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diff --git a/18239-0.txt b/18239-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb79b8b --- /dev/null +++ b/18239-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9958 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Road to Mandalay, by B. M. Croker + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Road to Mandalay + A Tale of Burma + +Author: B. M. Croker + +Release Date: April 23, 2006 [eBook #18239] +[Most recently updated: December 17, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Al Haines + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO MANDALAY *** + + + + +The Road to Mandalay + +A Tale of Burma + +by B. M. Croker + + + + +Cassell and Company, Ltd +London, New York, Toronto & Melbourne +First published October 1917. +Reprinted December 1917, March and May 1918 +Popular Edition 1919. + + + + +TO +LT.-COLONEL A. E. CONGDON +LATE ROYAL MUNSTER FUSILIERS +FROM HIS OLD FRIEND +THE AUTHOR + + + + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER 1. BLINDS DOWN + CHAPTER 2. WHAT HANNAH SAID + CHAPTER 3. THE CLOSED HOUSE + CHAPTER 4. KICKS AND HALFPENCE + CHAPTER 5. CLOUDS + CHAPTER 6. AN EMPTY OFFER + CHAPTER 7. “THE MONSTER” + CHAPTER 8. BOUND FOR BURMA + CHAPTER 9. THE “BLANKSHIRE” + CHAPTER 10. THE LAND OF PROMISE + CHAPTER 11. A BURMESE HOSTESS + CHAPTER 12. EAST AND WEST + CHAPTER 13. “KEEP AN EYE UPON HER” + CHAPTER 14. THE MANTLE OF FERNANDA + CHAPTER 15. THE CHUMMERY + CHAPTER 16. MR. AND MRS. ABELSALTER + CHAPTER 17. AT THE PLAY + CHAPTER 18. THE CHINESE SHOP + CHAPTER 19. CHAFF + CHAPTER 20. THE PONGYE + CHAPTER 21. THE COCAINE DEN + CHAPTER 22. THE APPROACHING DREAD + CHAPTER 23. MYSTERY AND SUSPICION + CHAPTER 24. SENTENCE OF DEATH + CHAPTER 25. THE LATE RICHARD ROSCOE + CHAPTER 26. FITZGERALD IMPARTS INFORMATION + CHAPTER 27. A ROPE TRICK + CHAPTER 28. MA CHIT + CHAPTER 29. MUNG BAW + CHAPTER 30. ENLIGHTENMENT + CHAPTER 31. SEEING IS BELIEVING + CHAPTER 32. ON DUTY + CHAPTER 33. SOPHY + CHAPTER 34. ALL IS OVER + CHAPTER 35. MUNG BAW LIES LOW + CHAPTER 36. THE BOMBSHELL + CHAPTER 37. THE TUG OF WAR + CHAPTER 38. SERGEANT-MAJOR RYAN + + + + +THE ROAD TO MANDALAY + + + + +CHAPTER I +BLINDS DOWN + + +“What do you think, Mitty? All the blinds are down at ‘Littlecote,’” +announced Miss Jane Tebbs, bursting open the drawing-room door and +disturbing her sister in a surreptitious game of patience. In +well-ordered households the mistress is understood to have various +domestic tasks claiming her attention in the morning. Cards should +never appear until after sunset. + +“Blinds down?” echoed Miss Tebbs, hastily moving a newspaper in the +hope of concealing her ill-doing. “Why are you in such a taking, Jane? +I suppose the family are away.” + +“Rubbish!” exclaimed her relative, sinking into a chair and dragging +off her gloves. “Did you ever know them all away together? Of course, +Mrs. Shafto goes gadding, and Douglas is at Sandhurst, but ‘he’ seldom +stirs. It is my opinion that something has happened. The Shaftos have +lived at ‘Littlecote’ for ten years, and I have never seen the blinds +down before to-day.” + +“Oh, you are so fussy and ready to imagine things!” grumbled Mitty, who +meanwhile had collected and pocketed the cards with surpassing +dexterity. “I don’t forget the time when the curate had a smart lady in +his lodgings, and you nearly went out of your mind: rampaging up and +down the village, and telling everyone that the bishop must be +informed; and after all your outcry she turned out to be the young +man’s mother!” + +“That’s true. I confess I was misled; but she made herself up to look +like a girl of twenty. You can’t deny that she powdered her nose and +wore white shoes. But this is different. Drawn blinds are a sign of +trouble, and there is trouble at ‘Littlecote,’ as sure as my name is +Jane.” + +“Then, in that case, why don’t you go up to the house and inquire?”—The +query suggested a challenge. + +“_Mitty_! You know perfectly well that I have never been inside the +door since Mrs. Shafto was so rude to me about the book club, when I +wrote and protested against the ‘loose’ novels she put upon her list. +Why, you saw her letter yourself!” + +Here a pause ensued, during which Miss Jane blew into every separate +finger of her gloves and folded them up with the neatest exactitude. +Presently she murmured with a meditative air: + +“I was thinking of asking Eliza to run over.” + +“Oh, you may ask!” rejoined her sister, with a sniff of scorn, “but +Eliza won’t stir. There’s a beefsteak pudding for dinner. And that +reminds me that this is the egg woman’s day, and I must see if she has +called. I shall want three dozen.” + +And without another word the elder Miss Tebbs bustled out of the room +and abandoned her relative to solitude and speculation. + +Matilda and Jane Tebbs were the elderly orphans of a late vicar, and +still considered the parish and community of Tadpool their special +charge. Miss Jane was organist and Sunday school superintendent; Miss +Tebbs held mothers’ meetings and controlled the maternity basket and +funds. Subsequent to their retirement from the vicarage the sisters had +known straitened circumstances; in fact, had experienced the sharp nip +of real poverty; but, no matter how painful their necessities, they +contrived to keep up appearances and never withdrew from society, nor +suffered their little circle to forget that their grandfather had been +an archdeacon. In spite of anxious times and scanty funds, they clung +with loyal tenacity to certain family relics, in the shape of old +silver, china and prints, many of which were highly marketable. + +In those evil days it was whispered that “the Tebbs had only one best +dress between them”—a certain rich black silk. As Miss Jane was at +least six inches taller than dumpy Miss Mitty, difficulties of length +were cunningly surmounted by an adjustable flounce. Needless to add +that on festive occasions, such as high teas, little dinners, and card +parties, the sisters never appeared together, the one “out of turn” +invariably excusing herself with toothache or a heavy cold. Although +they argued and bickered in private, and had opposing tastes in the +matter of boiling eggs and drawing tea, the Tebbs were a deeply +attached pair and presented an unbroken front to the outer world. + +After several years of brave struggle, during which the wolf of want +prowled hungrily round Highfield Cottage, a substantial and unexpected +fortune, fell to the Tebbs, restored them to comfortable +independence—and to the notice of such far-sighted parents as happened +to be in quest of useful and benevolent godmothers. The sisters made +but little change in their style of living; they now owned handsome +furs, a separate wardrobe, and not a few rich silks; they still +continued to occupy the cottage, and retained in their service a +certain tyrannical treasure, widely known and feared as “the Tebbs’s +Eliza.” Although an admirable and trustworthy servant, Eliza ruled the +household, permitted no late hours, no breakfasts in bed, no +unnecessary fires, no unnecessary guests. Her mistresses were obliged +to do a considerable amount of household work; for instance, they made +their beds and Miss Tebbs dusted the china; she also had the charge of +the linen and store-room; whilst Miss Jane was responsible for the +silver, the lamps, and, on Eliza’s day out, “the door.” + +When the door was answered by Eliza in person, her manner was so fierce +and intimidating that nervous callers complained that the Tebbs’ maid +looked as if she was ready to fly at, and bite them! Ill-natured +tongues declared that the tyrant was tolerated merely because she was a +channel for the most far-reaching, fresh and sensational gossip. But +let us hope that this was a malignant libel! + +Highfield Cottage was old, two-storied and solid; elsewhere than +Tadpool it might have ventured to pose as a villa residence, but +Tadpool, a fine, sixteenth century, self-respecting and historical +village, tolerated no villas. If such abodes ventured to arise, they +sprouted timidly in the fields beyond its boundaries. Moreover, the age +and history of Highfield Cottage were too widely known for any change +of name. The cottage was connected with the high road by a prim little +garden and a red-tiled footpath; eight long narrow windows commanded a +satisfactory outlook—including Littlecote Hall—a square white mansion +withdrawn in dignified retirement behind elms and beeches, in age the +contemporary of its humbler _vis-à-vis_. + +Here resided Edward Shafto, late Fellow of St. John’s, Oxford, his wife +Lucilla, and his son Douglas. Ten years previously the family had +descended on Tadpool as from the skies—or as a heavy stone cast into +some quiet mill pond. No one in the neighbourhood could discover +anything about them—although Jane Tebbs’s exertions in the matter were +admittedly prodigious and unwearied. The house agent proved +disappointingly vague, and could only inform her that a gentleman who +happened to hear of the place had come down from London, inspected the +house, liked its lofty, spacious rooms with their old mahogany doors +(it recalled his home), was much taken with the gardens—and promptly +signed the lease! Certainly it was an audacious step to invade a +strange neighbourhood without a social sponsor or reference. However, +the community breathed more freely when they beheld the new tenant of +“Littlecote,” a middle-aged, distinguished-looking individual; and Miss +Jane discovered, or pretended to discover, that he was one of the +Shaftos of Shafton Court. + +Mrs. Shafto (who looked surprisingly young to be the mother of a tall +lad of ten) had a pretty figure, quantities of lightish red hair, an +animated manner, and a pair of hard blue eyes. She was fashionably +turned out, and her hat of a remarkable shape was discussed in the +village for weeks. + +The arrival of furniture vans, horses, carriages and a number of +servants, afforded unqualified interest to the Misses Tebbs; and +moreover advertised the fact that the new-comers were well-to-do; and +after allowing a reasonable time for the strangers to settle down, the +neighbours called. + +By and by these calls were returned by Mrs. Shafto in a smart victoria +and a still smarter costume; her husband was merely represented by a +neatly printed card, which bore the name of “Mr. Edward Shafto, +Athenaeum Club.” Mr. Edward Shafto was rarely to be met beyond his +grounds and garden, unless driving through the village to Bricklands +railway station, en route for London. He did not sit on the Bench, nor +was he a churchwarden, the usual grounds of meeting. When encountered +he was invariably agreeable and had charming easy manners, but not much +to say for himself, and his acquaintance, like the farmers and the +claret, got “no forrarder.” Gradually the painful truth was accepted +that Shafto did not care to know people. He never dined out, he did not +shoot or hunt, but it was mysteriously whispered that “he wrote.” What, +no one precisely knew, but one fact was common property: he was fond of +horticulture and the once famous gardens of “Littlecote” had been +delightfully restored. + +If Tadpool was held at arm’s length by Edward Shafto, the community had +no difficulty in making acquaintance with his consort, a pretty +vivacious lady who accepted all invitations, and herself gave tennis +parties, bridge parties, luncheons and teas. For some time the +neighbourhood was disposed to like her, although perhaps she was not +quite “off the top shelf,” a little too demonstrative, loud and +unreserved; then by degrees Mrs. Shafto fell into disfavour; quiet folk +were afraid of her, she enjoyed repeating ill-natured remarks, was +capricious in her likes and dislikes, made a good deal of mischief, and +separated chief friends. + +The lady was not disposed to be reticent respecting her family affairs; +there was something satisfactory in this! People learned that her +husband was really a Shafto of Shafton, and also that his elder +brother, who actually reigned in the family place, was “a brute.” She +volubly explained that they had deserted the Border and moved south, +partly because “the pater” wished to be within easy reach of London, +his Club and musty old libraries, and also because it was more +convenient for Douglas, who was at Winchester. + +Then gradually it came to pass that the village bored the new-comer; +bored her to death. She became restless and quarrelsome, had a coolness +with the vicarage regarding a pew, with Mrs. Tremenheere at the Park +about a housemaid, and actually cut Mrs. General Finch “dead” in the +village post office, owing to a mislaid visiting-card. At the end of +three years Lucilla Shafto had embroiled herself with almost everyone +in her immediate vicinity, and found her true level and most congenial +companions in the busy bustling town of Bricklands, a rapidly growing +and prosperous mushroom place, situated thirty miles south of London, +and within two miles of our ancient and respectable hamlet. Here she +belonged to several clubs, bridge, tennis and croquet; enjoyed being a +Triton among minnows; entertained a third-rate set at “Littlecote,” and +joined gay little theatre parties to London to “do a play,” and return +home by the last train. + +Housekeeping sat but lightly on Mrs. Shafto’s graceful shoulders, for +the Shaftos also possessed a family treasure named Hannah, an elderly +woman, who had been in service with “the family” and now managed the +house, and looked after the comforts and buttons of her master and his +boy. + +Mr. and Mrs. Shafto went their separate ways, and were rarely to be +seen in one another’s company. The lady assured her friends that her +husband’s health was indifferent, and that he did not care for society; +for her part she liked amusement, excitement, life; whilst he preferred +to read, write, overlook his garden, and occasionally run up to London. +She did not trouble herself much about her son—a handsome active boy, +resembling his father in looks. Between these there undoubtedly existed +a deep affection. During the holidays they were frequently to be met +walking or riding together, and Shafto _pére_ would so far emerge from +his retirement as to be a proud spectator at cricket matches in +Tremenheere Park and elsewhere. Douglas and two of the Tremenheere boys +were schoolmates, and he was in continual request at their home. +Unfortunately these visits were displeasing to Mrs. Shafto, as was also +his intimacy with the young people at the vicarage; and poor Douglas +had an awkward part to play. He could not avoid or drop his friends; +yet, on the other hand, there were painful difficulties with his +mother, who declared that he was a mean fellow to run after people who +had _insulted_ her, and one day, when in a towering passion, she had +been overheard to scream “that he was a thorn in her side, and a true +Shafto!” + +But all this time Miss Jane Tebbs remains stationed at the drawing-room +window, watching the road with unwinking vigilance. For a long while +she beheld no object of special interest, but at last, after seeing the +grocer’s cart, a travelling tinker, two cows and a boy go by, her +patience was handsomely rewarded. To her delight, she descried Mrs. +Billing, the doctor’s wife, emerge from “Littlecote” and, hammering on +the window to attract notice, she flew down to open the hall door. + +Mrs. Billing, a stout, middle-aged lady, looked unusually hot and +flustered as she waddled through the little green gate and entered the +cottage. + +“Why, my dear, you seem quite upset!” cried Jane, as she welcomed the +visitor, “come into the dining-room, and have a glass of milk.” + +But Mrs. Billing dismissing the proffered refreshment with a dramatic +wave of her hand, subsided upon the only chair in the narrow hall and +gasped out: + +“I have just come from ‘Littlecote.’ Mr. Shafto is gone—he died last +night!” + + + + +CHAPTER II +WHAT HANNAH SAID + + +On hearing this announcement, Jane Tebbs gave a little lurch and leant +against the wall in speechless horror; and yet in her heart she had +been more than half expecting—we will not say hoping for—some tragedy. +Then she made a rush to the store-room, where Miss Mitty, invested in a +large blue apron, was methodically marking eggs. + +“Sister, sister, come out!” she cried. “Mrs. Billing is here; she says +Mr. Shafto is dead; I told you that something had happened!” + +“Dead!” repeated Mitty, staring blankly at her relative. Then she cast +aside her apron and hurried into the hall. “Let us all go into the +dining-room,” she continued, leading the way. “What a shocking thing, +Mrs. Billing!”—turning to her visitor. “Do tell us the particulars. I +can hardly believe it! Why, I saw Mr. Shafto in Bricklands on Tuesday, +and he looked as well as he ever did in his life.” + +“That was the day he heard the news,” announced Mrs. Billing, selecting +an arm-chair and casting off her feather boa. + +“Bad news?” suggested Miss Jane. + +“Very bad indeed—could not be worse. He heard he’d lost every penny he +possessed in the wide world.” + +“Great patience!” ejaculated Miss Tebbs; “you don’t say so; but how?” + +“Well, you know he was always comfortably off; indeed, one might say +rich.” + +“That’s true! They keep five maids indoors, and a charwoman three times +a week, two men and a boy in the garden, and two men in the stables,” +glibly enumerated Miss Jane. “All that is not done on small means, and +I happen to know that Mr. Shafto himself paid everything monthly—which +is more than we can say for his wife; even her bridge losses”; here she +halted on the brink of scandal. + +After hesitating for a second, Mrs. Billing continued: + +“Well, it appears, from what my husband can gather, that Mr. Shafto +trusted all his money and investments to a man who had managed his +affairs for years, and in whom he had the most absolute confidence; he +just drew his income regularly, lived his quiet life, and never +troubled his head about business. It seems that for a considerable time +this agent had been speculating with his clients’ capital, and paying +them the interest to the day. He staved off the reckoning by every +possible device, and when he could no longer hide his wickedness, when +liabilities poured in, and proceedings were instituted, he shot +himself! Not much comfort in that for the families he has beggared. I +believe he had a splendid establishment at Hampstead; greenhouses, +pictures, motor-cars, and entertained like a prince. He squandered the +handsome fortune that was left to Mr. Shafto, and all that Mr. Shafto +could be sure of, about a hundred and fifty pounds a year, belongs to +Douglas.” + +“Oh, my dear, never mind the money, but do tell us about poor Mr. +Shafto,” urged Jane. “What was the cause of his death? Suicide? This +morning I thought I heard a shot!” + +“No, no, no—heart failure,” hastily interposed Mrs. Billing. “He was +always troubled with a rickety heart, and on several occasions my +husband attended him for rather dangerous fainting attacks; no doubt +that was partly the reason why he lived so quietly, just taken up with +his books, his garden, and, when he was at home, his boy. It appears +that when Mr. Shafto heard of the smash, he went straight up to London, +interviewed a lawyer, and learnt the worst. He returned in the +afternoon, very tired and excited, broke the news to his wife, and had +a serious fainting attack. My husband was sent for, but he found Mr. +Shafto sinking. He died at midnight. He himself had wired for Douglas, +who arrived just in time for the end. Poor boy! He feels it terribly.” + +“Yes,” assented Miss Mitty, “Douglas and his father were such friends. +The loss of money will make a sad difference to him. There will be no +going into the Army now, no more hunting and cricket; he will have to +take a clerkship. Did you see him?” + +“Yes. He and my Freddy are great pals, so I know him pretty well. I +declare he gave me a shock, he looked utterly heart-broken; and he +said: ‘It is so sudden, so frightfully sudden—about the pater; the +money may come back somehow or other, but he is gone for ever; I’ll +never see him again. If he had only known me—or spoken to me!’ And then +he just laid his head upon his arms and sobbed like a girl.” + +“And Mrs. Shafto, how does _she_ bear this double loss?” inquired Miss +Jane magisterially. + +“She had one fit of screaming hysterics after another. If you ask _me_, +I believe it’s the money that touches her most keenly; my husband +begged me to go up this morning, and see if I could do anything. She +has no intimate friends here, and I have sent to Mrs. Boomer and Mrs. +Jake; they will be over from Bricklands immediately. The doctor has +given a certificate, and has undertaken to see about the funeral, and +sent the notice to the _Times_ and _Morning Post_. From what old Hannah +told me, it seems that Mr. Shafto and his family were not on terms; I +believe the quarrel had something to do”—she paused and glanced from +one to the other of her eager listeners—“with Mrs. Shafto, and I am not +surprised. They did not approve of the marriage—it was a mistake.” + +“I’m afraid it was,” agreed Miss Mitty briskly; “they never appeared a +well-matched couple; he, so reserved and aristocratic, and she such a +gabbling, fluffy, restless creature—crazy about bridge and dress. I +wonder who she was?” + +“I can tell you that!” was Mrs. Billing’s unexpected reply. “Mr. Shafto +was a Fellow of his College at Oxford, wealthy and distinguished—he had +taken no end of honours. He was hooked—there is no other word for it—by +the niece of a local book-seller! He was an important customer, and the +girl always contrived to be there, when he came in and out, and was so +sympathetic, and bright and lively, as well as being uncommonly pretty, +that the poor man lost his head and, with very little pressure from the +uncle, married her. It was all scrambled up in a hurry, before his +friends could turn round, or interfere. Of course he had to resign his +fellowship and his beautiful rooms overlooking the garden, and he took +his bride abroad. His relations dropped him and he dropped his Oxford +friends; then he went and settled in the north. He must have lived +there for years; his next move was here.” + +“And have you always known this?” demanded Miss Mitty, her countenance +expressing injury and jealousy. Fancy Mrs. Billing knowing this story +all that time and keeping it to herself; how sly! + +“Oh, only lately,” replied the visitor in an apologetic key; “an old +aunt of mine lives in Oxford, and I met her in town last Easter. +Somehow the name of Shafto cropped up, and I heard the whole tale. I +told my husband and he said I’d better hold my tongue, and so I have, +until now, when it’s of no consequence who knows—as of course +‘Littlecote’ must be given up, and the Shaftos will go away.” + +“Well, we have often wondered who she was? and how Shafto—who looked +like a duke—came to marry her,” said Miss Tebbs; “such an odd, flighty, +uncertain sort of creature, always for strangers, instead of her home. +That poor boy never saw much of his mother; I believe he was hustled +off to a preparatory school when he was about seven, and when he +happened to be here for his holidays it was his father who took him +about. I am very sorry for Douglas, a handsome, cheery, nice fellow,” +she continued, “always with a pleasant word, even for an old woman like +me. The rectory lads and the Tremenheeres just love him!” + +“Luckily there are no girls at the rectory,” remarked Miss Mitty. + +“Douglas is but nineteen, and really only a boy,” protested Mrs. +Billing. + +“Well, this affair will make a man of him, or I’m greatly mistaken.” + +“More likely it will make him a slave,” argued Jane; “he is bound to +support his mother, and a hundred and fifty pounds a year won’t go far +with her! And now I dare say she will have her wish and be able to live +in London. I suppose there will be an auction at ‘Littlecote’?” + +“Yes, of course,” assented Mrs. Billing, “and that is sure to bring in +a handsome sum—unless there are liabilities and debts. I’ve always +admired that Crown Derby tea service—dark blue and gold.” + +“I know,” rejoined Miss Tebbs, “a beautiful long set, and there’s a +nice little old Sheffield tea urn that we could do with! I expect the +kitchen things will go pretty cheap; we want a new preserving pan.” + +“Talking of the kitchen, reminds me of food,” remarked the visitor +rising. “My husband will be back clamouring for his lunch and I must +run,” and in spite of her size, Mrs. Billing was out of the house in +less than no time, pursued by a volley of questions to the very gate. + + +During that afternoon there was an unusual amount of visiting and +talking; the recent event had stirred the village to its depths, but +beyond the facts disclosed by Mrs. Billing everything was surmise and +regret; the personality of the late Edward Shafto, though slightly +known, was much respected. “He was a gentleman”—the statement implied a +left-handed compliment to his wife—“and his purse was ever open to the +poor; it was said that he was a secret benefactor to various aged +people, and to the local charities.” + +As the Misses Tebbs sat at supper the following night—a frugal meal of +cocoa and bread and butter—Eliza tramped in, still wearing her hat; it +had been her afternoon out. She seemed to be a little breathless, and +was undoubtedly charged with some weighty intelligence. + +“Well, Eliza, what is it?” eagerly inquired Miss Tebbs. + +“I just thought I’d step over to ‘Littlecote’ this evening, and see +Hannah.” Oh, priceless handmaiden! + +“Yes—and what did she tell you?” + +Eliza placed her hands on her hips—invariable preliminary to an +important announcement. “She took me to see the corpse; he looked +beautiful, just like a marble statue; and there in front of the dead, +what do you think Hannah told me? That Mrs. Shafto had _killed_ him!” +She paused to contemplate the effect of this statement. “Yes, his heart +was always weak, he couldn’t stand no shocks, and when he come back +wore out from London, and told her as how he was ruined, the screams of +that woman was enough to bring the house down! Hannah ran in and there +was he, lying back in a chair, and she standing over him with a face +all worked up, and her hands clenched, shouting at him that it was all +through his lunacy and laziness they were beggared—and she wished he +was _dead_. I couldn’t tell you all the awful things she said, but he +fainted right away and never come to again. Now, what do you say to +that?” and she surveyed her audience judicially. + +The sisters remained dumb; for once, speech had failed them. + +“As for caring,” continued Eliza, “Mrs. Shafto doesn’t feel no more +than this table,” rapping it with her bony knuckles; “all she minds is +about _the money_—and already they say she has been routing among his +papers, searching for his bank book. Oh! she is an awful woman, her +heart is just a stone. As for poor Master Douglas, now there’s real +grief! He hasn’t tasted a bite or sup, and he looks crushed. Everyone +in the place will be sorry for him and for his father; but as far as +Mrs. Shafto is concerned, when she’s paid off the money she owes—the +sooner the place can get shut of her the better!” + + + + +CHAPTER III +THE CLOSED HOUSE + + +The break-up of the home at Littlecote Hall was a speedy and complete +affair; Miss Jane Tebbs, being practically on the spot, volunteered +invaluable assistance. Always energetic and anxious to be “up and +doing,” and with a sadly restricted field for her activities, here was +a grand opportunity absolutely within her reach. The second Miss Tebbs +had an immense acquaintance and correspondence, a fairly, good business +head and, to her late enemy Mrs. Shafto, she ultimately proved a +veritable tower of strength. The recent sad catastrophe had melted +Jane’s heart, and she promptly appeared in “Littlecote” drawing-room, +waving a large olive branch—which her former adversary most thankfully +accepted. In such a crisis as the present there was no more helpless, +hopeless creature than Lucilla Shafto—a woman who was always ready to +transfer her burdens to others. Strange to say, she somewhat distrusted +her intimates in Bricklands; it seemed to her that their questions and +sympathy were chiefly founded on vulgar curiosity and greedy +self-interest. “How was she left? What had become of all the money? +What was the boy going to do? Where would she settle? Would she not be +glad to get rid of some of her smart summer clothes, now that she would +be in weeds for at least two years? _What_ about her sables?” + +Jane Tebbs was totally different; an honest and single-hearted woman, +she wrote business letters, interviewed the local agent, arranged for +the auction and,—O wonderful and miraculous achievement!