawab paid huzur\'s aunt money to put the hands of the clock back. I saw her with these eyes doing it and also going to huzur's dressing-table and turning the hands of your watch. Of a truth, these eyes were witness to the act!"
"Ayah! I don't believe it."
"Tcha! What for would I make this up? Who would it help? But it is true words I am telling, for you will see, huzur, how the memsahib has money to spend. Never since I was engaged as ayah could she send for clothes and shoes and give the baba-log toys like they have never had since they were born! The Nawab wrote the order on his bank, first it was not enough. 'Make it five thousand rupees,' the memsahib said, which these same ears heard, and peeping I saw the Nawab tear up the paper and write another. 'I'll be willing to risk a lot for so much, but not for less,' said my memsahib. So now the baba knows who sold her to the Nawab!"
"I cannot believe it. I will not believe it," said Ruth. "You are a wicked woman without any conscience, so no one can believe your word."
"Very well then, I go. There is no more to say," and Moonia collected her bundles and rose, leaving Ruth morally convinced that for once a confirmed liar had told the truth.
She could now understand how she had missed her train and how Aunt Ellen had suddenly found money to spend. It was an astounding revelation, but Aunt Ellen was never her friend. She had always hated having her in the house; an obligation since her husband had lost all the money Ruth's father had put into the business. She did not approve of mixed marriages, but had not been above a bribe to promote a marriage between the girl and the Nawab.
Ruth was glad that she had decided to live with the Darrels who were like parents to her, and was thankful when she left her uncle's house for good.
The only rift in her lute of contentment was Lady Darrel's support of the Nawab's courtship. Knowing nothing of the tea-garden episode, she spoke of him as an honourable gentleman, a highly educated fellow and a pleasure to associate with. She was never tired of singing his praises to Ruth, and was genuinely distressed because she could not persuade her to accompany her to call on the old Begum.
"The Nawab has promised that I should be shown the family jewels," she said. "Aren't you curious to see them? He says they are priceless treasures, collected for generations."
"I am not curious, really. I'll take it for granted that they are marvellous. But I don't admire Indian jewellery. The setting is so clumsy."
"The Nawab says that all these are to belong to his wife wheji he marries. The ruling Nawab's wife, under the will of the first Nawab of Mynabari, is given possession of the historic jewels. But he would be willing to reset anything his wife fancies, to suit her own taste. That is nice of him. He told me more. He says that a strong-room at the palace has not only these beautiful jewels, but hoarded gold. Indians have a passion for hoarding gold and he says he will let me have a peep at his strong-room that I might have some idea of the way Indian nobles and kings keep their treasures. I wish you would come."
"Please don't ask me. I am not at all interested."
"Such a pity. Imagine having jewellery that a queen must envy, and you are unmoved! All this that poor, devoted fellow declares will be yours if you marry him."
"He takes a lot of convincing that I don't want him with all his gold and jewellery."
"I am very sorry for him as he is such a good sportsman."
"Is he? I am not so sure."
"See what he spends on the station to help sport. The new polo ground. A billiard table for the club. His horses and elephants are lent whenever they are wanted for shoots. He himself gives a big shoot every year to his friends in the district. It is such a pity that a nice man like Majid should be doomed to disappointment. He will naturally prefer English girls, as he finds it hard to meet his equal among the women of his set who have, up till very recently, been shut up in purdah and are at a loss, now that they are suddenly set free and told to play about with 'strange men in society. They haven't any conversation and their outlook is all sex."
"He might find another English girl who won't say 'no' to him. I wish he would," said Ruth.
Lady Darrel paid the old Begum a visit and was proudly shown the treasures of the strong-room. The Begum herself was decked for the occasion in jewels that weighed heavily on her. Throat, arms, and ankles were made to carry their load, and yet there was no appreciable lightening of the treasure-chest.
Lady Darrel had much to say on her return of all she had seen at the Nawab's, his very English mode of living and the taste with which he had furnished his quarters. Her worldly mind yearned for the chance to handle all the money that would one day be his wife's and she still deplored the fact that Ruth should be so prejudiced and improvident.
Bodge, however, supported Ruth in her determination to refuse the honour paid to her, and openly showed a bias in favour of Dick Howell's offer to marry her the moment he was promoted. He would not have long to wait, and then would be in a position to support a wife.
Ruth, however, was unimpressionable. She was offhand and elusive with Dick. Laughed with and at him, but refused to become sentimental. Bodge was with her daily at the club where everyone met for games, and where no one was left to pair with anyone long without a great deal being said that was not true.
Two notorious gossips were the doctor's wife and the sister of the Superintendent of Police, and they were the first to hint to Bodge that her "nose was out of joint."
Bodge had very little nose anyway, taken as a feature, but its devil-may-care tilt was the admiration of more than one man and a passport to friendship wherever she went. She had never had to consider its loss of status till now, and was made seriously to wonder if many a true word was not said in jest.
Ruth certainly seemed to have made strides in her intimacy with Roy Forrester who was inexplicably different, somehow. It was impossible to say in which way he had changed, for he was the same obliging fellow ready to do anything for everybody and be the slave of none, but he was absentminded and less disposed to confide in Bodge spontaneously, as before, of his hopes and intentions in business.
It might have been the shock of the surveyor's death, which had more or less affected the spirits of everyone; it also could be that he had been unable to resist the appeal of Ruth's very feminine charm.
Ruth certainly had a little way with her that was unconsciously seductive. Though she never went out of her way to vamp men, they fell for her---witness Dick and the Nawab, to say nothing of others Bodge knew, who hadn't the ghost of a chance.
But Ruth had been thrown with Forrester a great deal latterly while Dick Howell had his work to do--- and strenuous work, too, judging by the increasing lawlessness of the district. He, being a junior, was constantly sent out into the country on some will- o'-the-wisp errand by his chief, for hunting criminals had become a passion with the Superintendent. It
seemed that Ruth had spent an entire day on Kali- pahar with Roy Forrester. What an opportunity for improving their acquaintance---more than that--- of acquaintance ripening into love.
Poor old Roy 1 Bodge knew that he was poor and proud and could not ask any girl to marry him with or without money, for he could not keep a wife on what he had, and would not be kept by a wife if the money was hers. The burning question was, could she be sure of either of her friends? Must she swallow her pride and question him? To ask Ruth direct would get her nowhere, for Ruth was not likely to give herself away or confess what had taken place on Kali- pahar between herself and Roy, particularly as she knew what Bodge's sentiments were. Bodge would have to go warily and find things out for herself.
As the days passed, coolies were imported by the Nawab for road-making on Kalipahar. They had heard little or nothing of the superstition concerning the hill, and even so would have gone into the jaws of hell for the good wages offered. Nowhere else would they have been given such good terms; therefore, large bands of workers were seen digging and carting and blasting rocks from morning till sundown while the Nawab would himself drive to the scene and walk among them encouragingly.
One day they complained that a Sadhu had passed by muttering prayers. He had paused a moment to tell one of the workers that they were all safe enough where they were, but they had only to wait till they were high up on the hillside when their luck would change.
"What will happen?" the coolie asked.
"Who knows but the great khoda! He will act in his own time. This is the temple of Kali---this great hill. Kali and her agents dwell within. How then
a62 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
will she suffer you to pierce her dwelling place and blow out her sides ? You are committing sacrilege at the word of an unbeliever."
"Peradventure she will not harm us who are only doing the bidding of the Nawab."
"When disasters come they take no count of who perishes. Do not the righteous perish with the guilty?"
The coolie began to think, and then to infect the others with his fears. "Who knows but this hill is possessed. It has an unlucky name. The hill is Kali's by its name, and Kali, they say, is unrelenting."
"Go to, you are a Hindu!" they laughed at him. Nevertheless after a week the appearances of the Sadhu with begging bowl and necromancy to amuse the coolies while he was pouring fear into their bones, caused the entire labour battalion to abscond from Mynabari, in spite of advances and promises of bonuses in the end, and the work was again at a standstill.
Once more the Nawab succeeded in collecting labour. This time at great expense from the Central Provinces. The men were prepared for the story of the hill and warned against agitators and Hindu fanatics. They were given good terms and large advances for the families they left behind them, and came prepared to laugh superstition to scorn and to promise to discover the culprits who were responsible for the scare and the murder of Scott Sahib whose body was buried, and the crime unavenged.
Forrester and Howell both made excursions to the top of Kalipahar armed with automatics, and returned without adding anything to what was already known. There was still nothing to account for the disappearance and murder of Scott; nothing new to report except that they had explored every path, or what might once have been paths, buried in undergrowth, that might have escaped the notice of the police, and
found that they seemed irregular and aimless, coming out of the undergrowth and ending in jungle. One led to the summit out of dense jungle and ended under the pipal tree. It was more like trampled weeds than a path and might easily have resulted from the search parties that had roamed the hill before them.
Again the echoes resounded to blastings and pickaxes. Two months had passed since the death of Scott. Christmas had come and gone with the usual rejoicings, presents and parties. Ruth had become acquainted with everyone in the Mynapur district and was given a good time by all the men. She and Bodge were fast friends and the life of every entertainment.
More surveyors arrived; architects and builders spread plans before the Nawab. Forrester tendered for the contract to build a residential club on the summit with all else that would be required to make it attractive, and had little hope of success, but to his surprise was given the job. "When can you start?" the Nawab asked. "If you begin at once, by the time you are ready to get on with the sanitation and water supply, the road up the hill will be ready. Meantime a rough road will be all I can give you for conveying materials."
"I have a better plan and shall have a hydraulic lift up the steep side of the hill. It will cost less and be quicker," replied Forrester.
"Of course you will employ good engineers and builders?"
"I can put my hand on the very men."
"Splendid. I don't mind telling you that I have given you the contract as I think you will be the man to push the work. There is a lot of nervousness among contractors who want the job. They seem to me afraid of their labour, and I am not going to give in for any man. I want to be sure of carrying this through---and I think you will not be beaten. But I am sure you will have a hell of a lot of trouble. What is to prevent more disappearances?" He eyed Forrester with curious keenness as if he would not be sorry to hear that Forrester himself had disappeared.
"My engineers and overseers will be armed and are to be warned to shoot at sight anyone who is suspicious."
"There was nobody suspicious when Scott vanished."
"No. That is a mystery we've got to solve, and I will not rest till I've solved it. I shall be on the spot continually and shall have many opportunities to study things. I think within the coming month we will have started operations."
"Well---we'll show the rascals what we think of them," said the Nawab. "Of course we are up against a tough crowd. After what happened to Scott, I imagine they will stick at nothing to have us out of it."
