by John Blaine
He hailed a taxi and the party climbed in. Rick kept watch for Chahda as they drove down HornbyRoad toward Churchgate , but there was no sign of the boy,
“Hellbe waiting for us at the train,” Scotty said. “He wouldn’t take a chance on being left behind.”
Van Groot was an excellent and interesting host. He told them tales of the Tibetan country and of the people. “They’re Ruddhists ,” he said, “and most faithful to their beliefs.Can’t even swat a fly, because harming anything, even a centipede, means loss of merit in the next world.Quite touching, after a fashion.”
And he told them tales of Lhasa , the forbidden city of the Dalai Lama, where, unfortunately, their travels would not take them. Refore any of them realized it, their time was up and they had to hurry back.
The taxi pulled up at the barnlike railroad station just as the warning whistle blew. Rick looked around for Chahda. He ran to the nearest official and asked if anyone had inquired for the American party, but the man didn’t understand English.
“Hurry, Rick,” Zircon called.
The shrill whistle gave a long blast. Rick ran for his compartment, past the second- and third-class carriages, past bearded passengers, hooded Moslem women, ragged Hindus and uniformed colonials, and past goats that traveled with their owners, and chickens in crates, and water carriers with goatskins.
There was no sign of an erect Hindu boy in a new white suit.
Rick climbed into the compartment and said desperately, “He’s not here!”
Van Groot stood on the platform, holding a tissue to his nose to guard him from the dust of the station.
“Don’t imagine that you’ll see him again,” he remarked. “These little street boys are like that.Most undepend -able. Well, bon voyage. Best of fortune and all that.”
The train jerked and began to move. Van Groot lifted the riding crop he carried, in a gesture of farewell.
Zircon leaned over and closed the compartment door.
Rick started to protest, but realized the uselessness of it. They couldn’t wait for Chahda. He went to the door and looked back along the platform, seeing the figure of Van Groot slowly recede.
Suddenly there was a smaller figure in white running along the platform.
Chahda!
He was running for all he was worth, and he was shouting something Rick couldn’t hear.
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“Stop the train! Chahda’s here!” Rick yelled.
The little figure in white came even with Van Groot, and started to pass him.
Rick saw Van Groot’s riding crop go up,then lash down. Chahda’s running legs faltered and hefell face down on the platform.
CHAPTER X
The Odor of Menthol
Rick grabbed for the compartment-door handle and started to swing it open, but Scotty caught his arm.
“The train’s moving, dope!”
Rick whirled. “ ChahdalHe’s out there. Van Groot knocked him down!”
Scotty pulled him away from the door. “You can’t do anything about it now. You’d be killed if you tried to get off!”
“We have to stop the train,” Rick said desperately.
The professors joined Scotty.
“It’s unfortunate,” Zircon spoke with finality. “But there is nothing we can do, Rick. The boy just missed the train, that’s all.”
“But why did Van Groot hit him?”
“Are you sure he did, Rick?” Weiss asked.
“Of course I’m sure! He was running up the platform, shouting something. When he got to Van Groot, I saw him knock Chahda down with that riding crop he cairies .”
“Odd,” Zircon frowned.
“Maybe he brushed against Van Groot,” Scotty suggested. “He doesn’t like Indians. He might knock him down.”
“That’s it, of course,” Weiss agreed.
Rick sank into the compartment seat. They were far out of the station now, and railroad yards were giving way to open country. They had crossed the bridge fromBombay to the mainland ofIndia .
“I wonder why Chahda waslate? ” Rick said, and his thoughts kept going back to the Hindu boy’s Page 46
comments on the map. “He said the route to Tengi-Bu was wrong.”
“I imagine the Asiatic Geographical Union knows more about that than Chahda,” Weiss remarked.
“Maybe he went to say good-bye to his family,” Scotty said.
Zircon shrugged. “Whatever the reason, he’s far behind us now. It’s regrettable that Van Groot struck him, but I think Scotty’s explanation accounts for that. Chahda brushed against him and Van Groot retaliated.”
Rick stared morosely out the window. He wasn’t satisfied with any of the explanations offered, but he had no better ones to present. They would probably never know, because in a few days Chahda would be a thousand miles behind.
He looked around the compartment, noticing that Zircon had arranged for boxes of rations and for sheets and pillowcases. Their equipment was in the next compartment, the door securely locked. He reached up and turned on the fan and unhappily settled himself for the trip.
Days and nights intermingled and Rick couldn’t have said how long they had been traveling. The stops were the only things that broke the monotony. They would get out and walk on the platform to stretch their legs, and crowds of natives would gather at a little distance and watch them.
The crowds were as much a part ofIndia as the clay dust and the red-brass sun. They waited for the train at one stop and the same crowd seemed to be waiting for it at the next, so uniform were they in character. They looked alike, they sounded alike. Their wild cries as they hawked their wares, their begging, their murmured conversations all blended and formed a vast sigh that was purely Indian.
Sometimes Scotty looked longingly at the fresh food offered by vendors on the station platforms, but those foods were not safe. Even the water wasn’t safe, and they had to drink the stale, warm, boiled water provided for passengers. When they ate, it was sparingly, and from the boxes of rations.
