CHAPTER X
MAHARANA OF KHANDAWAR
Both hand and voice might well have been Labertouche's; Amber believedthey were. And the darkness rendered visual identification impossible.No shadow of doubt troubled him as he yielded to the urgent hand, andpermitted himself to be dragged, more than led, through the reeking,milling mob, whose numbers seemed each instant augmented. He hadthought, dully, to find it a difficult matter to worm through andescape, but somehow his guide seemed to have little trouble. Others,likewise, evidently wished to get out of sight before the arrival ofthe police, and in the wake of a little knot of these Amber felthimself drawn along until, within less than two minutes, they were onthe outskirts of the crowd.
He drew a long breath of relief. Ever since that knife had flownwhining past his cheek, his instinct of self-preservation had beendominated by a serene confidence that Pink Satin was at hand to steerhim in safety away from the brawl. For his own part he was troubled bya feeling of helplessness and dependence unusual with him, who was of aself-reliant habit, accustomed to shift for himself whatever theemergency. But this was something vastly different from the run ofexperiences that had theretofore fallen to his lot. In. the fouleststews of a vast city, with no least notion of how to win his way backto the security of the Chowringhee quarter; in the heart of a howlingnative rabble stimulated to a pitch of frenzy by the only things thatever seem really to rouse the Oriental from his apathy--the scent andsight of human blood; and with a sense of terror chilling him as herealised the truth at which his guide had hinted--that the actualassassin would not hesitate an instant to cry the murder upon the headof one of the Sahib-logue: Amber felt as little confidence in hisability to work out his salvation as though he had been a child. Hethanked his stars for Labertouche--for the hand that clasped his armand the voice that spoke guardedly in his ear.
And then, by the light of the street, he discovered that his gratitudehad been premature and misplaced. His guide had fallen a pace behindand was shouldering him along with almost frantic energy; but a glanceaside showed Amber, in Labertouche's stead, a chunky little Gurkha inthe fatigue uniform of his regiment of the British Army in India. PinkSatin was nowhere in sight and it was immediately apparent that anattempt to find him among the teeming hundreds before the goldsmith'sstall would be as futile as foolish--if not fatal. Yet Amber's impulsewas to wait, and he faltered--something which seemed to exasperate theGurkha, who fairly danced with excitement and impatience.
"Hasten, hazoor!" he cried. "Is this a time to loiter? Hasten ere theycharge you with this spilling of blood. The gods lend wings to our feetthis night!"
"But who are you?" demanded Amber.
"What matter is that? Is it not enough that I am here and well disposedtoward you, that I risk my skin to save yours?" He cannoned suddenlyagainst Amber, shunting him unceremoniously out of the bazaar road andinto a narrow black alley.
Simultaneously Amber heard a cry go up, shrill above the clamour of themob, screaming that a white sailor had knifed the goldsmith. And heturned pale beneath his tan.
"You hear, hazoor? They are naming you to the police-wallahs. Come!"
"You're right." Amber fell into a long, free stride that threatenedquickly to distance the Gurka's short, sturdy legs. "Yet why do youtake this trouble for me?"
"Why ask?" panted the Gurkha. "Did I not stand behind you and see thatyou did not throw the knife? Am I a dog to stand by and see an innocentman yoked to a crime?" He laughed shortly. "Am I a fool to forget howgreat is the generosity of Kings? This way, hazoor!"
"Why call me King?" Amber hurdled a heap of offal and picked up hispace again. "Yet you will find me generous, though but a sahib."
"The sahibs are very generous." Again the Gurkha laughed briefly andunpleasantly. "But this is no time for words. Save your breath, for nowwe must run."
He broke into a springy lope, with his chin up, elbows in and chestdistended, his quick small feet slopping regardlessly through theviscous mud of the unpaved byway. "Hear that!" he cried, as a series ofshort, sharp yells rose in the bazaar behind them. "The dogs have foundthe scent!" And for a time terror winged their flight. Eastern mobs arehard to handle; if overtaken the chances were anything-you-please toone that the fugitives would be torn to pieces as by wild animals erethe police could interfere.