"I have long made up my mind," said Forrester, "that the hill has the key to the entire system of robberies and dacoities that have been baffling the police for so long. Once we have succeeded in tracking them down, it will be the end of the Kali scare."
"I agree with you."
They parted and Forrester went on to the Abbotts for dinner full of his new prospects. If everything went as he hoped, he would clear a large sum of money, and have a splendid start as a contractor. His eyes were constantly on Ruth that evening for he saw that she looked uneasy instead of pleased. Once he tried to speak to her under cover of the general conversation. A few young people had dropped in after dinner for coffee and bridge, and tongues wagged noisily.
"What is the matter, honey?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You have tell-tale eyes. You have not congratulated me with the others."
"That is because I do not trust the Nawab. He would not give you the stone contract except for some reason, as he dislikes you---oh, yes, I know he does. I have seen it in his eyes. But he lets you have this building contract because it will keep you up there and away from everybody---perhaps in danger. Instinct tells me that he wants to injure you. He can have many contractors and won't mind if you drop out---for ever. I---I don't like it. I am afraid." Her face looked anxious and agitated. They had both forgotten that Bodge was naturally observant and likely to notice their interest in each other.
"Bless your heart," he whispered, his eyes softening affectionately. "I don't want you to worry about me, but I am glad you do. Is that contradictory?"
"You know I must---I cannot help it." Her voice broke and she turned her face away.
"I am going to work like blazes to make it possible for me to do something I never thought I could. Shall I tell you what it is?"
"Tell me---tell me everything 1"
"Darling I" he murmured and had no chance to say more for Bodge was with them, a curious look in her eyes.
"What is he saying, honey, to make you cry?" Bodge asked frankly. "Of course you are crying. Don't deny it 1 Come, Roy. You've been frightening her. What is it?"
"Bodge---why has the Nawab given him that contract? Do you believe it is to help him?"
"I certainly don't. The Nawab imagines you are both too friendly to suit his temper, and he is trying to rid the station of Roy. Anyone can see that."
"He can't do that. I'll be here after sundown every day."
"Presently when your club-house is nearly finished you'll spend most of your time on the spot. He means you shall."
"I am afraid of the Nawab because he is dangerous when he dislikes anyone," persisted Ruth.
"And he dislikes Roy because he is jealous. Why is he jealous, Roy?" she dared to ask him in Ruth's presence that he might sense the reproach she meant to convey.
"He would be jealous of every man who looks at Ruth."
"We all know he is madly in love with Ruth," said Bodge. "But he is not jealous of Dick. I think I can answer my own question. The Nawab believes that you are his most dangerous rival, and that is what you have been letting him think these weeks past--- you and Ruth. Why?---if it is going to make him suffer and means nothing? It is rather cruel to him and dangerous for you, Roy. I know you are both pals and all that. But be careful when you are dealing with an Oriental, or I shall begin to be nervous. I don't want my friend to be ambushed one day by order of the Nawab, while the world might think it's a case similar to Mr. Scott's."
"Oh, what a frightful idea!" Ruth's panic was illuminating and Bodge, having discovered what she wanted to know, squeezed Ruth's hand and left them alone. Her face white under the rouge.
"Roy!---that could so easily happen. I shan't know a moment's peace. Why have you gone into this business?"
"To get somewhere, honey. As I was, I had no
chance of getting anywhere. Don't alarm yourself. I'll be all right. Nothing will happen to me. I am always armed and can defend myself."
"Not if you are unexpectedly attacked. Oh, I wish you would leave Mynapur and try your luck somewhere else!"
"Don't you know why I must stay? Bodge has guessed it---haven't you?"
"I am afraid Bodge has had a blow," Ruth refused to answer his question. "Roy---please go to her and put it right. She is getting so little of you these days."
"Would you have me kid her into thinking I'm in love with her, honey?"
"Didn't she think so not very long ago?"
"I am sorry if she did."
"Lots of people thought so---including myself."
"Not now?"
"Be good to her, Roy."
"Shall I lie and say : 'Bodge, I'm in love with you.
I cannot live without you'?"
"She wouldn't believe it---now I"
"Quite right. I'll go instead and say : 'Bodge, I worship and adore a little girl called Honey. What am I to do about it?' "
"Tell her that I never tried to make you do it," she murmured shyly.
"She knows it already. Give her credit, honey, for seeing things. You heard her just now. She wanted me to know that she knew how the land lay with me, but was sorry I had not confided in her. Bodge is splendid and we'll be friends a lifetime--- because we have never made love. I am seeing you home when you give the sign. May I?"
"Suppose Dick also asks to come?"
"He won't. We had a straight talk and he will never barge in again---poor old Dick!"
On the way home, Roy found the darkest shadow on the road and paused in it to take Ruth in his arms and kiss her passionately.
"It is what I have been hungering for all these weeks---and months."
"And why didn't you---before?" she said, yielding herself to his embrace. I
"Because I saw no shadow of hope ahead. Now it is different. I'm going to make money, sweetheart. At last I am on the road to success. I shall soon have you altogether my own---my wife."
"I will be ready when you want me, Roy."
"I want you now---but there is that little matter
of a home I must first make for my beloved."
"I am afraid to wait. I feel as if I can't look ahead--- |
there is something shutting out the view---take me quickly, Roy. I can't wait---I'm afraid!";
"Why, honey---you're a little pessimist!"
"I---cannot help it. I am frightened," and she sobbed uncontrollably on his breast.
It was some time before he could soothe her and show her that there was nothing to fear and that her distress was the result of shock and worry. Her nerves had given way---that was all.
BODGE called the next day and took Ruth out riding, and by her cheerful manner and affectionate greeting, made it apparent that she owed no one any grudges. It was this sweetness of character that made Ruth her devoted friend and admirer. It was with deeply apologetic feelings that Ruth set forth, convinced that Bodge had guessed all there was to know concerning her two best friends and would surely expect a frank confession. It was to give her the chance to speak that she had called. It was not Bodge's way to nurse doubts and anxieties without voicing them, so she was not long in opening the subject. Till then Ruth had felt tongue-tied.
"You remember my telling you, honey, how foolish I was getting over Roy ? Like a blind idiot I saw nothing but what I wanted to see---till one day, my eyes were opened. Shall I tell you about it?"
"Tell me what you like, Bodge. You cannot guess how wretched I feel."
Bodge laughed reassuringly. "Why, honey? Not on my account, surely? Do you think I blame you for my stupidity? I am a conceited egotist, and deserve one for my nob! You see---that's the worst of being an only child. I have grown up imagining that the world was mine if I wanted it---sheer vanity!" "Never, never! You are anything but conceited or vain. Nor are you an egotist. I have never known a nicer nature "
"That is very comforting, honey."
269
"Everyone thinks the same."
"Even Roy?"
"Of course---he was praising you on the way home, last night."
"How dear of him. I was afraid he was thinking me a consummate ass. But perhaps I wasn't such a fool after all, for you can't help getting weak for anyone who is everything you have always admired since flapper days. If I thought he felt the same, it was the wish that was father to the thought. I should have known that I couldn't stand an earthly beside you. If I had been a man I should have fallen for you myself---that's honest. So why not Roy? It is good to have a logical mind---next best to a sense of humour."
"Bodge---I never tried to make him---care."
"You needn't tell me that. It was rather the other thing---you used to pass him over for very fear of showing him what you felt. I see that now. At the time, I grant, I too was deceived. He never knew what to make of you, and that made him all the keener. If girls only knew the secret of how to win a fellow they would never chuck themselves at his head. I did nothing but take possession of Roy till he must have been fed up."
"Oh, no! He said you and he had never made love---and because of that you would be pals for life."
"Did he really say that?"
"I am repeating what he said last night."
"I'm so glad 1 It makes me feel so much better. I had to see you to talk it out for---I was so bitterly ashamed of myself "
"There is no need, Bodge."
"You don't think I really gave myself away?" If Ruth coloured guiltily, it was in a good cause.
"Roy respects you tremendously---as everyone does, and he is very fond of you."
"I can do with that. I know he worships the ground you tread on---he asked me to wish him luck last night. His way of telling me the truth. But I had guessed it already. Then you don't think I made a fool of myself in his eyes?"
"Oh, Bodge!----you? I think you are a tremendous sport! Roy said so."
"My dear---we both adore the same man and neither of us is jealous! Have you ever known anything like it?" And Bodge laughed heartily.
"That is because of your bigness, Bodge. You have the biggest nature I know. I thought you would--- just---hate me."
"What for? I know you couldn't help yourself any more than I---and I know you played the game all through."
"I couldn't bring myself to tell you about it. I felt such a cur when I knew that he---wanted me."
"A man cannot have two wives. We are not Mormons, and I am sure you'd want to kill me if I ever wanted to come between you two. Nor could I imagine sharing a husband with another woman, though, amazing to relate, it has been done. What a life!---which brings me to these harems in India. Can you fancy the wife---the chief one---knowing that her husband is thick with her handmaidens and may, if he likes, marry one or two more wives? There's a domestic problem for anyone!"
"It's nothing if you have been brought up to look upon it as quite a natural thing, I suppose. It makes one wonder if these ignorant women are much better than animals."
"It is when they grow out of their old ideas and get enlightenment that the trouble begins. They have quite a wrong idea of the equality of the sexes and play the devil with their new freedom. I've seen it happen. That's what frightens Indian men when they feel compelled to go with the tide and abandon the purdah system. But---surely something is happening over there?" Bodge broke off to point at thick, black smoke in the distance. "That's Myna- bari village, if I am not mistaken!"
"That's just where I think the Nawab's palace should be," said Ruth. "Let's go and see what it is."
They put their nags into a gallop and headed for the volumes of smoke that rose spirally to the sky.
Every now and then, when they drew rein to breathe and ease their horses, they saw what looked like fresh bursts of flame. Even in the sunlight they were visible licking skywards against a background of angry smoke, and as they approached they could hear the cries of multitudes raised in excitement and agitation, as was always the accompaniment of a village fire.
"It must be that the village is on fire," said Bodge.
They rode on till they could feel the heat of the flames and hear their roar mingling with the shrieks of women and children, the shouts of male voices ordering and directing in the midst of pandemonium.
"This is terrible!" cried Ruth.
"I wonder what they are doing? Of course there is no fire brigade as there is no running water system. I wonder the Nawab never took that in hand instead of Kalipahar?"
"Oh, look!" as flames shot higher, carrying with them an explosion of woodwork. "I do believe it is the Nawab's palace!"
"Good heavens!---it is. Let's get nearer if we can."
