Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  “He has told me very little about America,” she answered. “I know he went to college, and played football, and got a degree, and afterwards studied law. He isn’t old enough, is he, to have done much more than that?”

  “Did he never tell you about a criminal indictment?”

  “No.”

  “For homicide?”

  “No.”

  “Oh well, if you’re not in his confidence,” said Bulah Singh, “I’d better let things take their course. It might have been possible to save him.”

  Now she did feel afraid. “Save him? From what? Bulah Singh, what do you mean?”

  “Use your clairvoyance!”

  “What are you talking about? What has happened? Is Andrew in trouble?”

  “Keep calm. He is in serious trouble. Your clairvoyance might help him. It might.”

  “Is Andrew hurt? Has something happened to him? Quick! Tell me!”

  “Will you help him?”

  “Of course I’ll help him! What is it? Tell me!”

  “Make a definite promise.”

  “If Andrew needs my help I will do anything I possibly can — anything.”

  “You promise?”

  “That is a promise. Bulah Singh, unless you tell me at once what has happened I will ask Miss Strong to phone Dr. Lewis and—”

  Bulah Singh interrupted: “Dr. Lewis has been investigating Andrew Gunning, and you too — as I daresay you will realize — if you cast your thought back over recent events.”

  “Dr. — Morgan — Lewis has — why, he’s Tom Grayne’s friend — he’s my friend — he—”

  “In the secret intelligence service there is no such thing as friendship,” said Bulah Singh. “Dr. Morgan Lewis was your secret enemy, and Gunning’s.”

  “Was? You said was?”

  “Yes. I have serious news. Lewis knew all about Gunning’s past in the United States. He found out every detail of his illegal preparations to return to Tibet. Perhaps you know how he found out. Lewis has dabbled for years in telepathy.”

  Elsa felt herself grow cold with self-accusing fear.

  The Sikh continued: “Lewis learned from Mu-ni Gam-po that Gunning intends to find the Lama Lobsang Pun and help him to reach Tom Grayne. That is true, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I won’t answer. What has happened to Andrew?”

  “I came to ask you to help him. Lewis was a conceited man. He was jealous of me. He called on Gunning this evening and accused him of having bribed me to be deaf and blind to his arrangements to cross the border into Tibet.”

  “Has Andrew been arrested?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What did happen? Where is Andrew now?”

  “Listen carefully.” The Sikh’s mouth betrayed greedy triumph. His eyes stared at Elsa’s. They didn’t move. His eyelids didn’t blink. He spoke slowly: “Lewis and Gunning quarreled. Lewis now lies dead in Gunning’s room at the hotel.”

  Elsa came uncurled, bolt upright. The cat fed into the darkness.

  “Dr. Lewis! Dead? Where is Andrew?”

  “On his way to Tibet.”

  “You mean he’s running away?”

  “He can be overtaken, of course. But—”

  “But what? Bulah Singh, are you lying? Are you trying to make me believe that Andrew killed Dr. Lewis?”

  “Use your clairvoyance.”

  “I am trying to use it! I see nothing!”

  “I left them alone together, in Gunning’s room at the hotel. I had hardly reached my office at police headquarters when the news came by telephone.”

  “From whom?”

  “From my man on the spot. Gunning had been seen leaving the hotel. I detailed an inspector and several men to trace Gunning’s movements. He has vanished.”

  Elsa relaxed suddenly: “Bulah Singh, I don’t believe one word of it! How could Andrew possibly get away? He had no horse — no motorcar.”

  The Sikh interrupted: “Gunning is a man of foresight and resource. He had anticipated this. He made his preparations in advance. Weren’t you expecting him here?”

  “No.”

  “You are up late.”

  “Talking, that’s all.” Then suddenly, staring at the Sikh’s eyes: “Bulah Singh, are you lying about Andrew and Dr. Lewis?”

  “Use your clairvoyance. Use it! Look!”

  “I see the color of your thought! I can’t interpret that! I can’t see Andrew. When my friends are in danger, I sometimes know it — sometimes — but—”

  “Gunning is in no danger,” said Bulah Singh, “if you do your part.”