—was even +instrumental in getting rid of the lease. + +It was not surprising in all these circumstances that Mrs. Shafto +should cling as a limpet to Jane Tebbs, whom she had so often +apostrophised as a “meddling, mischievous, malignant old cat,” but +Lucilla Shafto was suffering from a violent mental shock. The sudden +descent, as it were in one day, from comfortable affluence to a very +narrow income, had temporarily stunned her, and she had a secret +conviction that if she were to leave her affairs in the capable hands +of her nearest neighbour, all would be well. She therefore remained +secluded in her own spacious bedroom, whilst busy Jane undertook her +affairs; helped with the auction list, interviewed the tradespeople, +and, accompanied by the boy, went up to London to confer with Mr. +Shafto’s lawyers. + +Douglas was subdued; he seemed a different creature, so silent and +pale, but keenly anxious to put his shoulder to the wheel. He had +withdrawn from Sandhurst and, in conversations with the Tremenheeres, +informed them that his idea of going into the Army was knocked on the +head, and that he now intended to look out for some job in the City. + +It must not be supposed that Jane Tebbs, the indefatigable, was the +only neighbour who had come forward with offers of assistance to the +widow; the Tremenheeres, the vicarage, and many other acquaintances had +been sincere in their sympathy and goodwill, but somehow or other Mrs. +Shafto would have none of them! She refused to see the vicar or his +wife, and lay in bed most of the day bewailing her fate, scribbling +answers to letters of condolence, and occasionally dipping into a +novel. “Read she must,” she declared, “as it diverted her mind from the +too dreadful present. A good novel was the best of anodynes.” + +The auction at “Littlecote” proved an important local event, and threw +the annual Church bazaar woefully into the shade. It lasted three +summer days and enabled a substantial sum to be placed to the credit of +Edward Shafto’s widow. Unfortunately Edward Shafto’s widow had +considerable private debts and, when these were settled, five hundred +pounds was all that remained for investment. + +As is proverbial with respect to auctions, good and even valuable lots +went in some cases for the traditional old song; it is on record that +Mrs. Shafto’s smart victoria was sold to a jobmaster for six pounds, +Mrs. Billing secured a wonderful bargain in the Crown Derby tea +service, and the Sheffield tea urn fell to Miss Tebbs for ten shillings +and sixpence! On the other hand, rubbish was at a premium. The kitchen +utensils were dispersed at an alarmingly high figure, and a Turkey +carpet, aged twenty years, fetched more than its original cost. + +The sale was over. Needless to say, it had afforded enormous interest +to the inmates of Highfield Cottage. Miss Jane could almost tell the +price and history of each individual lot. + +In a short time the great placards of advertisement were torn off the +gate piers at “Littlecote,” the house was closed, and once more the +blinds were down. + + + + +CHAPTER IV +KICKS AND HALFPENCE + + +More than four years had elapsed since Mrs. Shafto and her son had +driven away from “Littlecote” behind a pair of smart bay steppers. (The +widow was determined to keep up what she was pleased to call “her +position” to the last.) Immediately succeeding this dignified exit came +a woeful change in their circumstances. Mrs. Shafto was obliged to make +the best of boarding-house and ’bus, and Douglas, thanks to the +exertions of his friends the Tremenheeres, found a situation in a +mercantile house in the City. There was no time for him to pick and +choose. It was imperative that he should begin to earn without delay, +and not, as his parent frankly remarked, “look to a poor widow for +support.” This condition of abject poverty was, she declared, “entirely +due to his father’s criminal carelessness respecting his affairs. She +had what would barely keep her alive”—170 pounds per annum—“and that +was all.” As for Douglas, he must work. + +Although they were not congenial companions Douglas faithfully +accompanied his mother in her varied wanderings, supported her in +action with enraged landladies, helped her out of a libel case, covered +her reverses and retreats, and lived by command under the same roof. + +For the last eighteen months the pair had been established at a +well-managed private hotel in Lincoln Square, Bayswater, W. “Malahide” +was a flourishing concern; two substantial houses had been thrown into +one; the rooms were spacious, clean, and adequately furnished; the food +was plain but abundant. The double drawing-room contained a fine piano, +one or two sofas, and card tables; also a sufficiency of sound and +reliable chairs; but not an ornament, save two clocks—not one paper +fan, nor bunch of coloured grasses, nor a single antimacassar, not even +a shell! Such amazing restraint gave the apartments an empty but +dignified appearance. + +Among its various advantages, “Malahide” was within a few minutes’ walk +of “the Grove,” and “Underground,” a situation which appealed to men in +business and to women whose chief occupation was shopping. + +Mrs. Shafto appreciated her present quarters for several excellent +reasons. Here she had no giggling young rivals and was, even at +forty-five, the best-looking and best-dressed of all the lady boarders. +Moreover, she had found a friend and admirer in her neighbour at +meals—a certain Mr. Manasseh Levison, a widower, with a stout figure, a +somewhat fleshy nose, and a pair of fine piercing black eyes. He was +the proprietor of a fashionable and flourishing antiquities and +furniture business in a well-known thoroughfare, and was considered one +of the best judges of old silver and china in the trade. + +It exasperated Shafto to listen to his mother’s “table talk,” and he +made a point of sitting as far as possible from her vicinity. She liked +to impress Levison and other with highly-coloured reminiscences of her +grand acquaintances; even the Tremenheeres—with whom she had quarrelled +so bitterly—were dragged in and shown off as intimates. More than once +Shafto had felt his face burn, as exaggerations and glorifications were +unfolded in his parent’s far-carrying and assertive treble. + +Besides Mr. Manasseh Levison, were the two Misses Smith—twins—genteel, +middle-aged spinsters, who, until the arrival of the sprightly and +attractive widow, had alternately cherished high hopes of the wealthy +Jew. Their chief energies were devoted to the task of blowing one +another’s trumpets, thereby drawing attention to particular virtues and +modestly hidden accomplishments. For example, the elder would say: + +“Darling Ella is so clever at cooking, as good as any French chef, her +sauces and savouries are too wonderful.” + +They were! + +And Ella, in repayment, assured her listeners that Jessie had a perfect +genius for gardening and housekeeping; and yet it was whispered that +this effusively fond couple, when alone, quarrelled and wrangled as +cruelly as the notorious Kilkenny cats. + +Among other patrons at “Malahide” were two quiet, polite little +Japanese gentlemen, Mr. Den and Mr. Yabe; Madame Galli, a shrivelled +old woman in a cheap wig, with sharp rat’s eyes that nothing escaped, +the soul of good nature, rich, miserly and incredibly mischievous. +There were several boarders who were in business in the City, and Mr. +Hutton, a careworn man of fifty, who spent his days working in the +British Museum. Next to him at table sat Douglas Shafto, now a well +set-up, self-possessed young fellow, who still retained something of +the cheery voice and manner of the Public School boy. Thanks to his +steadiness and fair knowledge of French and German, he was drawing a +salary of a hundred and fifty per annum. + +His neighbour on the left happened to be his own cousin, Sandy Larcher, +older by three years, and in the same office, but receiving a lower +“screw,” Sandy was of the “knut” tribe, a confident authority on dress, +noisy, slangy, and familiar; much given to cigarettes and music-halls, +a slacker at work, but remarkably active at play and, on the whole, +rather a good sort. + +Sandy’s mother, Mrs. Larcher, the widow of a cab proprietor, was Mrs. +Shafto’s only sister, and in the days of that sister’s glory had never +obtruded herself; but now that poor Lucilla had come down in the world, +she had advanced with open arms, and at “Monte Carlo,” the abode of the +Larcher family, Mrs. Shafto occasionally spent a week end. The +“go-as-you-please” atmosphere, late hours, breakfast in bed, and casual +meals, recalled old, and not unhappy times. Mrs. Larcher, who had never +been a beauty, was now a fat woman past fifty, lazy, good-natured, and +absolutely governed by her children. Besides Sandy, the dandy, she had +two daughters, Delia and Cossie. + +Delia was on the stage (musical comedy), petite, piquant, and very +lively; a true grasshopper, living only for the summer; a loud, +reckless but respectable young woman, who, having but thirty shillings +a week salary and to find her own “tights,” was ever ready to accept +motor drives, dinners, or a smart hat, or frock, from any of her +“boys.” Cossie, the stay-at-home, was round-faced and plump; a tireless +talker and tennis player. She managed the house, held the slender +purse, accepted her sister’s cast-offs, and always had a “case” on with +somebody. Cossie was exceedingly anxious (being the eldest of the +family) to secure a home of her own, and made this alarmingly obvious. + +To “Monte Carlo” Douglas, the highly presentable cousin, was frequently +commanded by both mother and aunt. At first he had hated this duty, but +nevertheless went, in order to please and silence his parent, whose +hand plied the goad and who otherwise “nagged” at him in public and in +private. In private she pointed out that the Larcher family were his +own blood relations, “so different from his father’s side of the house, +which, since his death, had ignored both her and him, and never even +sent a wreath to the funeral!” By slow and painful degrees Douglas +became accustomed to “Monte Carlo”; at first the manners and customs of +his cousins had a rasping effect, and it was more than a year before he +really fell into line, and visited his kindred without pressure. The +girls were not bad-looking—in a flamboyant style—and effusively +good-natured; they took his chaff and criticism without offence, and +accepted with giggles his hints with respect to manners and appearance. +When Douglas happened to be expected, they did not stroll about +slip-shod in dressing-gowns, with their hair hanging loose, or bombard +one another with corks and crusts. + +For his part, he brought them books and chocolates, watered the garden, +mowed the tennis ground, mended the bells, and made himself generally +useful. At first this flashy, muddling, free-and-easy household had +disgusted him; and his cool assured manner and critical air irritated +his relatives; whilst his attitude of superior comment had proved a +vexatious restraint. But week by week Douglas came to see that it was +to this particular class he now belonged. These were his nearest +relatives, and he told himself that he must endeavour to accommodate +himself to circumstances—and them; otherwise he was a snob, a beastly +snob! + +His first Christmas holidays had been spent at “Tremenheere,” where he +had received a heart-warming welcome. Other school friends had also +claimed him, but his time was now mortgaged to the office, and by +degrees correspondence and intimacy languished—or, rather, changed. His +contemporaries had gone forth into the wide world; the Army, the +Diplomatic Service, and India, had summoned them, their paths in life +lay far apart from that of a mere correspondence clerk, and only the +old birds remained in the nests. Those who were in England wrote and +made arrangements for meetings in town, but Shafto found ready and real +excuses and generally withdrew from his former circle. He liked his +friends—nothing could offer him so much pleasure as their company—but +he realised that in time they would arrive at the parting of the ways, +and it was for him to make the first step in that direction; in such +homes as “Monte Carlo” he must in future find society and +entertainment. + + +“Monte Carlo” (sixpence return, third class, from town, and eight +minutes’ walk from the station) was a grotesque, little red-faced +abode, situated among a tangle of villas and roads. It stood detached +in a garden, with—O! theme of pride—a full-sized tennis court. There +were also several flower beds, and six unhappy gooseberry bushes, but +_the_ feature was the lawn; here also were seats and a small striped +awning. The grounds of “Monte Carlo” were only divided from its +immediate neighbours by a thin wooden partition—there was no such thing +as privacy or seclusion. Conversation was audible, and the boisterous +jokes of “Chatsworth” and “Travancore” were thoroughly enjoyed at +“Monte Carlo.” In the same way “Monte Carlo” overheard various +interesting items of news, some sharp quarrels and, once or twice, +unpleasant personal truths! On the last occasion, the remark was so +unfriendly (it dealt with Cossie’s methods) that when “Chatsworth,” +ignorant of offence, sent the same evening an emissary to borrow three +pints of stout, the reply was a harsh refusal! + +Within doors space was naturally more contracted, but the click of the +opposite gate, the sound of the next door dinner-bell and gramophone +remained, as it were, common property! The tiny hall was choked with +umbrellas, wraps, tennis shoes, and tattered sixpenny books; the +drawing-room, with its pink casement curtains, gaudy cretonne covers, +huge signed photographs, jars of dusty artificial flowers, packs of +dingy cards, and scraps of millinery, looked “lived in”—but tawdry and +untidy. The big Chesterfield sofa—a wonderful bargain—had broken +springs (perhaps it was not such a wonderful bargain?) and many hills +and hollows. In the roomiest of these last the mistress of the house +was more or less a fixture, and the whole apartment, like a _passée_ +beauty, was to be seen at its best by candle-light. + +The dining-room was chiefly notable for the heavy atmosphere of +tobacco, and multitudes of empty black bottles under the sideboard. The +kitchen, both in sound and smell, absolutely refused to be ignored. +Such was “Monte Carlo!” + +The inmates of “Malahide” have received honourable mention, but nothing +has been said of Mrs. Malone, the proprietress, who kept the +establishment running, as it were, on well-oiled wheels. Joyce Malone +was an Irishwoman who had met with cruel reverses. Well born, well +educated, and an almost penniless widow, she thankfully accepted the +post of housekeeper in a nobleman’s family, and there remained until +her savings, and a timely legacy, enabled her to set up for herself. +From the first she had met with success. Her terms were moderate; +butter, eggs and poultry came from her native land; there was no +skimping of coals, or hot water; and clients—who became +permanent—flocked to “Malahide.” In appearance Mrs. Malone was a tall +old woman, with a stoop, who shuffled a little as she walked, and +always wore a black gown, a gold Indian chain, and a white lace cap +with ribbon bows. She kept severely aloof from her guests and had her +own little lair on the second landing. It was, she said, “her business +to see to domestic matters, and not to gossip or play bridge.” +Nevertheless, she had her favourites: Mr. Hutton and young Shafto. +(Envy and malice declared that Mrs. Malone had _no_ favourites among +her own sex.) She was drawn to the boy by his air of good breeding and +admirable manners; also she noticed with secret indignation how +shamefully his mother neglected and snubbed him. She took far more +notice of Jimmy Black, or Sandy Larcher, than of her own son. No doubt +she disliked to be so unmistakably dated by his tall, well-grown youth, +and her hostess mentally agreed with a gossip who declared that “Mrs. +Shafto didn’t care a pin for her boy—rather the other way, and if she +had kept her figure, she could never keep her word, or a secret—and was +a hard, selfish, grasping woman.” + +Although Shafto and his mother lived under the same roof, she, +figuratively, sat with folded hands as far as he was concerned; it was +kindly Mrs. Malone who looked after his little comforts, saw that his +socks were mended, and made him a hot drink when he had a heavy cold. +Also, as a special honour, she invited him to her “den,” gave him a cup +of coffee, or a glass of port, and talked to him of her Irish home and +her young days. Once upon a time she had been a capital horsewoman, and +it was strange to hear this old lady and the bright-eyed youth +comparing notable runs. + +One day in the Strand at luncheon hour, Shafto came face to face with +his old friend Geoffrey Tremenheere, looking bronzed, splendidly fit, +and independent as a prince. + +“Hallo, Douglas!” he exclaimed. “Well, if this isn’t a piece of luck! +How are you, old man?” + +“All right—and you?” + +“I arrived from India yesterday and go up to Scotland to-night—the +family are all on the moors. I’ve just been looking for a pair of guns. +Come and give your opinion, and then we will lunch. I’m stopping at the +Grand.” + +“I’d like to awfully, I need not tell you, Geoff, but I’ve got to be +back at 1.15 sharp—it’s mail day.” + +“Oh, hang mail day! Come along and lunch—and let us have a good old +_bukh_!” + +“I don’t know what that means—but I’ll be glad of lunch, and more glad +of a bit of a jaw!” + +“Now, tell me all about yourself, Douglas,” said his schoolfellow, as +they sat _vis-à-vis_ in the marble hall. “You don’t look particularly +chirpy. Still in the office?” + +“Yes—I expect to live and die there.” + +“Poor old boy—and doing work you hate!” + +“Oh, I’m getting used to it now. I shall manage to hang on.” + +“And Mrs. Shafto—how is she?” + +“As usual—going strong. We live in the same boarding-house.” + +“’Umph! Well, let me tell you this—you are in the black books at home. +I hear you refuse all invitations and make monstrous excuses.” + +“You know I’d love to go down to ‘Tremenheere,’ but how can I? My time +is not my own, and I only got a week’s holiday in August and three days +at Christmas. There’s nothing to tell about my career—let’s hear +yours?” + +Thus invited, Geoffrey, a gay young officer in a crack regiment, broke +into short and vivid descriptions of Indian quarters, polo matches, and +capital black-buck shooting in the Central Provinces, and gave a full +and detailed history of his one tiger. + +Shafto, an eager and enthusiastic listener, exclaimed: + +“I say, how splendid! Do you know, Geoff, I’d give ten years of this +life to have a good chance of seeing the world—especially the East?” + +“Who knows—you might yet!” + +“Pigs might fly! Still I must not grumble. I’m delighted you have had +such a glorious time; when one’s friends are enjoying themselves, it’s +next best to doing the same oneself. What leave have you got?” + +“Only three months and every hour is priceless. This time to-morrow I +shall be blazing away at a grouse drive.” + +From grouse they fell to talking of shooting, of old scenes, of +rabbiting and ferreting, of cricket matches, schoolfellows and scrapes. + +Suddenly Douglas sprang to his feet and pointed to the clock. + +“Half-past one, I must run! Good-bye and good luck, old boy,” wringing +his friend’s hand, “I shan’t forget this lunch in a hurry,” and he was +gone. This little break and talk of old times and warm friends gave +Shafto something pleasant to think of for many days; it was like a +gleam of sunshine in his grey and joyless life. + +Richard Hutton, hack writer and “ghost,” sat next to him at table twice +a day, and proved a sympathetic neighbour. Hutton was a clever, +cultured, and—when he pleased—a wholly delightful companion. +Occasionally on Sundays the pair made little excursions together, +visited the City churches and quaint bits of Old London, or ventured a +dash into the country, or up the river. + +“You say Friday is a holiday in your office, Shafto,” he remarked one +evening; “how would you like to come for a prowl, and see what we can +find in the Caledonian Market? It’s an out-of-the-way place, where once +a week all manner of rubbish is shot, and now and then you pick up a +really staggering bargain.” + +“What’s that?” inquired Shafto. + +“Well, I’m told that lately a woman bought a rusty steel fender for two +shillings and, when she went to clean it, it turned out to be solid +silver—a bit of loot from some old French chateau. I must confess that +I’ve never found any spoil, but I only root among the books. Once, I +thought I’d got hold of a Coverdale Bible, but it proved to be a fake.” + +“All right,” agreed Shafto, “I’d like to try my luck; I’ll go with you +and look for a set of gold fire-irons. I’ve nothing special on—only +tennis in the afternoon.” + +“And the market is at its best in the morning—we’ll start at ten.” + +Friday morning found the couple roaming aimlessly round that great bare +enclosure at the end of the Camden Road, known as the Caledonian +Market. It was just eleven by the clock tower, and wares were still +pouring in; arriving in all manner of shabby carts and vans—mostly +drawn by aged and decrepit horses. Every variety of goods had its own +particular pitch. In one quarter were piles of books, brown, musty +volumes of all shapes and sizes, also tattered magazines, and of +theological works a great host. Farther on the explorers came to a vast +collection of old iron. It was as if numbers of travelling tinkers had +here discharged their stock; fenders, gasoliers, stair-rods, tin-cans, +officers’ swords—yes, at least a dozen—frying pans and saucepans. Old +clothes were needless to say, a prominent feature. Here you might suit +yourself with a bald-looking sealskin, a red flannel petticoat, a +soiled evening gown on graceful lines, or a widow’s bonnet. Here also +were black costumes (dripping beads), broken feathers, and hopeless +hats. Old furniture had several stands and was an important department. +Grandfather clocks, sideboards, chairs (Chippendale or otherwise), +chairs in horsehair or upholstered in wool-work, and framed family +portraits solicited notice. Should anyone marvel as to what becomes of +the rubbish and relics belonging to houses whose contents have been +scattered, after several generations—trifles that survived wrecked +fortunes, odds and ends which, for sacred reasons, people had clung to +till the last, let them repair to the “Market”—the relics are there, +lying on unresponsive cobble stones, a pitiful spectacle, handled, +despised, and cast aside—the precious hoarded treasures of a bygone +age. + +Delicately worked samplers, faded water-colours, portraits, old seals, +snuff-boxes, and lockets, attract the curio-hunter. Here is a Prayer +Book with massive silver clasps, inscribed, “Dearest Mary, on our +wedding day, June 4th, 1847, from Gilbert.” There, in a red morocco +case, is a miniature of a handsome naval officer. At the back, under +glass, are two locks of hair, joined by a true lover’s knot in seed +pearls. Some ruthless hand will pick out those pearls and throw the +hair away. + +For a considerable time Shafto strolled about with his hands in his +pockets, so far seeing nothing to tempt him. Meanwhile his companion +eagerly examined books and bargained over a tattered old volume. Shafto +noted with surprise the number of well-dressed visitors poking among +the stalls, in search of treasure trove. There were a parson with a +greedy-looking leather bag, an officer in uniform, and various smart +ladies, hunting in couples. Among a quantity of jugs and basins, soup +tureens and coarse crockery, Shafto’s idle glance fell upon a frightful +Chinese figure, the squat presentation of a man, about eight inches in +height. + +“I say, did you ever see such a horror?” he asked, pointing it out to +his companion; “a curio for ugliness, and just the sort of monster Mrs. +Malone would love. I’ll try if I can get hold of it. What’s the price +of the China demon?” he inquired of a wizened old woman, who wore a +bashed black bonnet and a pair of blue sand shoes. + +“Five shillin’,” she replied promptly. + +“Five shillings!” he exclaimed. “You’re joking.” + +“No time for jokes here,” she retorted, “it’s a good piece” (picking up +the figure), “and come out of a grand house. If it were in Bond Street, +they’d ask you five pounds. I showed it to a man, who said it was good, +although there was no mark, and it might be worth a lot; but I’ve no +time to be raking up things—my trade is a quick sale—and cash.” + +“I’ll give you half a crown,” said the customer. + +“Two half-crowns, and it’s yours, and a bargain; you won’t know the old +fellow when he’s had a wash!” + +“What do you say, Hutton?” inquired Douglas, turning to his friend. + +“Well, I think you might risk five shillings; you don’t see such +ugliness every day, and I should not wonder if it was a good piece. +I’ve never come across one like it.” + +“All right then, I’ll take the horror.” + +And in another moment the bargain was effected. Douglas tendered two +half-crowns, which the old woman carefully examined and pocketed, then +she wrapped up the figure in a piece of crumpled newspaper, and +presently he and his friend departed, each bearing his booty. + +“There is little to find now,” said Hutton, as they passed through the +gates; “the Market has become one of the weekly fashionable gatherings +of the town, and is dredged by dealers from all over England, who look +on it as a sort of lucky-bag—but the bag is nearly empty.” + +Mrs. Malone was enchanted with the monster—she had a secret weakness +for cheap little gifts—that is to say, from her own particular friends. +More than once Douglas had brought her some trifling tribute, but his +mother had felt deeply affronted by such uncalled for generosity to a +stranger; and when he ventured to exhibit the Chinese atrocity, she +exclaimed with great bitterness: + +“Oh, for Mrs. Malone, Of course! It’s rather strange that you never +think of bringing me a present.” + +“But, mother, you wouldn’t care for this sort of thing,” he protested, +“and it was awfully cheap.” + +“Cheap and nasty!” she retorted. “If you had offered me such hideous +rubbish, I’d have sent it straight to the dustbin!” + + + + +CHAPTER V +CLOUDS + + +It was an abnormally hot summer; all London lay at the mercy of a +fierce and fiery sun; grass in the parks was brown, plants drooped in +window boxes, and there was not even a little breeze to stir the soft +dust under foot, nor one hopeful cloud in the blue vault overhead. But +in the sky of Douglas Shafto’s existence dark and threatening clouds +were gathering; the largest of these was a haunting fear that his +mother intended to marry her admirer, Manasseh Levison—the prosperous +dealer in furniture and antiquities, a wealthy man, who owned, besides +his business, a fine mansion at Tooting; this he had closed after the +death of Mrs. Levison, when he had repaired to “Malahide” for society +and distraction—bidden there by his lively old friend, Mrs. Moses +Galli. The shrivelled little miserly widow was his confidante, and, for +the illumination of Mrs. Shafto, she had drawn glowing pictures of +Khartoum House, and outlined an imposing sketch of the luxuries +awaiting its future mistress. It was noticed as a significant fact that +when Mrs. Shafto and Madame Galli went to Eastbourne for a week (at +Mrs. Shafto’s expense), they had been joined at the Grand Hotel by +Manasseh Levison, who treated them to a special banquet, enlivened by +the finest brands of champagne—and had subsequently motored them back +to town. + +The idea that Levison should usurp his father’s place overwhelmed +Douglas with horror and shame; the prospect was intolerable; so were +other matters; for instance, his monotonous office life, the want of +variety and fresh air. For exercise, he belonged to a neighbouring +gymnasium, but this was not sufficient for a country-bred, energetic +young man, in his twenty-fourth year. As for the variety of amusements +that satisfied and delighted his brother clerks, they left him cold. He +was sensible of a tormenting thirst for a far-away different life—and +its chances, sick of this existence, of continually going round and +round, like a squirrel in a cage. A change of surroundings and scene, +or a spice of adventure, was what he longed for—as eagerly and as +hopelessly as some fallen wayfarer in a desert land. His mother’s +flinty attitude and hostile nagging had frozen a naturally affectionate +disposition, and Shafto passed several years of his youth without one +single ray of woman’s love, until generous Mrs. Malone had come forward +and installed him in her heart. His usual routine was breakfast at +eight, office at nine, lunch twelve-thirty, freedom at six, dinner at +seven-thirty. On Saturday afternoons he was expected at “Monte +Carlo”—to join the family at tennis and high tea—and here, over the +little red villa, brooded yet another cloud! Cossie, the gushing and +good-natured, had been given what her brother brutally termed “the +chuck” by her young man; he had taken on another girl, and his +repentance and return were hopeless. + +Shafto listened to Cossie’s hysterical lamentations and outpourings +with what patience he could assume; until by degrees the dreadful truth +began to dawn on him, that _he_ was selected to replace the faithless +Lothario! Of late Cossie’s manner had become jealously possessive, She +seemed to hold him by a nipping tenacious clutch, and pattered out to +meet him at the gate, sat next to him at table, and was invariably his +partner at tennis. Once, arriving unseen, he had overheard her +declaiming to another girl: + +“No, no, no, I won’t have it; Douglas is my boy—and my joy! Douglas +belongs to _me_!” + +“There will be two opinions about that,” he muttered to himself, as he +flung down his hat and entered the tawdry little drawing-room; but, in +spite of his stern resolutions, he found himself borne along by a +strong and irresistible current of family goodwill. Sandy gave him +cigars, Delia declared over and over again that he was a “darling,” his +aunt became extra-motherly, and Cossie endowed him with button-holes, +pairs of ill-knit shapeless socks, and sent him many notes. She seemed +to appropriate him as a matter of course, and once when they parted at +the gate, had held up her face to be kissed—but this undesired favour +he affected not to see. He noted, too, that when Cossie accompanied him +to the same little gate, Delia and Sandy lingered behind with alarming +significance. He began to hate Cossie and to revolt against the +slap-dash untidy _ménage_, Delia and her train of rowdy boys, the +shouting, the practical jokes, and the slang. Then suddenly the Levison +cloud burst! One night, when he was flying upstairs to his sky parlour, +his mother waylaid him on the landing and, with an imperative gesture, +beckoned him into her room. + +“Shut the door, Douglas!” she commanded in her usual frigid manner, “I +have something to tell you. Come over here and sit down.” + +“Yes, mother, all right,” but nevertheless he remained standing; “what +is it?” + +She cleared her throat and replied in her sharp metallic voice, “Mr. +Levison and I have at last made up our minds to be married; you see, we +have no one to consider but ourselves.” This announcement was followed +by a blank and paralysed silence. + +“He is absolutely devoted to me,” resumed Mrs. Shafto, “and is a +wealthy man and, as you know, _I_ was never