‘I have none, sir.’
‘Then come along with us, but be careful, Carter. Lahore is full of designing mothers with marriageable daughters.’
A few weeks later, when Lady Wallace was staying in Delhi as the guest of the Vicereine, a smartly dressed Mohammedan gentleman arrived in Lahore and, engaging a tonga, was driven to the Anarkali, where he engaged a room in a small native hotel. His arrival coincided with the visit of several Congress leaders, who intended delivering certain speeches in the Bradlaugh Hall. In his hotel he found, as he had expected, that the proprietor was a man with distinct pro-Congress sympathies, and he confided to him that he had travelled all the way from Kabul, where he was a man of substance, in order to study the Indian political problem.
‘My sympathies,’ he confessed, ‘are on the side of Congress, and I have been wondering if it would be possible to help in any way.’
The landlord was greatly impressed. He had already put his guest down as a man from the north, owing to the fact that his skin was not very dark and his eyes were grey, a phenomenon that only occurred in northerners; he had even wondered if he were an Afghan. Rather pleased at his own astuteness, and delighted at his guest’s sentiments, the proprietor of the dirty little hotel bowed low.
‘Truly,’ he remarked, ‘you have come to Lahore at the right time. Tonight there will be many and great speeches at the hall which is called Bradlaugh. Your co-operation will be welcomed by those of our party. Our Muslim brethren have shown but little enthusiasm for the Congress. Tonight a big attempt will be made to enlist the sympathies of the Muslims of Lahore. If it please you, I take you to the meeting.’
The Afghan expressed his willingness to accompany his host, and together that evening they sat in a tonga, and were driven along Circular Road, past the District Courts and the Central Training College, until they reached the building which has such an unenviable reputation for seditious meetings. A great crowd chatted and laughed as it made its way into the hall. The Afghan and his companion were fortunate to find two seats near the front, a little way from the platform on which sat seven or eight men, all but two being Hindus. Close by were several well-known Lahore residents, including Dr Sir Mohammed Iqbal the poet, a man of enlightened mind and anti-Congress tendencies, who was probably present out of curiosity. He was invited to ascend the platform, but refused. Such an act, he knew, would have associated him with the speechmakers, and he looked as though he rather resented the invitation. One of the Muslims on the dais was a stout, smug-looking man, obviously one of the few Mohammedans who have sold their birthright for Hindu money. He was a barrister in Lahore, and was later to spend considerable periods in jail for sedition. The hotel-keeper, after fidgeting in his seat for some time rose and edged his way to the platform, where he got into conversation with this man. From the waving of arms in his direction, and the many glances, the Afghan concluded that they were discussing him. The barrister showed a great deal of interest, and presently descended from his perch. He was introduced to the Afghan, and expressed his great pleasure at seeing him there.
‘My colleagues,’ he asserted, ‘will be delighted to meet you. May I take you to them?’
Thus was Sir Leonard Wallace received into the Congress camp. The refusal of the great bulk of Muslims to associate with the Congress was a very sore blow to the Hindu leaders, and they were prepared to go to almost any lengths to obtain volunteers from among the followers of the Prophet. It is a well-known fact that they were prepared to pay substantial sums of money to prominent Muslims to join them, but only a few fell to the temptation. The advent of an Afghan, who dressed and spoke like a man of education and importance, was an event. If public opinion in Afghanistan could be swayed to the side of Congress, there was no knowing what rosy prospects might be in store for India! At least that was what Sir Leonard’s new acquaintances thought, and they gave him a warm welcome and a seat on the platform, even mentioned him in their speeches. Afterwards he was made much of, and had a long conversation with Lala Rajpat Rai, whose death from heart failure a year or so later was made an excuse for the cruel murder of the young police officer, Saunders. Rajpat Rai invited him to take up his abode in his house during the remainder of his stay in Lahore, but he declined. He preferred the liberty which the Anarkali hotel afforded him, even though there might be certain advantages in living in intimate contact with an important member of the Congress.