  “My part? My part? What do you mean?” Nancy Strong’s words poured into her mind — no sense to them, but a kind of rhythm like running water: shall not want — dimensions of ideas — human kindness — Lord is my shepherd, I —

  “Gunning’s fate is in your hands,” said Bulah Singh. His eyes didn’t move. They were fixed on hers steadily. “Obey me, and he shall escape to Tibet.”

  “Obey you? What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know. Tell me! Don’t talk riddles.”

  “You do know. Look into my eyes. Now — obey me — and save Andrew Gunning.”

  “Obey you? How? Do what?”

  “Use your clairvoyance.”

  “You mean now?”

  “Continually. There is no other way to save Gunning from capture, indictment, conviction and death by hanging. Obey me, and he shall get clear away. I am your friend. Your only friend in India. Obey me and save Andrew Gunning.”

  Elsa was seeing visions, staring wide-eyed into the darkness beyond Bulah Singh. She saw Tom Grayne, in the cavern she knew so well, near Shig-po-ling, nine hundred miles away — Tom Grayne in danger; but she could only sense, she could not see the danger — Tom Grayne, waiting — waiting for the spring and for Andrew with men and supplies. She was hardly conscious of Bulah Singh’s voice, speaking slowly in firm monotone:

  “It was your fault that Gunning came to Darjeeling — your fault that Lewis found out all his plans — your fault — your fault. And now only you can save him — by obeying me, your friend — always — obeying me — always.”

  The front door bell rang. The Sikh began to speak more quickly: “Here come the plainclothes policemen to get clues to pursue Gunning. Only I can send them in a wrong direction. You must obey me. Promise to obey me. Say it!”

  The bell rang again. The servant hurried along the hallway and undid the clattering chain on the front door.

  “You are afraid,” said Bulah Singh. “You are afraid for Andrew Gunning. But you know you need not fear, if you obey me. Answer: you will obey me.”

  The front door opened and the wind blustered in, carrying voices along the hallway.

  “Answer,” Bulah Singh commanded.

  Elsa came out of reverie suddenly, looking straight at him. She smiled: “Yes, I’ll answer. If it’s as bad as you say it is, Bulah Singh, I will take Miss Strong’s advice and—”

  The door opened suddenly. Andrew Gunning strode into the room. The Sikh swore under his breath. Elsa stifled what was almost a scream.

  CHAPTER 14

  Elsa and Bulah Singh jumped to their feet and spoke simultaneously.

  “Andrew!”

  “You idiot!” The Sikh strode forward.

  Andrew switched on the light: “ ‘Evening,” he said. “What’s the bright idea?” He appeared to expect the Sikh to attack him. He stood still, with a fighting smile and lowered eyebrows. The Sikh went close to him and spoke low-voiced:

  “Go now, you fool — or you’re next. You were warned.”

  “Yes,” said Andrew. “On my way here one of my own men warned me to clear out. Is this your doing? Who shot Morgan Lewis?”

  “On your way!” said the Sikh. “Someone shall overtake you with a message. Get going!”

  “Andrew!” Elsa had crossed the room in stockinged feet. She stood beside Bulah Singh. “Andrew, you’re accused of—”


  “I know.”

  Bulah Singh spoke with studied calmness: “If you don’t want to hang, get going. Lewis lies dead in your room at the hotel, shot with your automatic.”

  Andrew answered stubbornly: “My automatic was turned in long ago for registration at police headquarters.”

  Bulah Singh sneered: “You have the receipt for it?”

  “No,” said Andrew. “One of your spies stole that when he searched my rooms. You framed this.”

  “It’s a clear case,” the Sikh answered. “You haven’t a chance. If you wait, they will hang you as sure as time is your enemy! Go! Hurry! I will hold up pursuit while you cross the frontier.”

  “Nothing doing,” said Andrew. “Arrest me, if you want to. I’ll stay and find out who did kill Lewis. They’ll need my evidence.”

  Elsa started to speak. Bulah Singh stepped sideways between her and Andrew and turned his back to her. He spoke with concentrated fury: “You’ll not live to give evidence. Your only chance is to do what I told you to do, in Tibet. I’ll keep in touch. You can’t play tricks with me. Get going, or hang!”