They struck through stranger and more awful quarters than Amber hadbelieved could be tolerated, even in India. For if there were a betterway of escape they had no time to pause and choose it. From the racketin their rear the pursuit was hot upon their trail, and with everystride, well-nigh, they were passing those who would mark them downand, when the rabble came up, cry it on with explicit directions.
And so Amber found himself pounding along at the heels of his Gurkha,threading acres of flimsy huts huddled together in meaninglessconfusion--frail boxes of bamboo, mud, and wattles thrown roughlytogether upon corrupt, naked earth that reeked of the drainage ofuncounted generations. Whence they passed through long, brilliant,silent streets lined with open hovels wherein Vice and Crime bredcheek-by-jowl, the haunts of Shame, painted and unabashed, sickening inthe very crudity of its nakedness.... There is no bottom to the Pitwherein the native sinks.... And on, panting, with labouring chests andaching limbs, into the abandoned desolation of the Chinese quarter, andback through the still, deadly ways which Amber had threaded in thefootsteps of Pink Satin--where the houses towered high and wereornamented with dingy, crumbling stucco and rusty, empty, treacherousbalconies of iron, and the air hung in stagnation as if the very windshere halted to eavesdrop upon the iniquities that were housed behindthe jealous, rotting blinds of wood and iron.
By now the voice of the chase had subsided to a dull and distantmuttering far behind them, and the way was clear. Beyond its age-old,ineradicable atmosphere of secret infamy there was nothing threateningin the aspect of the neighbourhood. And the Gurkha pulled up, breathinglike a wind-broken horse.
"Easily, hazoor!" he gasped. "There is time for rest."
Willingly Amber dropped into a wavering stride, so nearly exhaustedthat his legs shook under him and he reeled drunkenly; and, fightingfor breath, they stumbled on, side by side, in the shadow of theoverhanging walls, until as they neared a corner the Gurkha stopped andhalted Amber with an imperative gesture.
"The police, sahib, the police!" he breathed, with an expressive sweepof his hand toward the cross street. "Let us wait here till they pass."And in evident panic he crowded Amber into the deep and gloomy recessafforded by a door overhung by a balcony.
Taken off his guard, but with growing doubt, Amber was on the point ofremonstrating. Why should the police concern themselves with peacefulwayfarers? They could not yet have heard of the crime in the Bazaar,miles distant. But as he opened his lips he heard the latch clickbehind him, and before he could lift a finger, the Gurkha had flunghimself bodily upon him, fairly lifting the American across thethreshold.
They went down together, the Gurkha on top. And the door crashed towith a rattle of bolts, leaving Amber on his back, in total darkness,betrayed, lost, and alone with his enemies....
Now take a man--a white man--an American by preference--such an one asDavid Amber--who has led an active if thoughtful life and lived muchout of doors, roughing it cheerfully in out-of-the-way corners of theworld, and who has been careful to maintain his physical condition atsomething above par; bedevil him with a series of mysteriouscircumstances for a couple of months, send him on a long journey,entangle him in a passably hopeless love affair, work his expectationsup to a high pitch of impatience, exasperate him with disappointment,and finally cause him to be tripped up by treachery and thrust into apitch-black room in an unknown house in one of the vilest quarters ofCalcutta: treat him in such a manner and what may you expect of him?Not discretion, at least.
Amber went temporarily mad with rage. He was no stranger to fear--noman with an imagination is; but for the time being he was utterlyfoolhardy. He forgot his exhaustion, forgot the hopelessness of hisplight, forgot every
thing save his insatiable thirst for vengeance. Hewas, in our homely idiom, fighting-mad.