Occasionally Zircon did permit them to buy a little fruit, but they had to peel it so thoroughly that there was little left but the stones.
They did not talk much. It was too hot to think about things to say. Rick and Scotty slept as much as they could, for sleep was their only escape from the heat, the dust, and the monotony.
“Rick! Wake up! Hit the deck!”
It was Scotty, standing over him and fully dressed.
“Where are we?” Rick asked.
“Nepal.The end of the line.”
Rick jumped to the window. The long journey was over! The tracks had come to a dead end against the side of a mountain. There was a ramshackle wooden station and a white-roofed building beside it. And noise. The crowd was waiting again.
But this crowd didn’t sigh like the ones ofIndia . This crowd growled. They were all men and dressed in strange, padded clothing that looked like tailored quilts. Their feet were wrapped in bulky, bandage like coverings and lashed tight with thongs. Their faces were swarthy and all of them seemed to be exactly the Page 47
same height, as thougha blight had stunted them simultaneously.
And beyond, like a great curtain, stood the mountains of Tibetl Each one in the party reached for his quota of the baggage and hurried toward the door of the train.
Rick was the first to step to the ground, and as he did, the growl of the crowd rose in crescendo and moved in on him. He gave Zircon and Weiss a hand with their baggage, and soon the four were standing in the center of the mob on the platform.
“One of us will have to supervise the unloading of the equipment,” Zircon shouted above the din.
“I’ll do it, sir,” Scotty offered, and pushed his way back toward the compartment.
“Looks like they all want to work for us,” Rick commented, scanning the avid faces.
“We’ll pick no guide from this mob,” Zircon answered. “I’m to see the Tibetan border official here.”
The scientist bega
n pushing through the closely packed, noisy crowd and Rick followed him to the official-looking building beside the station. Weiss went back to help Scotty.
iZircon took the four passports from his pocket and walked through the door marked Customs. It took a moment to become accustomed to the dimness, but they finally located a cubbyhole of an office at the end of the gloomy hall.
A slim figure stepped from the door and bowed. He wore a strangely mixed garb-a wide, blue sash, balloon-sleeve shirt, and striped pants pressed the wrong way. They looked as though they were worn only for official business-and business had been poor since 1923.
“ Sars,” he purred, bowing again, “could do for you?”
“Yes. I am Professor Zircon,” the scientist began.
“Of the Americans party, yes,” the man finished for him.“So too bad. I am sorry.” He said it in a monotone, flicking his liquid brown eyes from one to the other.
It was difficult to understand these people, Rick thought. They were always sorry for something. He wondered what it was this time.
“Sorry for what?” Zircon asked.
The official bowed low again.“Regards permission for the entry intoTibet. Revoked it were.Suddenly revoked!”
Rick looked at Zircon and for a moment they were both speechless, then Zircon exploded.
“Revoked!Why, look here . . . This is a scientific expedition. We’ve come halfway around the world!
This thing was settled through official channels long ago. It couldn’t have been revoked!”
“Suddenly revoked,” the official repeated.
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Rick looked hard at the man and decided he didn’t like him. He resented his abruptness in telling them the bad news-as if he had rehearsed it.
“Look here,” Zircon roared. “I must get in touch with your Tibetan government. There’s been a mistake.”
The official grinned. “No wires ... no wires to august government.”
Rick felt sure the man had been waiting to spring that.
Then his nose detected an odor.
So accustomed had he become to the sea of smells that wasIndia , that he no longer had the habit of consciously identifying each new one. But this odor struck his nostrils and burned.
Menthol!
Into his mind flashed the picture of a menthol-dipped tissue held to a sniffing nose.
It was incredible. They were a thousand miles, half a world away fromBombay , and yet here was a trademark. The unexpected revocation of permission, the story that soundedrehearsed, the very type of man before them-all seemed to be connected, somehow, with the menthol.
The official stared out of the dingy window as though he had forgotten them both completely. Zircon stomped up and down the room, choking with frustration and anger.
Then Rick spoke out of the growing certainty in his mind, turning his back so that the official could not see his face. He hoped that Zircon saw his wink as he said, “If we’re going to be delayed, sir, shouldn’t we pay off our bearers so that they can return toBombay ?”
“Bearers?What bearers?” Zircon bellowed.
Rick winked again. “Our menservants, sir,” he said.
This time Zircon caught the wink, but Rick could see that it meant nothing to him. He raced on, praying that his sudden scheme was going to work.
“There you go, sir, forgetting them again. Why, I’ll bet you even forgot to have those large rupee notes changed.” He turned to the official.
“Could you change a five-hundred-rupee note?” he asked.
Rick’s heart leaped as the man jumped at the bait. “Of course,” he purred, and reached into his pocket.
Rick motioned to Zircon to give him the five-hundred-rupee note. The scientist took it from his pocket, cocking his head in bewilderment.
Rick handed the note to the official and then almost snatched the paper change from the man’s hand. He held it quickly to his nose and sniffed.
“I knew it, sir,” he said.“Smell.” He held the money up to Zircon’s face.
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The money was pungent with menthol.