accustomed to poverty. The +wedding will take place in six weeks. Well, why do you stand glowering +there?” she demanded impatiently. “What have you got to say?” + +“I have got to say,” replied Douglas, then his voice broke a little, +“that I don’t see how you can do it, or put that fat Jew tradesman into +my father’s place!” + +“Your father!” she screamed passionately, and a scar on her chin showed +white against a suffused complexion; “don’t talk to me of your father. +Before we were married, he often came to my uncle’s shop, and talked to +me about books—I got up Haydn’s Dictionary of Dates, bits of Browning, +and Lamb’s Essays, and Omar Khayyam. I had to study them in my own room +at night, so as to make him think I was well educated and shared his +tastes; but I did not; no,” she cried, with a stamp of her foot, “I +_hated_ his tastes! Aristotle and Plato, yes, and Shakespeare—dull to +the last degree, but I liked him: he was so handsome, so thoughtful, +such a gentleman. And I believed that as he was madly in love I could +easily twist him round to my way of thinking—but I was mistaken!” She +paused, momentarily out of breath, then resumed: “He soon found me out +and was sick of me in three weeks. He disliked dances, theatres, and +smart society, and buried me alive in the country. We had nothing in +common; he was just a bookworm, with a sarcastic tongue, who left me a +beggar! Now I am free, I am going to be a rich woman, marry a man who +understands me—and lead a new life.” + +“I see you are easily satisfied,” remarked her son. + +“I am; and although Mr. Levison is a Jew tradesman, as you have +remarked in your nasty sneering way, he has been generous enough to +offer you an opening as his assistant. He will take you into the shop +and pay you two hundred a year.” + +“No, thank you,” replied Douglas stiffly; “I know nothing about old +furniture.” + +“Only old family, I suppose! Well, you might do worse; and when you +marry Cossie, as is probable, I will make you a small allowance.” + +(Shafto had relinquished his income of a hundred and fifty a year, and +made it over to his mother legally, immediately he had come of age.) + +“I haven’t the smallest idea of marrying Cossie, or anyone else,” he +answered, with white-faced decision. + +“Well, she, and indeed they _all_, expect it.” + +“I’ve never given them any reason to do so.” + +“Yes, you have,” she contradicted sharply; “you go there, sit by her, +and take her into the garden.” + +“There is nothing in that,” he rejoined, too chivalrous to add that it +was his cousin who sat by, escorted him, and clung to him like the +traditional limpet. + +“She is five years older than you, I know, but very sweet-tempered, and +not a bad manager—she runs ‘Monte Carlo’!” + +“Cossie is absolutely nothing to me beyond a cousin; nor have I ever +given her reason to think otherwise—or ever shall.” + +“Oh, you are wonderfully bold and courageous here with _me_; I should +like to hear you telling them this at ‘Monte Carlo’! I know my sister +has set her heart on the match; she has been talking to me about the +trousseau, and intends to give you table linen, and a silver +tea-pot—she has two.” + +“Even the silver tea-pot would not bribe me!” declared Douglas with an +angry laugh. + +“Well, I can assure you that it’s an understood thing,” persisted his +parent, with spiteful emphasis. + +“How can it be understood, when I have never asked the girl to marry me +and never shall? Cossie is straight enough and can tell you that +herself.” + +“Oh, she has told me lots of things!” said her aunt mysteriously. +“Well, to turn to another subject, am I to inform Mr. Levison that you +refuse his offer of two hundred a year? You may come to us for +week-ends if you like; he is doing up the house at Tooting and giving +me a fine car.” + +“No, thank you, I prefer to remain where I am; and now if you’ve told +me everything you wished to say, I think I’ll go to bed,” and with a +brief “Good night” he departed. + +But he did not go to bed when he found himself in his bare fourth-floor +room, but sat on the side of his lumpy mattress, and smoked cigarettes +for a couple of hours. He must squash this Cossie question at all +costs; even if it led to a disagreeable interview with his relations +and made a complete breach between them. In one sense this breach would +mean freedom and relief, and yet he was rather fond of his dowdy old +Aunt Emma, and he also liked that slangy slacker Sandy; he could not +bear to give anyone pain, or to appear shabby or ungrateful. Of course +he ought to have taken a firm stand weeks ago, and repelled advances +that had stolen upon him so insidiously. He saw this now; yet how can +you refuse to accept a flower from a girl, or be such a brute as to +leave her notes and telephones unanswered, or rise and desert her when +she nestles down beside you on the sofa? He felt as if he was on the +edge of a precipice; and must make a desperate, a life or death +struggle; be firm and show no weakness. To be weak would establish him +with a wife, house-linen, and the tea-pot, in some dingy little flat +near his office, where, plodding monotonous round like a horse in a +mill, he would probably end his days. Always too anxious to please and +to be liked, he had enjoyed lounging about at “Monte Carlo” and +chaffing his cousin, but the price now demanded was exorbitant. He +recalled Cossie, stout and smiling, with rather pretty eyes and a +ceaseless flow of chatter. She had ugly hands and thick red lips, her +hair was coarse, but abundant, and she frequently borrowed her sister’s +rouge. Cossie was immensely good-natured and affectionate, and he would +be sorry to hurt her feelings, poor little thing. + +Then as to his mother and her marriage to Levison, he hated to think of +it. He could not endure his future stepfather; between them there +existed a bottomless chasm of dislike and distrust. Levison considered +Shafto a conceited young cub, “but a clever cub”; and Shafto looked on +Levison as a purse-proud tradesman, ever bragging of his “finds,” his +sales, and his titled customers. + +Douglas had never felt so abjectly miserable since the time of his +father’s death; his depression was such that he wished he was dead too; +but fate was in a kindly mood and, although he was unconscious of the +fact, the clouds were lifting. + + + + +CHAPTER VI +AN EMPTY OFFER + + +The night that Shafto subsequently spent was wakeful and seemed +endless; he tossed about on his hard bed and thumped the irresponsive +pillow, paced his room from end to end, drank all the water in the +carafe—and even encroached on the ewer; he felt as if his vitality had +been sapped, that he had no energy with which to face his new position, +nothing to which he could look forward, no gleam of hope and, as it +turned out, no appetite for breakfast. Seated at table, he proved +infectiously depressing and gloomily silent. On the way to the +Underground, Sandy Larcher, who happened to be in exuberant spirits, +noticed his cousin’s grave face and chaffed him about Cossie. (Sandy, a +coarse-grained creature, knew no reserves, did not profess to be a +gentleman, and had never heard of the word “tact.”) + +“And so you couldn’t sleep for thinking of her, eh? Ate no breakfast, +only a bit of toast, and half a kipper; quite in a bad way, poor old +chap.” + +“Come now, Sandy, none of that!” angrily protested the victim. “You are +a sensible fellow, though you do play the ass; and must know as well as +I do myself that you are talking through your hat. I swear on my word +of honour, I have never made love to Cossie, I’d as soon think of +making love to the parrot next door, and I have not the remotest idea +of marrying her. Imagine marrying on a hundred and fifty pounds a +year!” + +“Oh well, I couldn’t face it myself, old man,” generously conceded his +companion, “but the mater and the girls are dead nuts on the idea; they +are awfully fond of you, and say you are so mortal clever, so well-bred +and such top-hole style, that you are bound to rise in the world; and +Cossie is getting rather long in the tooth. Of course, I know as well +as if you told me, how she rushes a chap, and writes silly notes, +manicures his nails, and gives him flowers and cigarettes. She overdid +it with Freddy Soames and got the knock; and now he is formally +engaged, I expect she is mad keen to show that two can play at that +game!” + +“I’m not for it, and that’s certain,” declared the other, with an +emphasis that was almost violent. “I like Cossie right enough as a +cousin, but I’m not a scrap in love. Why, we’ve not one single taste in +common—bar tennis and walnut pickles! I hate saying all this to you, +old man—it seems monstrously caddish, and really——” + +“Oh, don’t apologise,” interrupted Sandy; “I know Cossie and her little +ways—you are not the first by a long way that she’s tried it on with.” + +“Couldn’t you drop her some sort of gentle hint? Do, like a good chap +and say a word to my aunt? I’d stay away from ‘Monte Carlo,’ only that +I’m drawn to play in this confounded tournament.” + +“No good! They wouldn’t listen to _me_; you must do the business +yourself, Douglas, old man. Come on, hurry up, or we’ll miss our +train!” and Sandy began to run. + +Shafto had not long been perched on his office stool and invested in +his office coat and paper cuffs, when he received a message that Mr. +Martin—the head of the firm—wished to see him in his private room. + +“This is the limit!” he said to himself, as he followed the messenger +into a cool, luxurious apartment. “Now I’m going to get a slating—over +that French correspondence—and it was Fraser’s job. Well, if that’s the +case, I’ll enlist; I’m sick of this life!” + +He found Mr. Martin temporarily idle, seated in front of his large +writing-table, scanning the _Financial News_. He raised his eyes as +Douglas entered, and said: + +“Hullo, that you, Shafto? I have something to say to you. How would you +like a little promotion?” + +“Very much indeed, sir,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation due to +amazement. + +“You’ve been over four years with us as correspondence clerk?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I believe you know Mr. Tremenheere?” + +“Yes.” + +“So do I. He has called here to see me about you. What would you think +of going abroad for a change—say, to Burma?” + +“Burma—yes, sir, all right,” assented Shafto, with a glowing face. +Something within him had always craved for the East. + +“It’s like this,” continued the other, leaning back and placing his +fingers together, tent fashion. “Our house in Rangoon wants a smart, +healthy, young fellow, quick at figures, and able to manage bills of +lading. You would soon pick up that; it will be chiefly an out-of-door +job on the wharves.” + +“I’d like that.” + +“The pay offered is four hundred rupees a month, and house rent; not +much, I admit, considering the fall of the rupee and Rangoon prices; +but we have been compelled to modify expenses, our profits are run so +fine, thanks to an active German mercantile element. Well, what do you +think, Shafto?” + +Shafto thought Mr. Martin a species of genie, who was offering him a +magic carpet that would transport him into the great, hurrying, active +world; into the land of sunshine he had longed to see; he would have +jumped at the proposal if the salary had been half, and he replied: + +“I shall be glad to accept.” + +“Then that’s all right! I was afraid you might have some ties in this +country. Of course, in time you are bound to get a rise, and I believe +there are boarding-houses in Rangoon where they make you fairly +comfortable.” + +“When do you wish me to start?” + +“As soon as you can get under way,” was the unexpected reply. “One of +the Bibby Line sails on Saturday week, and that brings me to another +matter. You have to pay for your own passage and outfit. The passage +money is six hundred rupees; the outfit, good English boots, cool +clothes, a solar topee, and a revolver—and a medicine-chest might come +in handy. No doubt some of your relations will help, or give you a +loan. You see, you are getting a big rise and a capital opening in a +new line.” + +“That is true, sir,” replied Douglas, whose face had considerably +lengthened, “but I’m afraid I cannot manage the ready money—near a +hundred pounds. Is my salary paid in advance?” + +“No, that is out of the question in a province where cholera carries a +man off in a couple of hours. I am sorry about the passage; at one time +we did pay, but now we have to pinch and consider our expenses. No +doubt you would like to talk over the matter with your people?” + +“Well, yes, I should, thank you,” he answered, staring fixedly at the +floor. + +“Then let me have your decision before mail day. I may tell you, +Shafto, that, irrespective of Mr. Tremenheere’s interest, you have +given us entire satisfaction, and for this chance, and it _is_ a +chance, you have only yourself to thank. You can take a couple of days’ +leave and let me hear from you definitely on Friday morning.” + +It was only eleven o’clock, an oppressively warm July day, and Douglas +walked up to Lincoln’s Inn Fields, took a seat in the cool shade of the +finest trees in the largest square in London, and there endeavoured to +think out some plan. + +“I say, what a chance!” he muttered to himself. “What a stroke of luck! +A new start in life, offering change and freedom.” Yet he must lose +it—and all for a paltry hundred pounds. Paltry—no; to him it +represented a huge and unattainable fortune; there wasn’t a soul from +whom he could borrow; not from the Tebbs, nor the Tremenheeres, and his +associates at “Malahide” were, with one detestable exception, as poor +as himself. After long meditation, entirely barren of inspiration, he +went down to the Strand and lunched at Slater’s, and then took the Tube +to Bayswater Public Library, where he got hold of some books on +Burma—Burma, the land of the Pagoda and Golden Umbrella. Somehow the +very name fired his imagination and thrilled his blood. + +After sitting in the library, greedily devouring information, he +strolled back to Lincoln Square, in time for dinner, and all that +evening he kept his great news to himself. It would have seemed natural +for an only son to carry such important tidings to his mother; but Mrs. +Shafto was the last woman to welcome his confidences. She was entirely +without the maternal instinct and, armed with a certain fierce reserve, +held her son inflexibly at arm’s length. A stranger would scarcely have +discovered the relationship—unless they happened to note that the pair +walked to church together on Sunday, and that she pecked his cheek of a +night before retiring. As a matter of course, she made use of Douglas +and, insisting on maternal claims, thrust on him disagreeable +interviews, sent him messages, borrowed his money—when short of +change—and allowed him to pay her taxis. Honestly, she did not care for +the boy. He was too detached and self-contained; he had such odd ideas +and resembled his father in many respects—especially in +appearance—though Douglas’s expression was keener and more animated, he +had the same well-cut features, fine head, and expressive dark grey +eyes. + +Yes, he recalled too forcibly a dead man whom she had neglected, +detested and deceived. And as for Douglas, for years he had been +sensible of the smart of a baffled instinct, a hunger for a mother’s +love and affection, which had never been his—and never would be his. + +In the drawing-room, after dinner, the boarders were amusing themselves +as usual and making a good deal of noise, yet somehow the circle +presented an air of rather spurious gaiety. Mrs. Shafto, in a smart +black-and-gold evening frock, was smoking a cigarette and playing +auction-bridge with Mr. Levison and the two Japanese; the Misses Smith +and various casual boarders were engrossed at coon-can. Another group +was assembled about the piano. Douglas Shafto sat aloof in the window +seat absorbed in the book on Burma and acquiring information; for even +if he were never to see the country, it was as well to learn something +about it. Rangoon, the capital (that fact he already knew), once a mere +collection of monasteries around the Great Pagoda, was now assumed to +be the Liverpool of the East, the resting-place of Buddha’s relics, and +an important industrial centre. As his reading was disturbed by the +boisterous chorus at the piano, and the shrieks of laughter from the +coon-can set, he tucked the volume under his arm and slipped out of the +room as noiselessly as possible. He could rest at peace up in his “cock +loft” and endeavour to puzzle out some means of reaching the land of +the Golden Umbrella—even if he worked his passage as a cabin steward. +In passing the door of Mrs. Malone’s den, some strange, unaccountable +impulse constrained him to knock. Yes; he suddenly made up his mind +that he would confide in _her_—and why not? She was always so +understanding, sympathetic and wise. + +In reply to a shrill “Come in,” he entered and found the old lady +sitting by the open window with a black cat on her lap. The room was +small and homelike; there were some shabby rugs, a few fine prints, a +case of miniatures, and, in a cabinet, a variety of odd “bits” which +Mrs. Malone had picked up from time to time. + +“So it’s you, Douglas,” she exclaimed; “come over and sit down. I’m +always glad to see you; you know you have the private entrée!” and she +laughed. “What have you been doing with yourself to-day?” + +As he muttered something indefinite, she added, “What’s your book?” +holding out her hand. “Burma, I declare! One does not hear much of that +part of the world; it’s always connected in my mind with rice and rain. +Douglas,” suddenly raising her eyes, “I believe you have something on +your mind. What is it? Come now—speak out—is it a love affair, or +money? You know I’m _safe_.” + +Thus invited, in a few halting sentences, he told her of his friend’s +good offices, the offer, his supreme delight—and subsequent despair. + +“A hundred pounds—yes, well, it’s a tidy sum,” she admitted, “and you +will want all that. I think Gregory and Co. might pay your passage, as +the salary is not large.” + +“No,” agreed Shafto, “but I’ll be only too glad to earn it. It’s this +blessed ready money that stumps me.” + +He began to pace about the room with his hands in his pockets, then +suddenly broke out: + +“Mrs. Malone, I’d give one of my eyes to go; to be up and doing, and +get out into the world—especially to the East. Isn’t it hard lines—one +moment to be offered a splendid chance, and the next to have it +snatched away.” + +“I suppose you couldn’t borrow?” she suggested, looking at him over her +spectacles. + +“No, who would lend _me_ money? I have no security and no wealthy +friends.” + +“Well, I am not a wealthy friend, Douglas, but I will lend you a +hundred pounds—I’ve saved a good bit—and I can.” + +“No, no, Mrs. Malone,” he interrupted. “I couldn’t accept it. I know +how hardly your money has been earned; I know all your hateful worries; +your bothers with servants and coal; your trampings into ‘the Grove,’ +and up and down these confounded stairs.” + +“But, Douglas, you can pay me back by degrees.” + +“No; you’d run a poor chance of seeing your hundred pounds again. Mr. +Martin informed me the firm never paid in advance, as cholera carried +off people in a few hours—cheerful, wasn’t it? And if I were carried +off, where would _you_ be?” + +“Here, my boy, and in the deepest grief.” + +“Well, thanking you all the same, I will not touch a penny of your +money; but I know you are long-headed and may think of some scheme for +me. I’ve got nothing to sell of any value; I parted with my father’s +watch—and it’s still at the pawnbroker’s; worse luck!” (His pitilessly +selfish mother had borrowed ten pounds and forgotten the debt, and he +had been compelled to apply to his “Uncle.”) Shafto found his salary a +very tight fight; eleven pounds a month seemed to melt away in board, +clothes, washing and those innumerable little expenses that crop up in +London. + +“Anyhow, you have till Friday, you proud, obstinate boy, and before +that, I may be able to thrash out something. I have noticed that you +don’t look yourself the last few weeks, not my dear lively Douglas, +tearing up and down stairs, whistling like a blackbird. Tell me the +reason,” and she laid a well-shaped wrinkled hand upon his arm. + +Then, walking up and down the room, he frankly unfolded his +troubles—the approaching marriage of his mother (this was no news), +and, in an agitated and incoherent manner, his desperate predicament +with regard to Cossie Larcher. + +“The poor boy,” said his listener to herself. “That man-hunting, +determined little cat has got her claws into him. I have seen the +vulgar, made-up minx, without education, fortune, or modesty, trying to +carry off her gentleman cousin! But she shan’t have him. No! by hook or +by crook, he must be got out of the country, as sure as my name is +Joyce Malone!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII +“THE MONSTER” + + +For a considerable time Mrs. Malone sat, stroking her long nose with +her long forefinger and thinking profoundly; there fell, in +consequence, an unusual silence. At last this was broken by the old +lady, who exclaimed with an air of triumph: + +“Douglas, my boy, I do believe I have got hold of a bright idea!” + +“That’s nothing new,” he rejoined with a smile. + +“Come now, none of your blarney! You know the queer little monster you +brought me some time ago. You see him there grinning at us out of the +cabinet? Well, a friend of mine noticed him yesterday—she is a bit of a +connoisseur, and she said that, if genuine, that diabolical object had +considerable value! To-morrow, I will take it round to a shop in ‘the +Grove,’ and get an opinion; let us hear what the expert says, and if +the object is good and marketable, I’ll sell him—and you shall have the +money. Now,” raising a hand authoritatively, “I warn you not to say +‘No’ to me again, for if you do, I’ll just take the poker and smash the +deformity into a thousand atoms!” + +“Oh, well, I suppose that puts the lid on,” said Douglas, “but I ask +you, if anything in the whole world can be meaner than to give a +present and to take it back? However, I’ll consent to commit that +outrage to save the monster. I don’t believe he is worth a sovereign!” + +“Stop! I hear them moving in the drawing-room, so, my dear boy, fly up +to your roost at once. You know how it vexes your mother to see you +spending your time with me. Good night, my dear child,” and rising, she +laid her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. + +The very next evening, shortly before dinner, Mrs. Malone sent for her +favourite boarder. + +“I’ve grand news for you!” she announced. “I’ve had the ugly figure +valued and a man has offered me a hundred and ten pounds.” + +“A hundred and ten pounds!” repeated Shafto. “Come, this is one of your +good old Irish jokes!” + +Alas! it must be here recorded that warm-hearted Mrs. Malone was not +joking—but lying. She had never been to any expert. The hundred and ten +pounds were to come out of her own lean pocket; this had been her +“bright idea,” when she contemplated the monster in the cabinet. She +was sincerely fond of Shafto; during the time he had been under her +roof she had never known him to do a mean or ungentlemanly action; he +was considerate, unselfish, and generous—poor as he was; also he opened +doors, handed chairs, treated age with deference, and in short +conducted himself like the people among whom she had lived most of her +life. + +Richard Hutton was of the same type, so were the two Japanese; but +Levison, her most valuable guest, Larcher, and other young boarders +had, in her opinion, no manners at all. They smoked where and how they +pleased (barring the drawing-room), left cigarette stumps all over the +house, kicked off their boots in the hall, were late for meals, loud in +talk, arguments and complaints, and supremely indifferent to the +comfort of their companions. + + +In some extraordinary and inexplicable manner the story of the monster +had leaked out—at any rate, it was in the air. Perhaps the monster +himself had blazoned forth the fact of his own value, or Michael, the +handy man, had caught a whisper from Maggie (Mrs. Malone’s right hand)? +However it was, Mrs. Malone was not a little startled when Mr. Levison, +in his loud resonant voice, shouted at her down the dinner table: + +“So I hear you’ve come in for a wonderful find, ma’am—a Chinese figure +valued at a handsome sum! Do you know I’m something of a judge of such +stuff—old porcelain is rather in my line—and I’d like to have a look at +the prize after dinner, if you don’t object, and if the bargain is not +clinched perhaps I might go one better.” + +Mrs. Malone coloured like a young girl—or was it the blush of guilt? +Would her sin find her out? No; no matter what the dealer said, she +determined to stick to her story; she would not allow him to see the +figure. She knew Manasseh Levison to be a persistent, over-bearing sort +of man; nevertheless, she was resolved to defeat him. If the worst came +to the worst, she would go to bed, and either take the figure with her, +or hide it up the chimney. But alas for her plans! Manasseh, scenting a +good thing, immediately after his cigar was finished, boldly followed +the old lady into forbidden ground—her sitting-room—and did not even +knock, but just turned the handle of the door and walked in. He +discovered his hostess and young Shafto, evidently holding a weighty +conference—with the figure on the table between them. + +“Mr. Levison,” she exclaimed, “are you aware that this is my private +apartment, and that such an intrusion is unwelcome?” + +Levison, not the least abashed, had snatched up the figure and +critically examined it, glass in eye. For an appreciable time he stood +silent and transfixed, obviously gloating over the article in his +grasp—yes, gloating, with the absorbed expression of a devotee! At last +he spoke, raising his voice almost to a shout: + +“And are _you_ aware, madam; that this—this piece in my hand, is a most +glorious specimen of old ‘Kang He’? An altar vessel, too; a most +perfect, complete, and unique specimen of Chinese enamelled porcelain, +dating from the Kang dynasty? By George!” handling it and turning it +about with tender loving care, “what an astonishing find! I’ve never +come across such a piece, and I’ve seen a good few in my time. How did +you get hold of it?” + +“Mr. Shafto gave it to me,” replied Mrs. Malone, in her stiffest +manner. + +“And I picked it off a stall in the Caledonian Market,” supplemented +Shafto. + +“What luck; what incredible luck!” exclaimed the dealer, nodding his +big head; “well, Mrs. Malone, will you please inform your other +customer that I will pay you three hundred pounds down for this +piece—that rather snuffs him out, eh? I’ll give you a cheque in the +morning,” and carrying the monster as reverently as if it were some +holy relic, Manasseh Levison, expert and connoisseur, marched out of +the room in triumph. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII +BOUND FOR BURMA + + +It was some minutes before Mrs. Malone recovered her breath and +composure, the invasion and purchase had been so startlingly abrupt. At +last she found her tongue and her wits, and after a lengthy and +animated discussion, it was ultimately decided that she and Douglas +would each take a hundred pounds (privately she determined to invest +her share for his benefit) and hand the remaining hundred to the old +woman in the black bonnet at her stand in the Caledonian Market. + +The journey to Rangoon was now likely to be accomplished, thanks to the +Chinese Monster. When Douglas picked it off the cobble stones, from +among coarse common crockery, how little he dreamed what a factor this +figure would prove in his future—it had been the means of shaping his +destiny! + +On Friday morning he sent in a formal acceptance of Mr. Martin’s offer +and, having obtained leave, hurried away to the Caledonian Market, in +search of the old rag and bottle female. It was half-past twelve +o’clock when he arrived, he was late, and her pitch was empty. Had she +departed already? On inquiry he was informed that old Mother Doake had +departed for good—was, in fact, dead! + +“Yes, she were run over by a motor-trolley ten days ago,” announced the +woman in the next stall; “she was terribly old and blind and a real +wicked miser. There was no one belonging to her. Her clothes were just +lined with bank-notes, and there was a whole lot of papers and bonds in +her mattress, and a lovely silver tea-set up the chimney. She grudged +herself a penn-’orth o’ milk, or a drop o’ brandy, and she worth +thousands o’ pounds! Being no heirs, the Crown takes the lot! Thank +you, sir,” accepting a tip, “I suppose I could not tempt you with a +splendid fur-lined overcoat? Cost a hundred—but you can have it for +six. It belonged to a lord—I got it off his man. Well, maybe it’s a bit +warmish, but it’s dirt cheap and would come in next winter.” + +Since Mother Doake was now defunct, her share divided gave Douglas +another fifty pounds, and he felt quite a wealthy man. The first use he +made of the monster’s money was to take his father’s watch and chain +out of pawn; the next, to secure his passage in the Bibby Line to +Rangoon. Then he spent a long morning at the Stores and bought a new +outfit, saddle and bridle, steamer trunks, and a steamer chair. + +The purchase of the “Kang He” piece and its price were naturally not +withheld from Mrs. Shafto. She pounced upon Douglas in the hall and +drove him before her into the empty dining-room. + +“Well, I’ve heard all about your wonderful luck!” she began excitedly, +“and how Mr. Levison has actually paid you three hundred pounds for +that frightful figure.” + +“Yes, so he did; it’s a true bill.” + +“And now, my dear boy; you will be able to help me with my trousseau,” +said this daughter of a horse-leech, “I must really get good frocks. +Mr. L. is so sharp, and notices everything, and can tell the price of a +gown to a sixpence; he has wonderful taste, and is very particular. You +must let me have fifty or sixty to begin with—it’s not much out of +three hundred pounds. What a windfall!” + +“Oh, but I have already divided it with Mrs. Malone,” replied Douglas; +“she insisted upon my taking half—you see, the figure was hers.” + +“Divided it with Mrs. Malone!” screamed his mother. “What a mean, +grasping, greedy old hag! I shall speak to her about it and make her +disgorge. She has no right to your money; whilst I am your mother!” + +“I do beg you won’t interfere. Mrs. Malone is the most generous woman I +know.” + +“Generous!” echoed Mrs. Shafto. “The greatest old skinflint in +London—she charges me sixpence a day for having my breakfast in bed, +and——” + +“Well, you will soon be out of it,” interrupted her son impetuously, +“and so shall I! And I am glad to have an opportunity now of telling +you that I have got promotion in the office and am going to Burma.” + +“Oh! are you? Burma—Burma! Why, that’s abroad—some place near India—or +is it the West Indies?” + +“You are thinking of Bermuda. Burma is east of India. I have to pay for +my passage and outfit, and this unexpected windfall is a wonderful bit +of luck. If I hadn’t got it, I never could have accepted the post, or +made a new start.” + +“And when do you leave?” + +“In a week.” + +“So soon,” she exclaimed cheerfully; “I wonder what Cossie will say?” + +“It is not of the slightest consequence what Cossie says; she has +nothing to do with my plans.” + +“Cossie won’t think so, and when she hears you have been promoted and +are off to Burma, she will stick to you like a burr.” + +“But, my dear mother, what is the use of her sticking to me?” protested +Douglas. “I haven’t the faintest intention of being engaged to Cossie. +If she imagines that I am in love with her, she is making the greatest +mistake in her life.” + +“Cossie is a foolish girl,” admitted her aunt, “and has made heaps of +mistakes; but if she sees her way to bettering herself, she can be as +determined as anyone. Of course you will have to run down and say +‘good-bye.’” + +“Yes, I shall go to-morrow.” + +“I must say I don’t envy you the visit!” declared his mother with a +malicious smile. + +“No, I daresay it will be disagreeable—but Aunt Emma will see me +through. In Cossie’s case it is not a matter of deep attachment; she +only wants to play me off against that fellow Soames. Ah, here is +Michael jingling his tray outside; he wants to lay the cloth and we had +better clear.” + +In some respects the dreaded farewell at “Monte Carlo” was even more +trying than Douglas had anticipated. His relatives had learned and +digested his news; to them, it seemed an uplifting of the entire +connection. After pushing congratulations and some high-flown talk +respecting the delights of his future career and “position,” the girls, +as if by mutual agreement, rose and left him alone with their mother. + +Thus abandoned to a _tete-à-tete_, after a lengthy silence, Mrs. +Larcher, sitting among the collapsible spring’s, began to speak in a +shaky voice. + +“Ahem! We have _all_ seen, Douglas, how devotedly attached you are to +Cossie, and the marked attentions you have paid her. Of course, on such +a small salary you were too honourable to say anything definite. Ahem! +But now that you are in a better position, with splendid prospects, I +have no objection to an engagement, and as soon as you are comfortably +settled in Rangoon, Cossie will join you.” + +Douglas instantly lifted himself out of his chair and confronted the +unfortunate catspaw; standing erect before her, he said: + +“My dear Aunt Emma, kindly understand once for all that I am not in +love with Cossie. I have never made love to her, or ever shall. I like +her as a cousin—but no more. Even if I were madly in love, I could not +marry; my screw will barely keep myself.” + +“Oh, but you’ll get on!” interposed his aunt eagerly. “They all do out +there, and you who are so well educated and gentlemanly will soon be +drawing high pay, and keeping dozens of black servants, and a motor—and +you know poor Cossie is _so_ fond of you.” + +“I am truly sorry to hear you say so; I cannot imagine _why_ she should +be fond of me; or why, quite lately, she has got this preposterous idea +into her head. Naturally it is a delicate subject to discuss with you, +Aunt Emma; but I declare on my honour that I have never thought of +Cossie but just as a jolly sort of girl and a cousin.” + +“But you have given her presents, my darling boy; yes, and written to +her,” urged the poor lady, clinging to the last straw. + +“I have given her chocolates, and a couple of pairs of gloves, and +answered her notes; and if Cossie imagines that every man who gives her +chocolates, and answers notes about tea and tennis, is seriously in +love with her, she must be incredibly foolish. Cossie knows in her +heart that I have never cast her a thought, except as a relation; and, +as a matter of fact, of the two girls I like Delia the best! I don’t +want to say unpleasant things when I’m on the point of going +away—probably for years. I hoped to have spent a jolly long day among +you, but from what you have just told me I really could not face it, +and I must ask you to say good-bye to my cousins for me. I will write +to you, Aunt Emma, as soon as I get out to Rangoon. You have always +been very kind, and made me feel at home here; you may be sure I won’t +forget it.” And he stooped down suddenly and gave her a hearty kiss. +Then before the poor stout lady could struggle out of the cavity which +her weight had made in the Chesterfield Douglas had departed. She heard +the close of the hall door, immediately followed by the click of the +garden gate. Yes, he was _gone_! And Cossie, who all the time had been +listening on the top of the stairs, instantly descended like a wolf on +the fold. She would have run out bareheaded after Douglas, but that her +more prudent sister actually restrained her by violent physical force; +and then, what a scene she made! Oh, what recriminations and angry +speeches and reproaches she showered upon her unhappy parent! + +“You told me to sound him about an engagement, and I did. Oh, but it +was a hateful job, and here’s my thanks!” whimpered Mrs. Larcher. “He +looked awfully white and stern, and said he only likes you as a cousin, +and that he had no intention of anything—and I believe him. It was only +in the last two months, since Freddy Soames broke it off, that you’ve +gone out of your way to hang on to Douglas. I’m sure I wish there had +been something in it—he’s a dear good boy, and I could love him like a +son,” and the poor lady sobbed aloud. + +“You bungled the whole thing, of course!” cried her ungrateful +offspring, “I might have known you would put your foot in it; you’ve +let him slip through your fingers and just ruined my last chance. Oh, +if I’d only talked to him myself, I’d have been on my way to Burma in +six months!” + +Then Cossie broke down, buried her head in a musty cushion, and wept +sore. + +However, after a little time, the broken-hearted damsel recovered; her +feelings were elastic, and she allowed herself to be revived with a +stiff whisky and soda and a De Reské cigarette. On the following day +she had so far recovered as to be able to make a careful toilet and +walk out, to call upon her two most intimate pals, in order to inform +them—in the very strictest confidence—that she was engaged to her +cousin, Douglas Shafto, who had just got a splendid appointment in +Burma and would come home in two years! Then she added impressively, “I +don’t want this given out—mother would be _furious_; but the first time +you come across him I don’t mind if you whisper the news to Freddy +Soames.” + +Cossie sent her cousin a heart-broken letter of farewell, full of +underlined words and vague expressions of despair—a portion of which +she had copied from a dramatic love scene in a novel. She implored him +to write to her, and remained “his devoted till death, Cossie.” + +Shafto thrust his devoted-till-death Cossie’s letter into the +waste-paper basket, with a gesture of excommunication, and barred the +doors of his memory upon her round fat face. + +Preparations for departure proceeded satisfactorily. He received a +number of good wishes and not a few gifts. The Tremenheeres sent him an +express rifle, the Tebbs a dispatch box, Mrs. Malone gave him a silver +cigarette case and a warm rug, Mrs. Galli gave him her blessing, and +his mother gave him advice. + +On the appointed day a band of friends travelled down to Tilbury to +take leave of Douglas Shafto. These included Mrs. Malone, Mr. Hutton, +the two Japanese gentlemen, and several of his fellow clerks.—Mrs. +Shafto had excused herself, declaring that “her feelings would not +endure the strain of a public leave-taking.”—Shortly before the +_Blankshire_ (Bibby Line) sailed, Sandy—alas! accompanied by +Cossie—hurried down the gangway (for Cossie was allied to the stamp of +the British soldier, who never knows when he is beaten and entirely +refuses to accept defeat!). She wore her best hat—a conspicuous affair +with enormous green wings—a somewhat murky white fur, and carried a +presentation bunch of wilted flowers. The new arrival, chattering like +a magpie, took immediate possession of her cousin, snatched her away +from poor Mrs. Malone, who was looking very old and sad, and insisted +on inspecting his cabin and as much as was possible of the ship. When +the bell rang and the moment of parting arrived, she burst into wild +unrestrained sobs, and clung, in the best melodramatic style, to her +unresisting kinsman, who was compelled to accept her kisses and tears. +In fact, as her brother rudely stated, “she made a shameless show of +herself, slobbering over Douglas before all the passengers, and he was +sorry for the poor chap, who was covered with blushes; and not for her +at all—as anyone could see with half an eye!” + +However, Cossie returned home by the Underground, fortified with the +conviction that the party who had witnessed her farewell were bound to +realise that Douglas Shafto was her affianced lover. + +The last signal Shafto received, ere the group of friends had dissolved +into a blur, was a frantic waving of Cossie’s damp handkerchief, and he +turned his face towards the bows of the _Blankshire_, now heading down +the river, with the happy exaltation of freedom and a grateful sense of +escape. + + + + +CHAPTER IX +THE “BLANKSHIRE” + + +The _Blankshire_ was a full and well-known ship. Not a few of the +passengers had made several trips in her and some, as they met in +saloon and corridors, exchanged loud hearty greetings and hailed one +another as old friends. These were chiefly planters and officials from +Ceylon, Southern India and Burma, who herded in parties both at meals +and on deck. + +It was not to be expected that Shafto would see one familiar face, and +he felt completely “out of it,” as he took a seat at a draughty table +between two elderly people, whose interest was entirely concentrated +upon their meals and the weather. + +The second day proved rough and wet and the smoking-room was crowded. +Here Shafto made an acquaintance with a well-set-up, weather-beaten +young man, his neighbour. Finding they had similar tastes with regard +to cigars and boots, they proceeded to cement an acquaintance. Hoskins +was the name of Shafto’s companion, and after half an hour’s lively +talk, he exclaimed: + +“I say, look here, we must dig you out of ‘the Potter’s Field,’ and +bring you to our table.” + +“What do you mean by ‘the Potter’s Field’?” + +“Why, to bury strangers in! We bury dull folk and such-like in the +table near the door; but I’ll speak to the head steward and get you +moved.” + +And before the next meal Shafto’s transition was an accomplished fact, +and he found himself one of a merry and congenial circle. In his novel +and detached position he realised a sense of independence; he was +breathing a new existence, an exhilarating atmosphere, and enjoying +every hour of the day. + +At table and in the smoke-room he picked up a certain amount of useful +information respecting Burma, listened to many a “Don’t” with polite +attention, and was offered the address of a fairly good chummery in +Rangoon. As he could play bridge without letting down his partners, was +active at deck sports, and invariably cheery and obliging, he soon +gained that effervescent prize, “board-ship popularity.” + +Here was a different fellow from Douglas Shafto of “Malahide.” He +seemed to have cast off a load of care; the cramped, monotonous life, +his mother’s hard indifference, the octopus-like Cossie, all had +slipped from his shoulders and were figuratively buried in the heaving, +dark blue sea. What delicious hours of tranquil ease were enjoyed in a +steamer chair; hours when he looked on the past five years as a distant +and fading dream! + +As he paced the deck with a companion he learnt many strange things. +Odd bits of half-told stories, confidences respecting some girl, or +some ambition—and now and then a warning. + +“You are so new and green to the East,” said Hoskins, his first friend, +a police officer returning from short leave. “You had better keep your +eyes skinned! Rangoon is not like India, but a roaring busy seaport, +where every soul is on the make. You will find various elements there, +besides British and Burmese. Tribes from Upper Burma, Tibetans, +Hindoos, Malays, Chinese and, above all, Germans. They do an enormous +trade, and have many substantial firms and houses, and put through as +much business as, or more than, we do ourselves. No job is too small, +no order too insignificant for their prompt attention. They have agents +all over the country, who pull strings in wolfram and the ruby mines, +and have a finger in every mortal thing. I’ll say this for them, +they’re most awfully keen and industrious, and stick at nothing to earn +the nimble rupee, underselling when they can, and grabbing contracts +and trade secrets. Some of these days they will mine us out of Burma!” + +“So I see they needn’t go to you for a character,” remarked Shafto. + +“Oh, they are not all tarred with the same brush! I have some good pals +in the German Club—fellows that are as straight as a die. Is this your +first journey out of England?” + +“Yes, bar winter sports in Switzerland, when I was a kid.” + +“Well, you will see a small bit of the world this trip; as soon as we +collect the passengers at Marseilles, and once the awnings and the moon +are up, things will begin to hum!” + +“How do you mean hum?” + +“We shall have sports, dances, concerts—this has always been a gay +ship, and the purser is a rare hustler. We are due at Marseilles +to-morrow morning, and we take in a cargo of the lazy luxurious folk +who abhor ‘the Bay,’ and have travelled overland. I’d have done the +same, only I’m frightfully hard up; three months at home, having a +‘good time,’ comes pretty expensive!” + +“I hope you will be a fixture in Rangoon?” + +“I’m afraid not; I’m going straight up to Mandalay, but I shall be down +later, and meanwhile I’ll do my best to settle you in that chummery. +I’ll send a line to FitzGerald of my service; he lives there; a +rattling Irishman, with lots of brains in his handsome head, and a good +sort; there’s also Roscoe, a clever oddity, and MacNab of the Irrawaddy +Flotilla—a wonderful golfer. Most of the fellows in business in Rangoon +are Scotch. Murray was in the same chummery; there were four chums till +May.” + +“And Number Four has gone home?” + +“He has—to his long home, worse luck; he broke his neck fooling over a +log jump.” + +On this fresh October morning the _Blankshire_ lay moored at her usual +berth in Marseilles harbour, and the overland passengers were streaming +aboard in great numbers. + +Hoskins and Shafto, leaning over the bulwarks, watched the long +procession of travellers, followed by porters, bearing their light +baggage. + +“There are a good few, you see,” remarked Hoskins; “this is a popular +ship and date. We won’t have an empty berth—anyway as far as the Canal. +Most of this crowd,” waving a hand, “these with maids and valets, are +bound for Egypt; there will be a big contingent for Colombo and +Southern India. I’m a bit curious to see our own little lot.—Ah! here +comes one of them!” + +He indicated a stout imposing person, who was majestically ascending +the gangway. + +“That’s Lady Puffle, the consort of one of our big wigs; very official +and dignified, keeps old Fluffy in grand order. The next, the tall +handsome woman, is Mrs. Pomeroy, wife of the Judicial Commissioner, a +real lady, and—hullo! she has brought out a daughter! Not, as far as I +can see, up to her mother’s sample; too much nose and too much bone. +And next, we have Mrs. Flint, of Flint and Co., a big house. She gives +the best dinners in Rangoon. The little fair lady with the small dog is +Mrs. Maitland, wife of the General Commanding in Burma, and the one +with her must be her sister, or sister-in-law. Here comes the great +Otto Bernhard, junior partner in the house of Bernhard Brothers; as you +see, a fine, handsome man, with the most All Highest moustache; and +also owns a heavenly tenor voice—but I would not trust him farther than +I could throw him!” + +“And that would not be far,” said Shafto; “he weighs every ounce of +fourteen stone.” + +“Yes, a big man in every way, trades on his voice and his good looks, +as well as in teak and paddy—an unscrupulous devil where women are +concerned; the lady he is escorting is Mrs. Lacy; you would not think +to look at her, so slim, gracious and smiling, that she is a noted +man-eater.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Well, perhaps the expression is a bit too strong. She has a subtle way +of attracting mankind. It amuses her and, in the long run, does no +harm. Wait till you see how they will collect about her on board—like +flies round a pot of honey.” + +“Shall you be one of the flies?” + +“Possibly. I enjoy being fascinated and I like honey! She is very +amusing and dances like a moonbeam. Those are two coffee planters, +wonderful pals and bridge players, and here comes a strange lady, +probably a tourist—rich too.” + +Shafto looked and saw a handsome grey-haired woman, with a round +smiling face, wearing a long sable coat and an air of complacent +prosperity. + +“Why, for a wonder I know her!” he declared. “It’s Mrs. Milward. Her +sister was our neighbour at home; I’ve met her often.” + +“Who is she?” + +“A widow—very rich, I believe. I think her daughter is married to a man +in India—or Burma.” + +“Is this the daughter following up the gangway?” + +“No; I’ve never seen her before.” + +“I say, what a pretty girl—and a ripping figure! Once seen, never +forgotten, eh? When you have claimed the chaperon you must present me +to the young lady—especially as you are out of the running yourself.” + +“Out of the running—what do you mean?” + +“Merely that I happened to witness that tender parting at Tilbury—the +little girl in the green hat, who was crying her eyes out!” + +“She was my cousin,” protested Shafto; “nothing more.” + +“Oh, come!” rejoined Hoskins, with a knowing sidelong glance. + +“Upon my honour! nothing whatever to me but that.” + +“Well, I suppose I’m bound to take your word for it, but it looked +uncommonly touching—so like the real thing, and yet merely a case of +strong family affection!” + +“Yes, that’s all.” + +“Well, let us descend and make ourselves presentable for lunch; nothing +like first impressions.” + +After lunch, when the new-comers had found their places and scattered +about, watching the shores of France recede, Shafto approached Mrs. +Milward and bowed himself before her. + +“Why, Douglas!” she exclaimed, “this _is_ a surprise, a delightful +surprise. What on earth are _you_ doing here?” + +“Making a voyage to Rangoon.” + +“Rangoon! So am I. An amazing coincidence. Now come and sit down at +once and tell me all about yourself.” + +“I think you have heard all there is to know.” + +“Yes; that you had become so distant and reserved and so like an oyster +in its shell, and there was no getting you to ‘Tremenheere.’” + +“But I was not my own master—I was in an office.” + +“My dear boy, where there’s a will there’s a way.” + +“There is no way of taking leave—unless you wish to get the key of the +street,” he retorted with a laugh. + +“And what takes you to Rangoon?” + +“A post in a big mercantile house. I’ve to thank Mr. Tremenheere: I owe +it to his interest—it’s a splendid chance for me.” + +“Well, I’m sure you deserve it, my dear boy, if ever anyone did. You +don’t ask why I am on the high seas. I am en route, to Mandalay—Ella is +there. After I’ve paid her a visit, I’m going on to India, to stay with +your old friend Geoffrey. He and you are about the same age, are you +not?” + +“Yes; where is he now?” + +“He is in the White Hussars at Lucknow—he was at Sandhurst with you, +wasn’t he?” + +Shafto nodded, and the lady continued: + +“I’m bringing out a girl, such a darling!—She’s down unpacking in our +cabin; a dear child. Her mother is an old friend of mine; her father +was rector of our parish. I drop her in Rangoon.” + +“Oh, do you?” + +“Her name is Sophy Leigh, and she is going out to stay with an aunt, +who is something of an invalid. Her husband is in business, a +German—said to be rolling in money.” + +“That sounds all right.” + +“And Sophy can’t speak a word of German, though French like a native, +and she plays the piano delightfully. Her father died some years ago, +and Mrs. Leigh and the girls live in town—Chelsea; not rich, but have +enough to go on with and are a very happy trio. One day a letter came +from the German uncle asking for a niece—and if possible a musical +niece—so Sophy was sent; anyway, her sister is engaged to be married +and was not available. My friend, Mrs. Leigh, was very sorry to lose +her girl—even for a year or so, but it seemed such a chance for Sophy +to see the world, and make friends with her rich and childless +relatives.” + +“I expect she will have a good time in Burma?” + +“Bound to, for she is one of those fortunate people who make their own +happiness. Here she comes!” + +As she concluded, a tall, slim girl, with a face of morning freshness, +wearing a rose silk sports coat and fluttering white skirt, approached, +and Shafto instantly realised that such a personality was likely to +have a good time anywhere! Miss Leigh’s dark eyes were lovely, and she +had a radiant smile; she smiled on Shafto when he was presented by her +chaperon: + +“Sophy, this is a most particular friend of mine; I’ve known him since +he was in blouses—a boy with sticky fingers, who refused to be kissed. +Mr. Shafto—Miss Leigh.” + +Mrs. Milward was a handsome, impulsive, kind-hearted woman of forty +five; her arched, dark eye-brows and a wonderful natural complexion +gave her a fictitious air of youth—slightly discounted by a comfortable +and matronly figure. Some declared that her round face, short nose, and +large eyes produced a resemblance to a well-to-do pussy cat, but this +was the voice of envy. She had a clever maid, dressed well, and with +the exception of the loss of her husband, had never known a care; there +was scarcely a line or wrinkle on her charming soft face. Now, with her +girl happily married, and her boy in the Army, she felt a free woman, +and was anxious to try her wings—and her liberty! Though popular with +rich and poor, she was by no means a perfect character; extraordinarily +indiscreet and rash in her confidences—there was no secret cupboard in +her composition—she threw open all her mental stores and also those of +her intimates. Aware of this failing, she would deplore it and say: + +“Don’t tell me any important secrets, my dear—for I can never keep +them, in spite of my good resolutions. They will jump out and play +about among my latest news and good stories.” + +That night in their cabin, as she and her charge talked and discussed +their fellow passengers, the life history of Douglas was her principal +topic. With considerable detail, she related his happy prospects and +the shattering of these; told of his cultured father and odious, +underbred mother, whom she particularly detested; spoke of his +withdrawal from old friends, lest he might seem to sponge, and how, +instead of being in the Army serving his country like her own boy, +enjoying his youth and a comfortable allowance, he was stuck in a +gloomy City office, drawing a miserable salary, and enduring the whims +and temper of an empty-headed, selfish parent. + +“She married again the other day,” added Mrs. Milward, “a rich Jew. +I’ve not a word to say against the Jews—a marvellously clever race; in +fact, I think a little Jew blood gives brains; and as to riches, of +course there’s no harm in _them_; but this Manasseh Levison is so +common and fat, and seems to reek of furniture polish and money. I’ve +seen him at ‘the Mulberry’ at tea, gobbling cakes like a glutton and +making such a noise. Oh, what a contrast to Mr. Shafto, so aristocratic +and so courteous—a man whom it seemed almost a privilege to know!” + +And in this strain, Mrs. Milward, reclining in her berth, chattered on, +whilst her companion brushed her heavy, dark hair, and imbibed a strong +feeling of interest and pity for the good-looking hero of her +chaperon’s impressive sketch. + +Quite unintentionally this voluble lady had enlisted the mutual +sympathy of these young people; she had laid, so to speak, a match; +whether a mutual liking would ignite it or not was uncertain—but the +prospect was favourable. + + + + +CHAPTER X +THE LAND OF PROMISE + + +As the voyage progressed various groups thawed and amalgamated, even +“the Potter’s Field” experiencing a temporary resurrection. +Theatricals, bridge tournaments and concerts brought the passengers +into touch with one another, the sole member who held herself augustly +aloof being Lady Puffle. She remained secluded in her cabin, or +occupied an isolated position on deck, appearing at dinner with a brave +show of appetite, diamonds and airs, paralysing her neighbours with a +petrifying stare. Occasionally she accorded a bow or “Good morning” to +her sole and necessary acquaintance, the ship’s doctor, whom she +informed that in her position she was debarred from mixing with the +crowd—as later, in Rangoon, these people might presume on the +acquaintance. + +One of the special events of the voyage was the two days’ sports, and +here Shafto distinguished himself by winning a severe obstacle race; he +was a nimble, muscular youth, who, thanks to school games and the +gymnasium, climbed, ran, and leapt with inspirited agility, and when at +last he touched the winning tape, breathless but exultant, there was a +spontaneous outburst of clapping and cheers. + +Prize-giving was the occasion of his triumph. This was his five +minutes, when he advanced to receive from Lady Puffle a clock, set of +studs and a thermos flask—all carefully laid in at Malta by the +provident “Amusements Committee.” Shafto bore his honours modestly, and +was glared on by Bernhard who, drawn up beside her ladyship like an +Imperial Guardsman, presented an alarmingly militant and stern +appearance. + +Between him and this particular “Englander” no love was wasted. Once, +when they had collided on the companion ladder, Shafto’s agility alone +had saved him from a heavy fall, and the obstructor had neither looked +back nor offered apology. Probably he concluded that charming Miss +Leigh, who accompanied his songs with such delicate sympathy, accorded +too much of her society to this young man; and, after all, what was he? +A London clerk, going out to begin at the bottom of the ladder, as one +of Gregory’s assistants. Naturally he disliked Gregory’s, a rival and +substantial house, which, like his own, dealt largely in paddy—and this +casual, outspoken, clear-eyed youngster was just the type of person +specially abhorred by the Prussian Junker. Now that the music-room had +two such efficient performers as Bernhard and Miss Leigh, Shafto and +others abandoned the bridge tables and enjoyed a rare treat. Miss Leigh +presided at the piano and appeared to have complete command of the +instrument; she could read anything at sight, no matter how it bristled +with sharps and accidentals; her repertoire ranged from Beethoven, +Bach, Grieg, Chopin, to the latest ragtime, and her playing had a crisp +ringing touch that was delightful. + +Hoskins, who was endowed with a good baritone, sang quaint Burmese +songs with gratifying effect. There was something weird and yet musical +in the solemn and majestic “Toung Soboo Byne,” or “Yama Kyo,” from a +native opera, and the Royal boat song as sung by the King’s boatmen +when rowing His Majesty on State occasions. + +Mrs. Maitland’s contribution was a beautifully trained light soprano, +but the Caruso of the company was Herr Otto Bernhard; amazing that a +man of his sensual nature and proclivities should be gifted with a +voice fit to swell heaven’s choir. He sang Wagner, Gounod, Schubert +with absolute impartiality, as well as numbers of melting German +_lieder_ and touching English ballads. He brought smarting tears to the +eyes of comfortable matrons, and swept their thoughts back to poignant +moments of long ago—to youth and first love, to moonlight nights, +entrancing meetings and heart-rending farewells! As for the younger and +less emotional generation, even they were moved out of their everyday +composure and hung upon the singer’s words with breathless +appreciation. + +There was a number of young people on board the _Blankshire_, and since +the good old days of Tadpool Shafto had never enjoyed himself so +thoroughly. It was the first time since he had arrived at man’s estate +that he had been associated with girls of his own class. There were no +fewer than thirty on board—of these, eleven were brides elect—but the +prettiest of all, and to him the most attractive, was Miss Leigh. He +looked for her the first thing when he stepped on deck in the mornings, +and in the evenings watched her departure with wistful regret. +Meanwhile, between morning and evening he contrived to see as much of +the young lady as possible—though when out of sight she was never +absent from his mind. + +“Was he about to fall in love?” He was conscious of a vague wonder and +sense of alarm. A hopeless attachment would be a fatal misfortune to a +fellow beginning a new life; a life that required the whole of his mind +and the best of his energies; but, like the moth and the candle, he +still continued to hover round Miss Leigh—and Miss Leigh was not averse +to his society. Together they talked and argued, played quoits and +danced. A stern, inward voice assured Shafto that, luckily for him, +there was a fixed date for the terminating of his enchantment—the day +when the _Blankshire_ entered the Irrawaddy river and was moored to her +berth. Then Miss Leigh would go her way to be the joy and the light of +wealthy relatives—he, to begin his new work at the very bottom of the +ladder. + +Another voice also made itself heard, which said: “One is young but +once! Make the most of these shining hours; sufficient unto the day is +the evil thereof.” + +When in a placid temper, the Red Sea is favourable for dances and +theatricals and, much against his will, Shafto was dragged into “the +Neptune” company by Hoskins, a resolute, determined individual, who +filled the thankless office of stage manager. Shafto was cast for the +part of an old gentleman, the role being softened and alleviated by the +fact that he was to undertake to play uncle to Miss Leigh. Although +Bernhard had no part in the piece itself, being an authority, he +superintended its production, and on several occasions addressed Miss +Leigh’s temporary “uncle” in a manner that increased Shafto’s natural +aversion to what Hoskins termed “The great blond brute!” The play +proved to be a success and there was little or no jealousy or friction. +Amazing to record, Miss Pomeroy and Miss Leigh—the two principal +ladies—still remained the very best of friends. During rehearsals +Shafto and his “niece” exchanged a good deal of dialogue that was not +in the piece—thanks partly to Mrs. Milward’s introductions and +revelations, and partly to a mutual attraction, they now knew one +another rather well. They sat with their chaperon and listened to her +incessant flow of talk with appreciative sympathy, played deck quoits, +walked and danced together, and were for looks and accomplishments the +most prominent couple on the _Blankshire_. + +“Tell me, dear lady,” said Mrs. Maitland, sinking into a deck-chair +beside Sophy’s chaperon, “do you intend anything to come of _that_?” +and she nodded at a pair who, with heads fairly near, were leaning over +the side, engrossed in watching the divers at Aden. + +“What do you mean?” + +“It’s rather a case, is it not? First love and an early marriage!” + +“If you mean Sophy and young Shafto, why, they haven’t a bad sixpence +between them!” + +“No?” and Mrs. Maitland looked gravely interrogative. + +“Well, perhaps I’ve been incautious—indiscreet—now that I look back.” +(Yes, and with a sense of guilt she recalled her talks to both; her +praise and her explanations.) “But the fact is that though they have +never met till now, I’ve known them both as children, and I could not +well avoid bringing them together, but I don’t think there’s any harm +done; they are as simple and open as the day. There’s no flirting—they +are just enjoying the new surroundings and these golden hours—but I’ll +be more careful and put a stop to their after-dinner promenades. I’ll +take your hint.” + +“I hope it won’t be a case of locking the stable-door when the steed +has been stolen.” + +“No; but whoever steals Sophy will get a prize—and she does thoroughly +enjoy every hour of the day. She is so pretty and transparent and +sweet; she makes me think of a lovely flower, floating serenely on a +summer river. I expect she will be a great success in Rangoon.” + +As there was no immediate answer on the part of Mrs. Maitland, she +added quickly: + +“Don’t you think so?” + +“Well, yes—I hope so; but, you see, Miss Leigh is going to live in +rather an odd home.” + +“Odd?” + +“Oh, it’s absolutely respectable—but—out of the world—our world. Mr. +Krauss is a German and said to be rich; he does not belong to a firm or +house, but is on his own. Of course, he is a member of the Gymkhana and +all that; but he keeps to the German set and lives among them over in +Kokine; then his English wife, once a celebrated beauty, is a +semi-invalid. As he never—they say—does anything without some +well-considered reason, and is always on the make, I hope to goodness +he has not decoyed this charming girl to Rangoon merely to be her +aunt’s nurse—and his housekeeper.” + +“I should hope not, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Milward. “My cousin Mary +Gregory must have an eye on my young friend—I’ll see to that. I shall +be stopping with Mary for a few days before going up the river; but I +think Sophy will be all right. After all, Mrs. Krauss is her own aunt.” + +If Shafto and Sophy had become friendly over games, discussions and +little special teas with Mrs. Milward, Bernhard cemented his +acquaintance by means of their mutual love of music; but it seemed to +the girl that, after he had heard her destination, Herr Bernhard’s +manner had undergone a subtle change. The protégée of a wealthy +woman—who wore wonderful rings and priceless pearls and carried herself +as a high-born dame—was another person from the mere transitory +companion who, once at Rangoon, would be handed over to Karl Krauss, +her uncle—incredible! Uncle by marriage—yes, but still an inmate of his +home. + +“And so I hear you are niece to Herr Krauss,” he began abruptly, as he +lounged against the bulwarks; “I know him well.” + +“And my aunt?” + +“Yes, I’ve met her two or three times; she must have been splendidly +handsome once; now she looks broken up—it’s the climate. No woman +should remain in Lower Burma for eight years without a change.” + +“I did not know the climate was so bad; I’m afraid I know very little +about Burma; it seems so far away—much farther off than India.” + +“Yes, and a far more beautiful country—a land flowing with rivers and +riches, and full of charming people, who live for the day, like so many +butterflies, and do no work.” + +“Then who does work?” + +“The Madrassi, the Sikh, the Chinese, and, above all, the European. +Rangoon has an enormous trade; I wonder what you will think of it?” + +“I feel sure that I shall like it; I have always longed to see the +East.” + +“Ah, that is a common wish—the _sun_ rises in the East! We Germans like +the East—the East likes us. _We_ own Burma!” + +After a moment’s pause, which gave his companion time to digest this +surprising statement, he went on, “Have you ever seen Herr Krauss?” + +“No! when my aunt came home he always went to Germany—to Frankfort, I +think.” + +“So his acquaintance has yet to be made; it is what you call a pleasure +in store. I wonder what you will think of the unknown uncle; perhaps +some day you will tell me?” Then he gave an odd laugh and walked away, +still laughing. + +Bernhard’s place was speedily filled by another man. Most people +considered Miss Leigh the beauty of the ship, but this novel and +agreeable prominence had not spoiled her and she was always ready to +oblige—to accompany a song, amuse the children, pick up and rectify a +piece of knitting, promenade the deck, play quoits, or dance. + +The various other girls on board, with whom she was popular, had +assured her of the joys awaiting her and them in Rangoon. Dances, +picknics, concerts, paper-chases—in short, no end of gaiety—all to be +enjoyed in that yet unknown and romantic country, “the Land of the +Golden Umbrella.” Often the girls sat in one another’s cabins, +discussed and described frocks and beautiful toilettes, at present +unseen and packed away in the baggage-room. Also they talked over their +fellow-passengers—not forgetting the young men—and when Shafto’s name +was mentioned, an occasional sly glance or hint would be thrown at +Sophy, of which she endeavoured to appear serenely unconscious. + + +Early one morning the passengers awoke to find themselves at anchor in +Colombo harbour, and the soft warm air brought them a delicious whiff +of the celebrated cinnamon gardens. Many were landing for Southern +India and a quantity of cargo had to be discharged. As this was bound +to be a lengthy process, the remnant who were bound for Rangoon had +nearly a whole day ashore. Mrs. Milward and maid, and her young friends +Miss Leigh and Mr. Shafto, Herr Bernhard, the Pomeroys, Mrs. Lacy and +several of her satellites, breakfasted at the Galle Face Hotel, and +subsequently made trips in rickshaws, shopped in the bazaar, and had +afternoon tea at Mount Lavinia. + +It was, as everyone agreed, a most delightful break. On that same +evening, as they steamed out into the moonlit Bay of Bengal, Sophy and +Shafto paced the half-deserted deck, gazing on the Southern Cross, and +the former suddenly said: + +“That was our last stopping-place. When I leave the _Blankshire_, where +I have been so much at home, I shall feel rather astray.” + +“So you would like a home on the rolling deep?” suggested her +companion. + +“No, indeed; shall I _ever_ forget that day we had off Crete? But I +have never been long away from mother; I am going to a new country, a +new life, and almost new relations—it all seems so strange and vague.” + +“But your aunt cannot be a stranger,” suggested Shafto. “You know her, +don’t you?” + +“Oh, yes; but I have not seen her for eight years. The last time she +was over, she stayed with us for a few weeks. I remember her as +handsome and beautifully dressed, with wonderful toilet arrangements in +ivory and silver, and bottles of heavy Indian scent. She was very kind +and had such soft caressing manners, and gave us lots of chocolate and +nice presents. I recollect a beautiful emerald ring she wore—but I +cannot recall the colour of her eyes.” + +“Oh, well, that oversight will soon be repaired!” + +“Aunt Flora was fond of gaiety and theatres; we lived in Chelsea, and +as our small house could hardly hold her big boxes and we had no +telephone, she went to the Carlton, where she was more in the middle of +things, and could entertain her friends from India and Burma—but she +came to see us two or three times a week.” + +“And where was her lord and master?” + +“In Germany; I have never seen him.” + +“How did your aunt come across him?” + +“In Hong Kong, of all places! She was married at eighteen to a young +officer; they ran away, and I believe grandpa never forgave her. He was +a General, a strict old martinet, and she was his favourite daughter. +After they had been married a couple of years, Aunt Flora’s husband was +killed in an accident and she was left rather badly off. People out +there were very kind to her. She had been hurt in the accident and was +laid up for months. Then this rich German asked her to marry him, and +as she was reluctant to return home and face grandpa, she said ‘Yes.’ +But perhaps it was love match number two.” + +“Yes, perhaps it was.” + +“That all happened twenty years ago, and since then Aunt Flora has made +her home in the East—China, the Straits Settlements and Burma. You see, +her friends and her interests are mostly out there. She and mother +always write to one another; we do her commissions in London, and she +sends us Burmese silks and umbrellas and curry stuff; but we were +immensely surprised when, without any little hints or preparations, +Uncle Karl wrote and invited me to pay them a long visit—and so here I +am! I do hope I shan’t be a fish out of water. I’ve never been +accustomed to living with wealthy people, and, I’m told that Uncle Karl +is immensely rich.” + +“You need not consider that a drawback. It is better than being +immensely poor—for instance, like myself.” + +“You don’t look poor.” + +She smiled as she glanced at his well-cut suit and admirable brown +shoes. + +“I’m not exactly a whining beggar, selling boot laces and matches, but +I am uncommonly glad to have got this job, which brings me in about +four hundred a year. In London I was a clerk at less than half, and +here is my chance to see the world—and I’m bound to make the most of +it.” + +“Mrs. Milward said you were to have gone into the Army.” + +“Yes, but if you can’t get what you like, you must like what you can +get,” was the philosophic rejoinder. + +“I suppose your people were very sorry to part with you. My poor mother +cried for nearly three days; my sister, I know, will miss me +dreadfully. This is not sheer vanity, as you might suppose, but we have +always done things together—and there is only a year between us.” + +“Well, my mother did not cry much, and I have no sisters to mourn for +me.” + +“No sisters,” she echoed, as if the fact struck hot as unusual. + +“No, nor brothers either—only cousins.” + +“Sometimes they do just as well; are they pretty?” + +“No,” he answered rather curtly, as Cossie’s round complacent face rose +before his mental eye. + +After a short pause he changed the topic and asked: + +“Do you ride, Miss Leigh?” + +“Yes, but not since we’ve come to London; I love riding. In the +country, in father’s lifetime, I rode a cob—he went in the cart, too; +he was such a dear, but very tricky; once or twice he ran away with me; +I didn’t tell father, because I knew I’d never again be allowed to ride +alone, and I do enjoy riding by myself.” + +“I’m sorry to hear that, for if I can rise to the price of a gee, I was +hoping you would allow me to join you occasionally.” + +“I should be delighted, but——” and she hesitated. + +“Oh, yes,” he added quickly, “I know what you are going to say: ‘How +about a chaperon?’” + +“Perhaps they don’t keep chaperons in Rangoon?” + +“Oh, yes, my dear, they do,” declared Mrs. Maitland, who, as she joined +them, had overheard the last remark, “and extra fierce specimens, I can +assure you! Miss Leigh, they want me to sing Gounod’s ‘Ave Maria,’ so +will you be an angel and come and play my accompaniment?” + +As Miss Leigh was always ready to be “an angel” at a moment’s notice, +she offered no resistance when Mrs. Maitland took her by the arm and +led her away to the music-room. + +Shafto and Miss Leigh were usually among the first to appear on deck, +both being early risers; she, in order to leave a clear field for Mrs. +Milward’s prolonged toilet, and the elaborate operations of her clever +maid. The pretty grey hair had to be taken out of pins, brushed, +back-combed and deftly arranged, as the frame to its owner’s beaming +and youthful face. Lacing, buttoning and hooking also absorbed +considerable time. + +As for Shafto, he was no lie-a-bed. Even in those dark, raw winter days +at Lincoln Square, when breakfast was served by electric light, he was +always punctual, and one of the first to descend and retrieve his boots +through the smoky atmosphere of the lower regions. What a contrast were +those murky hours to these glorious mornings in the tropics—the green +translucent sea, the soft golden light, the salt, stimulating air, all +shimmering and melting together! The day really dawned for Shafto when +a certain Panama hat, crowning a beautiful head, emerged from the +companion ladder, and the smile in a pair of bright dark eyes greeted +him like a ray of sunshine. One morning, as the couple paced the deck +before breakfast, accompanied by Mr. Hoskins, an excited fellow +traveller accosted the trio. + +“I say,” he began, “have you heard? They have just signalled land +ahead!” + +“Oh, where?” cried Sophy eagerly. + +“Do you see over the starboard bow, that faint dark streak upon the sky +line?” + +She nodded. + +“Well then,” he announced impressively, “that is Burma!” + +Shafto snatched up a pair of glasses and gazed at the long line of +coast and, as he gazed, he felt as if he stood upon Pisgah and a whole +new world lay open before him. He was figuratively surveying the +Promised Land! + + + + +CHAPTER XI +A BURMESE HOSTESS + + +Early in the same afternoon the _Blankshire_ picked up her pilot at +Elephant Point and entered the famous Irrawaddy. Long before her +destination was in sight, twenty miles from the sea, the glorious Shwe +Dagon, a shining golden object, towered into view, flashing in the +sunlight against a background of impenetrable woods. + +Rangoon, on a river navigable for nine hundred miles, is a large and +important seaport and, as the wealth of one of the richest countries +filters through its ports, naturally the approach is thronged with +shipping. Our incoming liner met or overtook cargo steamers, tank +ships, battered tramps and heavily laden wind-jammers in the tow of +straining tugs, not to mention steam-launches, barges and swarms of the +local _sampan_, or small boat. + +At the wharf where, amidst deafening yells and hoarse shoutings, the +_Blankshire_ crept to her berth, crowds of different races—brown, +black, yellow and white—awaited the English mail. Passengers were +eagerly claimed by their friends and hurried away to motors and +carriages; all was excitement and bustle. Alas! ’board-ship friendships +soon evaporate, and presently Shafto found himself standing on the +aft-deck with his gun-case and cabin luggage, deserted and +forgotten—no, for here came Hoskins, the police officer, hot and +breathless. + +“I say, look here, old chap!” he panted, “I’m just off to catch my +train to Tonghoo, but I’ve had a word with FitzGerald; it will be all +right about the chummery; they can take you in on Monday. I see Salter +on board, one of the head assistants in Gregory’s; I expect he has come +to meet you. Well, I must run; so long!” + +This good-natured fellow passenger was immediately succeeded by a cabin +steward. “Been looking for you everywhere, sir,” he said; “there’s a +gentleman come aboard asking for you.” As he concluded, a spare, +middle-aged man wearing a large topee and a dust-coloured suit +approached and said: + +“Mr. Shafto, I believe?” and offered a welcoming hand. + +“Yes,” assented the new arrival. + +“I’m Salter from Gregory’s. Manders, the head assistant, asked me to +meet you. I’ll be glad to help you get your things ashore and take you +to the Strand Hotel, where I have booked you a room.” + +“That is most awfully good of you,” replied Shafto. “On Monday I +believe I am to get quarters in a chummery.” + +“Ah, so you are settled, I see. Now, if you will show me your baggage, +I have a couple of coolies here with a cart and a taxi for ourselves.” + +Mr. Salter proved to be remarkably prompt in his measures, and in less +than ten minutes Shafto found himself following his flat narrow back +down the steep gangway and setting his foot for the first time on the +soil of Burma. He halted for a moment to look about. Here was a +landmark in his life, a new sphere lay before him; the street was +humming and alive with people, and he stared at the jostling, motley +crowd of British, Burmese, Chinese, mostly a gaily-clad ever-changing +multitude. Among them were shaven priests in yellow robes. Shans in +flapping hats; right in front of him stood a stalwart Burman, wearing a +white jacket, a pink silk handkerchief, twisted jauntily around his +bullet head, and a yellow Lungi, girded to the knee, displayed a +three-tailed cat tattooed on the back of each substantial calf. + +And what a curious, soft and penetrating atmosphere; moist and loaded +with unfamiliar, aromatic odours! + +However, Mr. Salter, a man of action, had no time to spare for +contemplation, and briskly hustled the stranger into a waiting taxi—for +the old days of the rattling, shattered _gharry_ are numbered. + +“I suppose this is all new to you?” said Shafto’s acquaintance as they +struggled up the crowded Strand, lined with imposing offices and vast +_godowns_, or warehouses. + +“You may say so,” he replied, eagerly gazing at the dense passing +throng—animated women with flower-decked hair, square-shouldered, +sauntering men, carrying flat umbrellas and smoking huge cheroots, +Khaki-clad Tommies and yellow-faced John Chinamen. + +“Oh, there’s lots to see in Burma,” continued Salter, “an extraordinary +mixture of people and races, and a most beautiful country; such +splendid rivers and forests—but here, in Rangoon, everyone has but one +idea.” + +In answer to Shafto’s glance of interrogation he said: + +“We are a commercial community, and our sole aim and object is to work, +to get rich, and go home.” + +“But that doesn’t apply to the native?” + +“No, the Burman does not work; he is merely a spectator. The industry +of others amuses him; his chief object is to enjoy life. Well, here is +the hotel; let us go in and have a look at your quarters.” + +After the baggage had been disposed of and Shafto’s room inspected and +criticised, his companion still lingered talking. To Salter, the +proverbially eccentric, this new-comer appeared to be an intelligent +young fellow whom he would like and take to. There was no superior +“just out from London to the back of God-speed” air about him. On the +contrary, he appeared to be genuinely interested in his surroundings +and insatiable for information. It struck him, too, that the forlorn +stranger would put in a mighty dull and solitary evening and, stirred +by a benevolent impulse, he said: + +“Suppose you come back and dine at my diggings? I may be able to give +you a few hints as I am an old hand.” + +“I should be delighted,” assented Shafto, “if it won’t be putting you +out?” + +“Oh no, not a bit; Mrs. Salter is accustomed to my bringing home a +stray guest.” + +“Had I not better dress?” + +“Certainly not; come along with me now, just as you are.” + +Thus the matter being arranged, the pair once more entered the taxi, +and were presently steering through the traffic of various +thoroughfares and teeming bazaars. All at once, with an unexpected +lurch, the car turned into a wide, well-shaded enclosure and halted +before a low, heavily-roofed house, supported on stout wooden legs—an +old-time residence. + +“Do you go up,” urged Shako’s host, “whilst I pay the taxi—you can +settle with me later.” Here spoke the canny Yorkshire tyke. + +Shafto, as requested, climbed the stairs leading up to a wide veranda, +on which opened a sitting-room, lined with teak wood and lighted by +long glass doors. Here he was confronted by a little Burmese woman with +a beaming face. She wore a short white jacket, an extraordinarily tight +satin petticoat, or, _tamain_ of wonderful butterfly colours, enormous +gold ear-rings, and a flower stuck coquettishly behind her left ear. At +first he supposed her to be a picturesque attendant, but when she +extended a tiny hand loaded with rings and murmured “Pleased to see +you!” he realised that he was addressed by the mistress of the house. + +“This is my wife,” announced Salter as he entered. “Mee Lay, here’s Mr. +Shafto, one of our new assistants, just out from England; I hope you +can give him a good dinner?” + +“Oh yes, it will be all right,” and once more she beamed upon her +guest, “I will go and see about it now.” + +And in spite of her tight skirt, Mee Lay glided out of the room with an +air of surpassing grace. + +“I dare say you are surprised to see that Mrs. Salter is of _this +country_,” said her husband, as he sank into a chair; “but it is by no +means an uncommon match here. Burmese women are very good-humoured and +capable; they make capital wives, and there is no denying the +fascination of the Burmese girl—always so piquant and smiling and +dainty. They have also a wonderful capacity for business and +money-making, and a real hunger for land; some of the best plots in and +about Rangoon have been picked up by these shrewd little creatures. The +men-folk, on the other hand, are incurably lazy. They loaf, gamble and +amuse themselves and leave their women-kind to trade, or to weave silks +and manufacture cheroots; numbers of them are in business. Mee Lay, my +wife, owns and runs a good-sized rice mill; and if you were to look +into the back compound you would see it entirely surrounded by her +matted paddy-bins, biding a rise in the market.” + +A yet further surprise awaited Shafto, in the shape of a little sallow +girl, with clouds of crimped golden hair, beautifully dressed in +European style, in a white embroidered frock and wide silk sash. + +Rosetta had inherited the high cheek-bones and short nose of her +mother’s race, the blue eyes and firm jaw of her Yorkshire parent. On +the whole, she was an attractive child. + +Miss Rosetta Salter received the strange gentleman with overpowering +condescension, and spoke English in a thin, squeaky voice. In a +flatteringly short time she had descended from her high horse, and +accepted Shafto as a friend, revealed her age (eight years) and told +him all about her French doll and her new brown boots—also from Paris. + +The dinner, which was announced directly after the return of Mrs. +Salter, proved to be excellent, well cooked and a novelty. For the +first time Shafto tasted real curry, also mango fool. The appointments +were exclusively European, with the exception of a massive silver bowl, +filled with purple orchids, which adorned the centre of the table. Two +snowy-clad Madras servants waited with silent dexterity and +conversation never flagged. Salter discoursed of chummeries and the +_Blankshire_ passengers, and Mrs. Salter thoughtfully prepared the new +arrival for the alarming insects of Lower Burma, whilst Rosetta, for +her part, kept up an accompaniment on a high chirruping note. + +During a momentary pause Shafto was startled by an odd sound—an +imperious, unnatural voice that called, “Tucktoo! Tucktoo! Tucktoo!” + +“What is it—or _who_ is it?” he inquired anxiously. + +“Oh, it’s only a large lizard that lives under the eaves,” explained +Salter, “one of our specialities. In the rains, when he is in good +voice, he is deafening.” + +“He brings good and bad luck,” added Mrs. Salter. “Oh, yes, that is +so,” and she flipped the air with her two first fingers, a favourite +gesture among Burmese women. + +“How do you mean luck?” Shafto asked. + +“If he gives seven ‘Tucktoos’ without stopping, that is luck—great big +luck—but if he goes on, he brings trouble.” + +“Only if he stops at an odd number,” corrected the child. + +“I see you know all about it,” remarked the guest. + +“Oh, yes, our Tucktoo never goes beyond seven—I think he is old—and +mother says the _nats_ are kind to us.” + +“The cats are kind to you!” ejaculated Shafto. “But why not?” + +“No, no,” hastily broke in Salter, “nats are spirits, good spirits or +bad, who live in the trees; you will hear enough about them before you +are a month in Burma. Their worship is the national faith.” + +“But I thought Buddhism——” began Shafto, and hesitated. + +“Oh, yes, ostensibly and ostentatiously, but wait and see.” + +“I am a Catholic,” announced the child abruptly. + +She was excessively self-conscious and anxious to show off before +Shafto. + +“Are you really?” he said with an incredulous smile. + +“Oh, yes, I attend the convent school; I am learning French and +dancing, I go to mass; mother goes to the pagoda festivals—mother is a +heathen.” + +“Rosetta! Mind what you are saying,” sharply interposed Salter; “your +mother’s no more a heathen than yourself.” + +“Rosetta is a nasty little girl,” said Mrs. Salter, rising, “she +forgets herself before company, and must go away to be——” + +A succession of shrieks interrupted the verdict. + +“Oh, do forgive her, please!” implored Shafto; “I ask it as a favour, a +special favour.” + +Meanwhile Rosetta clung to her mother apostrophising her in an unknown +tongue, then with piercing screams, entirely regardless of her +beautiful clean frock, she flung herself flat upon the floor. + +If Shafto had been inclined to meditation, he might have reflected on +the future of the offspring of two such divergent countries as the West +Riding of Yorkshire and Pegu. At one moment the prim, well-mannered +English girl; the next, an impulsive, emotional daughter of the Far +East. When she grew to woman’s estate, which of the races would +predominate? + +Meanwhile, as Rosetta lay prone and kicking upon the _dhurri_, her +father murmured apologetically: + +“When the lassie is a bit over-fired and excited, she doesn’t know what +she is saying.” + +Mee Lay raised her struggling offspring, was about to bear her away and +give her “Tap Tap,” when again Shafto interposed: + +“Oh, I say, do forgive her this time, please, Mrs. Salter. This is my +first day in Rangoon—and I ask it as a particular favour.” + +Mee Lay, an adoring parent, was by no means reluctant to grant his +petition, and when the tearful culprit was released and set down, she +turned to Shafto and said in her piping treble: + +“Thank you, nice gentleman, but she would not have hurt me much. It was +not I who said mother was a heathen savage, but Ethel Lucas, and I +slapped her, so I did—and Sister gave me a bad mark. I, too, go to the +pagoda festivals and like them awfully much. There are bells and beads, +and flowers and priests, the same as in the convent.” + +“Now that peace has been declared, Rosetta, here is a chocolate,” said +her father, “and you can go to bed. Shafto, we will adjourn into the +veranda to smoke, watch the rising moon, and listen to the hum of the +bazaar—a new sound for your ears!” + +In a few minutes both were extended in comfortable, long cane chairs, +no doubt experiencing an agreeable sense of _bien être_. The outlook, +with its heavy foliage, was restful to the eye, and the air was charged +with a spicy warmth. + +Presently Salter began: “On Monday you are due at the office to report +yourself. You need not be scared at the Head, although he has a stiff, +discouraging sort of manner, and they say that, like the east wind, he +finds out all your weak points in the twinkling of an eye! He is just +and impartial, and no man is more respected in the whole of Burma than +George Gregory. I suppose you know that Gregory’s is one of the +oldest-established houses here?” + +Shafto nodded; he had learned this fact on board ship. + +“We do a great trade and employ a number of young fellows, mostly from +public schools and universities. One or two other firms do not engage +gentlemen—for reasons that, perhaps, you may guess. Out of business +hours our house keeps a sharp eye on their employés. A young chap can +get into any amount of mischief in Rangoon—Rangoon is full of +temptations.” + +“Oh, is it?” muttered Shafto indifferently—what could its temptations +offer in comparison to London? + +“Anyhow it seems a huge, stirring sort of place,” he added, as he +watched motors, bicycles, and _gharries_ whirring past the entrance. + +“Stirring! Why you may say so—it’s humming like a hive day and night. +There are so many taps to turn in this wealthy country—timber, rice, +wolfram, jade, tin, oil, rubies. A man with a little capital, if he +does not lose his head, can make a fortune in ten years, especially in +paddy. Our particular trade is teak and paddy—that’s rice, you know. I +expect your work will be on the wharf and pretty heavy at first.” + +“Well, anyway, it’s an open-air job.” + +“Yes, you have the pull now; this is our cold season—October to March; +but the hot weather is no joke; as for the rains, you might as well +live in a steam laundry; we get a hundred inches here in Lower Burma.” + +“A hundred inches!” echoed Shafto, “you are not serious?” + +“Yes; it pours down as if the sea were overhead, and goes on steadily +for days. Frogs flop round and round your room, and you can almost hear +the trees growing. In the rains the forests are a wonderful sight, such +dense masses of foliage and flowers. Can you imagine great trees +entirely covered with exquisite blooms, and garlands of pink and lilac +creepers interlacing the jungle?” + +“How gorgeous! Perhaps I may see all this some day,” said Shafto, +“after I have explored Rangoon itself.” + +“Well, I hope you may,” assented his companion, “and now I want to ask +you a strange question.” + +“All right—ask away!” + +“You have only been a few hours on shore, and I am curious to know if +you have received any impression of the place and people—you know, +first impressions go a long way!” + +“Yes. Although I have only just rattled through the streets and along +the Strand, the impression I gathered is that the Burmese appear to be +an amazingly happy crew, with no thought for the morrow; they were all +laughing and chattering as if life was a splendid joke and they enjoyed +it thoroughly. The _joie de vivre_ simply hits me in the eye!” + +“I can explain all that,” said Salter, putting down his cheroot and +sitting forward in his long chair. “The Burman has no fear of death, +but proclaims an intense consciousness that it is a mere passing over +to another existence—one of a chain of many future lives—and I think I +may say that this belief is universal. They also declare that a man’s +present life is absolutely controlled by the influence of past good or +bad deeds, and that in the next world they may possibly be better off +than they are in this. Although a Burman gives alms, worships at the +pagoda on appointed days, and repeats the doxology he has learnt at +school, he governs his life by the _nats_—spirits of the air, the +forests, streams, and home, who must be propitiated.” + +“I never heard of these _nats_ until now,” said Shafto. + +“No; but, as I have said before, you will hear a good deal about them +here, especially if you mix with the Burmans.” + +“I certainly hope I shall see something of the people of the country.” + +“You will find them interesting; a full-blooded, pleasure-loving race; +they’ve curious, original ideas, drawn from their ancient and sacred +books, and an amazingly generous notion of time. For instance, they +talk glibly of worlds a hundred thousand years old, and believe that +this very planet has been destroyed no fewer than sixty-five +times—chiefly by fire, on ten occasions by water, and once by wind! +According to them, as in the New Testament, ‘a thousand years are but +as yesterday.’ And yet they do not acknowledge the existence of a +Supreme Being—the highest glory is annihilation.” + +At this moment a light little figure flitted up the stairs, leaving an +impression of slender elegance and satin skirt. + +“Ah, there goes Ma Chit, my wife’s cousin!” explained Salter. + +“And I must be taking my departure,” said Shafto rising. “What you have +been telling me is extraordinarily interesting, and I would gladly sit +on for hours, but it is ten o’clock.” + +“Yes, and we workers are early birds. I hope you will come and see us +again. I have been twenty years in the country and I can tell you many +a curious tale. To-morrow will be Sunday and, if you like, I will call +round and take you to do a bit of sightseeing—the Pagoda and the +lakes.” + +“I should enjoy it of all things; perhaps you will have tiffin with me +at the hotel?” + +“No, you must come to us; twelve o’clock sharp, and afterwards we’ll +make a start.” + +“Then I’ll just go in and say good-bye to Mrs. Salter.” + +When they entered the sitting-room, where lamps had been lighted, they +found the lady of the house in an ecstasy of admiration, gesticulating +with her tiny brown hands, as she gloated over a length of rose and +silver brocade. Standing beside her was the proud owner of this +magnificence; a slim, graceful girl, wearing heavy gold ornaments and +flowers in her hair, and, in spite of an extravagant use of pearl +powder, undeniably pretty. Her slanting eyes were long-lashed and +expressive, and her little mocking mouth wore a bewitching smile. + +“Look at my _tamain_, Papa Salter!” she cried; “a piece of the best +satin, just enough for a skirt—one yard and a half; Herr Bernhard +brought it to me from England.” + +“Splendid indeed, Ma Chit,” he replied; “you will cut them all out at +the big festival and the _Pwes_. Mee Lay, Mr. Shafto wishes to say +‘good night’!” + +Mee Lay took a somewhat preoccupied leave of her guest, her eyes and +attention being riveted upon the gorgeous material in her hand; but Ma +Chit accorded the young man a gay salutation and a splendid view of her +beautiful white teeth. + +Salter accompanied his guest to the entrance gate, giving him careful +directions as to the whereabouts of his hotel. It was an exquisite +starlight night; the roar of the bazaar, the clang of the trams, and +the whistling of launches were in the distance; the compound itself was +so still that the sudden thud of a fallen jack-fruit made quite a +startling sound. As the men exchanged last words, their attention was +arrested by a charming tableau in the lighted sitting-room; two figures +were outlined in strong relief against the dark teak walls, both +absorbed in conversation. Ma Chit presented a particularly attractive +picture, with her rose-crowned head, graceful posture, and waving +hands; even as they gazed, her rippling laugh drifted seductively +towards them. + +“In this country, great is the tyranny of Temptation, and _there_ is +one of the temptations,” gravely announced Salter; “Rangoon is full of +these fascinating _chits_, who have no morals, but are witty, +good-tempered and gay. Ma Chit—the name means ‘my love’—is said to be +irresistible and the prettiest girl in the province; she is Bernhard’s +housekeeper.” + +“His housekeeper!” repeated Shafto; “why, he told me he lived at the +German Club!” + +“That may be; but he has a fine house in Kokine. It is not an uncommon +situation—that sort of temporary marriage. Ma Chit looks after his +interests, rules his household, and makes him comfortable; her people +acquiesce. All marriages are easily arranged and easily dissolved among +the Burmans. A young man may offer sweets, serenade a girl a few times; +if he is acceptable, there’s a family dinner, with much chewing of +betel nut, and that constitutes the ceremony!” + +“What a happy-go-lucky country!” exclaimed Shafto. + +“Happy, yes! Lucky, I’m not sure! Well now, don’t lose your way; first +turn to the right, second to the left, and there is the Strand. Good +night!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII +EAST AND WEST + + +The first and principal sight in Rangoon is the great Shwe Dagon +Pagoda, and on Sunday afternoon Shafto and his new acquaintance passed +between the golden lions at its base, and slowly ascended flight after +flight of steep brick steps, lined with flower-decked shrines and +blocked by dense masses of worshippers, who were swarming up and down. + +The temple stands in imposing majesty on a wide platform and dominates +the town—in fact, apart from the trade and business element, the Pagoda +_is_ Rangoon. The splendid edifice is entirely encased in plates of +solid gold, and the “Ti,” which rises from the inverted begging-bowl, +is studded with priceless precious stones—emeralds, rubies, sapphires +and diamonds—which flash and glitter in the sun. These have been +presented by pious pilgrims from all parts of the province and beyond; +for, with the exception of the Caaba at Mecca, no earthly shrine +attracts such multitudes, or receives such generous largesse. + +Shafto and his companion having toiled up the steps, worn hollow by +millions of feet, halted on the plateau, which was half-covered with +little stalls, whose keepers were selling flowers, candles, flags, +dolls, and images of Buddha—made in Birmingham. Here were hundreds, nay +thousands of joyous gaily-clad worshippers moving to and fro, a truly +brilliant pageant of passing life. It was difficult to say which were +the more strikingly dressed: the men in brilliant turbans and silk +waist cloths, or the women in satin skirts of endless pattern, their +chignons wreathed with flowers, wearing a profusion of gold ornaments, +and attended by many children. + +“Ah, I see you are struck with the spectacle!” said Salter. “Isn’t it +an orgy of colour—rose, orange, purple, scarlet? There is nothing more +picturesque than a Burmese crowd.” + +“Yes, a great show!” rejoined Shafto; “in gala costume. I can now +understand why the national emblem is a peacock.” + +As they made their way through the throng there was a clanging of +melodious gongs and sounds of loud continuous chanting, whilst overhead +the far-away sea breeze stirred the bells on the Ti to a silvery +tinkle, tinkle. + +To Shafto this scene was amazing and impressive; the wonderful golden +Pagoda with its crown of jewels, the vast multitudes in many-hued +garments, the flowers, fluttering flags, coloured lights, all as it +were attuned to the accompaniment of merry voices, sonorous Gregorian +chanting, and deep-toned gongs. + +And what a labyrinth of shrines! Hours might be spent examining their +rich carvings. At one of the principal of these shrines a service was +proceeding; to Shafto, it recalled the celebration of mass in a Roman +Catholic chapel, for here were shaven priests intoning prayers on the +steps of a decorated altar; here also were incense, lights, and a +multitude of devout people, kneeling, rosary in hand, chanting the +responses. + +Among the worshippers Shafto recognised Mee Lay and her cousin Ma Chit, +attired in what, no doubt, were their festival toilets. Mee Lay’s white +jacket was fastened by diamond buttons, and large diamonds sparkled in +her little brown ears; as for Ma Chit, she was adorned with the +national gold necklace, or _dalizan_. In her sleek, black hair were +artfully arranged sprigs of scarlet hibiscus, and between her tiny +hands, glittering with rings, and uplifted palm to palm, she held a +beautiful flower, which, when her devotions were accomplished, she laid +upon the shrine with an undulating movement of adoration and grace. + +“You see my wife follows her own religion,” remarked Salter, “and I +make no objection. I was brought up as a Baptist, in the very strictest +sense of the word. Rosetta, as you already know, is a Roman Catholic; +sometimes Mee Lay brings her here; the service and the spectacle are +attractive enough, though never so to me. My Nonconformist blood leaves +me cold to this sort of display. Mee Lay is a good, religious woman; +when you come to think of it, the East is far more devout than the +West. She insists that our faith is a mere feeble copy of Buddhism, +which had six hundreds years the start of Christianity. There is no +doubt that the Buddhists preach most of the moral truths that are to be +found in the Gospels, and Buddha was a Deliverer, who taught the +necessity of a pure life, of self-denial and unworldliness. He exhorted +his disciples to practise every virtue. But here is the difference +between Buddhism and Christianity: Buddha brings a man by a thorny path +to the brink of a huge, black chasm, and drops him into annihilation.” + +“It seems unsatisfying,” said Shafto. “Yet, by all accounts, Buddhism +is a wonderful religion. I heard a fellow on board ship discussing its +code and the extraordinary way in which it has fastened on mankind, and +spread. He declared that every fourth human being who came into the +world was a Buddhist!” + +“So they say,” replied Salter with a careless shrug. “I doubt if the +assertion would hold water. At the same time Buddha has an enormous +number of followers in China, Tibet, India, and Ceylon; they, too, have +traditions of a Holy Mother and Child, of a fast in the wilderness, and +here, even now, crucifixion is the form of capital punishment.” + +“And what do you think about Buddhism in Burma?” inquired Shafto. + +“Buddhism will hold its ground, in spite of many converts among the +Karens. The Burmans are a sunny, happy people, as you see, who hope for +a good time here, and a good time in the worlds to come. They held the +same expectations and creed, and wore the same clothes, two thousand +years ago; time does not appear to touch them; they are as gay and +irresponsible as so many butterflies. You know Kipling’s lines to +Rangoon?” + +Before Shafto could reply, Salter quoted in a sonorous monotone: + + +‘Hail, Mother! Do they call me rich in trade? + Little care I, but hear the shorn priest drone, +And watch my silk-clad lovers, man by maid, + Laugh ’neath my Shwe Dagon.’ + + +“From the ‘Song of the Cities.’ Rather appropriate to the occasion, +eh?” + +“Yes, fits it to a T,” assented Shafto, as his eye wandered over the +vast assemblage on the plateau, talking, joking, laughing, smoking, +absolutely content with the day, without a thought for the morrow. + +The atmosphere felt heavy with the scent of incense, flowers, and +cheroots; little bells still tinkled gaily and the air was full of +silver music. + +“Now I should like to show you the reverse of this scene,” said Salter; +“it won’t take you long,” and he led his companion away to a solitary, +deserted place at the rear of the Pagoda. + +“Here,” he said, indicating some dilapidated moss-grown stones, “are a +number of totally-forgotten English graves. There was desperate +fighting all round this very plateau when we first came to this +country, some seventy odd years ago; these dead, forgotten pioneer +fellows struck a stout blow for the British flag. British and German +trade, thanks to them, have flourished like a green bay tree; ships and +railways carry all before them, and the days of the caravan are +numbered. Well, now we shall move on to the Royal lakes and Dalhousie +Park, and see all we can, for, after to-day, you won’t have much spare +time for doing the tourist—you will be a cog in the machine.” + +The scene presented by the Royal lakes proved an uncompromising +contrast to that at the Pagoda; save for the Eastern background of +palms and bamboos the gathering might have been in London. Here were +motor-cars, smart carriages, pretty women wearing the latest fashions, +men in flannels and tweeds; there was but little colour in their +clothes—or their complexions—no brilliant orange or flaming scarlet, no +bells, gongs, buoyant vitality, or merry laughter; the community were +languidly discussing the mail news, the latest bridge tournament, and +the approaching race meeting. By the lakes you encountered Europe—more +particularly Great Britain. At the Shwe Dagon you found yourself in +touch with an older world and face to face with the silken East! + + + + +CHAPTER XIII +“KEEP AN EYE UPON HER” + + +Gregory’s proved to be a vast and imposing concern, occupying a +prominent situation on the Strand and evidently doing an immense trade. +All this the new assistant readily gathered as Salter steered him in +the direction of the manager’s sanctum. + +Here he found the head of the firm, a tall individual, with grizzled +hair covering a fine square head, a hard, clean-shaven face, and a +pince-nez—which pince-nez he invariably removed when about to make a +disagreeable remark. He received the new employé with an air of cool +detachment, and shook hands in a manner that implied, “You must not +expect this sort of thing every day.” Being taller than Shafto, he +appeared to tower over him as he questioned him respecting the firm in +London—which was but a small and insignificant offshoot of the great +house in Rangoon; then he made a few perfunctory remarks on the subject +of the voyage out, and said: + +“I understand from Salter that you have found quarters in a chummery; I +hope your house-mates will prove congenial——” he paused and added as a +sort of afterthought, “Mrs. Gregory is usually at home on Thursdays +from three to six.” + +“Thank you,” murmured Shafto. + +The principal then struck a handbell, which summoned an elderly man to +his presence. + +“Lowcroft,” he said, “this is Mr. Shafto, who will take over Mr. Shaw’s +share of the landing business; you had better show him round and give +him instructions. By the way,” turning to Shafto, “I suppose you don’t +know a word of Burmese or Hindustani?” + +The new arrival announced his complete ignorance of either language. + +“Then you must see about getting a munshi at once.” + +And with a nod the new assistant found himself dismissed. + +On the very first Thursday after his arrival in Rangoon, Shafto +presented himself at the “Barn,” a residence purchased many years +previously for the use of the then reigning Gregory. + +The house was large but unostentatious; the well-matured beautiful +grounds and gardens were notable even in Rangoon. A recent +acquaintance, who escorted Shafto, presented him to Mrs. Gregory, a +smart, sandy-haired little lady of five or six and thirty, with an +animated, expressive face, intelligent grey eyes, and slightly +prominent white teeth. She was exquisitely dressed in some soft pale +blue material, and wore a row of large and lustrous pearls. Among the +crowd of guests the newcomer discovered, to his great relief, several +of his fellow-assistants, and not a few passengers from the +_Blankshire_, including Mrs. Milward, who hailed him with a radiant +countenance and plump, uplifted hands. + +“My dear Douglas! How I’ve been longing to see you! I’m off to Mandalay +to-morrow morning.” + +“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” + +“And I’m very sorry to go—there’s such lots to do and see in this +surprising place, but Ella has nailed me down to a date. Have you seen +anything of Sophy—I mean,” correcting herself, “Miss Leigh?” + +“No, I’ve been tremendously busy fitting on my new harness and have had +no time for calling.” + +“And yet you are _here_!” she protested, with arched brows. + +“Oh yes, but this is official; Gregory as good as ordered me to wait +upon his consort.” + +“Hush, hush, Douglas! She is a great friend of mine—my own cousin, and +a dear. Of course, I know that George looks as if he had swallowed the +fire-irons, but that really means nothing; he is obliged to keep all +you naughty boys in order!” + +“You think I’m a naughty boy?” + +“Oh well, I didn’t mean that, my young Sir Galahad! Now come away with +me and I’ll show you the wonderful ferns and the orchid house. I must +have a good, comfortable, private talk.” + +As soon as the pair found themselves alone in the fernery she turned to +face him, and said, with unusual animation: + +“Now I want to tell you about Sophy—I’m miserable when I think of her.” + +“Miserable—but why?” + +“When you’ve been to call at ‘Heidelberg’—I may tell you it’s miles and +miles away—you’ll see for yourself; it’s my opinion that she has been +decoyed out to this country under false pretences.” + +“Oh, but surely Mrs. Krauss is her own aunt?” + +“She is, and more or less an invalid, utterly broken down by years of +Burma. Mrs. Krauss is apathetic, dull, and boneless, and looks as if +you could fold her up and put her in a bag. Herr Krauss is a fat, +loud-talking, trampling German—_not_ a gentleman, but a man with a keen +eye to business. His wife’s half-caste maid who waited upon her, +managed the house, and was with her for years, has married and gone to +Australia, and poor Sophy has been imported to replace the treasure; +that is, to nurse her aunt, run the house, and play the old bounder’s +accompaniments, for he, like Nero, is musical. He is also a friend of +that odious Bernhard’s. Bernhard is a well-born Prussian—I’ll say that +for him—the other is of the waiter class, who has made his money in +China and Burma.” + +“Oh, come, I say, this is rather bad! What’s to be done?” + +“I only wish I knew. The Krauss abode is large and gloomy—it looks like +a house in a bad temper, and stands in the heart of the German +community; the servants seemed a low-class lot, the rooms were dark and +untidy, and smelt of mould and medicine, but Sophy was just as bright +and cheerful as usual; apparently delighted with everything—loyal, of +course, to her own blood. Now, I know that you and Sophy are friends, +and I want you to keep an eye upon her,” concluded this injudicious +matron. + +“I’m afraid my eye will not be of much use,” protested Shafto, “I am +most frightfully sorry for what you tell me, but Miss Leigh has lots of +pals. There are the Pomeroys, Maitlands and——” + +“Yes, that’s true,” interrupted Mrs. Milward impatiently, “but she has +no way of getting about. Krauss takes the car and is away in it all +day. I gather that he has the strict German idea about a girl’s being +brought up to cook, to sew, to slave, to find _all_ her interests in +her home! In fact, he told me so plainly; he also added that he had +paid for Sophy’s passage and implied that he intended to have the worth +of his money—his pound of flesh!” + +“Brute!” ejaculated Shafto. + +“Agreed! I have enlisted one friend for the poor child. Polly +Gregory—she is so clever, clear-headed and decided, and will be a rock +of strength—she is sure to like Sophy, eh?” + +“Oh yes, that will be all right!” + +“I put in a good word for you too, Master Douglas.” + +“That was kind,” and he swept off his straw hat. + +“I wonder if that’s meant sarcastic? Perhaps you think good wine needs +no bush? Yes, and I’ve told Polly I knew you as a boy—and how, instead +of quill-driving, you hoped to wear a sword.” + +“Hope told a flattering tale,” he answered with a laugh. “Don’t forget +that the pen is the mightier of the two.” + +“No,” she dissented; “I back the sword, though it’s rarely drawn now, +thank goodness. Well, I’ve said my say and given you my impressions and +instructions; we must go back and join the _Burra Mems_. I shall write +to you from Mandalay and see you later, when I pass through to +Calcutta. Now you had better go and try to get a set of tennis,” and, +with a wave of adieu, Mrs. Milward strolled away across the grass, an +attractive personality with her fresh complexion, soft round face, dark +pencilled brows, and bewitching mauve toilet—which toilet was +subsequently tabooed by her daughter as “too young”! + +“George,” said Mrs. Gregory to her husband, “that new importation is a +nice boy; Milly Milward has known him since he was in blouses; he has +had rather hard luck; his father was swindled out of a comfortable +fortune, and he has to turn to and earn his bread.” + +“What we all do!” growled George. + +“Yes, but some ways are so much more agreeable than others. His +profession was to have been along the path of glory.” + +“What is that?” + +“Why, the Army, of course.” + +“And now his profession is checking inventories and cargoes. As he is +new to the business, he will have his hands fairly full for the next +few months; so, my dear Polly, don’t turn his head just _yet_.” + +“As if I ever turned anybody’s head.” + +“I cannot answer for others, but you certainly turned mine.” + +“Ah, but that was twelve years ago; I’m afraid my fascinations have +faded since then. Joking apart, George, Milly has left me two +legacies—two protégés to befriend. Shafto is one—I am to invite him to +tea, and talk to him with wisdom, and win his complete and entire +confidence.” + +“Oh! and the other?” + +“The other is Miss Leigh, whom she chaperoned from home. She is living +with an aunt, who is married to a German named Krauss.” + +“Yes, I know; a poisonous chap!” + +“So she seems to think, and that this girl, who by all accounts is very +pretty and charming, and a marvellous pianist, has been lured out to +act as maid and housekeeper, and save the pocket of Herr Krauss. Now, +as I have two legacies, I want to know if you will take one of them off +my hands?” + +“As if my hands were not full!” + +“Yes, officially, only; now I offer you your choice. Which will you +have? Shafto or the girl?” + +“You need scarcely ask; I’ll take the girl, of course, and leave you +Shafto.” + +“Oh, you are an old silly!” she exclaimed, ruffling up his grizzled +hair; “I wonder which of us will have the better bargain.” + +With regard to the subject of Mrs. Gregory’s conversation, Douglas set +to work with the proverbial enthusiasm of a new broom and soon +became—as Salter had predicted—a cog in the whirling wheels of a +machine. But Thursday being the Station holiday, he hired a taxi and +had himself driven out to Kokine, in order to call on Mrs. Krauss and +Miss Leigh; unfortunately his journey proved to be a waste of time and +money. The leisurely servant who emerged from the entrance of +“Heidelberg,” salver in hand, accepted his visiting-card with a salaam, +and then announced with stolid unconcern: + +“Missis can’t see.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV +THE MANTLE OF FERNANDA + + +During the long and weary wait whilst the _Blankshire_ was being made +fast, Sophy Leigh and her girl friends had collected in a group taking +leave of one another and making plans for future meetings. + +“I must say I envy you,” said Lena Morgan, the elder of the two plain, +pleasant sisters, whose father was “something in timber.” “You will be +the darling of enormously rich relatives, have several motors, and +horses galore.” + +“I’m not so sure,” she gaily rejoined. “‘Galore’ is such a big word, +but from what my aunt has told us, I believe I shall have what is +called ‘a good time,’ and I hope everyone of us will share it. I expect +Aunt Flora will be here to meet me,” she added with happy certainty. + +“Why, of course she will,” assented Eva Pomeroy; “she does not have a +niece out every mail. I dare say she has already bought you a nice +saddle horse. You will be riding every morning, and we can meet and +arrange all sorts of jolly picnics and expeditions. I shall come round +and look you up as soon as I’ve unpacked and settled.” + +At this moment a heavy bang announced the letting down of the gangway, +over which a crowd instantly poured and scattered about the decks. + +Among the first to appear aft was an immense individual, wearing a +loose tussore suit, a huge pith topee, and a black and yellow +cummerbund. His face, with its great jowl, wide lipless mouth, short +chin, and a pair of goggle eyes, was distinctly of the frog type. + +“Which of you is Miss Leigh?” he demanded in a loud voice, as he +approached the group of girls. + +Sophy stood forward and before she could evade the outrage, this ugly +fat man had put his hands on her shoulders and given her a smacking +kiss on each cheek. + +Even in this exciting moment of imminent departure, the circle paused +for a moment and stared aghast—such an appalling person to claim and +kiss Sophy Leigh! What a frightful shock for the unfortunate +girl—whilst the sensations of several young men on the verge of the +group are better imagined than described! + +Herr Krauss, for his part, had received a surprise of a far more +agreeable nature, being entirely unprepared to welcome such a pretty, +fashionable young lady, in the character of his wife’s niece. Flora had +invariably spoken of her relatives as “ugly, dowdy little things”; but +then, she had only known them at the awkward age and, being herself +remarkably handsome, was super-critical with regard to beauty. + +“Now come along and show me your luggage,” urged Herr Krauss, releasing +his new acquaintance, “and I will see about it. The hand gepäck can go +in the car.” + +With a sense of dazed bewilderment, Sophy took a hasty leave of her +friends and prepared to follow her leader. As she kept close behind +him, whilst he forced his way through the crowd, she noticed his short, +thick neck, and powerful, aggressive shoulders—she also noticed that he +allowed her to carry all her parcels herself. + +When at last they reached the car, he stepped in with surprising +agility and said as he seated himself: + +“Now come along, put your things, umbrellas, wraps and parcels here. My +man,” nodding towards a native, “will look after the heavy baggage. +Better stick your dressing-bag in front, as there is not much room. I +take up two shares—ha! ha!” + +This remark was painfully true. His burly form occupied most of the +back seat, and Sophy with difficulty squeezed herself in beside him. As +they glided slowly away, through the dense throng, she looked about +her—her curiosity as raw and eager as that of Shafto. + +“What a wonderful, busy place!” she exclaimed. “I see you have +telephones and trams in all directions.” + +“Oh, trams!” Krauss echoed contemptuously. “We have _everything_ in +Rangoon; great shops and offices, public buildings, a cathedral, a +mosque, theatres, clubs, sawmills, rice mills, banks—oh yes, it’s a +fine place, and so rich,” and he smacked his lips as he added, “Burma +is the land of opportunity.” + +“How is my aunt?” inquired Sophy. + +“Only middling—she will be glad to see you, and I expect you will do +her good. We live a long way out—in Kokine, where Germans herd +together, and I take this chance of a talk. I am a busy +man—particularly of late; and time with me means _money_, so I’ll tell +you what I have to say in as few words as possible.” + +Sophy nodded her head in agreeable assent. + +“Some years ago my wife met with a bad accident—a fall, out +paper-chasing. It did not seem much at the time, though she lost her +nerve; but it came against her later. During the last two or three +years her health has broken down; she suffers from chronic neuralgia in +head and spine, and for days she lies like a dead woman.” + +“Oh, poor Aunt Flora, how very sad!” + +“Yes, you may say so. Well, for the last ten years she has had an +invaluable maid—Fernanda, a Portuguese half-caste, a treasure, who +waited on and nursed her, and took entire charge of the housekeeping. +Fernanda understood my tastes to a T—the curries and stews and blood +sausages that I am fond of, and was a rare hand at coffee. Then came a +blow! Fernanda made up her silly mind to marry a Scotch engineer and go +to Australia. I was at my wits’ end the day she gave notice; I said to +myself: ‘Ach Gott! what can we do? No maids in Rangoon, and meine liebe +Flora so helpless!’ Then a splendid thought came into my mind—her +nieces! Flora is fond of her family and has often talked of your +mother, and of you, so I wrote off at once, and—here you are!” + +Sophy was about to speak, but he laid a heavy, restraining hand upon +her arm and continued: + +“There are just one or two little things I wish to say. Your aunt has a +clever ayah who knows what to do, and when she has her attacks I leave +her alone—by her own wish. Also, she doesn’t like to have her health +noticed—though everyone knows that she’s more or less an invalid. I +believe, if her mind were diverted and occupied she would be better.” + +“I’m a pretty good nurse,” began Sophy; “I’ve a Red Cross certificate +and I like nursing——” + +“Oh, that is of no use,” he interrupted impatiently. “You must nurse +her _mind_; amuse her with cards, reading, games, music—that is your +job. Well, then there is the housekeeping; you will have to take the +place of Fernanda. She looked after the servants, the mending, the +stores, and the cooking—you shall step into _her_ shoes. Of course, it +will be an immense responsibility for a young girl.” + +As he spoke he turned his head and looked at his _vis-à-vis_ with a +glance which seemed to imply that he was endowing her with an empire. + +“Of course, I am aware that you English are slatternly, ignorant, and +extravagant managers,” he continued pleasantly, “but my excellent +friend and neighbour, Frau Wurm, has promised to take you in hand.” + +“But I’m afraid I could not undertake all this,” protested Sophy. “I +know very little of housekeeping in a large establishment. I can knit +and sew, make coffee and savouries, arrange flowers—and that’s about +all.” + +“Gott! Gott! Can you not make confitures and cakes and salads? +Confiture I must have with every meal—a nice saucer of cherries or +raspberries or greengages, so good with meat. Well, well, never mind, +you shall soon learn. Frau Wurm will teach you much. We no longer see +company—just two or three men to dine and smoke; your aunt has dropped +her English circle. The English community changes, and many of her old +friends have gone away or died—and a good job, too! We live in the +German quarter and are surrounded by compatriots. You speak German, of +course?” + +“No—only French; German is so difficult.” + +“Tch! tch! tch! How lazy you English are! We all speak English. As for +me, my mother was English—you could not tell that I was not born an +Englishman?” + +Apart from his appearance and guttural r’s, this claim was justified. + +“I suppose you made lots of friends on board ship?” + +“Yes, a good many.” + +“Girls, I suppose—idle girls, who will come buzzing round to coax you +to play with them. That is all they are good for; but you will have +your work, as I have pointed out. If you are industrious, I shall lend +you a horse that was your aunt’s—he is not up to my weight—and I will +take you to our fine club when I can spare an afternoon. At present, I +am immensely occupied, engaged in collecting wolfram. Do you know what +wolfram is?” + +“No, I have never heard of it,” humbly admitted Sophy. + +“Well, it is ore used for hardening steel—extremely scarce and +valuable; it comes from Tavoy, but business connected with it takes me +up and down the river, and even as far as Calcutta and Singapore. Now, +with you to look after the house and your aunt, I shall feel so free +and easy in my mind. Ah, here we are; this is ‘Heidelberg,’” he said, +as the car swung in between two tall gate piers. + +“Heidelberg” was a good-sized residence, with spacious surroundings; +palms, bamboos and crotona abounded, and a wonderful collection of +gigantic cannas—red, yellow and orange—gave colour to the compound. A +crowd of lazy retainers, who were hanging about, gaped in silence upon +the new arrival. + +“Now, I’ll take you to your aunt at once,” said Krauss, descending +heavily from the car, but making no effort to assist his niece. Then he +led the way upstairs, striding along the veranda with a heavy, despotic +tread, and through a large, dim drawing-room, where Sophy caught an +impression of much carved furniture, the figure of a large alabaster +Buddha gleaming through the shadows, and a stifling atmosphere of dust +and sandalwood. Pushing aside a tinkling bamboo screen, they entered +another apartment, which was yet gloomier and more obscure, and here on +a wide sofa, propped, among large, silk cushions, lay a sick and wasted +woman, who turned on Sophy a sallow face and a pair of drowsy, dark +eyes. + +“Here is your new treasure, mein schatz,” announced her husband! “I +brought her straight up.” + +“Oh, dear child,” she murmured, “this is one of my—my dreadful days; so +sorry—so sorry—so sorry,” and she slowly closed her eyes upon her +pretty niece. + +Sophy stooped and lifted her hand (which was limp and clammy) to her +lips, and said to herself, as she did so, that poor Aunt Flora was +woefully changed. She recalled her as a beautiful vision, beautifully +dressed, and so gay. Now her face was yellow and withered, and she +looked positively old and gaunt. + +All at once a buxom ayah advanced—-a stout, straight-backed Madrassi, +with her black hair in a chignon, a ring in her nose, jewelled rings in +her ears, wearing a handsome blue-and-gold saree, coquettishly draped +round her ample form, the usual short silk bodice, or _choli_, and +numerous heavy bangles. She salaamed to Sophy with both hands, and +Sophy, who had never before beheld such an apparition, gazed in +admiring silence; the ayah’s carriage, her gait and sheeny +protuberance, recalled to mind a prosperous pouter pigeon. + +“My missis plenty sick to-day,” said Lily, “never seeing people—that no +good; to-morrow, she may be arl right, but _now_ she must sleep, and I +will take the new missy to her room.” + +Sophy’s room, which was large and, rather bare, overlooked the stables, +cook-house and servants’ quarters, and here she was introduced to her +own attendant Motee, a timid creature in white, who seemed to rise, as +it were, out of the floor. + +“Motee is the best lady’s ayah in Rangoon,” explained Lily with an +offhand air, “she understands Miss Sahibs, she will pack and unpack, +dress hair—and hold her tongue.” + +After giving Motee some directions, unpacking her favourite hats and +changing her dress, Sophy went forth in order to explore her new home. +The whole establishment had a squalid, neglected appearance and sadly +lacked the eye of the mistress. The compound or garden, with its masses +of gorgeous tropical trees and plants, was overgrown and jungly, +poultry wandered about at their own sweet will, and even invaded the +veranda—yet apparently there was no lack of staff. On the contrary, +from her bedroom window she had observed groups of men talking and +smoking, presumably servants, as several wore silver badges on their +turbans, and soiled white linen coats, and among these were some jovial +Burmans and one or two wide-trousered Chinamen. + +No doubt Fernanda, the treasure, had kept the house in working order, +and now that she had abdicated, her sceptre lay in the dust—in every +sense of the word. Was it her, Sophy’s, duty to raise it? She noticed +quantities of litter and cobwebs in the drawing-room, but there were no +flowers or knick-knacks; the silver teapot that appeared with tea at +five o’clock was nearly black. It was not a luxurious meal, a weak +Chinese mixture, and a plate of fossilised biscuits. + +The morning after her arrival Sophy was awakened by a soft tremulous +touch on her hand; she opened her eyes and beheld her aunt stooping +over her. She was clad in a shabby, splendidly embroidered red kimono, +and appeared to have made a temporary recovery. + +Mrs. Krauss offered her niece a warmly affectionate welcome and many +caresses, and then, sitting on the side of the bed, asked eager +questions respecting her mother and sister, their mutual relations, and +all the family news; but made no allusion to the state of her own +health, or to the dirty and neglected condition of her establishment. + +“So Karl met you himself,” she said, “although he is so busy; that was +nice. He has a kind heart and I do hope you will like one another.” + +“Yes, I hope we shall,” assented Sophy, but her conscience protested +that this hope was vain—already she disliked him. + +“He looks to you to step into Fernanda’s shoes; but of course I won’t +have that. Fernanda had enormous wages. Oh, dear child, I can’t tell +you how I miss her,” and tears stood in her dark eyes. “Karl has such +odd, old-fashioned German ideas—you must not mind him—though he is +getting more German every day. He says a woman is just a hausfrau, who +must sew and cook and do whatever a man orders. She is to have no mind +of her own—and very little amusement.” + +“Then, Aunt Flora, one thing is certain—I shall never marry a German.” + +“I dare say it strikes you as strange that I should have done so; but +Karl has always been devoted to me. I suppose your mother has told you +that, when I was eighteen, I ran away to marry Charlie Bellamy, whose +regiment was under orders for Hong Kong; we were fearfully poor and +fearfully happy; then in a dog-cart accident, Charlie was killed and I +was taken up for dead. But I recovered, as you see. The Hong Kong +people were angels to me—one’s own country folks always _are_, when you +are in trouble abroad. I was laid up for months. When I was better, +Karl came forward and implored me to marry him; I was almost penniless +and loathed the idea of going home, so that was how it happened. Karl +was wealthy in those days, but afterwards he lost his money—our +fortunes go up and down like a see-saw. I am afraid he is too fond of +speculating and taking huge risks; he likes to be a man or a mouse. +Just now he is not a mouse, but very, very rich. Well, my dear, I’ll +leave you to have a bath and dress; we shall meet at breakfast; it is +many a day since I appeared there. Do you know I feel as if you’d done +me good already!” and with a clinging embrace she departed. + +As hours and days wore on, Mrs. Krauss became more and more charmed +with her companion; it did not take her long to discover her unselfish +character, amazing adaptability to these strange surrounding’s and, +above all, her gift of music. The invalid would lie prone on her sofa +with a handkerchief over her face—rather suggesting the idea of a +laid-out corpse—motionless and spell-bound, and when she spoke it was +merely to murmur: + +“Please go on, please go on, Sophy darling; your music is wonderful; +you are my David and I am gloomy Saul. Oh, my dearest child, your +exquisite gift has given me new thoughts, and opened the door of many +delicious and half-forgotten memories!” + +Besides soothing her aunt with dreamy and enthralling melodies, Sophy +remembered her “job,” and endeavoured to interest her in patience, in +puzzles and the latest stitch; but Frau Krauss had no taste for cards +or puzzles. She was, however, profoundly interested in Sophy’s pretty +frocks, examined them, priced them, and tried them on; otherwise she +preferred to lounge among her cushions and talk, whilst her niece, who +busied herself mending table linen, proved an invaluable listener. + +“You are a treasure, my sweet child,” she remarked; “I have so often +longed for a companion of my own class and nation. All my neighbours +are German; here in Kokine is a German colony; they all dine and have +music, and gossip together, and I am rather out of it. Of course, I +speak German, but not very fluently. There are two or three uncommonly +smart women who speak English as well as you do, and their children +have English names; but all the same, they hate us in their secret +hearts and often give me a nasty scratch; so I needn’t tell you that I +don’t open my heart to _them_. The English live in another +direction—down the Halpin Road, or out by the Royal lakes, and I have +really grown too lazy and careless to go among them. Besides, what is +the good? My friends return to England, new people come, but as for +poor me—I stay on for ever.” + +“And, of course, you would like to go home, Aunt Flora, would you not?” + +“For some things, yes! But how can I leave Karl? Also, I feel that this +country has got such a hold upon me—oh, such a hold!” And she closed +her eyes and sighed profoundly. + +Three whole weeks had elapsed since Sophy arrived, and during that time +she had not been outside the compound. Herr Krauss had departed up +country and taken the car with him; in the meanwhile Sophy had +contrived to carry out some improvements, and induced her aunt to +dismiss and replace several worthless servants. There had been a grand +cleaning, dusting, and polishing; the drawing-room was rearranged, the +compound cleared and tidied, flowers decorated the sitting-rooms—and +the hens had been interned. + +All this Sophy had not contrived to manage without assistance and +advice; several German ladies had been to call, to inspect, to offer +instruction, and to criticise. There was Mrs. Muller, a remarkably +pretty, smart young woman (wife of the head of an important firm, who +spoke English perfectly, played bridge and the violin). She and Sophy +had an interesting musical talk, and arranged about duets and +practisings; it was she who helped with regard to weeding out the +staff, finding substitutes, and engaging a _dirzee_ to mend and make. +Augusta Muller was a born administrator, and the head of the +neighbouring community. Another visitor was Frau Wendel, a dowdy +middle-aged woman, who wore a hideous check cotton gown (much too +short), green spectacles, and velvet boots; she stared hard at Sophy +and asked her many personal questions. There was also the Baroness—a +little lady with small patrician features, faded light hair and a brisk +manner; and last, but by no means least, Frau Wurm, who daily arrived +to fulfil a promise to Herr Krauss, and every morning, for one solid +hour, imparted to Sophy instruction in the management of native +servants, the reckoning of bazaar accounts, the coinage—rupees and +pice—and the proper way to keep house linen and stores. She also gave +her lessons in cooking on the oil stove in the veranda—not invalid +delicacies, but dishes that were favourites with the master of the +house, including confitures and Russian salad. + +Frau Wurm was a competent teacher—practical and brisk. She drew up a +list of menus, of shops to be dealt at, and hours for different tasks. +As she worked she talked incessantly in excellent guttural English; her +talk consisted of a series of personal and impertinent questions—her +curiosity was of the mean and hungry class, and to every reply, +satisfactory or otherwise, she invariably ejaculated, “Ach so!” + +Among other matters she desired to know Sophy’s age—the age of her +mother—and sister; if their washing was given out; who had paid for her +passage and outfit; where her mother lived, the rent of her house, and +number of servants. + +“So she keeps _three_ servants!” she exclaimed. “Ach! but I thought she +was poor!” + +“No, not poor,” replied Sophy. “Mother has a pretty good income.” + +“Ach so! and that is the reason, I suppose, that you cannot cook or +make your own frocks, or do anything useful. Are you engaged to be +married?” + +“No,” replied Sophy with a laugh, “not yet.” + +“Ach so! I do not think your uncle will permit you to marry any of +those silly young English officers, who play games all day and are +ashamed to wear uniform. Have you any relations in the Army?” + +“Yes, I have two cousins; one in the Flying Corps and one in a +submarine.” + +“Ach so! That is _most_ interesting. Some day you will tell me all +about them, will you not? I like to hear about submarines.” + +“Very well,” said Sophy, who was busy mixing a pudding according to an +elaborate German recipe. + +“Yes, you are getting on,” admitted Frau Wurm patronisingly. “You will +be a good little housekeeper before I have finished with you. Tell +me—how is your aunt to-day?” she asked abruptly. + +“She seems better, much better.” + +“Yes, much better—better since yon came; you rouse her, though she +doesn’t get up now till eleven o’clock. She suffers from such a strange +complaint—very mysterious,” she added with a significant sniff. + +“I don’t think there is anything mysterious about neuralgia.” + +“Oh, yes, there is,” rejoined Frau Wurm, lowering her voice; “we often +talk it over and wonder. Long ago she was as others; now she is +different, and seems but half awake—always so jaded and feeble and +vague. There was only one who understood the case—that was Fernanda, +and she has gone away, ach so!” + +Sophy found her present life unexpectedly strenuous. The mornings were +devoted to incessant house-keeping, writing lists, and making pickles +and German condiments; in the afternoons her aunt absorbed her time. +She did not seem to come to life till then. + +“I know I am selfish,” she confessed, as she looked through a number of +invitations and cards which had been left for Sophy. “I do so want to +keep you to myself; I don’t wish to share you with the Maitlands and +Morgans and Pomeroys; you have brought me a new lease of life. Of late +I have felt like a half-dead creature, without even the energy to open +a book, much less to get up and dress. I have the Burma head, and take +_no_ interest in anything.” + +“Then do please take an interest in me, Aunt Flora,” said Sophy +coaxingly, putting her arm about her and smiling into her haggard eyes. + +“Very well, my dear; yes, I will—and at once. I shall take you out and +amuse you. No time like the present! To-day I shall telephone for a +motor, get Lily to look out my smartest clothes, and you and I will +make a round of calls. You know it is the duty of a new arrival to wait +on the residents?” + +Sophy nodded. + +“We will go in the afternoon, when they are all out, and so get through +a number. There are no end of sets here: the Government House, the +civilian, military, the legal, and above all the mercantile—they really +_count_, these merchant princes, being numerous, wealthy, and so +generous and charitable, and can snap their fingers at precedence. Then +there is the German set, to which I should belong—but I don’t. I tell +Karl that my father was an English General and I am English—a real +Englander. We differ in so many ways from these German women—in what we +eat, like, and believe, and how we make our beds, do our hair, and even +how we knit!” + +Dressed for making a round of visits, Mrs. Krauss presented a different +appearance from that loglike invalid her niece had first beheld. She +was a picturesque, graceful woman, with a pair of heartrending dark +eyes, while a little touch of colour on her faded cheeks illuminated a +face that still exhibited the remains of a remarkable beauty. Mrs. +Krauss, in a hired and luxurious motor, made a rapid round of calls +among the principal mem-sahibs—who, as predicted, were not at home—and +wrote her own and Sophy’s name in Government House book. + +The last house they visited was “The Barn.” Mrs. Gregory received them +and gave Mrs. Krauss and her niece a genial welcome. She and Mrs. +Krauss had known one another for years, but had never been really +intimate or close friends. Mrs. Gregory was energetic, modern and +vivacious; the other, a somewhat lethargic beauty, was not interested +in the burning questions of the day, and had long ceased to take part +in local gaieties; but her niece, as Milly said, was charming, and Mrs. +Gregory felt immediately inspired by a liking for this pretty, +graceful, unaffected girl. Sophy, for her part, was delighted with this +large, English-looking drawing-room, with chintz-covered furniture, +quantities of flowers, books, an open grand piano, and a pile of music. +The hostess, too, Mrs. Milward’s cousin, attracted her and made her +feel at home. + +“And what do you think of Rangoon?” inquired Mrs. Gregory. + +“Oh, do not ask her,” interposed Mrs. Krauss with a dramatic gesture, +“she has been with me for more than a fortnight, and this is the first +time she has been beyond Kokine. It is all my fault; she has had such a +lot of housekeeping to see to and take over, and she is such a +delightful companion that I have not been able to bear her out of my +sight.” + +“But, dear Mrs. Krauss, we cannot allow you to appropriate Miss Leigh +altogether. I hope you will spare her to me now and then. Perhaps Miss +Leigh could come with me to the Gymkhana dance next week?” + +“I should like it very much indeed,” said Sophy, glancing +interrogatively at her aunt. + +“Well, if I cannot take her myself, I shall be glad if you will +chaperon Sophy. She has not had any amusement yet and one is young but +once! And now we must go; no thank you, we won’t wait for tea. I intend +to rush the child round the lakes—she has not seen them—and then do +some shopping in the bazaar.” + +After the departure of her visitors, Mrs. Gregory stood in the veranda +and watched them as they sped away together—the dark faded beauty, the +pretty, fresh girl—and said to herself: + +“I wonder!” + + + + +CHAPTER XV +THE CHUMMERY + + +The chummery to which Douglas Shafto had been introduced was a rambling +old bungalow, and the edge of the Cantonment, sufficiently close to +offices and work. Although by no means modern, it boasted both electric +light and fans, and the rent was fairly moderate; the landlord, Ah Kin, +a Chinaman, called for it punctually on the first of every month, but +closed his slits of eyes to various necessary repairs. + +Among the three chums already established was Roscoe, a dark, well-set +up man of five or six and thirty, with a clean-shaven, eager face, +artistic hands, and a pair of clever eyes. Roscoe had been in turn a +junior master, a journalist and actor. Dissatisfied and unsatisfactory +in these situations, his friends had found him an opening where he +would be at too great a distance to trouble them—in short, a billet in +a Burma oil company in Rangoon. Amazing to relate, the post suited him +and the rolling stone came to a standstill; well educated and +intellectual, endowed with a curious eye and a critical mind, he was +anxious to see, mark and learn the life of his present surroundings. +Out of business hours, Roscoe devoted himself to this task with such +whole-souled enthusiasm, that at times he actually imagined that he had +his finger upon the pulse of this strange, new world. The oldest and +least prosperous of the fraternity, his companions liked him and spoke +of Roscoe as “a queer fish, but a rare good sort.” + +Patrick Ormond FitzGerald, police officer, a genial native of County +Cork, was about thirty years of age, handsome, generous and hot-headed, +who enjoyed every kind of scrap and sport—including chasing dacoits and +smugglers. He diffused an atmosphere of good humour and confidence, was +universally popular and invariably in debt. Chum number three, James +MacNab, hailed from “Bonnie Scotland”—a spare, sandy, canny individual, +who, far from being in debt, was carefully amassing large savings. He +had a pretty fiancée in Crieff, who sent him weekly budgets and the +_Scotsman_. He owned a sound, steady ambition, and seldom made an +unconsidered remark. “Mac” was an employé in the Irrawaddy Flotilla +Company, where he was rapidly rising, so to speak, to the surface. + +Each “chum” had a room to himself, but they took their meals together +in a wide, open veranda, and were catered for by a fat Madrassi butler, +who did not rob them unduly, seeing that his accounts had to be +inspected and passed by thrifty “Mac,” who ruthlessly eliminated all +imaginative items. + +In their large compound their cook kept game fowl—long-legged fighting +cocks from Shanghai—and other poultry, including the curly feathered +freaks of Aracan. Here FitzGerald stabled his horses—a capital pair, +trust an Irishman for that!—and Roscoe, a stout elderly Shan, +ironically nicknamed “Later On.” MacNab rode a bicycle; a useful mount +that required neither oats nor groom. + +The three chums soon made Shafto feel at ease and at home; they were +lively companions, too. Roscoe was a capital mimic, and kept his +company in roars of laughter. FitzGerald drew notable caricatures and +could tell a story with the best. “The MacNab,” who had a certain dry +wit, took the stranger firmly in hand with regard to finance—namely, +the furnishing of his room and other expenditure. + +“Bide a wee; go slow at first,” he advised. “Just hire a few sticks +from Whiteway and Laidlaw, and wait your chance for picking up bargains +at Balthasar’s auction rooms; anyway, you don’t want much. A bed, a +couple of chairs, table, washstand and tub. I have a chest of drawers I +can let you have cheap. In the rains the pictures fall out of their +frames, the glue melts, rugs are eaten by white ants in a few hours—and +your boots grow mushrooms.” + +“That’s a cheerful look out!” exclaimed Shafto. “Well, I have nothing +to tempt the white ants.” + +Shafto was adaptable and soon found his feet. At first his entire time +and energies were concentrated on his new job and learning an +unaccustomed task; he spent hours on the wharves along the Strand, or +across the river at Dallah, standing about in the glare, and dust and +blazing sun, amongst struggling, sweating coolies and swinging cranes. +He had also to supervise his Eurasian subordinates, see paddy shipped, +and keep a sharp look out for their delinquencies, such as receiving +“palm oil,” or overlooking damages. + +In the midst of his daily work Shafto was not insensible to his +surroundings, but, on the contrary, acutely alive to the strange +bewildering glamour of the East, where life dwells radiantly. He was +interested in the ever-changing shipping, the crowds of strange craft +lying by the wharves or moored to buoys in the great impetuous +Irrawaddy, and the swarms of sampans darting in all directions. +Overhead was the hot blue sky, blazing upon a motley crowd, which +included the smiling faces of the idle, insouciant, gaily-clad +Burmans—most genial and most engaging of nations. + +Down by the _godowns_, where Shafto worked, the stir and press of +commercial life was tremendous; on every side roared and dashed trams, +motor-lorries, traction engines and—curious anachronism—long strings of +heavily-laden bullock carts. Here was trade from the ends and corners +of the earth; out of her abundance this rich country was shipping to +the nations wood, oil, rice, metals, cotton, tea, silken stuffs, ivory, +jade, and precious stones; masses of cargo lay piled on the wharves, +amid which a multitude of noisy coolies, busy as ants, went to and fro +incessantly, whilst in the distance the saw-mills screamed, the steam +dredgers clanked, and tall factory chimneys blackened the heavens. + +All this amazing restless activity seemed strangely out of its natural +perspective; the scene should have been laid in Liverpool or Glasgow, +instead of displaying a background of palms, tropical trees, gilded +pagodas, and a circle of gaily-dressed, idle natives. + +Although the British and German residents did not assimilate, Shafto +saw a good deal of their mercantile element. At ten o’clock every +morning hundreds of Teuton clerks poured into Rangoon from the +surrounding neighbourhood, and he could not but admire their +indefatigable business activity, tireless industry, and world-wide +radius of action. Long, long after British firms had closed for the +day, and their employés had rushed off to amuse themselves at football, +golf, or boating, the German was still sticking to it and hard at work. +But there was another feature of which Shafto was aware and could not +applaud; this was the “spy” system. There were rumours of an active +gang (manipulated from Berlin), whose business it was to discover what +English firms were doing in the way of large contracts, and +subsequently to enter into competition, cut out, and undersell. It was +said that their methods were both prompt and ruthless. It was also +hinted that one or two firms winked at contraband, offered irresistible +bribes, and made fabulous profits. + +The individual characteristics of his fellow-inmates were soon +impressed upon Shafto, and the interest they evinced in him—a mere +stranger—was undeniably agreeable to his _amour propre_. MacNab, who +was sincerely concerned about his financial affairs, instructed him in +many clever economies, and the localities of the cheapest shops; he was +also emphatic on the subject of cautious outlay—and full of warning +against the horrors of “a rainy day.” + +FitzGerald, on the contrary, was eloquent in favour of “the best that +was going, and hang the expense!” + +“You’ll want two horses, my boy,” he announced, “if you’re going in for +paper-chasing and the gymkhana; you might chance on a bargain, too. I +heard of a fellow who got a wonder for three hundred rupees, an ugly +ewe-necked brute, but he carried off the Gold Cup and every blessed +thing he was entered for. On the other hand, such a windfall is a very +outside chance; then you must have a small car for the rains—I believe +you would get a nice little Ford for six hundred rupees.” + +Shafto received this advice with a shout of laughter. + +“A racer and a car on four hundred rupees a month! FitzGerald, you are +raving mad. If I followed your advice——” he paused. + +“You would soon be shunted out of Gregory’s,” supplemented MacNab, who, +with impassive face, was lolling in a long chair, a silent but +attentive listener. + +“Ah, don’t be minding that fellow!” protested FitzGerald. “Shure, he’d +sell his father’s gravestone, if he ever had the heart to put it up.” + +“Well, I pay my way, Fitz, and can walk down Phayre Street at my case, +whilst you——” he paused significantly. + +“Oh, well, I own a few bills, I know—six hundred rupees a month goes no +way here, but it’ll