One instant overpowered by and supine beneath the Gurkha, the next hehad flung the man off and bounded to his feet. There was the automaticpistol in his coat-pocket, but he, conscious that many hands werereaching out in the darkness to drag him down again, found no time todraw it. He seemed to feel the presence of the nearest antagonist, whomhe could by no means see; for he struck out with both bare, clenchedfists, one after the other, with his weight behind each, and both blowslanded. The sounds of their impact rang like pistol-shots, and beneathhis knuckles he felt naked flesh crack and give. Something fell awayfrom him with a grunt like a poled ox. And then, in an instant, beforehe could recover his poise, even before he knew that the turned-instone of the emerald ring had bitten deep into his palm, he was theaxis of a vortex of humanity. And he fought like a devil unchained.Those who had thrown themselves upon him, clutching desperately at hisarms and legs and hanging upon his body, seemed to be thrown off likechips from a lathe--for a time. In two short minutes he performedprodigies of valour; his arms wrought like piston-rods, his fists flewlike flails; and such was the press round him that he struck no blowthat failed to find a mark. The room rang with the sounds of thestruggle, the shuffle, thud, and scrape of feet both booted and bare,the hoarse, harsh breathing of the combatants, their groans, theirwhispers, their low tense cries....
And abruptly it was over. He was borne down by sheer weight of numbers.Though he fought with the insanity of despair they were too many forhim. He went a second time to the floor, beneath a dozen half-nudebodies. Below him lay another, with an arm encircling his throat, theelbow beneath his chin compressing his windpipe. Powerless to move handor foot, he gave up ... and wondered dully why it was that a knife hadnot yet slipped between his ribs--between the fifth and sixth--or inhis back, beneath the left shoulder-blade, and why his gullet remainedunslit.
Gradually it was forced upon him that his captors meant him no bodilyharm, for the present at least. His wrath subsided and gave place tocuriosity while he rested, regaining his wind, and the natives squirmedaway from him, leaving one man kneeling upon his chest and four otherseach pinioning a limb.
There followed a wait, while some several persons indulged in awhispered confabulation at a distance from him too great for theirwords to be articulate. Then came a croaking laugh out of the darknessand words intended for his ear.
"By Malang Shah! but my lord doth fight like a Rajput!"
Amber caught his breath and exploded. "Half a chance, you damned thugs,and I'd show you how an American can fight!"
But he had spoken in English, and his hearers gathered the import ofhis words only from his tone, apparently. He who had addressed himlaughed applausively.
"It was a gallant fight," he commented, "but like all good things hathhad its end. My lord is overcome. Is my lord still minded for battle orfor peace? Dare I, his servant, give orders for his release, or----"
Here Amber interrupted; stung by the bitter irony, he told the speakerin fluent idiomatic Hindustani precisely what he might expect if his"lord" ever got the shadow of a chance to lay hands upon him.
The grim cackling laugh followed his words, a mocking echo, and was hisonly answer. But for all his defiance, he presently heard orders issuedto take him up and bear him to another chamber. Promptly the man on hischest moved away, and his fellows lifted and carried Amber, gently andwith puzzling consideration, some considerable distance through what hesurmised to be an underground corridor. He suffered this passively,realising his impotence, and somewhat comforted if perplexed by thetenderness accorded him in return for his savage fight for freedom.
Unexpectedly he was let down upon the floor and released. Bare feetscurried away in the darkness and a door closed with a resounding bang.He was alone, for all he could say to the contrary--alone and unharmed.He was more: he was astonished; he had not been disarmed. He got up andfelt of himself, marvelling that his pocket still sagged with theweight of the pistol as much as at the circumstance that, aside fromthe inevitable damage to his clothing--a coat-sleeve ripped from thearm-hole, several buttons missing, suspenders broken--he had come outof the melee unhurt, not even bruised, save for the hand that had beencut by the emerald. He wrapped a handkerchief about this wound, andtook the pistol out, deriving a great deal of comfort from the way itbalanced, its roughened grip nestling snugly in his palm.
He fairly itched to use the thing, but lacking an excuse, had time totake more rational counsel of himself. It were certainly unwise topresume upon the patience of his captors; though he had battered someof them pretty brutally and himself escaped reprisals, the part ofwisdom would seem to be to save his ammunition.
