The Pointing Man

by Marjorie Douie

  II

  TELLS THE STORY OF A LOSS, AND HOW IT AFFECTED THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH

  Half-way up a low hill rise on the far side of the Mangadone Cantonmentwas the bungalow of Hartley, Head of the Police. It was a tidy,well-kept house, the house of a bachelor who had an eye to thingshimself and who was well served by competent servants. Hartley hadreached the age of forty without having married, and he was solid ofbuild and entirely sensible and practical of mind. He was spoken of as"sound" and "capable," for it is thus we describe men with a word, andhis mind was adjusted so as to give room for only one idea at a time. Hewas convinced that he was tactful to a fault, nothing had ever shakenhim in this belief, and his personal courage was the courage of theBritish lion. Hartley was popular and on friendly and confidential termswith everybody.

  Mangadone, like most other places in the East, was as full of cliques asa book is of words, but Hartley regarded them not at all. Popularity washis weakness and his strength, and he swam in all waters and was invitedeverywhere. Mrs. Wilder, who knew exactly who to treat with distantcondescension and who to ignore entirely, invariably included him inher intimate dinners, and the Chief Commissioner, also a bachelor,invited him frequently and discussed many topics with him as the winecircled. Even Craven Joicey, the banker, who made very few acquaintancesand fewer intimates, was friendly with Hartley; one of those odd,unlikely friendships that no one understands.

  The week following upon the thunder-storm had been a week of grey skiesover an acid-green world, and even Hartley became conscious that thereis something mournful about a tropical country without a sun in the skyas he sat in his writing-room. It was gloomy there, and the palm treesoutside tossed and swayed, and the low mist wraiths down in the valleyclung and folded like cotton-wool, hiding the town and covering it up tothe very top spires of the cathedral. Hartley was making out a report ona case of dacoity against a Chinaman, but the light in the room was bad,and he pushed back his chair impatiently and shouted to the boy to bringa lamp.

  His tea was set out on a small lacquer table near his chair, and hisfox-terrier watched him with imploring eyes, occasionally voicing hisfeelings in a stifled bark. The boy came in answer to his call, carryingthe lamp in his hands, and put it down near Hartley, who turned up thewick, and fell to his reading again; then, putting the report into alocked drawer, he drew his chair from the writing-table and poured out acup of tea.

  He had every reason to suppose that his day's work was done, and that hecould start off for the Club when his tea was finished. The wind rattledthe palm branches and came in gusts through the veranda, banging doorsand shaking windows, and the evening grew dark early, with thecomfortless darkness of rain overhead, when the wheels of a carriagesounded on the damp, sodden gravel outside. Hartley got up and peeredthrough the curtain that hung across the door. Callers at such an hourupon such a day were not acceptable, and he muttered under his breath,feeling relieved, however, when he saw a fat and heavy figure in Burmeseclothing get out from the _gharry_.

  "If that is anyone to see me on business, say that this is neither theplace nor the hour to come," he shouted to the boy, and returning to thetea-table, poured out a saucer of milk for the eager terrier, nowdivided between his duties as a dog and his feelings as an animal.

  The boy reappeared after a pause, bearing a message to the effect thatMhtoon Pah begged an immediate interview upon a subject so pressing thatit could not wait.

  Hartley listened to the message, swore under his breath, and lookedsharply at Mhtoon Pah when he came into the room. Usually the curiodealer had a smile and a suave, pleasant manner, but on this occasionall his suavity was gone, and his eyes, usually so inexpressive andsecret, were lighted with a strange, wolfish look of anger and rage thatwas almost suggestive of insanity.

  He bowed before the Head of the Police and began to talk in broken,gasping words, waving his hands as he spoke. His story was confused andrambling, but what he told was to the effect that his boy, Absalom, haddisappeared and could not be found.

  "It was the night of the 29th of July, _Thakin_, and I sent him forthupon a business. Next morning he did not return. It was I who opened theshop, it was I who waited upon customers, and Absalom was not there."

  "What inquiries have you made?"

  "All that may be made, _Thakin_. His mother comes crying to my door, hisbrothers have searched everywhere. Ah, that I had the body of the manwho has done this thing, and held him in the sacred tank, to make foodfor the fishes."

  His dark eyes gleamed, and he showed his teeth like a dog.

  "Nonsense, man," said Hartley, quickly. "You seem to suppose that theboy is dead. What reason have you for imagining that there has been foulplay?"

  "_Seem_ to suppose, _Thakin_?" Mhtoon Pah gasped again, like a drowningman. "And yet the _Thakin_ knows the sewer city, the Chinese quarter,the streets where men laugh horribly in the dark. Houses there,_Thakin_, that crawl with yellow men, who are devils, and who split aman as they would split a fowl--" he broke off, and waved his handsabout wildly.