But still Zircon looked puzzled. “What isall this, Rick?” he demanded.
“Well, sir,” Rick answered, “doesn’t this entry permission business look like a put-up job to you?”
Light was dawning on Zircon now. He nodded.
“Why is it that this man was able to change our five* hundred-rupee note out of his own pocket? He doesn’t make enough money to carry that large a sum around with him, does he?”
Zircon stared at the official. “You mean you think he’s been bribed?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.I do,” Rick answered. And as he spoke the words, he saw the official edging toward the door and knew his accusation had struck home.
“Just a moment,” Zircon bellowed. “Is this boy right?”
“No, sar .”
Zircon took a step toward the man. “Well, I’m going to take a chance that he is and report you to your superior. He’ll not only have you discharged, but he’ll take every cent of the bribe from you for not splitting it with him!”
Rick realized at once that Zircon could not have chosen a more effective threat, for the man immediately began bowing and purring.
“Perhaps forgot,” he said. “Perhaps overlook.”
He shuffled over to his ratty little desk and opened a drawer. As he did so, a look of exaggerated surprise suffused his features.
“I make mistake,” he beamed, and held out an official-looking document. “Now I stamp passports.” He imprinted them with a heavy seal.
Zircon snatched them from his hand and flashed a triumphant look at Rick.
“I should have you beheaded!” he bellowed, and started from the office.
“Wait, sir,” Rick called. “What about the man who gave him the bribe?And the menthol?”
“No bribe,” the official demurred softly.
“The menthol proves nothing,” Zircon said from the doorway. “Besides, it would take a week to wring the information from this fellow. We haven’t time.”
Rick realized from the look on the official’s face that he realized this fact full well. With the passports, the white men probably would be willing to go off and leave him with his loot.
Rick glared at the man and reluctantly followed Zircon out of the building.
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“We’d probably save ourselves a lot of trouble if we found out who gave him that bribe, sir,” he said.
“And why.”
“If we did find out, what could we do about it?” Zircon asked flatly.
“Yes, what could we do?” thought Rick.
But that odor of menthol.It was there, and whether Zircon thought so or not, Rick was convinced that the perpetrator of all their troubles had givenhimself away.
HendrickVan Groot!
He was the man who had stolen their equipment, ordered it pushed into the sea.The man who sometimes traveled under the name ofConway. Rick felt sure of it now. But why had he done all this?
Rick followed Professor Zircon back toward the crowd at the railway station, and at the sight of the big man, the yells of the mob increased in intensity.
“Now I’ll have to use my own judgment about a guide,” Zircon said. He stared at the multitude of natives, all clamoring for the job as they massed about him.
Weiss hurried to his side. “How do you get these devils quiet,Hobart ?”
Zircon scratched his chin, then cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted for quiet.
They screamed louder.
Weiss yelled something first in Mongol, then in a strange gibberish.
The tone of the mob rose to a higher pitch.
Then Scotty stepped forward. “Allow me,” he said. He put his fists on his hips and yelled at the top of his lungs.
The crowd hushed like a slowing Victrola record and was still.
“A miracle!”Zircon exclaimed. “What did you say?”
“Not a thing,” Scotty repl
ied, grinning. “It’s the face you make that counts, not the words.An old top sergeant’s trick.”
“I swear if we pick one of these men, the others will kill him in sheer resentment,” Weiss whispered.
The bulky little men were staring at Scotty and the other three with fierce eyes.
“I wish I knew how to go about this,” Zircon said.
Then his problem was solved for him. Out of the crowd, where he had been squatting unseen till this moment, stepped a huge man who towered above the other applicants. Even Zircon looked small beside him. One eyelid drooped half-shut, giving him a sly, knowing look. His tangled black hair mounted to a Page 51
peak. He was almost humorous in appearance except for the stringy, black mustache that curved in a sinister parenthesis about his wide mouth.
He tapped his chest with a beefy hand, folded his arms and announced: “Me Sahmeed .Number One guide boy.”
The party could not suppress grins and it seemed to amuse this hulk of a man. He grinned, too, and his teeth, were like a picket fence with a few staves knocked out.
“Much Number One strong,” he grunted, and in two steps he was beside the equipment piled on the platform. Before anyone could stop him, he had lifted the very biggest of the boxes and with barely a shiver of the arms, held it high above his head, tossed it in the air as the party winced, and then caught it again. He lowered it easily to the ground and smiled.
Rick felt like applauding, but he could see that Zuvcon was not quite convinced.
“Do you know Tengi-Bu plateau?” he asked.
Sahmeedbobbed his head. “Much know Tengi-Bu,’” he replied.
The other strangely clad men in the mob were grumbling now. They wanted to know what decision was being made.
Then Sahmeed turned, swept his arm in a fierce gesture over the heads of the mob, and growled. Even a heavyweight champion would have ducked at the sweep of that oak like arm.
The crowd moved back.
“I don’t think they’d dare try for the job now,” Weiss said.
“Well, I guess he’s our man, then,” Zircon decided, looking the giant up and down. He nodded to him.
“But well need bearers . . . and animals,” he said to Weiss.