  Elsa stepped beside Andrew and faced the Sikh. He scowled, speaking to her with his jaw thrust forward: “They will convict Mu-ni Gam-po and you as accomplices. That means prison. Tom Grayne will be left flat in Tibet, for St. Malo to deal with and—”

  Elsa touched Andrew’s arm: “Andrew—”

  “Elsa, you keep out of this. I’ll—”

  “Please, Andrew. Bulah Singh knows you didn’t kill Dr. Lewis. I know he knows it. But if you stay here to face this out, they’ll bring up all kinds of things against you. It may take months. Tom is waiting at Shig-po-ling, and—”

  Andrew stared at her, amazed. Bulah Singh swore in Punjabi and then snarled in English: “Unless he goes, he’ll hang. I guarantee that: If he goes, he’s safe. So are you. I guarantee that also.” He glared at Andrew: “But get going — damn you, get a move on!”

  Andrew grinned obstinately. Elsa continued as if the Sikh hadn’t spoken: “I will be all right here, Andrew. I’m not a bit afraid. The great thing is not to leave Tom in the lurch, isn’t it?” She looked straight into Bulah Singh’s eyes, keeping her hand on Andrew’s forearm so that he bit back the hot speech he had ready. Between those two big men she looked like a pale child, wide-eyed with bedtime sleepiness. But they waited for her to speak — the Sikh suspicious — Andrew puzzled, half expecting her to begin telling visions. What she said to the Sikh surprised both of them.

  “Hadn’t you better go?” she suggested. “Leave me to persuade Andrew?”

  The Sikh’s face revealed instant triumph. He nodded. “Yes. Persuade him as you love him. I must go — to delay the pursuit. Good-bye, Gunning. You can save her. She can save you. I can protect both of you. Don’t waste time!”

  He glanced around as if he meditated going out through a window.

  Andrew’s lip curled: “You left your raincoat in the hall.”

  The Sikh nodded. He walked to the door, opened it, turned suddenly to stare at Andrew and said: “You will find your road clear if you go swiftly. I will keep in continual touch. Play my game — and you will find her safe when you return. But don’t come back empty-handed.”

  He closed the door quietly and let himself out through the front door.

  As it slammed the phone rang. It continued ringing until at the far end of the hall Nancy Strong shut the door of her office. Andrew and Elsa faced each other in silence, Andrew breathing through his nose, too furious to trust himself to speak. Elsa was afraid to speak for fear she might touch off the angry energy that she knew might cause him to act without thinking.

  “It’s a God-damned shame,” he said suddenly, grinding hisF teeth. “Morgan Lewis was a good guy. Foxy. Too mysterious. But on the level. I wonder who shot him with my gun.”

  “We have only Bulah Singh’s word for it,” said Elsa.

  “His word’s worth nothing,” Andrew agreed, “but Bompo Tsering met me with the whole story out here by the gate in the dark. He wanted me to run. It’s less than an hour since Lewis warned me that Bulah Singh has designs on you. See here—” he hesitated, staring at her— “why did you take Bulah Singh’s side of it? Why did you say you’d persuade me?”

  “To get rid of him. To get him out of the way, so that we could decide what to do.”

  “Elsa, you haven’t a chance on earth to persuade me to play that man’s game. He’s a devil. He’s clever. But I’ve a hunch I can prove he killed Lewis. It may be hard to prove. He may have hypnotized some — just a moment — look me in the eyes — what was he doing in here? — Did he hypnotize you?”

  “He tried.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Lewis told me you’d be easy for him if he caught you off guard.”

  “Ah, but I had been talking to Nancy Strong before Bulah Singh came.”

  “About hypnotism?”

  “No. About pigs and poets. Don’t ask now, Andrew, it would take too long to tell. Just think. Try to get your mind quiet. Don’t be stampeded.”

  “Stampeded nothing.”

  “Was my boot in your room at the hotel?”

  “Yes. Fortunately Lewis noticed it. So I brought it along — gave it to Bompo Tsering.”

  “Do you trust Bompo Tsering?”

  “Yes. He might be outwitted. He scares easy. But he wouldn’t betray me for luck or money. He said he had the story from a man at the hotel. He’d gone there to find me. So he ran and overtook me. Yes, I trust Bompo Tsering.”