They rode into the village making their way with difficulty through the masses of inhabitants who were all in the streets, adding to the general confusion with their screams of excitement. Children were thrown
down and hurt, women dragged them to safety, men ran to and fro, climbed on the thatched roofs of huts with stout sticks ready to deal with sparks alighting. Sparks rained on the village to ignite a roof or a haystack every here and there, which lively, semi-nude tenants and coolies immediately extinguished like dancing devils brandishing weapons.
"It's the palace, huzur!" an hysterical woman cried. "It is too hot to go closer. Even here our skin is scorched."
The palace standing at the entrance to the village, surrounded by brick walls on which ran broken bottles in the cement, belched out smoke and fire. The scene within could be imagined as glimpses were caught of property being hurled from windows to the courtyard below and black figures almost surrounded by flames fighting to subdue the conflagration with sacks and sticks. A long line of coolies passed up buckets of water that were emptied in futile fashion on the raging interior, each bucketful only appearing to aggravate instead of to quench the fire.
"Is everyone safe?" asked Ruth.
"Who can tell, huzur?" cried a bystander, an old woman with a bellowing child astride her hip.
The two horses were wedged in among a throng of fascinated spectators and were themselves beginning to grow restless and object to the crush and the noise to say nothing of the smell of burning. Smoke also drifted down to them as the wind swirled round the dwellings.
"There! you see the Nawab himself!" screamed a youth.
"Go and help, you lazy one," said a woman, slapping his face. "Can't you see that all must lend a hand, and then when rewards are handed out you will not be forgotten."
Ruth saw the Nawab standing on an outhouse, his figure silhouetted against the whitewashed building, a tragic figure flinging his arms about while shouting orders to his men.
A grey-haired Rajput came squeezing his way through the crowd from the direction of the palace, the only self-controlled person in that scene of frantic excitement. He was dressed as a peon in the livery of the Nawab and he was threading his way through the crush with determination, a look of supreme detachment on his face.
"Hi!---chaprassi!" called Bodge from her saddle. "Is everyone safe ?"
All knew the Collector's daughter and the peon salaamed.
"I have just seen that the women are sheltered in a cowshed, huzur, and am on my way to the koberaj as some have been badly burned. The Begum Sahiba is like to die of grief. She lies bahose on the straw, the shock of the robbery is too much for her in her old age."
"The robbery?" the girls asked in a breath.
"Alas! The Nawab has had a great misfortune in the night. Not only have dacoits cleared out his strong-room, but they set fire to the palace. In one night he is the loser of untold treasure. What to do? He has sent for the police from Mynapur as those from the thana here have been fighting the fire since dawn."
"When was it discovered that there had been a robbery?" asked Bodge.
"Not till thick smoke awakened the household. Even then they might have died in their sleep for all were doped, huzur. The night-watchman more than any, for they are still lying like dead men on the grass. The Nawab himself went running to awaken
his servants and on the way found that the strongroom had been forced and that the chaukidars were lying bahose."
"We had better return home and tell them what has happened," said Bodge, and together they rode back to Mynapur in breathless haste.
"Had we not ridden across country we would have met the car taking the news to the police in Mynapur," said Ruth. "I wonder what difference this will make in the Nawab's plans?"
Dust swirled about them, smoke followed them on their way. In places the sun could be seen like a lurid ball floating in vapour.
"Some fire!" panted Bodge, drawing rein for a moment as her mount was in a lather and Ruth cried out that she couldn't keep the pace. "When you think that an enormous proportion of the great man's wealth was hoarded in gold inside his palace, you can imagine what a big dacoity like this is going to do with the Nawab."
"I am thinking of the marvellous jewels the Begum showed Lady Darrel the other day. It is terrible to think that it is all stolen 1" cried Ruth.
"I am also thinking that there is many a slip betwixt the cup and the lip, and that poor old Roy will probably have his hopes badly dashed over this. He is quite right. This is not an ordinary dacoity, but an organized act of terrorism. They made a start by causing the death of the surveyor "
"You mean these same dacoits?"
"I mean the band of rascals who are trying to play on the superstition of the Hindus for some purpose of their own to keep Kalipahar isolated. Roy thought there was some such trick about it, and I am beginning to think he is right."
"It certainly looks like terrorization."
Riders in a cloud of dust advancing towards them proved to be Roy and Dick Howell on their way to the Nawab's palace. They had heard what had happened and having sent car loads of police by road were taking a short cut across fields.
They had time only for a few words before parting.
"A daring business. Those fellows mean to stick at nothing," said Roy.
Howell expressed his conviction that Kalipahar was at the bottom of it all.
"Roy is right. They are determined to stop the Nawab by hook or by crook. It makes you want to do a bit of Sherlock Holmes to get at what they are after. I'd like to put my hands on the ring-leaders."
"They are the hereditary enemies of the Nawab--- the descendants of the Rajah who gambled away his property here to the forefathers of the Nawab. They have succeeded in doing him out of the hill which the Rajah treated with superstitious veneration and which few Mohammedans would have respected and now having made it their own---used it for whatever nefarious purposes they have, they are certainly not going to give it up. We've got to discover to what use they are putting the hill and blow it sky high. That will for ever end this struggle."
They left as they came, in a cloud of dust, and the girls continued their way homeward, meeting along the track files of natives trekking to the scene of the fire. A fire has ever a great attraction for simple village folk who always turn out in their hundreds not to miss a fascinating event which holds out possibilities of loot. They came on bullock carts and on foot, men, women and children, all carrying a day's rations, and looked not unlike fugitives fleeing before a hostile invasion, except that they were a happy crowd and carried no luggage, only water vessels, a pouch of
parched peas, ground corn and stale chapatis* Ruth could picture them squatting idly by the wayside and chattering like apes of the Nawab's misfortune. They were not unsympathetic, but it was an impersonal affair and could therefore be enjoyed as a spectacle. Should there be a scramble for odds and ends lying in the open, they would be sure not to miss their opportunity.
Lady Darrel collapsed. on a chair when she was told of the robbery---the fire was a secondary matter. Palaces could be built again, furniture bought, clothes renewed---but those wonderful jewels---those chests full of dull gold coins into which it was possible to bury one's hands---each coin worth so much money! She had never seen gold mohurs and had been fascinated. There were gold mohurs long out of currency and all the more valuable with the price of gold risen. Yet, lying idle---idle. . . . and so much misery in the world!
Ruth appreciated the fact bitterly, for the lack of money was keeping two loving hearts apart.
"I wonder these people don't invest more? Surely they know that 'money makes money'?"
"There is a chance of losing what you invest when banks fail and industrial conditions slump. Whereas, a miser can see his fortune growing "
"Until 'thieves break through and steal'!"
No one saw the Nawab for days, but news of him was rumoured everywhere. He was roused to anger such as never before, and vowed vengeance on the dacoits if it took every coin he possessed. A large reward was offered to the man who should give information that would lead to the arrest of the ringleaders, and an equal sum to anyone discovering where his treasures were hidden. Altogether, a fortune
•Unleavened bread.
278 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL equal to ten thousand pounds was waiting to be won by whoever had the luck, the enterprise, or the courage, to track down the criminals. The Nawab could afford all that and more, if he got his property back.
The old Begum died of heart failure and was buried quietly. The palace walls yawned roofless to the sky; but the Nawab had no intention of sitting down helpless under his tragic loss. His orders for rebuilding on a much finer scale were already placed, as he wanted a fitting casket for the greatest of all his jewels---the English wife he hoped some day would adorn it.
He frequently called on the Commissioner, who enjoyed his society, and discussed his projects and plans, his determination to break up the gang that was alarming the district, and Sir Amos gave his sympathy and co-operation. It was a matter of concern to him that no trace of the treasure had been found, not even a single piece of it. He made no reference to the Nawab's matrimonial hopes which he thought rather far-fetched and optimistic without cause.
"I am watching that," said the Nawab grimly. "I have paid spies on the job ready to pounce the moment they see their object. The bazaars elsewhere are more likely places than locally. My detectives are full of hope."
"The thieves will, I have no doubt, lie low for the present, knowing that the police everywhere have been notified of your loss."
"I am not over-confident of the morals of the native police, Sir Amos. Those fellows are human and open to bribery. There is a very large sum of money in the case, and priceless jewels. The thieves can afford to bribe generously."
"But it will be difficult to part with the gold in any bazaar, seeing how widely this has been advertised."
"That is my great hope. If only one can imagine where the rascals have stored it. Under the ground very likely---buried, unquestionably, and in a place least likely to be suspected. Oh, we'll get it back all right. I have put Forrester on the job. He's a live wire, that young man, and I see no reason why I should not use him in this very tricky business. He is altogether fearless and I think most resourceful, so I think he might hit on an idea yet. He refuses to talk about it, for fear that it will get around somehow. This is a marvellous country for the rapid spread of news."
"I suppose you will have to abandon your schemes for Kalipahar now---very unfortunate."
"For the present, yes. But they are still working on the roads. I'll let them carry on, for one never knows, you know. I might find when I have looked into my affairs more thoroughly, that I can afford to go ahead, if only to snap my fingers in the faces of that rascally crowd who hope to frighten me. There will be a delay, naturally, but I shall certainly not abandon my scheme."
The Commissioner congratulated him on the stoutness of his heart, and told his wife that he had an enormous admiration for the Nawab's sticking qualities. He deserved to succeed in all his undertakings--- even in his hope of an English wife---though Sir Amos hoped it would never be Ruth. He did not care who else was mated to the Nawab, but Ruth was a special favourite and she should never be pushed into a mercenary marriage---particularly a mixed one.
Lady Darrel being all things worldly, had changed her mind concerning Ruth's matrimonial prospects. She no longer wished her to take the Nawab, however good a fellow he was, and respected by all---the fact remained that he was no longer fabulously rich. He was not the multi-millionaire he had been prior to the robbery. And an Indian needed to be all that to marry a girl like Ruth. He was now merely very well off. He had his lands and his rent-roll, his investments which had always been independent of his father, but his wife would not possess the priceless jewellery of the late Begum, and she for one was glad Ruth had been so definite from the beginning. It would not be said that she had changed her mind since the robbery.
She was therefore in agreement with her husband that the Nawab should not be encouraged to think of Ruth. There were lots of English girls who might like to be made a Begum and she hoped he would soon find one to suit him.
Ruth enjoyed this change of front, but it was the least of her preoccupations. She was most concerned to think that Roy Forrester had taken up the matter of the robbery personally and was interesting himself independently of Dick Howell and the police in looking deeper than the surface for a solution to the mystery.