With this running through his mind, the room was suddenly revealed tohis eyes, that had so long strained fruitlessly to see. A flood oflamplight leaped through some opening behind him and showed him hisshadow, long and gigantic upon a floor of earth and a wall of stone. Hewheeled about, alert as a cat; and the sight of his pistol hung steadybetween the eyes of one who stood at ease, with folded arms, in an opendoorway. Over his shoulder was visible the bare brown poll of anattendant whose lank brown arm held aloft the lamp.
One does not shoot down in cold blood a man who makes no aggressivemove, and he who stood in the doorway endured impassively the mutethreat of the pistol. Above its sight his eyes met Amber's with a leveland unwavering glance, shining out of a dark, set face cast in a mouldof insolence and pride. A bushy black beard was parted at his chin andbrushed stiffly back. Between his thin hard lips, parted in a shadowysmile, his teeth gleamed white. Standing a head taller than Amber andvery gracefully erect in clothing of a semi-military cut and of regalmagnificence, every inch of his pose bespoke power, position, and thehabit of authority. His head was bound with a turban of spotless whitefrom whose clasp, a single splendid emerald, a jewelled aigret nodded;the bosom of his dark-green tunic blazed with orders and decorations;at his side swung a sabre with richly jewelled hilt. Heavy whitegauntlets hid his hands, top-boots of patent leather his legs and feet.
At once impressed and irritated by his attitude, Amber lowered hisweapon. "Well?" he demanded querulously. "What do you want? What's yourpart in this infamous outrage?"
On the other's face the faint smile became more definite. He noddednonchalantly at Amber's pistol. "My lord intends to shoot?" he enquiredin English, his tone courteous and suave.
"That's as may be," retorted Amber defiantly. "I'm going to havesatisfaction for this outrage if I die getting it. You may count onthat, first and last."
The man lifted his eyebrows and his shoulders in deprecation; thenturned to his attendant. "Put down the light and leave us," he saidcurtly in Hindustani.
Bowing obsequiously, the servant entered and departed, leaving the lampupon a wooden shelf braced against one side of the four-square,stone-walled dungeon. As he went out he closed the door, and Ambernoted that it was a heavy sheet of iron or steel, very substantial. Hisface darkened.
"I presume you know what that means," he said, with a significant jerkof his head toward the door. "It'll never be shut on me alone. We'llleave together, you and I, if we both go out feet first." He lifted thepistol and took the measure of the man, not in any spirit of bravadobut with absolute sincerity. "I trust I make my meaning plain?"
"Most clear, hazoor." The other showed his teeth in an appreciativesmile. "And yet"--with an expressive outward movement of bothhands--"what is the need of all this?"
"What!" Amber choked with resentment. "What was the need of settingyour thugs upon me--of kidnapping me?"
"That, my lord, was an error of judgment on the part of one who shallpay for it full measure. I trust you were not rudely treated."
"I'd like to know what in blazes you call it," snapped Amber. "I'mdogged by your spies--Heaven knows why!--lured to this place, buttedbodily into the arms of a gang of ruffians to be manhandled, andfinally locked up in a dark cell. I don't suppose you've got the nerveto call that c
ourteous treatment."
He had an advantage, and knowing it, was pushing it to the limit; forall his nonchalance the black man was not unconscious of the pistol;his eye never forgot it. And Amber's eyes left his not an instant.Despite that the fellow's next move was a distinct surprise.
Suddenly and with superb grace, he stepped forward and dropped to oneknee at Amber's feet, bowing his head and offering the hilt of hissword to the American.
"My lord," he said swiftly in Hindustani, "if I have misjudged thee, ifI have earned thy displeasure, upon my head be it. See, I give my lifeinto thy hands; but a little quiver of thy forefinger and I am asdust.... An ill report of thee was brought to me, and I did err increditing it. It is true that I set this trap for thee; but see, mylord! though I did so, it was with no evil intent. I thought but tomake sure of thee and bid thee welcome, as a faithful steward should,to thy motherland.... Maha Rao Rana, Har Dyal Rutton Bahadur,Heaven-born, King of Kings, Chosen of the Voice, Cherished of the Eye,Beloved of the Heart, bone of the bone and flesh of the flesh of theBody, Guardian of the Gateway of Swords!... I, thy servant, SaligSingh, bid thee welcome to Bharuta!"