  “So do I trust him. Did he say everything’s ready?”

  “Yes. He wanted me to bolt without coming here. He believes I did kill Lewis.”

  “Well, Andrew, I do think you’d better go. I don’t think you’re in danger. Can you get along without the things you had at the hotel?”

  “Sure. I planned to leave all that stuff. Everything I need is up close to the border, ready for the take-off.”

  “Then go, Andrew. And God bless you. Please tell Tom what I asked you to tell him.”

  “No. Nothing doing. I’ll send Bompo Tsering. He’s a good headman. He’ll make it. He’ll get through somehow. I’ll stay and face the music.”

  “Andrew—”

  “What?”

  She hesitated. They could hear the clock tick on the mantelpiece. “Will you trust me this one last time?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Bulah Singh told me that Dr. Lewis is dead.”

  “I guess all Darjeeling knows it by now.”

  “But he isn’t dead! Andrew, he isn’t.”

  “Are you seeing things?”

  “Yes! So you’re not in danger. But if you don’t go you will be, because Bulah Singh—”

  He interrupted, speaking gently: “You’ve been under too much strain lately. That damned Sikh has got you frightened and all mixed up in your mind. But see here—”

  “Andrew — Dr. Lewis is not dead. He isn’t even hurt. And he’s on your side.”

  “No one could sell me that he wasn’t friendly,” Andrew answered.

  “So you go now — and trust Dr. Lewis.”

  “Swell idea! I suppose I’m to tell Tom Grayne I left you to the mercies of a dead doctor and a Sikh hypnotist? Take a good look with that vision of yours and see if you can see me doing it”

  “Andrew, you must go. I know it will be all right if you do. But if you don’t — things are known about you — I mean, things in the United States. I know none of the details but Bulah Singh does, and—”

  Nancy Strong knocked on the door and came into the room. She glanced down the passage before closing the door. She looked grimly amused; but in the aura of her humor was a hint of a broom that sweeps clean.

  “Elsa! — in your stockinged feet — you should know better. These stone floors chill you right through the carpet. Go and warm your feet at the fire.”

  She switched off the light, took Elsa’s hand and led her
to the fireplace. Andrew followed.

  “Put some wood on, Andrew.”

  He obeyed, stared, sat down facing them. There was silence for a moment while the fire leaped into a bright blaze. Then Nancy Strong breathed one of her sighs that smiled at the perplexity of things.

  “You know the news?” asked Andrew.

  “Yes. Oh, how much easier this world would be to live in if there weren’t any men. Well, Elsa, I warned you that Morgan Lewis is dangerous.”

  Elsa, staring at the fire, said: “Bulah Singh is the danger,”

  “Did he frighten you? Look at me!”

  “Yes. But—”

  “Look straight at me!”

  “Yes. I was frightened — not at first, but after a minute or two. I had begun to feel there was no escape from him. Then suddenly I remembered what you had been saying—”

  “I see you are all right,” said Nancy Strong.

  “Some of your phrases kept running through my mind, in back of my thought, like a refrain — like a tune that you can’t forget—”

  “And then you left off being meek! What do you think I was doing in my office?”

  “You said you would write a letter.”

  “Here it is. Keep it. Child, much the easiest way to send good thinking straight to the one in need, is to write it down on paper, with a picture of the person in your mind. That forces you to concentrate. What did I write? Read it.”

  Elsa unfolded the paper, read it and glanced up at Nancy: “May I?”

  Nancy nodded. Elsa handed the letter to Andrew. He held it to the firelight, frowning, puzzled, and glanced at both of them.

  “That is strong magic,” said Nancy. “Stronger than all the mantras and Yogic exercises from here to hell-and-gone, if you’ll pardon my emphasis. We all know the magic. The thing is to use it.”

  Andrew folded Nancy’s letter, stuffed it into his pocket and coughed to call attention to the fact that there was a crisis to deal with. Nancy looked at him sharply.

  “It takes a lot of the milk of human kindness,” she said, “to get some people out of the messes that their ignorant generosity gets them into. Did you ever see a ghost?”

  “No, and I never wanted to,” Andrew answered. “I need advice, badly. I’m going to be accused of shooting Dr. Morgan Lewis.”