He confided to her alone that he believed with the Nawab that the police were not to be trusted. There was a lot of money involved and bribes would be generous as threats of violence and death to possible traitors would be terrorizing. It was not the first time that corruption had been found to exist in the rank and file of the native force, for if it were not locally the case, the truth would by now have been brought to light.
Roy was engaged upon private detective work on his own initiative and was silent on the subject of his activities. Not even to Ruth would he divulge his plans, but he enjoyed being warned by her to take care of himself. It was sweet to think she cared so much what became of him.
Ruth, however, was hurt to be excluded from his confidence. It was a secret source of distress to her that his love for her was not equal to the test of faith.
THERE followed a time of tense excitement throughout the Division when it became generally known that a gang of dacoits capable of any daring act was at large preying on the public and bent on terrorizing the Nawab. They had burnt him out and robbed him of his priceless treasures and were as yet unidentified among the peaceful population of the outlying villages. It argued that they were being sheltered by sympathisers and were bribing the police.
A great tightening up of the force at Mynapur was carried out, with wholesale transfers. The large reward offered for information that would lead to the arrest of the ringleaders produced no result. The villagers themselves were indignant at the suspicion which had fallen on their villages, and much private detection brought fantastic tales to police headquarters. One old man was heard to say that there were no dacoits concerned in what had happened. Devils employed by Kali had carried out her vengeance on the Moslem Nawab for the sacrilege he was committing. So firm was his faith that he had many converts to his theory. He declared at a large gathering in the market place that the treasure would never be recovered as it had been removed by supernatural means and destroyed. How could such a quantity of jewels and gold have been carried off without someone seeing them removed? Only a motor-car could have been used for the purpose, and where was such a conveyance to be found except in the homes of the wealthy? It pointed distinctly to an act of Kali.
But this was purely a Hindu hypothesis.
The market hummed with conjecture. Some of the Moslem religion thought a bullock cart would have attracted less attention and could have gone to its destination in safety and unchallenged, for many bullock carts went to and fro on the high road, the driver smoking a cocoanut hookah and twisting the tails of his bullocks. Some carts had mat hoods for protection when conveying veiled women from one place to another. How easily such a cart could have escaped observation. The motor-car theory was abandoned. Of course, said one, they set fire to the palace when they had finished their job, hoping that most of the occupants would perish in the flames. They were real budmashes, those men, and without pity.
But no Indian believed for a moment that there was any connection between the palace outrage and the death of Scott Sahib. He was slain unquestioningly by supernatural means, for how had he vanished in the twinkling of an eye, in the presence of his friend who had scarcely turned his back for a moment? Only a tiger could have done it, but as there were no tigers on the hill, for no pugs were visible on the path where the dust lay thick, what was anyone to think? Even those who were not Hindus were inclined to blame Evil Spirits. All knew that Evil Spirits were employed by the Unseen Deity for the punishment of men.
In the meantime, Roy Forrester was attracting a great deal of attention among the natives in and out of the station. His name was mentioned as that of an intrepid being who had no fear for his life and who was showing himself a great deal too much concerned with the capture of the dacoits and the unravelling of the mystery of Scott's death. He visited the bazaars and mixed freely with the people, listening to their talk and talking to them himself. He spoke the vernacular well enough to make himself understood and to understand when spoken to, having evidently studied Urdu under a teacher. Some thought he was attracting attention to himself unwisely and would surely become a mark for the lawless ones.
Gradually it began to be known that he left the station every night and it was not known what he did with himself, for he returned after the sun was high and slept for hours, turning day into night. His servant said that he lived in a shirt and shorts and rarely visited his friends in the station. House servants reported in the bazaars that Forrester Sahib was becoming unpopular with the ladies and gentlemen who had always welcomed him to their houses, as he was behaving so strangely by refusing invitations and neglecting his friends.
They were quick to observe changes in the attitude and manners of the Sahibs for whom they worked, and they were not wrong, for there was little doubt that Roy Forrester had taken the latest outrage very much to heart and was overdoing the detective business which was a slight on the police.
The Superintendent cursed him behind his back when talking of his behaviour, and Dick Howell was getting "fed up" with excusing his acts.
The Abbotts did not know what to make of his open neglect of his friends, particularly the two girls with whom he had been so friendly. Bodge felt annoyed on Ruth's account, as his absence and the days he missed seeing her---when it was to be expected that nothing should come in the way of his duty to one he had made conspicuous by his attentions---were making it humiliating for her.
"I can account for it in one way," said Bodge to Ruth. "His own hopes of that big contract have hung fire, as naturally the Nawab is bound to want his palace rebuilt, which he says he will have done under his own supervision, and that is a blow. Poor Roy feels as far from getting married as he was when he first arrived here, but the reward offered is colossal, and alone would put him on his feet."
"I am not worrying about that," said Ruth. "It might be years before he can marry, but I think he might come as before and see us."
\"You, you mean. Of course. Someone should bring him to his senses."
"I hope no one will interfere!" Ruth protested with indignation. "I should hate him to come because someone made him!"
"No one would do that, but I imagine he is allowing his mind to be distracted by his obsession concerning the hill and the dacoits. He has suddenly taken to going out at nights, Mr. Howell says, and staying out till morning. Surely he knows that people will talk."
"Why should he go out all night?" Ruth asked anxiously.
"I don't believe for a minute it is for immoral purposes, as evil-minded people might think---some men are queer and native women are too easily complaisant---no! Roy is not like that. He used not to pay any attention to native women."
"Oh, Bodge! If I ever thought any such thing!"
"Don't. It's an insult to him. Roy is busying himself, as the police are saying, trying to show up the corruption in the Service locally. I think he hopes to pitch upon a clue."
"But he could drop in oftener to see us, and not run in and out for a few minutes sometimes just to show he is alive." Ruth looked hurt and offended.
"Didn't you ask him why he does this?"
"I don't want him to think I am dying for his company. Either he wants mine or he doesn't, and that's the end of it."
"Have you quarrelled?" Bodge in consternation.
"Oh, no! But---very nearly. He said the last time that he could not explain what he was doing but wanted me to trust him. Until he was beaten he would keep on and I must not be nervous or imagine things. As there were people present he couldn't say more, and it was all most unsatisfactory." Ruth showed she was missing the love he had shown her, his demonstrations of feeling; that everything, even his love, was subordinated to this criminal-hunting obsession. "I told him rather horridly, that if he kept on as he was doing he'd end in a madhouse."
"What did he say to that?"
"He was annoyed, of course. He expects me to put all personal feeling aside while he chases will-o'-the-wisps. ' '
"And you showed him you wouldn't?"
"Not exactly. I showed him that I thought he was not being as nice as he might be, and that he could stay away altogether, if it suited him."
"And what happened?"
"He hasn't done anything to improve matters, has he? He wouldn't come to tennis, and he's never in the station. Now we hear that he is out all night, and sleeping most of the day."
"That's very disappointing, I must say. But I do admire Roy and think he must be after a clue of some sort, or thinks he is. We've got to wait and see."
Ruth waited as there was nothing else to do, but she saw no prospect of improving things. Forrester continued to behave strangely, having dropped all interests in his crazy determination to get at the root of the mystery. He refused to leave it to the police, whose job it was. There was nothing to prevent him from doing free-lance detection even if it was at a risk to his life. Consequently, everyone felt angry with him, including Ruth, who continued humiliated.
No one but Forrester himself knew the true reason for his persistent optimism respecting his ultimate success, for something had happened that had quickened hope and narrowed down his search to a fine point.
Before he started turning night into day, he was on the top of Kalipahar one afternoon, alone, regardless of personal danger from an unknown quarter, for he was on the alert and his automatic was a good protection. It was a few weeks after the palace raid and fire, and it was hard for him to be reconciled to the abandonment of his cherished hopes. The Nawab had offered a good beginning, the hill promised magnificent prospects, and all had gone up in smoke because of the devilment of a few lawless rascals.
Taking everything that had happened recently into calm consideration, he felt convinced that the ban on Kalipahar by the so-called fanatical section of Hindus had more to do with the activities of the dacoits than anyone imagined. The one had relation to the other and only required patient and secret study to bring to light what looked like an organized system of crime and lawlessness.
The reward offered by the Nawab was no small impetus to the natural love of adventure, for he wanted to marry Ruth, and without money to start him on the road to success he could do nothing. He was not above hoping to win that generous reward even if it meant a risk to his life, for what was life worth if the best it offered was denied to him through poverty?
He was strolling about the open spaces on the top of Kalipahar, and among the scarlet palas trees whose flaming blossoms in the cold weather gave the hill its glory of colour, when he was attracted by something that sparkled in certain aspects under the great pipal tree. He saw it intermittently and wondered at the bluish scintillation it shot forth in the sunlight. Nothing but a diamond had that brilliance, he thought, as he went hurriedly forward to examine what it was. A jewel, undoubtedly, possibly dropped by a bird, was his first thought, till he remembered that the absence of birds on that height discounted that theory.
There it was---lying in a crevice between two stones before the pile of rocks under the spreading branches of the pipal tree.
He picked up a diamond pendant---the setting was Indian---he recognised it by its rough workmanship and oriental incongruities.
What was the explanation?
His heart bounded with the sudden conviction that he was on the trail of the dacoits who had robbed the Nawab of priceless treasure.
Why was this one piece lying in the hollow of a rock? Presumably, it had fallen there and not been missed. It was easy to drop one small object when there were so many others of greater value being handled and carried to a place of hiding.
In that moment, Forrester was sure that the Nawab's hoard would be found in a secret hiding-place where no one was likely to look for it---the top of Kalipahar.
It was not for nothing that the superstition was fostered and people discouraged from climbing the hill. There was evidently a spot known only to the dacoits in which stolen property lay hidden till disposed of by them at their own convenience. Aware that the roads being constructed by the Nawab would take long in reaching the summit, and that there was plenty of time in which to look for some other spot equally remote if not absolutely safe, they were continuing to use the place for the present, particularly since the Nawab had been obliged to call a halt with regard to building plans.
Forrester put the pendant into his pocket and after a careful look around to make sure that he was the only occupant of the hill-top, he returned home determined to breathe no word of his find to a soul. He was boyishly eager to be the only one to put his finger on the criminals, especially as he had been chaffed by his official friends and challenged as to his modus operandi. If he confided in Dick Howell he would think it his duty to inform his chief and a posse of police would be sent immediately to Kalipahar to dig for the treasure. If there were confederates of the dacoits in the Force, they would see to it that the treasure was never found.
His was the better way. He would track the fellows down single-handed and ask for help only when it was absolutely necessary.
Thereafter, he spent many nights on the hill-top, leaving home by a circuitous way to divert suspicion.