Having expressed his intention of travelling throughout India and studying Congress activities at first hand, he left Lahore a few days later armed with various letters of introduction. He arrived in Allahabad when Pandits Motilal Nehru and Jawarhalal Nehru were there, and had the satisfaction of meeting them and learning from them much of their intentions for the future. He found Jawarhalal a good-looking man with rather an ascetic type of face and mind that had been definitely sovietized. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to talk of modern Russia. He spoke well, and had a convincing manner, which Sir Leonard quickly decided would be very effective in moving the half-educated and easily swayed masses. The only item of real interest which came to his knowledge in Allahabad, however, was the fact that the two Nehrus, and other leaders of the Congress, were meeting Gandhi in Ahmedabad, where secret conference was to be held a week later. He resolved to be present if possible. He made no secret of his desire meet the Mahatma, and was promptly given a letter of introduction.
He took care not to arrive at Ahmedabad until the day before the conference was due to take place, hoping that, by that time, Congress circles would feel such confidence in him that he would be invited to the meeting itself. He went to Gandhi’s Ashram at Sabarmati feeling that his work was nearing completion; that he was on the eve of making important discoveries. He was ushered into the presence of the Mahatma by Mirabai, the English girl who had given up everything to become a disciple of the man whom India idolised. He studied her covertly, but with a great deal of interest, and was surprised to notice how contented she looked. There was something suggestive of the fanatic in her face, but in her eyes shone a light as well which is usually only seen in the eyes of those who have found a great and abiding truth. Sir Leonard was impressed.
Gandhi received him courteously, but for some time he found it difficult to rid himself of a feeling of astonishment that such cultured accents could proceed from the wizened little object seated cross-legged on a mat, looking for all the world like a living gargoyle. He presented his letter of introduction, and was invited to squat near his host, who was engaged in his favourite occupation of spinning. Gandhi very quickly proved that he had an extensive knowledge of Afghanistan, and Wallace felt glad that he had taken the trouble to bring his acquaintance with affairs in the northern kingdom up to date. Afterwards the emaciated-looking Indian spoke earnestly and convincingly about the political problems that beset India, but there was more than a tinge of fanaticism in his observations, and a great deal of quite impossible idealism. One by one his disciples came up and squatted within hearing, hanging upon the Mahatma’s words as though he were a prophet of old with all the assertion and authority which had enabled the numerous soothsayers of biblical times to impress and sway the impressionable multitude. Indeed, Sir Leonard Wallace had a sensation, as he sat there listening, that he had been conveyed back through the ages. His surroundings gave support to that feeling, for it was such a scene as must have been common enough in the old Israel of the Bible. The only modern note about it was his own Muslim dress, and even that was of the kind that has scarcely changed for centuries.
Gandhi added nothing to what Wallace had learnt since becoming identified with the Congress movement in Lahore. He more or less devoted himself to the painting of a highly imaginative picture of the India of the future, so Utopian in character that a faint smile even curled the lips of Mirabai, who had noiselessly approached and stood a few feet away. Eventually the Indian demagogue came to earth, and looked at the pseudo-Afghan, his eyes twinkling behind his large spectacles, as though he realised himself th
at he had been talking moonshine. Wallace, who had always felt that Gandhi was an idealist and nothing else, suddenly began to doubt the man’s honesty of purpose. That half-smile on his face said quite plainly: ‘It is wonderful how gullible Indians are. You see how easy it is to sway them with a lot of nonsense!’ Sir Leonard became convinced at that moment that, though there might be a great deal of romanticism in the Mahatma’s nature, he was, after all, a poseur; that his meagre dress, everything he did, everything he said, were merely part of a self-advertising stunt. It was the one thing most likely to impress his superstitious, semi-educated countrymen, and he had been clever enough to see it and act on it.