Sonorous and not unpleasing, his voice trembled with intense andunquestionable earnestness; and when it ceased he remained motionlessin his attitude of humility. Amber, hardly able to credit his hearing,stared down at the man stupidly, his head awhirl with curiouslycommingled sensations of amazement and enlightenment. Presently helaughed shortly.
"Get up," he said; "get up and stand over there by the wall and don'tbe a silly ass."
"Hazoor!" There was reproach in Salig Singh's accents; but he obeyed,rising and retreating to the further wall, there to hold himself atattention.
"Now see here," began Amber, designedly continuing his half of theconversation in English--far too much misunderstanding had already beenbrought about by his too-ready familiarity with Urdu. He paused alittle to collect his thoughts, then resumed: "Now see here, you'reSalig Singh, Maharana of Khandawar?" This much he recalled from hisconversation with Labertouche a couple of hours gone.
"Hazoor, why dost thou need ask? Thou dost know." The Rajput, on hispart, steadfastly refused to return to English.
"But you are, aren't you?"
"By thy favour, it is even so."
"And you think I'm Rutton--Har Dyal Rutton, as you call him, the formerMaharana who abdicated in your favour?"
The Rajput shrugged expressively, an angry light in his dark, boldeyes. "It pleases my lord to jest," he complained; "but am I a child,to be played with?"
"I'm not joking, Salig Singh, and this business is no joke at all. WhatI'm trying to drive into your head is the fact that you've made themistake of your life. I'm not Rutton and I'm nothing like Rutton; I aman American citizen and----"
"Pardon, hazoor, but is this worth thy while? I am no child; what Iknow I know. If thou art indeed not Har Dyal Rutton, how is it thatthou dost wear upon thy finger the signet of thy house"--Salig Singhindicated the emerald which Amber had forgotten--"the Token sent theeby the Bell? If thou are not my lord the rightful Maharana ofKhandawar, how is it that thou hast answered the summons of the Bell?Are the servants of the Body fools who have followed the hither, losingtrace of thee no single instant since thou didst slay the Bengali whobore the Token to thee? Am I blind--I, Salig Singh, thy childhood'splaymate, the Grand Vizier of thy too-brief rule, to whom thou didstsurrender the reins of government of Khandawar? I know thee; thou canstnot deceive me. True it is that thou art changed--sadly changed, mylord; and the years have not worn upon thee as they might--I hadthought to find thee an older man and, by thy grace, a wiser. But evenas I am Salig Singh, thou art none other than my lord, Har DyalRutton."
Salig Singh put his shoulders against the wall and, leaning so witharms folded, regarded Amber with a triumph not unmixed with contempt.It was plain that he considered his argument final, his case complete,the verdict his. While Amber found no words with which to combat hisfalse impression, and could only stare, open-mouthed and fascinated.But at length he recollected himself and called his wits together.
"That's all very pretty," he admitted fairly, "but it won't hold water.I don't suppose these faithful servants of the Bell you mentionedhappened to tell you that Chatterji himself mistook me for Rutton, tobegin with, and just found out his mistake in time to recover theToken. Did they?"
The man shook his head wearily. "Nothing to that import hath come tomine ears," he said.
"All right. And of course they didn't tell you that Rutton committedsuicide down there on Long Island, just after he had killed the babu?"
Again Salig Singh replied by a negative movement of his head.
"Well, all I've got to say is that your infernal 'Body' employs a giddylot of incompetents to run its errands."