When it was seen that he often boarded a train, the conclusion was that Forrester was human enough to have an amour in some distant part of the district, and in the discussion aroused as to whether it was an Englishwoman or an Indian he visited, the true object of his diversion was missed.
As a matter of fact, Roy had learned so much about Kalipahar that he was able to strike a new path he had himself made on the opposite side of the hill, reached from the siding on Gowan's stone-works. This narrow-gauge railway line directed Forrester to within easy walking distance of the sacred hill, and the rest was not difficult.
He accomplished the climb in the dark for many nights, hoping by the aid of an electric torch and starlight to spy on whatever nefarious action might be taking place up on high, but it seemed that the dacoits were resting on their laurels, and enjoying the fruits of their labours in other parts, knowing that for the present, at least, they were safe enough. Disappointment very nearly caused Forrester to give up his nightly excursions. The moon grew and reached the full, and he feared that it would not be easy to escape being seen on such dazzlingly silvered nights. After much inward debating, he finally decided to make the attempt once more before confiding in the Nawab, whom he felt would enter into the spirit of the chase with greater wisdom than would be shown by a native sub-inspector. It was to be Roy's last solitary effort, and he climbed as usual by the narrow path opposite to where the Nawab's road started, meeting it halfway up the hill as it wound round it with a gentle gradient.
Here the road ended abruptly in a mass of blasting and debris. Forrester then left it, striking the short cut, steep and rugged, to the summit.
It took him an hour to climb that short cut as the brightness of the moon made him doubly wary and obliged long halts when he fancied he heard a noise. The only living creatures he met on the way up were hares, jackal, and a frightened bear that dashed for cover at sight of his torch.
It was still early when he arrived on the level ground that made the idea of building such an attractive proposition. The air was chilly and the desolation more than ever apparent by the flood of moonlight pouring down on rock and tree.
Not a sound greeted him, but the whispering of the leaves in a gentle breeze which had sprung up with
T the rising of the moon. The tree he favoured for his perch was the tall pipal which was heavily clothed in leaves and held a wide fork of four branches half-way up, giving him a natural and comfortable seat.
Looking carefully about him and satisfying himself that he was the sole occupant of that site, he crept under the shadows to the tree and quickly found his seat in the fork. From there with binoculars he had a marvellous view of the surrounding landscape bathed in misty moonlight and found entertainment for himself in trying to locate places that were familiar. He could scent the dank air of the wide-spread paddy fields still under water and see the mounds and pathways intersecting them. A dark cluster of trees was the mango tope in which Ruth had flouted his sketch---dear heart! He was for a moment saddened to think that his recent acts were estranging them because he was unable to take her into his confidence and explain what he was about. He hoped she would trust him, but it was hard to expect so much from any young girl whose pride was in arms at his reticence. Still, he had faith in his self-imposed task and believed that everything was bound to come right once he succeeded. Nothing succeeded like success, and he was hoping to demonstrate the axiom once again. So much depended on his running the dacoits to earth and recovering the stolen treasure. His own prospects were involved, which Ruth would herself acknowledge if only he could explain more to her. Though he loved her passionately, he still retained a lifelong doubt of female discretion. It made no difference to his love that he should believe Ruth incapable of keeping to herself such a mighty confidence as his discovery of the jewel. She would be sorely tempted to share it with Bodge, and Bodge would let it out in her impulsive way---at least, hint of it, and make things impossible for him. No. Whatever the consequences, he was going through with this thing to the end---even if it proved the "bitter end."
His eyes roved to further points he could identify on the wide flat country beneath him. He saw the outline of the trees and buildings that made Gowan's homestead---a low straggling bungalow lost in haze and surrounded by date palms and plantains.
He picked out the dead cotton tree he had painted for Ruth. Again he dwelt tenderly on that meeting, wondering what was to be the fate of his first real love-affair. The others had been what he had always known as youthful indiscretions. He wanted to marry Ruth more than anything in life, and it was unthinkable that his hopes of making a good start as a contractor should be killed in the beginning by a batch of unscrupulous devils in human shape, who were exploiting their own religion to assist their evil courses.
It must have been well past midnight and Forrester was feeling miserably sleepy when he was galvanized into alertness by unmistakable sounds below him.
It seemed as though objects were moving upwards through the undergrowth. He could hear the light tapping of a cane to drive away snakes---he had taken his chance of snakes. He heard the snapping of dead twigs and the rustle of feet on dry leaves.
People were approaching---how many, he could not think, but he strained downwards to see, glad that his perch was hidden in profound shadow which was all the blacker for the brightness of the moon.
It was a thrilling moment when the first head emerged over the side of the hill followed by a long, lean figure of lithe gait, followed by many others till Forrester counted ten men, more or less clothed as scantily as decency would permit---looking like black devils, all of them, and all of them talking naturally without the slightest fear of being overheard. Familiarity with the desolation of the mountain-top at that hour had made them careless and assured.
"Rest a little, brothers," said the first man, carrying in his hand a matted wig which he laid on the flat stone at the foot of the tree. Forrester immediately recognised the Sadhu. "We have hard work before us and need to recover our breath. We have got to decide now where we shall remove our hoard to. What place is safer than this? None, in my opinion, yet every day makes it a little more dangerous with Forrester Sahib prowling about."
"Why not finish him, then what have we to fear? The sub-inspector is with us, and he has a few faithful followers who would never ruin their own chances of retiring rich in their old age," someone advised.
"I have decided that it is the only thing to be done. But there are others---notably the Nawab and his Pathan lathials who have also suspicions in this direction. They know nothing of the hidden chamber, nor the trick for moving the rock with the fingers of one hand. Ai Khoda! that was a clever fellow who designed it, and he deserves his reward."
"He won't need to continue his carpentering, nor his brother need to keep his job as blacksmith a now," put in an appreciative listener who sat on the grass hugging his knees.
More or less all lay about the grass to recover energy and talk over plans, and Roy, listening from the "crow's nest" in the piped tree had never enjoyed himself so much in his fife or felt more excited and thrilled. He was glad he had familiarised himself with the vernacular since coming East, and that it was not difficult to follow the gist of the conversation so near to him.
The Sadhu alone squatted cross-legged on the rim of the circle and spoke to the point.
"We have to consider if it is to be buried beside the nullah where the grass is long and the babul trees have saplings with thorns so long and sharp that few dare walk there, or if we shall accept Ram Chunder's invitation to sink the sacks in his tank. No one will suspect Ram Chunder, who has been a wealthy merchant in the bazaar since his ancestors were beggared by the old Rajah, who lost everything to the forefathers of the Nawab on the turn of a shoe. He has the hatred of his people for the Nawab, and will help us in all we do, if we promise him but a percentage of our gains."
"But his women? They cackle like hens in a poultry run. Will they be silent?"
" Tcha! His women are away on a visit to his mother's uncle, the present Rajah, who Eves almost in poverty by the Ganges, many hundred miles away. I saw them go by train, all with faces covered and being conducted by Ram Chunder himself, but a week ago. I favour his tank, for none can trespass into his compound and his tank is sacred to himself and his family."
"It is going to be difficult to carry all we have stored up here in one trip, brother," ventured one of the company.
"I have thought of that, so think it necessary to take half to-night, each man carrying what he can. The bile ghari on the road below is covered, and the woman, Moonia, will sit veiled in case the cart attracts attention. She knows well how to divert suspicion. Hasn't she served us well before?"
"She is clever. Now she has left service with the stone contractor's mem and is working for the Nawab's family, we can count on her. See how smartly she doped the whole establishment!"
A chorus of laughter greeted the reminder.
"She's truly a wise one and knows who is best likely to reward acts of virtue." More laughter.
"As I was saying," continued the Sadhu. "She is waiting for us below and will be driven by our driver to the house of Ram Chunder in the bazaar. He will be ready for her if there is a special knock on the gate in the wall. This will allow the cart to pass through and all will be well. We shall scatter and reach him separately so as to assist with the bags. To-morrow night the same can be done. We will choose this hour as all are asleep everywhere. Now let us waste no more time."
Forrester saw the Sadhu rise, setting the rest an example which was immediately followed and they crowded round the outcrop of boulders beside the pipal tree.
Without any difficulty and almost by a touch, the Sadhu operated the trick he had mentioned, and one of the rocks, lighter and smaller than the others swung outward on oiled hinges, parting the undergrowth that partly hid its sides. A dark cavern yawned before the men, but on the Sadhu flashing his torch into the opening, a chamber was revealed stacked with sacks.
Forrester almost fell from his retreat in his eagerness to see what was happening and a dead branch cracked under his weight, threatening to fall. That it did not fall was a miracle. Forrester lay back and was very still while the party below commented on the sound.
"There is no one there," said a voice. "I can see all right, but not a soul is visible."
"These old trees often break up like this," said the Sadhu. "But it did give me a shock. No---there is nothing there. Come, each man take a load and we'll see what is left. Those bags have gold mohurs. Be careful---they weigh heavily. I thought I should have died climbing up. No---only one is all that can be carried. Leave the box of jewellery for to-morrow and the gold plate we took from Babu Chuckerbutti Rai in a lower district. Also part of the bags of other gold coins. If need be we can make several journeys. But it will not be safe much longer to keep anything here. When they start blasting, then all will be lost."
"They won't start blasting for yet a long time."
"With the Nawab, who can say for certain what he may do? In a day, men may arrive with appliances to start work. None can guarantee anything now that Forrester Sahib is busying himself for the Nawab."
"I'd stick a knife into him if you give the word." "A shot would be more deadly."
"A bomb would do the work best."
The voices continued till the Sadhu drove his men into action and then the sacks appeared, each filled and bulging with treasure, while Forrester looked on shaking from head to foot from self-restraint.
He waited immovable till the last man, bending under the load he carried on his back, passed out of sight.
He waited yet a little longer in case any one of the band came back for anything, then, satisfied that all was safe, he descended noiselessly from his perch to the ground. He wanted to learn the trick of the rock and searched for it with the aid of his electric torch.
How cleverly they had hidden all traces of the hinges and joins---the steel frame that held the rock as a door. He found them by feeling deep among the light weeds that trailed down from the rocks above, but the spring that opened the door at a touch was still elusive.
He could now account for the mystery of Scott's disappearance and death. How easy for the rock to have opened while he was standing with his back turned to it, and a hand from within to have knocked him on the head, then drawn his limp and unresisting body into the chamber hidden within. Someone had been obliged to spend the day in that chamber having been surprised by the survey party, and had taken the opportunity to hand of strengthening superstition and alarming the Nawab in the hope that he would abandon his project. Forrester saw it all now, and how, later, the body had been thrown to the jackals.