‘After all,’ he observed in a gentle voice to his visitor, ‘we do not ask for much. The great object of the Congress is to attain for the people of India a system of government similar to that enjoyed by the self-governing members the British Empire. If you return to Afghanistan, and persuade your country-people that that is the motive behind Congress activities, I am certain that their sympathy will be with us. And if the whole world can be influenced to sympathise in the same manner, the British Government will not refuse to accede to our just demands. It dare not.’
‘How do you think the whole world can be influenced?’ asked Wallace.
‘Ah! That I am not prepared to say – yet.’
He broke into a long Persian proverb, and Sir Leonard wondered if he had quoted it on purpose to test him and thus discover if he were really an Afghan. However Wallace’s knowledge of Persian was as good as that of Urdu, and he replied by politely disputing the aptness of Gandhi’s quotation, and citing another which, in his opinion, he declared, was more appropriate. Gandhi courteously conceded the point. Presently he dismissed Miss Slade and his other disciples. Wallace immediately thought that he was about to hear something of an important and secret nature, but was entirely unprepared for what actually came. Waiting until they were alone, Gandhi leant across and spoke quietly.
‘Now, sir,’ he said in English, ‘perhaps you will be good enough to explain the meaning of this masquerade?’
If ever Wallace was taken by surprise during his career it was at that moment. For some seconds he merely sat and stared at his interlocutor, wondering what had given him away, feeling thoroughly foolish. The half-naked Indian before him gazed at him through his absurd glasses, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the situation. Sir Leonard recovered himself quickly. He saw that it was no use keeping up the pretence to the astute little man, who had, somehow or other, penetrated his disguise.
‘How did you know?’ he asked calmly.
Gandhi raised his hands in a gesture almost of apology.
‘I knew that you and Lady Wallace were in India and—’
‘Then,’ interrupted Sir Leonard sharply, ‘you also know who I am.’
‘I do,’ returned Gandhi. ‘As I was saying, I knew you were in India, and being aware of your position as head of the British Intelligence Service, I naturally suspected your reasons for coming to this country. I have heard a lot about you, and some of your exploits have been related to me. In addition I have seen a photograph of you. When you came here today I must confess I was deceived, and really believed that I was entertaining an Afghan gentleman. It was only when I noticed the glove on your left hand that suspicions were roused – I knew of your artificial arm, you see. After that it was not very difficult to penetrate your very excellent disguise.’
‘I see,’ nodded Wallace. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
The Mahatma raised his hands in another expressive gesture.
‘What can I do about it?’ he asked. ‘You are here, and you will depart again. I have no wish to detain you. Even if I had, I don’t suppose I could, as no doubt you possess a strong argument in favour of your being allowed to go unmolested in the shape of a pistol.’
‘No,’ returned Sir Leonard. ‘I have no weapon of any sort on me.’
‘Ah!’ Gandhi smiled. ‘That either shows that you had confidence in me, or in your disguise.’
‘A little of both, I expect,’ conceded Wallace. ‘Then I take it you will make no attempt to hinder me?’
‘None at all. Why should I? You have learnt absolutely nothing by coming here in this manner. I would have spoken to you as I have spoken, if you had come as your real self.’
‘Perhaps you would have opened out a little bit, if you had not penetrated my disguise,’ suggested Sir Leonard.
‘There is nothing to open out about,’ was the reply. ‘You Britishers nowadays are full of suspicion. Believe me, the Congress has no ulterior motives. I will admit that there is an extreme left-wing, which is rather fond of making a noise, but really means no harm. Our object, as I said just now, is the attainment of a system of government similar to that of other dominions. Surely there is nothing harmful in such an ambition?’
Wallace smiled.
‘I wonder if you really think I believe that?’ he said. ‘Personally I am convinced that it is a mere smoke-screen raised by you and your colleagues to conceal your real intentions.’
Gandhi shrugged his shoulders.
‘You will, of course, think what you choose,’ he murmured. ‘I doubt if you have learnt any more in your spying expedition through India.’
Sir Leonard rose from his uncomfortable position on the floor.