  Hartley felt a little sick; there was something so hideous in the wayMhtoon Pah expressed himself that he recoiled a step and summoned hiscommon sense to his aid.

  "Who saw Absalom last?"

  "Many people must have seen him. I sat myself outside the shop at sunsetto watch the street, and had sent Absalom forth upon a business, aprivate business: he was a good boy. Many saw him go out, but no one sawhim return."

  "That is no use, Mhtoon Pah; you must give me some names. Who saw theboy besides yourself?"

  Mhtoon Pah opened his mouth twice before any sound came, and he beat hishands together.

  "The Padre Sahib, going in a hurry, spoke a word to him; I saw that withmy eyes."

  "Mr. Heath?"

  "Yes, _Thakin_, no other."

  "And besides Mr. Heath, was there anyone else who saw him?"

  Mhtoon Pah bowed himself double in his chair and rocked about.

  "The whole street saw him go, but none saw him return, neither willthey. They took Absalom into some dark place, and when his blood ranover the floor, and out under the doors, the Chinamen got their littleknives, the knives that have long tortoise-shell handles, and very sharpedges, and then--"

  "For God's sake stop talking like that," said Hartley, abruptly. "Thereisn't a fragment of evidence to prove that the boy is murdered. I amsorry for you, Mhtoon Pah, but I warn you that if you let yourself thinkof things like that you will be in a lunatic asylum in a week."

  He took out a sheet of paper and made careful notes. The boy had beengone four to five days, and beyond the fact that the Rev. Francis Heathhad seen and spoken to him, no one else was named as having passed alongParadise Street. The clergyman's evidence was worth nothing at all,except to prove that the boy had left Mhtoon Pah's shop at the timementioned, and Mhtoon Pah explained that the "private business" was tobuy a gold lacquer bowl desired by Mrs. Wilder, who had come to the shopa day or two before and given the order. Gold lacquer bowls weredifficult to procure, and he had charged the boy to search for it in themorning and to buy it, if possible, from the opium dealer Leh Shin, whocould be securely trusted to be half-drugged at an early hour.

  "It was the morning I spoke of, _Thakin_," said the curio dealer, whohad grown calmer. "But Absalom did not return to his home that night. Hemay have gone to Leh Shin; he was a diligent boy, a good boy, alwayseager in the pursuit of his duty and advantage."

  "I am very sorry for you, Mhtoon Pah," said Hartley again, "and I shallinvestigate the matter. I know Leh Shin, and I consider it quiteunlikely that he has had anything to do with it."

  When Mhtoon Pah rattled away in the yellow _gharry_, Hartley put thenotes on one side. It was a police matter, and he could trust his staffto work the subject up carefully under his supervision, and going to thetelephone, he communicated the principal facts to the head office,mentioning the name of Leh Shin and the story of the gold lacquer bowl,and giving instructions that Leh Shin was to be tactfully interrogated.
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br />   When Hartley hung up the receiver he took his hat and waterproof andwent out into the warm, damp dusk of the evening. There was somethingthat he did not like about the weather. It was heavy, oppressive,stifling, and though there was air in plenty, it was the stale air of aday that seemed never to have got out of bed, but to have lain in aclose room behind the shut windows of Heaven.

  He remembered the boy Absalom well, and could recall his dark, eagerface, bulging eyes and protuberant under-lip, and the idea of his havingbeen decoyed off unto some place of horror haunted him. It was still onhis mind when he walked into the Club veranda and joined a group of menin the bar. Joicey, the banker, was with them, silent, morose, and moodyaccording to his wont, taking no particular notice of anything oranybody. Fitzgibbon, a young Irish barrister-at-law, was talking, andlaughing and doing his best to keep the company amused, but he could getno response out of Joicey. Hartley was received with acclamations suitedto his general reputation for popularity, and he stood talking for alittle, glad to shake off his feeling of depression. When he saw Mr.Heath come in and go up the staircase to an upstairs room, he followedhim with his eyes and decided to take the opportunity to speak to him.

  "What's the matter, Joicey?" he asked, speaking to the banker. "You lookas if you had fever."

  "I'm all right," Joicey spoke absently. "It's this infernally stuffyweather, and the evenings."

  "I'm glad it's that," laughed Fitzgibbon, "I thought that it might beme. I'm so broke that even my tea at _Chota haziri_ is getting badlyoverdrawn."

  "Dine with me on Saturday," suggested Hartley, "I've seen very little ofyou just lately."

  Joicey looked up and nodded.

  "I'll come," he said, laconically, and Hartley, finishing his drink,went up the staircase.

  The reading-room of the Club was usually empty at that hour, and thegreat tables littered with papers, free to any studious reader. WhenHartley came in, the Rev. Francis Heath had the place entirely tohimself, and was sitting with a copy of the _Saturday Review_ in hishands. He did not hear Hartley come in, and he started as his name wasspoken, and putting down the _Review_, looked at the Head of the Policewith questioning eyes.