While he was considering the dastardly crime he became aware of fresh sounds; light footsteps behind him---a human snarl! and turning involuntarily, he was in time to grab the wrist that held an upraised knife, but not to snatch the pistol from his belt, for the Sadhu had closed with him and together they fell heavily to the ground.
WHAT had brought the Sadhu back when he should have been on his way to the waiting bullock cart? Evidently something he had inadvertently left behind which had made him retrace his steps alone while the others hurried on with their loads.
The question, however, did not trouble Forrester, who had no time to think while he fought for his life, for the Sadhu was a powerful man in spite of his leanness, and his muscles were like bands of steel. All Forrester could do was to keep the fellow's two hands from his throat after the knife clattered to the ground. Those two bony hands had the strength of a madman, and they fought for the chance to grip the Englishman where he was most vulnerable.
They rolled over and over, panting, hissing, cursing and fighting. Forrester could not reach his automatic as the Sadhu's legs were wrapped round his waist; he could not stretch for the knife which lay gleaming in the moonlight as he needed both his hands to defend himself.
Both men were fast getting exhausted and the thought flashed through Forrester's mind that his number would most certainly be up if any one of the band returned to look for the leader. He wondered how long they would wait for him without returning to see what delayed him?---or, if given time, he might not manage to outlast the Sadhu in the struggle and bring his pistol into action?
The fight seemed everlasting. Roy felt as if the blood was in his head and must burst his temples, he was breathless and fast losing the power to continue the desperate struggle.
At last, when he was beginning to think he was done for, the Sadhu caught sight of his knife shining in the moonlight and in that moment loosened his hold of Forrester for a lightning stretch to recover it.
It was Roy's opportunity. He snatched the pistol from his belt and fired just as he felt the knife pierce his ribs, after which his hand fell powerless to his side and he lost consciousness.
When he came to his senses the sun was shining down on his face and he was feeling dizzy and sick. One arm felt numb; his body ached intolerably. For a little while he could hardly collect his senses to recall what had happened. By degrees, however, things became clearer and he was surprised to find himself alive.
Where was the Sadhu?
He raised himself on one elbow and saw the lean, half-naked creature lying still an arm's length away, his face upturned, eyes staring wide in death, and a pool of blood caked on the grass beside him.
So that was what happened. He had shot the Sadhu dead.
His hand then travelled to a painful spot on his ribs and came away stained with blood. How deep was the wound? Was it bleeding internally?
He could not answer these questions as he did not know. A doctor would have to judge. But, he argued for his comfort, had the wound been deep enough to be serious, he would surely have been feeling frightfully ill? The Sadhu had been killed instantly before his hand had time to strike with force--- so it seemed by the surface lacerations, proving that
the blade had turned on the bone and slipped sideways.
It would be horrible if he could get no assistance. Yet how should anyone know where to find him when he told no one how he spent his nights? When he failed to turn up for chota hazri, his servant would probably inform Dick at the office, for Howell had an early breakfast and was at the police station before eight. Would he take any steps to look for him, or wait for him to turn up any old time---he being generally erratic in his movements.
It would be rather terrible, Forrester thought in a wave of panic, if he died where he lay and was unable to tell anyone of all he had learned that night. Suppose the dacoits came back to look for the Sadhu? ... it was surprising that they had not done so up till now!---they would finish him off without wasting any time, and do with his body what they had done with Scott's.
Poor little Ruth!
The thought of Ruth brought him to a sitting posture and he was a little scared to find blood oozing from the wound in his breast.
He would have to bandage the spot.
He cast about mentally for how to proceed and could think of nothing. His head felt woolly and ached when he tried to think. A large bump on the back of it showed where he must have made contact with the ground when he and the Sadhu had grappled.
Funny, thought he, that he should register no sort of regret for having killed a man.
Instead, he was glad he had got the better of the Sadhu who would certainly have killed him, if he had had the chance.
It was a curious thing that the dacoits made no sign. Not a soul had returned to learn what had
300 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL detained their leader. When it occurred to them to look for him, they would find the two of them--- clearly he must get away before any one of the band appeared.
It was with the greatest effort he stood erect and moved painfully along, wondering if he could get as far as the bottom of the hill without collapsing by the way.
He had undoubtedly had concussion and was now suffering from nervous prostration following upon his desperate struggle for life. However, as he could not stay where he was he must descend, and this he proceeded to do, feeling stronger instead of weaker as he progressed. All he needed to do was to reach the road where the coolies would soon be at work, and get their assistance to help him to Mynapur.
It was a never-to-be-forgotten walk faced with the possibility of meeting some of the Sadhu's men and being unable to do much in his defence as his right arm felt numb. He would, of course, put up a good fight with his automatic, but could be overpowered by numbers.
As there was no use in meeting trouble half-way, he pushed on through the jungle, using the short cut he knew so well, and after much weariness and fatigue stepped down on the new roadway, where coolies were beginning to use their picks.
Without the need to explain more than that he had met with an accident, he was immediately given help by willing and sympathetic hands; a hand-truck was provided in which he could lie down and be conveyed to the Halt from where any train, goods or passenger, would take him to Mynapur.
The procession that made its way to the wayside station created a sensation among the villagers of Mynabari, all of whom rushed into the street to see
Forrester Sahib go by looking like death as he lay on the truck.
How was he hurt? Was it the blasting? Was it a fall? Was it sunstroke? But it was too early in the morning for the sun to hurt anybody. They gaped and asked questions, but none had any information to give. It had happened on the hill when none was there to see, was all that was known.
"It is Kali!" Kali had done it---whatever it was. Here was another proof that the vengeful goddess could still strike those who defied her and outraged her sanctity.
It was noon before Forrester arrived at the chummery in a station taxi, walking with difficulty and apparently in great suffering. His servant put him to bed and ran for the doctor, then on to the police station for Dick Howell.
"The sahib has returned and is dying," he panted. "By now, who knows, but he is dead. His skin burns and he cannot walk unassisted. There is blood on his clothes."
All this in incoherent agitation sounded very alarming and Dick Howell lost no time in reaching the chummery, his chief insisting that he should hear as soon as possible the truth.
"Dick, old boy," said Roy, looking flushed and feverish, "I've killed a man. Better take down my statement before I lose my wits. My head aches confoundedly. Come on, hurry!"
In the meantime the news flew from house to house and did not lose by repetition. By the time it reached the Commissioner's, it was stark tragedy.
"I say." Sir Amos came into the room where his wife and Ruth were busy addressing invitations for a dinner dance. "This is bad news. Don't jump to the worst, but it seems---ahem!---Forrester is pretty seriously hurt."
Both ladies received the blow with shocked faces.
Ruth clasped her hands and forgot to breathe.
"What has happened?" Lady Darrel asked excitedly.
"I have just heard from the assistant surgeon that the doctor has been rushed off to the chummery to see Forrester who was brought home practically done in. He's wounded, I believe---been attacked or something. I'd better go round and inquire."
"Oh, please---may I go too?" Ruth clung to his arm.
"I don't think so, my dear. I'd rather go alone. One doesn't know what it is or what one may hear. No. Look after her, dear. I'll return as soon as possible."
Ruth's knees collapsed and she seemed to crumple up with fear and anticipation. Was Roy going to die?
Lady Darrel made her drink some brandy and scolded her affectionately. Why did people always leap at the worst and never see the brighter possibility? Ruth was told that she would have to be courageous and patient. Because Forrester was wounded it did not mean he was dying. Evidently he had fallen foul of criminals somewhere and had had to fight his way out of a trap. But he was in good hands---the surgeon was a clever fellow---and no one had said that Roy was dying.
She was still bolstering up Ruth's spirits by argument when Bodge arrived on horseback in a state of great agitation to find out if anyone knew particulars. She had just been told that Roy had been brought home in the guard's van of a goods train from Myna- bari, suffering from a wound in his chest. No one knew if he was likely to recover or if he had died before the doctor saw him.
As Bodge had more self-control than Ruth and less hope for her own future where Roy was concerned, she could not be restrained from galloping away to the chummery to get first-hand news.
Shortly afterwards she returned, having been informed by the doctor himself that no one could be allowed into the sick room. Forrester was in no immediate danger but was asleep and not to be disturbed. His wound was not deep and would heal all right. At present he was in a high fever from an attack of malaria brought on by exhaustion and exposure. At least, he hoped it was malaria---which meant, said Bodge, blurting out her own anxiety, that he feared worse---that the case really pointed to the beginnings of pneumonia.
Ruth burst into tears---being acutely feminine and emotional, the thought of danger to Roy Forrester and her inability to help him prostrated her with grief.
"Oh, Bodge! I was so horrid to him 1 If he would only forgive me. I love him so."
"Of course you do. And he loves you too much to think of resenting anything you said. He was behaving so queerly. But I heard a wonderful piece of news while there. The doctor said that Roy had made a statement of some sort which had sent Dick Howell and a posse of police at a run somewhere. They have gone in a fleet of cars for they have evidently been put on the trail of the thieves. The Nawab has been informed and he has joined the party. I wonder what they will do."
"I don't care two hoots what they will do," moaned Ruth, who was not to be comforted. "What is it all worth to me if I---I---lose Roy!" More tears.
"I suppose Roy will be sure to get the reward the Nawab has offered?" said Lady Darrel as a wise diversion.
"If they have got the dacoits and the treasure, he certainly will. What a good thing for him!" cried Bodge.
"If he---if he lives," sobbed Ruth.
"Darling!" cried Bodge, "we are going to will him to live. If we unite the force of our three wills, he is sure to take a turn for the better."
It was a comforting theory and one that cost nothing to put into practice, so Ruth dried her eyes and prepared to add the force of her loving hope to their optimism for the recovery of her beloved.
In the meantime, the Superintendent of Police, having taken a hand in the tracking down of the criminals, formed two parties for the lightning raid he planned. One under himself and the other in Dick Howell's charge. With Dick was the Nawab, who was anxious to see for himself the extraordinary rock described by Forrester in semi-delirium---if it could be credited, these scoundrels were at the bottom of the Kali scare, for it had suited them to revive and maintain the old superstition which in his greatgrandfather's time was innocent enough. They had killed Scott and robbed him, and the whole community of Hindus in the district would see the final destruction of their cherished bogey accomplished by dynamite when the treasure remaining within the rock-chamber was removed.
The Nawab therefore joined the party for the hill-top while the Superintendent led the raid on Ram Chunder Lail's dwelling.
Cars full of police rushing through the bazaar at Mynabari came suddenly to a halt in front of the private entrance to the much respected cloth merchant's house. Being a prosperous person and on the
board of the municipality as well as other bodies of public utility, the surprise occasioned was intense. His shop alongside was instantly deserted as a crowd collected.