Salig Singh said nothing, and Amber pondered the situation briefly. Heunderstood now how the babu's companion had fallen into error: howChatterji, possessing sufficient intelligence to recognise his initialmistake, had, having rectified it, saved his face by saying nothing tohis companion of the incident; and how the latter had remained inignorance of Rutton's death after the slaying of Chatterji, and hadpardonably mistaken Amber for the man he had been sent to spy upon. Theprologue was plain enough, but how to deal with this its sequel was aproblem that taxed his ingenuity. A single solution seemed practicable,of the many he debated: to get in touch with Labertouche and leave therest to him.
He stood for so long in meditation that the Rajput began to show tracesof impatience. He moved restlessly, yawned, and at length spoke.
"Is not my lord content? Can he not see, the dice are cast? What profitcan he think to win through furtherance of this farce?"
"Well," curiosity prompted Amber to ask, "what do you want of me,then?"
"Is there need to ask? Through the Mouthpiece, the Bengali, Behari LaiChatterji, whom thou didst slay, the message of the Bell was brought tothee. Thou hast been called; it is for thee to answer."
"Called----?"
"To the Gateway of Swords, hazoor."
"Oh, yes; to be sure. But where in thunderation is it?"
"That my lord doth know."
"You think so? Well, have it your own way. But suppose I decline theinvitation?"
Salig Singh looked bored. "Since thou hast come so far," he said, "thouwilt go farther, hazoor."
"Meaning--by force?"
"Of thine own will. Those whom the Voice calleth are not led to theGateway by their noses."
"But," Amber persisted, "suppose they won't go?"
"Then, hazoor, doth the Council of the Hand sit in judgment upon them."
The significance was savagely obvious, but Amber merely laughed. "Andthe Hand strikes, I presume?" Salig Singh nodded. "Bless your heart,I'm not afraid of your 'Hand'! But am I to understand that compulsionis not to be used in order to get me to the Gateway--wherever that is?I mean, I'm free to exercise my judgment, whether or not I shallgo--free to leave this place and return to my hotel?"
Gravely the Rajput inclined his head. "Even so," he assented. "I causedthee to be brought hither solely to make certain what thou hast out ofthine own mouth confirmed--the report that thou hadst become altogethertraitor to the Bell. So be it. There remains but the warning that forfour days more, and four days only, the Gateway remains open to thosesummoned. On the fifth it closes."
"And to those who remain in the outer darkness on that fifth day, SaligSingh----?"
"God is merciful," said the Rajput piously.
"Very well. If that is all, I think I will now leave you, Salig Singh,"said Amber, fondling his pistol meaningly.
"One word more," Salig Singh interposed, very much alive to Amber'sattitude: "I were unfaithful to the trust thou didst once repose in mewere I not to warn thee that whither thou goest, the Mind will know;what thou dost, the Eye will see; the words thou shalt utter, the Earwill hear. To all things there is an end, also--even to the patience ofthe Body. Shabash!"
"Thank you 'most to death, Salig Singh. Now will yo
u be good enough toorder a ghari to take me back to the Great Eastern?"
"My lord's will is his servant's." Salig Singh started for the door theleast trace too eagerly.
"One moment," said Amber sharply. "Not so fast, my friend." He tappedhis palm with the barrel of the pistol to add weight to his peremptorymanner. "I think if you will lift your voice and call, some one willanswer. I've taken a great fancy to you, if you don't know it, and Idon't purpose letting you out of my sight until I'm safely out of thishouse."
With a sullen air the Rajput yielded. From his expression Amber wouldhave wagered much that there was a bad quarter of an hour in store forthose who had neglected to disarm him when the opportunity was theirs.
"As you will," conceded Salig Singh; and he clapped his hands smartly,crying: "Ohe, Moto!"
Almost instantly the iron door swung open and the lamp-bearer appeared,salaaming.
"Tell him," ordered Amber, "to bring me a cloak of some sort--not tooconspicuous. I've no fancy to kick up a scandal at the hotel byreturning with these duds visible. You can charge it up to profit andloss; if it hadn't been for the tender treatment your assassins gaveme, I'd be less disreputable."