  "I've come to talk over something with you, Heath," Hartley began,drawing a chair close to the table. "Can you remember anything at all ofwhat you were doing on the evening of July the twenty-ninth?"

  The Rev. Francis Heath dropped his paper, and stooped to pick it up;certainly he found the evening hot, for his face ran with trickles ofperspiration.

  "July the twenty-ninth?"

  "Yes, that's the date. I am particularly anxious to know if you rememberit."

  Mr. Heath wiped his neck with his handkerchief.

  "I held service as usual at five o'clock."

  Hartley looked at him; there was something undeniably strained in theclergyman's eyes and voice.

  "Ah, but what I am after took place later."

  The Rev. Francis Heath moistened his lips and stood up.

  "My memory is constantly at fault," he said, avoiding Hartley's eyes andlooking at the ground. "I would not like to make any specific statementwithout--without--reference to my note-book."

  Hartley stared in astonishment.

  "This is only a small matter, Heath. I was trying to get round to mypoint in the usual way, by giving no actual indication of what I wantedto know. You see, if you tell a man what you want, he sometimes imaginesthat what he did on another day is what really happened on the actualoccasion, and that, as you can imagine, makes our job very difficult. Idon't want to bother you, but as your name was mentioned to me inconnection with a certain investigation, I wished to test the truth ofmy man's statement."

  Heath stood in the same attitude, his face pale and his eyes steadilylowered.

  "It might be well for you to be more clear," he said, after a longpause.

  "Did you go down Paradise Street just after sunset?"

  "I may have done so. I have several parishioners along the river bank."

  "Why the devil is he talking like this and looking like this?" Hartleyasked himself, impatiently.

  "I'm not a cross-examining counsel," he said, with some sharpness. "AsI told you before, Heath, it is only a very small matter."

  The Rev. Francis Heath gripped the back of his chair and a slight flushmounted to his face.

  "I resent your questions, Mr. Hartley. What I did or did not do on theevening of July the twenty-ninth can in no way affect you. I entirelyrefuse to be made to answer anything. You have no right to ask me, and Ihave no intention of replying."

  Hartley put his hand out in dismay.

  "Really, Heath, your attitude is quite absurd. I have already told oneman to-day that he was going mad; are you dreaming, man? I only want youto help me, and you talk as if I had accused you of something. There isnothing criminal in being seen in Paradise Street after sundown."

  Mr. Heath stood holding by the back of his chair, looking over Hartley'shead, his dark eyes burning and his face set.

  "Come, then," said the police officer abruptly, "who did you see? Didyou, for instance, see the Christian boy, Absalom, Mhtoon Pah'sassistant?"

  The Rev. Francis Heath made no answer.

  "Did you see him?"

  "I will not answer any further questions, but since you ask me, I didsee the boy."

  "Thank you, Heath; that took some getting at. Now will you tell me ifyou saw him again later: I am supposing that you went down the wharf andcame back, shall I say, in an hour's time. Did you see Absalom again?"

  The clergyman stared out of the window, and his pause was of suchintensely long duration that when he said the one word, "No," it felllike the splash of a stone dropped into a deep well.

  Hartley looked at his sleeve-links for quite a long time.

  "Good night, Heath," he said, getting up, but the Rev. Francis Heathmade no reply.

  Hartley went back to his bungalow with something to think about. He hadalways regarded Heath as a difficult and rather violently religious man.They had never been friends, and he knew that they never could befriends, but he respected the man even without liking him. Now he wasquite convinced that Heath, after some deliberation with his conscience,had lied to him, and it made him angry. He had admitted, with thegreatest reluctance, that he had been through Paradise Street, and seenthe boy, and his declaration that he had not seen him again did not ringwith any real conviction. It made the whole question more interesting,but it made it unpleasant. If things came to light that called theinquiry into court, the Rev. Francis Heath might live to learn that thelaw has a way of obliging men to speak. If Hartley had ever been sure ofanything in his life, he was sure that Heath knew something of Absalom,and knew where he had gone in search of the gold lacquer bowl that wasdesired by Mrs. Wilder. He made up his mind to see Mrs. Wilder and askher about the order for the bowl; but he hardly thought of her, his mindwas full of the mystery that attached itself to the question of theRector of St. Jude's parish, and his fierce and angry refusal to talkreasonably.

  He threw open his windows and sat with the air playing on his face, andhis thoughts circled round and round the central idea. Absalom wasmissing, and the Rev. Francis Heath had behaved in a way that led him tobelieve that he knew a great deal more than he cared to say, and Hartleybrooded over the subject until he grew drowsy and went upstairs to bed.