"What do the police want of him?" the simple folk asked each other
"Peradventure, he has informed the police of something and they are here to question him," was a reasonable suggestion.
Meanwhile the knock on the boards of the rough gate in the wall was answered by a durwan, who was unable to parley as the Chief of Police showed a warrant that entitled him to search the premises.
The durwan retired hastily within and ran to his master, pale in the face, for he had to disturb a meeting which was being held in private.
At that very moment Ram Chunder was holding forth to a party of tired men, whom he had given shelter for the night, that they need have no fear. His name was one to conjure with in the district. He was the great merchant whose goods were bought by English as well as Indian customers. His house was safe from intrusion---even safer than the mighty Nawab's!---which called forth a burst of ribald laughter.
"I am only sorry," said P\^rn Chunder, "that our friend, Narain, is absent. Why not have waited for him?"
"He himself said it was not desirable to hang about waiting lest others came by and asked questions concerning the cart. The road is one that connects villages, and sometimes there is late traffic after a hat," one of the party replied. "He said when he had found his disguise, which he foolishly forgot and left behind him, he would pass the rest of the night with a friend in a homestead near the nullah. It was that
u
306 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps}
wig he took off. To have left it there might have roused suspicion in the morning with the sahib prowling about---besides, so many go up the hill to look around."
"A pity---for you had such a safe place. Now, till you can find another, the tank will have to serve. But not for long as the water will rot the sacks."
"You speak true words, brother," remarked the blacksmith who had left his shop to the care of his son. "It will be hard to find any place so secure as the rocks on Kalipahar."
Just then, with little attention to etiquette or convention, the durwan burst excitedly on the conference.
"The police---the police! All have come in motorcars---they are now entering with an order from the magistrate to search huzur's house !"
The consternation of the assembly was acute. For a moment the members gathered together and gaped at each other bereft of reason. None knew what was to be done, till all at once Ram Chunder Lail smiled and straightened his tunic. He smoothed his oiled head with both hands, and was all at once suave and polite.
"My friends, I will attend to this matter. You can all seat yourselves and find occupation with playing- cards. It will be well to be calm and controlled. Someone has thrown suspicion on this house, but no one knows what we know. I go to meet these servants of the Sarcar, and offer every facility for searching the house. Will they find aught that is incriminating? You know they cannot, so why be afraid?"
Nerves were thus duly composed, and a party of interested card-players rose from the carpet as the Superintendent of Police entered the room accompanied by khaki-clad police constables.
"Sar, these are my friends who are playing one innocent game of cards. There is no gambling as
will be seen," said Ram Chunder in babu English, with a wave of his hand. If it so happened that gambling on the premises was suspected, the police could satisfy themselves that it was all simple and above-board.
"I see," said the Superintendent shortly. "Be seated everybody. I want no one---not even you, Ram Chunder Lail---to leave this room. It is not about gambling that I am here to-day, but a far more serious matter."
"Sar," cried Ram Chunder, beginning to shake from head to foot, "of what am I accused? I have always been a man of probity and honour, giving no man cause to point the finger of slander and make abuse of my uprightness."
"In fact, you have always been a shining example of a good citizen and a clever business man. It is a pity you allowed yourself, babu, to become the tool of dangerous men. I must leave you here---under guard---while I superintend the dragging of your tank."
"My tank!---oh, sar!---I beseech you not to allow the waters of my tank to be polluted! I am a Brahmin, sar! I will lose my caste. This outrage cannot be committed on innocent, law-abiding citizen!"
"I am sorry. But there is only one alternative. You may confess and yourself give up the treasure you have had sunk in the tank, and so spare the waters from being polluted by us."
The Superintendent of Police afterwards used to say that he had a bad moment when a doubt crept into his mind of the reliability of Forrester's story, told when he was on the verge of delirium. "What a mess I've landed myself in," he thought, "if it was all sheer imagination!" He, however, went through with his bluff while the Indians in the room abandoned
308 [the riddle of the hill]{.smallcaps} their cards and clamoured of innocence. What was Ram Chunder going to do?
"This is a terrible slander! If evil ones have made use of me when my back was turned what can I say? Sar, this is a bad business. But it is not true. There is nothing of value sunk in my tank."
"I quite agree that it is a bad business, babu. What do you mean to do ?" The Superintendent took out his watch and glanced at it. "I'll give you five minutes to decide before giving my men orders."
"Sar! my family is away---I myself escorted them, and have only just returned. What do I know of what has been said and done in my absence ? But this is a wicked slander on me. What is an innocent man to do in the face of enemies?"
"You are wasting my time, Babu Ram Chunder Lail."
"But what can I do, sar? How produce from my very select tank what is not there?"
The Superintendent closed his watch and made a sign to his constables. Orders were shouted, there was a tramp of feet on the hard ground outside, and Ram Chunder's card-players made a dash simultaneously for the one window overlooking the courtyard. But as it was barred against midnight marauders they could only leap at the stout iron bars and shake them like monkeys at the zoo.
A few flung themselves on the constables at the entrance-door to struggle wildly and be handcuffed while the Superintendent made his way to the pond which was exclusively Ram Chunder Lail's and the pride of his family. It lay within the enclosure of his homestead, fenced in by the same high brick wall, the top of which was encrusted with broken bottles. The wall enclosed his grounds, stretching behind the bazaar for the seclusion of his women and their
privacy. There being no purdah ladies on the premises, there was no delay in carrying out operations on the tank, meanwhile Ram Chunder, looking as white as his natural pigmentation would allow, had collapsed on the floor of his reception-room and was gasping for breath.
As he was very stout and heavy, with the figure which Orientals generally associate with great prosperity, he was in danger of heart failure and an anxiety to his police guard who did everything to revive him.
Weeping aloud, he protested his entire innocence, even if it so happened that anything was found at the bottom of his tank; and he called upon bystanders to witness that his precious drinking-water vessel--- the shining\' brass lota exclusive to himself and his family---had been defiled by the hands of Moslem sons-of-dogs. His caste was violated---the Satanic Government had laid this final humiliation on him--- alas!---and all because he had been hospitable to his friends. Was it his fault that they took advantage of him by using his tank for the storage of ill-gotten goods? Was he responsible for the morals of his friends and co-religionists, if so be that aught of stolen property were found by the police on his premises, hidden there in his absence? and so forth and so on.
Inhabitants of the bazaar crowded into the courtyard to see all that they could of this amazing spectacle---a raid on the dwelling and homestead of the respected Babu Ram Chunder Lail, and many there were only too glad to pile on the agony in reprisal for short measurement of cotton goods and articles over-priced that the babu might fatten on the hard- earned money of the poor of the district.
"Always he had these budmashes coming and going," one informed the Inspector of Police gratuitously. "And only last night when the dawn of day was at hand a cart come to his gate---a covered cart, with these fellows walking beside it. With my own eyes I saw them, having risen early to guard my crops from the guala\'s cows. And one man knocked on the Babu- sahib's gate, which was opened from within and the cart admitted. Wherefore was it covered? I asked myself, when all his women-folk were away?"
"I shall want you as a witness, Biswas, so hold up what you are now telling, to repeat when you are on your oath before the magistrate-sahib, and you will gain merit in the eyes of the Sarcar."
"Merit is poor diet, Daroga-jee, when the stomach is empty."
"Like as not, there will be many to pay for your silence, brother. But be warned.\' It will all be exposed and your punishment certain. Be honest and speak the truth, for these miscreants have been found out."
"Then watch your own men, Daroga-jee, for they grow rich with reward for keeping their tongues silent."
"A reckoning is coming for all such who have been unfaithful to their salt," said the dignified Inspector of Police.
DICK HOWELL had a schoolboy's love of adventure and the story he had gleaned from Roy before he was too exhausted physically to talk any more, made him burn to be away on the hill-top for the recovery of the remainder of the treasure before the dacoits could return and remove it.
The Sadhu was the only man Roy had recognised, and he was lying dead, his body waiting to be discovered by his friends, or removed by the police; it was therefore imperative that no time be lost. The Superintendent assumed all responsibility and issued instructions. He undertook the raid on Ram Chunder himself, and Dick was commissioned to verify the rest of Roy's statement, after informing the Nawab on the way of the news that he might, if he liked, take part in the proceedings.
The Nawab showed his sporting spirit by immediately joining the hill party under the direction of the police, and it was early afternoon when they passed the road-makers on their ascent. Much conjecture caused very little work to be done that morning, for following on what had happened to one sahib earlier in the day on the hill, it looked as if queer things were happening up there. Eyes strained upward but nothing was to be seen save the slowly dissolving mists which the warm sun was dispersing, and the forest of flaming palas and the feathery babul trees intermingling their branches above.
"They say down in the bazaar," said one of the
workmen, "that there will be great trouble yet, for never has the hill been so assaulted. Kali, the Hindu goddess of malice and vindictiveness will one day strike, and then---what will be!"
"Who cares for what the ignorant people say whose religion lets them bow down to images and make sacrifices of animals to their gods 1 This Kali of theirs--- I'll spit at the name." And the Mohammedan overseer committed the audacity with bravado, greatly to the horror of his fellow-workers who had a wholesome respect for superstition to whatever religion it owed its origin. Strange things happened which no man could explain, so it was safest to be tolerant and not outrage the susceptibilities of the timid.
A low murmur of protest greeted his unpopular act and many heads were shaken at the challenge to the Unseen. Any superstition that had survived the centuries was worthy of respect, they said one to another, therefore, why call down tragedy on the people?
They continued their work of digging and blasting, their nerves somewhat shaken, in hourly expectation of a surprise from out of the blue.
When actually, without any warning, it came like thunder upon them, it was little wonder they laid down their tools and fled helter-skelter to the fields, to cower in horror, believing their last hour had come. . . .
However, to return to the police party.
Dick Howell and the Nawab reached the top in brilliant sunshine to find Roy's story of the fight justified, for the Sadhu lay rigid in death, his face upturned to the sky, and in one clenched fist the dagger he had used in his last effort to kill the Englishman.
"I know this man," said Dick. "I have often spoken to him in the bazaar. He was Narain Singh---the fortune-teller. Roy said he was the Sadhu---a semilunatic religious fanatic, but it's a mistake. Everyone knows Narain. He was something of a soothsayer--- occult, they said."
"But what's this?" asked the Nawab, as a constable picked up a matted, dusty wig, with a bushy growth of beard attached to it.
"It's what the Sadhu had on his head and people thought it was his own," said the policeman.