‘It seems that there is nothing more to be said,’ he remarked.
‘Nothing, except that I would have respected Sir Leonard Wallace more had he come to me undisguised. There was no necessity to come as a spy.’
‘That is a matter of opinion,’ returned the other calmly. ‘The word spy has an unpleasant sound I admit but, at times, it can have a very noble meaning.’
‘Not in my language,’ retorted Gandhi.
He clapped his hands, and Miss Slade made her appearance. Continuing to speak in English he addressed her.
‘Please see that this gentleman – Sir Leonard Wallace of the British Intelligence Service – is allowed to leave the premises without hindrance; then return to me.’
She gave a start of surprise, but made no further sign, and led Wallace to the gate, where she spoke for the first time.
‘You came like this,’ she stated rather than asked, ‘to pry into his secrets? It was an incredibly mean thing to do.’
‘I’m sorry you feel like that about it,’ he replied gently. ‘I do not agree with you, Miss Slade.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she cried almost angrily.
‘Very well; Mirabai then.’
He bowed, and, turning, walked swiftly to the conveyance that awaited him. She stood looking after him for some moments; then returned slowly to Mr Gandhi.
Sir Leonard decided that he had come very badly out of his attempt to pry into the secrets of the Indian National Congress. He felt rather like a small boy who had been found out in some mischievous prank; nevertheless he had no intention of leaving the neighbourhood until he had discovered what he had come for, or proved that it was impossible to learn anything further. His mind was very busy during the ride to the small native hotel in which he had taken a room in Ahmedabad and, as he descended from the tonga, there was such a purposeful look on his face that it would have caused Mr Gandhi to ponder deeply could he have seen it.
That evening Wallace made several purchases in the bazaar, which he carried to his inn, afterwards going to the European hotel where Carter impatiently waited for word from him. Behind closed doors the young man was apprised of the disastrous ending to Sir Leonard’s interview with Gandhi.
‘By Jove, sir!’ he commented. ‘It was pretty cute of the old boy.’
‘It was,’ agreed Wallace, ‘but his very cuteness in recognising that I had an artificial arm will possibly help to lead him into a little trap I am preparing for him. Tomorrow I am returning to the Ashram. He and his followers will probably be expecting me to make another attempt, and I will be on the look out. But when a sadhu turns up showing quite brazenly the naked
stump of an arm, if I am not mistaken, they will be completely deceived. The last thing they would expect me to do would be to flaunt the very disability that gave me away. And I don’t think they would ever dream that a fastidious Englishman would disguise himself as a sadhu.’
‘What is a sadhu?’ asked Carter curiously.
‘One who follows a certain Hindu principle of asceticism. Tomorrow you will see what a member of the cult looks like. And as it won’t do for you to be seen with one, I want you take careful note of what I am going to say. I think my plan to get into the Ashram will work all right, but in order to make certain, I want your help. About seven I shall make my way to Sabarmati, and you must hire a car and follow somewhere about ten. You will be the bearer of a message from me to Gandhi asking him for another interview in my proper capacity as Chief of the Intelligence Department. He may make an appointment; he may not – it doesn’t matter one way or the other. But one thing does matter: you will be bothered by a horrible-looking fakir, naked except for a loin-cloth, bells round his neck and ankles, streaks of pigment on his body and face, hair matted with mud, and merely a stump instead of a left arm. Have you followed?’
‘Yes, sir,’ grinned Carter. ‘Will that be you?’
‘That will be me,’ nodded Wallace. ‘I’ll solicit alms from you so earnestly and insistently that you’ll lose your temper, and push me roughly aside. I’ll fall, and be hurt and, I hope, will be carried into the Ashram. Do you get the idea?’
‘Rather, sir. What do I do then?’
‘Return to Ahmedabad. You’ll probably be chased off the premises anyhow for daring to treat a holy man in such a manner.’
Wallace of the Secret Service (Wallace of the Secret Service Series) Page 26