A faint smile flickered in Salig Singh's eyes--a look that was notwholly devoid of admiration for the man who had turned the tables onhim with such ease. "Indeed," he said, "I were lacking in courtesy didI refuse thee that." And turning to the servant he issued instructionsin accordance with Amber's demands, adding gratuitously an order thatthe way of exit should be kept clear.
As the man bowed and withdrew Amber grinned cheerfully. "It wasn't abad afterthought, Salig Singh," he observed; "precautions like thatrelieve the mind wonderfully sometimes."
But the humour of the situation seemed to be lost upon the Rajput.
In the brief wait that followed Amber shifted his position to onewherefrom he could command both the doorway and Salig Singh; hissolicitude, however, was without apparent warrant; nothing happened tojustify him of his vigilance. Without undue delay the servant returnedwith a light cloak and the announcement that the ghari was in waiting.
His offer to help the American don the garment was graciously declined."I've a fancy to have my arms free for the present," Amber explained;"I can get it on by myself in the ghari." He took the cloak over hisleft arm. "I'm ready; lead on!" he said, and with a graceful wave ofthe pistol bowed Salig Singh out of the cellar.
Moto leading with the light, they proceeded in silence down a musty butdeserted passage, Amber bringing up the rear with his heart in hismouth and his finger nervous upon the trigger. After a little thepassage turned and discovered a door open to the street. Beyond this aghari could be seen.
Amber civilly insisted that both the servant and his master leave thehouse before him, but, once outside, he made a wary detour and gotbetween them and the waiting conveyance. Then, "It's kind of you, SaligSingh," he said; "I'm properly grateful. I'll say this for you: youplay the game fairly when anybody calls your attention to the rules.Good-night to you--and, I say, be kind enough to shut the door as yougo in. I'll just wait until you do."
The Rajput found no answer; conceivably, his chagrin was intense. Witha curt nod he turned and reentered the house, Moto following. The doorclosed and Amber jumped briskly into the ghari.
"Home, James," he told the ghariwallah, in great conceit with himself."I mean, the Great Eastern Hotel--and _juldee jao_!"
The driver wrapped a whiplash round the corrugated flanks of his horseand the ghari turned the corner with gratifying speed. In half a minutethey were in the Chitpur Road. In fifteen they drew up before thehotel.
It was after midnight and the city had begun to quiet down, but OldCourt House Street was still populous with carriages and pedestrians,black and tan and white. There was a Viceregal function of some sorttowards in the Government House, and broughams and victorias, coaches,hansoms, and coupes, with lamps alight and liveried coachmen--turn-outsgroomed to the last degree of smartness--crowded the thoroughfare tothe peril and discomfort of the casual ghari. The scene wasunbelievably brilliant. Amber felt like rubbing his eyes. Here weresidewalks, pavements, throbbing electric arcs, Englishmen in eveningdress, fair Englishwomen in dainty gowns and pretty wraps, the hum ofEnglish voices, the very smell of civilisation. And back there, justacross the border he had so recently crossed, still reigned themidnight of the Orient, glamorous with the glamour of the ArabianNights, dreadful with its dumb menace, its atmosphere of plot andcounterplot, mutiny, treason, intrigue, and death. Here, a littleisland of life and light and gay, heedless laughter; there, all roundit, pressing close, silence and impenetrable darkness, like some darksea of death lapping its shores....
In a cold sweat of horror Amber got out of the vehicle and paid hisfare. As he turned he discovered an uniformed policeman stalking to andfro before the hotel, symbol of the sane power that ruled the land.Amber was torn by an impulse to throw himself upon the man and shriekaloud his tale of terror--to turn and scream warning in the ears ofthose who lived so lightly on the lip of Hell....
A Bengali drifted listlessly past, a bored and blase babu in a suit ofpink satin, wandering home and interested in nothing save his own blandself and the native cigarette that drooped languidly from his lips. Hepassed within a foot of Amber, and from somewhere a voice spoke--theVirginian could have taken an oath that the babu's lips did notmove--in a clear yet discreet whisper.
"To-morrow," it said; "Darjeeling."
Amber hitched his cloak round him and entered the hotel.
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