After it was duly held up for examination, and the Sadhu's identity established as the man, Narain Singh, who had hired himself out as a fortune-teller and magician, the domes of the party bound the dead body to a stout branch broken from a tree, and removed it to the police-station at Mynabari, leaving the police to search the rocks for the hidden chamber.
Some concentration on the part of Dick, the Nawab, and the head constable brought to light the clever steel framework enclosing the boulder, as also the spring which released it, and caused it to swing open like a door on hinges, crushing back the vegetation that had been encouraged to grow up its sides.
The Nawab's excitement knew no bounds. If a portion of the loot had gone to Ram Chunder's house in the bazaar, then he was satisfied that all he had lost would be recovered, for here was the family chest of jewels intact, as well as a large amount of gold.
There were other valuables stored in that chamber as well as what was stolen from the palace on the night of the fire. A goodly collection of gold vessels and jewellery belonging to rich Indians who had been robbed, was stacked within, and it took a long time to remove each package and sack, and to begin loading up the coolies for the return journey.
When they were about to start, however, there was felt an unmistakable rumbling beneath their feet.
All exchanged glances anxiously. What could it mean? There was a definite heaving of the ground, while trees swayed and leaves rustled noisily.
"An earthquake, by Jove!" cried Dick.
Immediately panic showed on the faces of the natives while the Nawab himself grew white round the jaws. The feeling of helplessness so high up while the earth trembled and the trees shook, was like nothing Dick Howell had ever known and could only have been comparable, he thought, to what it was like in a shell-hole during a bombardment of high explosives in the war of which his elders had often spoken.
The Nawab sat down as though his legs refused to bear him up. The coolies staggered hither and thither, beating their chests and calling aloud for mercy. Mohammedans though they were, the name of "Kali" was on their lips. It was Kali vindicating herself to the unbelievers, they cried, and if fear had not paralysed their energies they would have fled downhill from the spot.
As the tremors lasted only a few seconds and in as many minutes all was normal again, courage returned, but with it a desire to get away as soon as possible from the uncanny spot.
The coolies loaded up under the direction of the police, and in a little while all wended their way downhill to the fleet of cars awaiting them.
"Funny feeling to be trapped up there in an earthquake," said Dick to Yusuf Majid. "Not that it was anything of an earthquake," he added. "One has heard of worse."
"My God!" said the Nawab, who was still shaking from head to foot, "it's no joke to feel of so little account---to know that it was quite within the bounds of possibility for the ground to have opened and swallowed us up. This has put the fright of the devil into the road-workers. See, they have all decamped and will they ever be induced to return? Of course they will put it down to Kali."
"I don't blame them," said Dick, "for in their ignorance what do they know about seismic disturbances?"
"It's the last time I'll have anything to do with Kalipahar," said the Nawab. "At least, for the present," he amended. "One might wait a lifetime before the people get over their conviction that it is a gesture of Kali."
"Just as well you've got all you lost---or what was left on top before the earth started its tremors."
"I am thankful indeed for that. And owe it to Forrester---good old Forrester. I admire him, Mr. Howell. I have hated to admit it, but I have always admired him. A fine fellow. He has earned every bit of the reward I have offered, and if he is wise, he will clear out of this country and do business in his own. Many stout hearts have broken out here, and after all, this is our country and our people will always try to cut the ground from under his feet."
"I shouldn't think he'll want much persuading once he is married."
"Is he certain of marrying?" the Nawab asked dully. His very looks were dull as the prospect of Forrester's marriage came under discussion, and he made no secret of his jealousy.
On the way to his shack where he lodged while the new palace was under construction, he listened while Dick spoke of Ruth's love for Forrester.
"There is no one else. There never will be anyone else," Dick said after admitting that he was also a sufferer.
"And you don't resent him?"
"Not at all. I have lost. A sportsman is always a good loser, Majid. I will be buying them a wedding present presently---when he gets over this."
"If he doesn't?---I suppose she'll be very hard hit?"
"I wish with all my heart for her sake that he will recover, for she is a nice kid and deserves to be happy."
"Yes. She deserves to be happy," repeated the Nawab. He was thinking how she could have made things impossible for him in the district had she confessed all she had gone through on that journey to the tea-garden.
"Possibly, I, too, will give her a---wedding present."
They parted and Dick continued to the police station with his policemen and the rescued treasure.
It was during the afternoon that the preliminary warning of earth tremors culminated in the great earthquake that created devastation elsewhere. Its repercussions at Mynapur, shook every house to its foundations and changed the configuration of the hills at Mynabari. Kalipahar showed great landslides, forests and rocky projections where none had been seen before, while wide fissures yawned across the new roadways and destroyed the work of months. In the civil station of Mynapur all had been roused from their afternoon siesta to flee into the streets while buildings tottered and plaster fell crashing to the floors, furniture was broken and walls cracked. The air was full of debris and floating particles of dust, and the sound of shrieking women and children added to the terror.
Ruth clung to Lady Darrel while the horrible tension lasted, her thoughts with Roy who was too sick to be moved from his bed. Lady Darrel believing her last moments had arrived, clasped her child to her breast and confessed her long hidden secret.
"Oh, my little one, my kiddie! We shall die together. I am your mother, Ruth---your own mother---only I hadn't the courage to tell you. Pity me and love me. I did wrong to leave you, but I have loved you more than anything since---and now I want your forgiveness."
As it was no time for animosity or cherished grievances, Ruth kissed her mother affectionately and swore that the past was buried. She was convinced at that moment of being as great a sinner as Lady Darrel, for had Roy come into her life even had she been married to another, she could never have resisted him. She would certainly have eloped with him. So how could she dare to "throw stones" at her parent?
When the earthquake was over and it was found that matters might have been very much worse, Ruth, accompanied by Bodge, paid a visit to the chummery to ask for news of Roy.
There had been great excitement all day long over the arrest of the dacoits and the recovery of the Nawab's treasure, so that the atmosphere of thrills made life seem like a dream. Strange happenings no longer surprised, as in the case of Forrester, who had risen from his bed determined to give in no longer. His fever had broken in that period of alarms proving that his illness was nothing more serious than a chill. His wound was healing and his one desire was to know how Ruth had come through the earthquake.
So when she appeared it was to run straight into his arms and weep her congratulations for his marvellous restoration. She was not even surprised to find him on his feet. She had gone past surprises and was convinced it was the answer to her belief in the New Thought. Her prayerful optimism coupled with hopeful expectation had been his cure.
"Will you marry me and blow the consequences?" he asked forgetting that he had earned something like ten thousand pounds.
"Of course!---did you ever doubt it?" was her reply.
When Ruth and Roy were established in their English home and running a promising motor business, Bodge, wrote announcing her engagement to Dick Howell, and gave her all the news calculated to interest them both.
"Of course," the letter ran, "you, my dear Ruth, will not be at all surprised to hear that the Nawab has abandoned all intention of doing anything with Kali- pahar. The earthquake finished that, for the spring has been diverted and no longer waters the hill, thus making it most prohibitive to continue the plans for building a sanatorium on top. Moreover, the Hindus in the district are more than ever convinced that the earthquake was a gesture from Kali herself as a warning to those who would desecrate her abode. It is nothing to them that Mynapur and the district suffered less than other parts; that we had only the back-fire of a truly appalling disaster!
"So it seems that Kalipahar will be left as a monument to the dreaded goddess for yet another hundred years or so, till some other Nawab tries again to defy superstition. Only, by that time the Hindus themselves might be too enlightened to pay any attention to tradition.
"By the way, after many remands and months of postponements during which Ram Chunder Lail spent a fortune on counsel for his defence, he has been sent to penal servitude for a long period, at the end of which time he will return a sadder and a wiser man. The rest of the gang have life sentences because of the murder of Scott---the blame for which they have fixed
on Narain, the necromancer, alias the Sadhu. He probably killed Scott, but all the rest of them were accessories after the fact.
"The Nawab is fed up with everything and talks of world travel. Sir Amos and Lady Darrel are trying to interest him in a Moslem girl who is an University graduate, lecturing on the wise use of emancipation for purdah ladies. She is a guest of the Commissioner and Lady Darrel, who think she is just the wife for Yusuf Majid. The Nawab himself is quite coy about her, and it looks as if something may yet come of it!
"You'll be surprised to hear that he has given Mr. Gowan the job of zemindari manager of his estates--- literally made the job for him in case he himself goes on tour, as he must have someone he can trust in the place. You know that Indians never trust Indians, and prefer to employ Europeans in positions of responsibility.
"We also believe he has done this out of kindness to Mr. Gowan, who had to give up the stone business. He probably did not like to think of an elderly gentleman going from pillar to post trying to earn a living for himself and his family. Mr. Gowan has the same bungalow, and works from there, but his wife and girls live in Calcutta as the kids have to go to school, and also because she loathes the sight of the Nawab--- an obsession, we think, for she'd run a mile rather than meet him. Mr. Gowan, however, seems quite pleased and gets along very well with the Nawab's staff who are very capable, and respect him as he has lived in their midst for umpteen years. So you need not be troubled in mind about them any longer. They never worried about you.
"Oh, by the way---you may remember Mrs. Gowan's ayah? It was discovered that she was mixed up with that gang of dacoits; but as it could not be proved
320 THE RIDDLE OF THE HILL that she was anything but the mistress of the archfiend Narain, the supposed Sadhu, she got off and is now trying to get a job as an English-speaking ayah on a liner in charge of children. That woman's career would fill a book, for Mrs. Gowan told me she had all the servants at loggerheads over her, and was finally sacked for stealing a valuable diamond ring.
"But to return to the Nawab. We all think he is not at all a bad sort, and that he is rather to be pitied, for he became so English that he was out of step with his own countrymen, yet, unhappily, never one of us. He was genuinely fond of you, poor fellow, and it was amazingly generous of him to have given you that marvellous wedding present. Such a rope of pearls would grace the neck of a princess---of course, you spotted it at once as the same he had tried to give you at Sonaling! They put to shade your own dinky seed-pearls that turned up so miraculously among the pile of ill-gotten gains. Lucky that Roy recognised it, having heard from you of your loss.
"The Nawab is a real sport, when you come to think of it, for he paid up handsomely the full amount of the reward Roy earned, and never turned a hair though it was a colossal sum! We think he was simply splendid.
"Dick sends his love with mine. He is such a dear, and we're going to suit each other jolly well. I'll send you a piece of the wedding cake when we are married, which will be very soon, Dick having been given a rise in his Service.
"Well---cheerio, old dear, and everything of the best to you both. Let me know when the great event comes off, for I'd love to be godmother. I'll write again, so more anon."