be all right when my ship comes in; anyhow, I’ll +have had a good time—I’ll have _that_ to look back upon when I’m an old +fellow upon the shelf. Now you,” suddenly turning to stare at MacNab, +“never spend a rupee; you wouldn’t take a taxi to save your life, never +go to a cinema or a concert, nothing that costs money; you just bicycle +and drink lemon squashes and write home.” + +“Oh, if you want to ride in taxis and go to cinemas, you might as well +be in London,” put in Roscoe, who had joined them. + +“I wish to the Lord I was!” declared FitzGerald; “standing at the +corner of Piccadilly Circus this blessed minute, and making up my mind +whether to go to the Criterion grill or to Prince’s?” + +“But as you happen to be in Rangoon, and _not_ Piccadilly Circus, why +don’t you open your eyes and see the place, and enjoy it?” + +“_Enjoy_!” repeated FitzGerald with a dramatic gesture; “see it? I see +a deal too much of it; while you fellows are snoozing in bed, I’m +turning out filthy liquor shops, drug stores, tea houses, and stopping +Chinese fights, smuggling and murder.” + +“Yes, we know all that,” rejoined Roscoe; “you look into the dark, +Shafto and I see the bright side of this country.” + +“Oh, yes, you’re a bright pair, and here, I’m off!” exclaimed the +police officer, as he suddenly caught sight of a mounted orderly and +thundered down the stairs. + +Roscoe was neither economical, nor yet extravagant; he patronised the +theatres and shows, made expeditions into the country on “Later On,” +read many books, and occasionally took a trip up the river in a cargo +boat. + +Shafto and Roscoe had one taste in common—a craving to see, know, +understand and, as it were, get under the skin of this wonderful land. +An impossible achievement! From the first they had been drawn together; +they were searching in an eager way for the same object; they had both +been at a public school and once, when Shafto dropped a word about +Sandhurst, Roscoe said: + +“I was intended for the Army, but I couldn’t pass the doctor—rather a +facer after scraping through the exam.; when that was knocked on the +head, I got a post as assistant-master, but I couldn’t stick it for +more than a couple of years; after that, I was in a newspaper office; +then I got badly stage-struck and went on the boards. Unfortunately, I +was not a success; I never could do the love parts—I neither bellowed +nor whined; at last my people got fairly sick of me, I was so often +‘resting,’ and they made a combined effort and hustled me out here into +the oil business, and here I am in my element.” + +“I can’t say you look particularly oily,” observed his companion. + +“Perhaps not, but I dare say to lots of young fellows I seem a dry old +stick—anyhow, I _was_ a stick in ‘the Profession.’” + +Occasionally Roscoe invited Shafto to accompany him of an evening, and +introduced him to strange and wonderful sights—wrestling, +cock-fighting, puppet _pwes_, or plays in the Burmese character. These +were acted by little figures wonderfully manipulated by strings behind +the scenes; the holder of the string also supplied any amount of +dialogue (not always of the most decorous description), and also all +the latest and coarsest jokes from the bazaar. To the Europeans these +entertainments offered scanty amusement, but to natives they proved +enthralling. An audience would sit spell-bound and motionless for a +whole night, soothed and cheered by the strains of the Burmese +band—that unique and original collection of sounds and instruments. + +“In former days,” explained Roscoe, as he and his companion sat staring +at the bedizened actors and shrill little figures on a long, low stage, +“these plays took place in the open air, on a _midan_; all the world +was welcome, and as there was no charge, naturally all the world was +present! They were usually given by some rich Burman, or widow, in +honour of some offering or anniversary. An uncle of mine was quartered +here years ago, and I remember him saying that he suffered sorely from +these _pwes_; one play lasted for three consecutive days and nights—the +Burmese brought their bedding. The great _midan_ outside his bungalow +was a seething mass of people; whose families were encamped—the place +resembled a huge fair. Some were bartering, gambling, or eating +horrible-looking refreshment, and altogether thoroughly enjoying +themselves; rows and rows squatted motionless on the ground in front of +the stage; of course, sleep, with such a fiendish commotion, was out of +the question, and so my uncle was obliged to get up and wander about +among the masses until daybreak; he said he never could make head or +tail of the play, but one of his brother officers loved it; he engaged +an interpreter and squatted for hours in front of the stage, enjoying +what he considered ‘a priceless treat.’” + +Shafto, like Roscoe’s uncle, failed to appreciate _pwes_, which were +now held within stated bounds; he preferred out-of-door entertainments, +as the heat, the smoke, the smell of raw plantain skins, the band, and +the jabber were too much for him. + +Roscoe, his cicerone, had contrived to learn a little of the difficult +Burmese language, and knew the town to a certain extent—including +something of the vast underworld, and even FitzGerald admitted that +“old man Roscoe” could tell a thing or two, if he liked. + +Before he had been long in Rangoon Shafto had also a glimpse into its +depths. One night, returning from a “sing-song,” as he reached the +bottom of the outer stairs, he was startled by a voice from the pitch +dark space beneath the house—a voice which said in a husky whisper: + +“Is that you, Joe? Joe, for God’s sake stop and give me a couple of +rupees.” + +“It’s not Roscoe,” said Shafto, striking a match; “who are you?” + +The flickering and uncertain light discovered a gaunt and unshaven +European in the shabbiest of clothes. + +“Roscoe’s out; what do you want?” he brusquely demanded. + +“Only a couple of rupees,” was the hoarse reply. “I’m ashamed for you +to see me; I’m down and under, as you may guess.” + +“Drink?” suggested Shafto, lighting another match. + +“No; drugs—two devils: cocaine and morphia.” + +“I say, that’s bad; can’t you take a pull at yourself?” + +“Too late now.” + +“Nothing’s too late,” declared Shafto; “believe that and buck up. Well, +here are four rupees for you.” + +As he put them into a shaking hand the match went out, and the loafer +noiselessly melted away into the soft and impenetrable darkness. + +Next morning Shafto informed Roscoe of this strange encounter. + +“Such a water-logged derelict was never seen! One of your underworld +friends, I take it?” + +“Worse than that,” rejoined Roscoe; “he’s my own first cousin.” + +In reply to Shafto’s exclamation he added: “His father was the officer +I told you about, who was so terribly worried by the plays. This chap +was erratic, but a clever fellow and great at languages; he passed into +the Woods and Forests out here, and enjoyed the wild jungle life for a +good many years; now you see what he is—a wild man of the bazaars.” + +“But I say, Roscoe; can you do nothing?” + +“Absolutely nothing; a cocaine case is hopeless. Opium you might +tackle; the other is beyond the power of man or woman.” + +“But how does the fellow live?” + +“God knows!” replied Roscoe. “Most of these chaps keep body and soul +together by stealing; there’s a lot of smuggling going on in Burma, and +I shouldn’t be the least surprised if my cousin Richard had a hand in +that!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI +MR. AND MRS. ABEL SALTER + + +Shafto had been six weeks in Rangoon and, thanks to his chums, was +beginning to feel completely at home—as is sometimes the case with +adaptable young people in a strange and fascinating country. + +His neighbours, the Salters, who were hospitable and friendly, had lent +him a hand to find his bearings. Occasionally, of an evening, he and +Roscoe would stroll over there after dinner, and sit in the deep +veranda discussing many matters with the master of the house. Roscoe +and Salter were more nearly of an age, and mutually interested in +subjects that to Shafto seemed deadly dull and obscure. He liked to +hear about sport, the country, and the Burmese; to all such topics he +was an eager and ready listener, but when philosophy and sociology were +on the tapis he would join Mrs. Salter indoors, to discuss the paddy +crop, inspect her great rice bins, and argue over prices and sales; or +he would listen to blood-curdling tales about _nats_, or house spirits, +related by his hostess in animated, broken English, and with +appropriate gesticulations. Mee Lay had a high opinion of the young +man, and this was shared by her daughter, for “Shaft,” as she called +him, helped her to fly her kite, mended broken toys and brought her +chocolates such as her soul loved. + +During one of their prowling expeditions Roscoe had imparted the +life-history of Salter to his chum. Salter’s forbears were Yorkshire +folk—thrifty, self-respecting, stiff-backed Nonconformists. His father +and grandfather belonged to what is called “the old school,” when +parents ruled their families with an iron rod, and the meek, +down-trodden children accepted punishment without question. Salter’s +grandmother had dismissed grown-up sons from table and kept a +rebellious daughter for weeks incarcerated in her room. Salter’s father +had inherited her stern, Spartan spirit; he gave his heir a first-class +education in the neighbourhood of London and, when he was twenty, +recalled him to Bradford, there to take his place in the works and live +at home. But Salter, junior, having tasted the delights of liberty, +found home life unspeakably irksome; the laws against drink, dancing, +smoking and the theatre were Draconic. He hated the long chapel service +on Sunday, the endless hymns and emotional exhortations; the day +concluding with family worship, which lasted three-quarters of an hour. +The young fellow dreaded the Sabbath and rebelled against his gloomy, +comfortable, middle-class home, where he had no individuality, no +rights—and no latch-key! At last he broke loose—the flesh and blood of +twenty-two years old revolted. At twelve o’clock one night he found +himself locked out and, as the first bold peal of the bell elicited no +reply, he never again applied for admittance, but with four pounds in +his pockets and a good saleable watch, launched his little skiff upon +the great, wide world. + +Behold him now comfortably established in a foreign land, occupying a +responsible position in a well-known firm, the husband of a clever, +thrifty woman, who was actively engaged in building up his fortune. +After an interval of some years, the Salters at home discovered that +their prodigal had undoubtedly killed and thriven on his own fatted +calf. The usual little bird had informed them that “Abel was much +thought of and prosperous; had a grand home in Rangoon, dozens of +servants, and was married.” Friendly letters were dispatched—for +“Nothing succeeds like success”—and a brisk correspondence ensued. +Information and photographs were promptly exchanged, and the family +received a nicely-finished presentment of Rosetta in her smartest and +shortest frock. They were much impressed by the grandchild born to them +in Burma, and she was immediately installed in a handsome silver frame, +introduced to all their neighbours and to most of their chapel friends. + +But what would have been the sensation of these worthy people if they +had received a portrait of Mee Lay in full festival costume—flowers in +hair and white cheroot in hand! + +On the subject of Mrs. Abel Salter there was but scanty information; +her old maid sisters-in-law were given to understand that she sent them +her best good-wishes—she also forwarded silks and jars of Burmese +condiments, but her husband declared that she was very lazy about +letter-writing and constitutionally shy. Her maiden name, they were +told, had been Mary Lee, and this information had sufficed. + +Besides having the entrée to the Salters’ domestic circle, Shafto had +been elected a member of the Gymkhana Club, where he made various new +acquaintances—and these increased in number as his prowess in tennis +and cricket became evident; then, with the advice—and, indeed, almost +under the compulsion—of FitzGerald, he purchased a smart stud-bred +mare, certainly no longer in her first youth, but sound, clever and +full of “go.” She was not called upon to shine on a race-course, but +carried her master admirably in Station paper-chases on Thursday +afternoons. + +By the MacNab this investment was looked upon with a dubious and +unfavourable eye, although he was aware that the price of “Moonshine” +had come out of a small nest-egg which her owner had brought from home. +He pointed out the enormous price of gram, or English oats, and he +earnestly entreated Shafto “not to be led into follies by other people” +(meaning FitzGerald), “but to keep his head and go slow.” + +During this month of November Shafto had frequently come across his +fellow-passengers in the _Blankshire_; even Lady Puffle had +acknowledged his existence with a bow; not once had he beheld the +desire of his eyes—Miss Leigh. She appeared to have vanished as +completely as a summer mist and, it was whispered, had been swallowed +up and submerged by the German colony. + +Mrs. Krauss had vouchsafed no notice of his visit and card; her niece +was never to be seen either at the Gymkhana, or on the lakes—the +principal meeting-places for young and old. More than once he imagined +that he had caught sight of her in the cathedral at evening service, +but she looked so different in smart Sunday clothes—a feathered hat and +gauzy gown—that he might have been mistaken, and he heard from MacNab +(the gossip of the chummery) that Krauss had brought forward a +remarkably pretty niece, who had recently played in a concert at the +German Club, and made a sensational success. + +When Shafto rode in the mornings, he eyed expectantly every passing or +approaching habit, but Sophy Leigh was never among the early +cavalcade—for the excellent reason that she had no horse. + +Mrs. Gregory, in spite of multifarious occupations as the firm’s +vice-reine, had by no means forgotten pretty Miss Leigh, nor her +cousin’s emphatic instructions; the girl had failed to accompany her to +the Gymkhana dance—“her aunt was ill; she had been unable to leave +her”—a stereotyped excuse to every invitation. The truth was that Mrs. +Krauss, after two or three social efforts, culminating in a large +dinner-party to her German neighbours, had collapsed with one of her +worst attacks, and between nursing her relative and housekeeping for +Herr Krauss (who was shamelessly greedy and exacting), Sophy had not a +moment to spare, and the Madras boy turned away all callers—including +Miss Leigh’s friends—with his mechanical parrot cry, “Missis can’t +see!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII +AT THE PLAY + + +Theatrical performances are the chief entertainment in Burma; the +Burmese as a nation delight in plays—operatic, tragic, opera bouffe and +ballets, such as the “Han Pwe,” when a number of young girls, all +dressed as royalties, posture and dance with extreme grace; and as +their training is perfect, the entertainment evokes unqualified +applause. So interested and absorbed do the audience become in long +drawn-out dramatic performances, with interludes of dancing and +singing, that they will bring their bedding, and not merely remain all +night but several nights—according as the play may hold them! As a +rule, the background is a palace, and the plot concerns the love story +of a prince and princess, which is interrupted by all manner of +vicissitudes—some grotesque, others of genuine pathos; to these the +accompaniment of soft, wailing Burmese music is admirably adapted. + +Po Sine, the greatest actor in Burma—an Eastern “star”—had recently +returned to Rangoon from a prolonged tour, and his admirers, who +numbered thousands, were all agog to see and welcome him. + +The principal theatre was established in a large space at the back of +the Great Pagoda, trustfully open to the soft blue night, otherwise +strictly encompassed with matting; for in these changed and +money-making days, there was an official box-office at the entrance and +no admittance without cash payment! The stage was only raised a foot or +two from the ground, and a long row of little lamps threw a becoming +red light upon the scene. Here many rows of chairs were arranged for +the use of Europeans, whilst the Easterns sat upon the ground on mats +and folded themselves up in easy native fashion. + +On the first night of Po Sine’s reappearance, the arena was packed to +the utmost limit of the matting. In the front were assembled many +European residents, who were treated to bunches of flowers, paper fans, +cheroots and lemonade; also, in a reserved space and on gorgeous rugs, +reclined a number of splendidly attired and bejewelled Burmese +ladies—princesses of the Royal house, a sprightly and animated group; +their flashing diamond combs and long diamond chains made a feature +amid the audience. + +Mrs. Gregory had brought a small party, which included Mena Pomeroy, +Robin Close—one of the assistants—and Douglas Shafto, who had never yet +seen the famous Po Sine. Somehow Miss Pomeroy and Mr. Close had +contrived to get separated from their chaperon, but Shafto still stuck +faithfully to his hostess. + +A puppet play represented the curtain-raiser, and as this, to Shafto, +was no novelty, he stared about him at the masses of shining black +heads; men with jaunty silk handkerchiefs twisted round their brows, +women with their wreaths and golden combs—an undeniably smart +audience—all smoking. The stage was open to the dark blue sky, which +was sprinkled with stars. Right above them clanged a temple gong; from +far down the river came the hoot of a steamer’s syren, and during +intervals the soft humming of the wind among the labyrinth of shrines—a +complete contrast in every respect was this Eastern scene to the last +play he had witnessed in a London theatre! + +All at once there was an influx of people surging in—crafty folk who +knew how to avoid the curtain-raiser. These included a number of +Germans. Among the party in the train of Mrs. Muller, and attended by +Herr Bernhard, was Miss Leigh in a dainty white frock and +flower-trimmed hat, but somehow looking a little bit out of the +picture. Her chaperon, magnificent in a Viennese toilet, unexpectedly +encountered friends who had recently arrived from the Fatherland; these +she hailed with boisterous jubilation, and as she chattered and +gesticulated, listened and interrupted, she entirely forgot her charge; +in fact, she moved on, still talking, and abandoned her, so to speak, +to her fate. + +Sophy’s fate, luckily for her, happened to be Mrs. Gregory, who signed +to Shafto to rescue the young lady and conduct her to a place under her +own wing. + +“How are you?” he said, accosting her eagerly. “Mrs. Gregory has sent +me to ask if you won’t sit by her? There is lots of room.” + +“I should love to, but you see I am here officially with Mrs. Muller. +I’ll go and speak to her, but I think she has filled my seat.” + +A hasty word to the chaperon, who had entirely forgotten her existence, +released Sophy and, as she joined Mrs. Gregory, Frau Muller said with a +shrug: + +“Oh yes, she is rather pretty in her way. She has got among those +odious English—let her stay with them!” + +(Then she threw herself once more into the interesting topic of the +latest scandal in Frankfort.) + +“I am so pleased to see you,” said Mrs. Gregory, making room for Sophy +beside her; “what has become of you all these weeks?” + +“Oh, I have been in Kokine and quite safe,” she answered, but her smile +was not so ready and whole-hearted as it had been on board ship. “Aunt +Flora caught a chill and has been laid up. Poor dear, she is a martyr +to neuralgia.” + +“I know she is subject to it, but surely she does not require you to be +with her _all_ day?” + +“No, but Herr Krauss is at home now; the old cook has departed after a +fearful explosion, and housekeeping is a struggle; servants are so +difficult to find and deal with, especially by a strange ‘missy’ like +myself. And Herr Krauss is particular about punctuality and the plates +being hot, and all that sort of thing; I have to make Russian salads, +confitures and sauces, so I have really had no spare time.” + +“Yes, I can imagine your hands have been pretty full. But do you mean +to tell me that _you_ run the house?” + +“I don’t exactly run it, but I do my best to drag it along—and it’s +rather awkward from my being a new-comer; pice and rupees are +novelties, and everything is supposed to be in German fashion.” + +“German fashion!” echoed Shafto. “What’s that?” + +“Oh, particular hours, particular food, _Blutwurst_, sausages, Russian +salads, cakes, creams, and plenty of them.” + +“Well, I must say Krauss looks sleek and well fed; he does you credit! +But don’t you ever get your Sunday off or your day out?” + +“I suppose I do in a way. I have been to dine with one or two of our +neighbours, and we had some really first-rate music; and then, you see, +we live at a long distance from the Cantonment and the Gymkhana.” + +“But what about the car?” + +“Herr Krauss uses it; he is away most of the day.” + +“But you have a horse to ride?” + +“Yes, there was one; rather a nice-looking little bay, but soon after I +arrived, he was borrowed by a man who has taken it up to Prome.” + +Mrs. Gregory had been listening to this conversation, making mental +notes and setting down bad marks! Her cousin was returning from +Mandalay on the following day, and she determined that she and Milly +would wait upon Mrs. Krauss, and request her to liberate this prisoner. +Mrs. Krauss was a charming, indolent, clinging sort of individual, who +had latterly sunken into a somnolent existence and rarely appeared +above the social surface. Formerly she had been a brilliant figure in +Rangoon society, gave excellent dinners, danced, rode and played bridge +and tennis; but, by degrees, she seemed to have dropped out of things, +and Mrs. Gregory remembered how, once upon a time, when riding +together, she had lamented that she had no children and no particular +interests, and that her energy, such as it was, was ebbing rapidly. Of +course, she had been too long in Lower Burma—eight years of Lower +Burma, merely diluted with an occasional few weeks at May Myo, was +enough to undermine any woman’s mental and bodily state. + +“And so your aunt has been ill?” she asked after a long pause. + +“Yes, but she is much better now and very cheerful, so I was able to +leave her and accept Mrs. Muller’s invitation to accompany her to this +play.” + +“You have seen nothing so far?” + +“Well, not much, but there is lots of time.” + +Mrs. Gregory glanced at the girl and, in the searching electric light, +noticed that her lovely colour was already fading, the lines of the +face seemed a trifle sharper; beauty is fleeting in Lower Burma. +Meanwhile Shafto, sitting so silent at the ladies’ feet, was secretly +boiling with rage. + +So the fat old German, in spite of his wealth, had made his wife’s +niece both sick nurse and house-keeper; one of these tasks was ample +for any girl; Miss Leigh had been six weeks in Rangoon and had never +even seen the Pagoda! + +“I know you are fond of riding,” he began; “do you think you could come +for a gallop if I produced a pony?” + +“And a chaperon,” supplemented Mrs. Gregory. “I can offer my services +and a mount, and I’ll call for you at seven o’clock on Thursday +morning. You may come, too,” she added, turning to Shafto, “and we will +go to the Pineapple Forest.” + +“How delightful, and how very kind of you!” said Sophy. “I am sure I +can manage—as long as I am in by nine o’clock.” + +“But why nine o’clock, my dear Cinderella?” + +“Because I have to interview the cook when he returns from the bazaar. +Herr Krauss is something of a gourmand and rather querulous about his +food, and he often brings in one or two men to tiffin or dinner.” + +“A nice, amusing change,” said Shafto. “You must find old Krauss a bit +monotonous. What does he talk about? Wolfram or sausages?” + +“He talks a good deal about my aunt—he really is devoted to her.” + +“Well, I’ll mark him up one for that. I suppose the guests are his own +compatriots?” + +“Yes, they come on business, and are nearly always the same. They talk +German all the time, which I cannot understand—only when they stare at +me and say something about ‘Engländerin’; after dinner we have music +and Herr Krauss and I play duets. His instrument is the violin—most of +the neighbours are musical, first-rate musicians and so critical; I +appreciate that—it keeps me up to the mark.” + +“I think, among them, they all keep you up to the mark,” observed Mrs. +Gregory, and whatever she was about to add was abruptly interrupted by +a loud, swelling, unanimous murmur of “Ah Wah, Ah Wah,” which suddenly +rose from a thousand throats. This rapturous acclamation hailed the +appearance of Po Sine, the star of the Burmese theatre—unsurpassed and +unapproachable in either tragedy or comedy. Po Sine was nothing to look +at—a thin, ordinary, little man, but endowed with genius; even those +who could not understand a word he said immediately recognised the +great actor. + +This particular play was a favourite comedy; shouts of laughter shook +the audience and the encompassing walls of matting, and in this Shafto +and his companion could not help joining. + +“I wonder what it is all about,” said Sophy. “I know it’s very amusing. +What was that funny thing he said last?” she asked as the shrieks died +down. + +Shafto coloured guiltily. Although far from being an expert in the +Burmese language, he had caught the drift of this sentence—a coarse +_double entendre_, which he could not possibly interpret to a girl. +Burmese plays are not always decorous; this particular performance was +an odd mixture of ancient and modern. The lovers, who were, as usual, +princes and princesses, played stately roles and moved about with +majestic dignity and in gorgeous raiment—their prototypes dated from +the days of Buddha; on the other hand, the clown and the country men, +who enacted the parts of villains and devils, were essentially +modern—as quick with patter songs and up-to-date local events and jokes +as the cleverest music-hall artist. At intervals the weird Burmese +band, with its clashing cymbals, harps and clarions, discoursed the +latest Burmese operatic airs. + +It was one o’clock and the great bell in the heart of the Pagoda had +throbbed out its long deep note, when Mrs. Gregory rose and collected +her party. + +“I’m so sorry I can’t take you with me,” she said to Sophy. “I hope +your German friends will not remain all night. However, I shall depute +Mr. Shafto to look after you. Please tell your aunt that I hope to call +and see her very shortly—and do not forget that you are to ride with me +on Thursday morning.” + +As if it was likely! Then Mrs. Gregory took her departure, leaving +Sophy and her companion to a _tête-à-tête_. + +“I think we will move up closer to your friends,” he said; “I see two +empty seats behind them. Our people can’t stick this for more than +three or four hours.” + +“How have you been getting on?” inquired Sophy, “and how do you like +Burma?” + +“Burma suits me down to the ground; I like it most awfully. I’ve been +very busy learning my job, but I’ve seen a good deal outside business +hours.” + +“What have you seen?” + +“Oh, well, wrestling, tattooing and cock-fights; I have been once up +the river as far as Prome, and to several native shows, including a +funeral.” + +“How have you managed that?” + +“Salter, a fellow in our house, took me; the funeral was a strange +affair—not a bit like ours; everyone in gala clothes, great feasting +and a band in the house; altogether a lively entertainment. When a man +is dying, his friends come and gather round and cheer him, and tell him +of all the good deeds he has done in his lifetime. At the graveside +there is an extraordinary business with a silk handkerchief, in which +the nearest relation is supposed to catch and enclose the departed +spirit, now in the form of a white butterfly—and dangerous to mortals +for seven days and nights. I have seen a good deal of native life +already.” + +“How lucky you are!” exclaimed the girl; “and I’ve seen nothing but +Germans.” + +“Salter has taken me about and naturally he has extra opportunities, +being married to a Burmese.” + +“Married to a Burmese?” echoed Sophy; her tone was incredulous. + +“Yes. At one time it was quite a common thing. Mrs. Salter—her real +name is Mee Lay—is sitting over there in about the fifth row back, +behind the fellow with the scarlet handkerchief twisted round his head. +Presently you must turn and look at her. She is a nice, cheery woman, +and Salter is an interesting, original sort of man. I dine with them +now and then. Mee Lay is uncommonly businesslike—has a good deal of +land and a flourishing rice concern.” + +“She has? How amazing!” + +“I see you don’t know much of Burma yet.” + +“No; so far I am only acquainted with the bazaar prices, the gorgeous +flowers, delicious fruit and futurist insects!” + +“Well, women do most of the business and do it well; the men are a +lazy, loafing lot; very genial and sporting, fond of cock-fighting and +gambling—absolutely regardless of expense or debt. Mrs. Salter is rich; +if you will look round now you will see her—the little woman with the +yellow fan and diamond comb; notice her blazing ear-rings; and yet I +have seen the same lady with her petticoats kilted high, standing +knee-deep in a rice cart and diving with both hands into the grain to +test its quality!” + +“That is a very pretty girl with flowers in her hair, beside her,” +remarked Sophy; “look, she is nodding to you. Who is she?” + +“Her name is Ma Chit; she is Mrs. Salter’s cousin. Sometimes she drops +in when I am there; the Salters live close to my chummery. I have a +munshi now and I am learning Burmese.” + +“And—and I am learning German!” + +“How do you hit it off with your uncle?” + +“Please don’t call him my uncle.” + +“Then I am answered.” + +Sophy laughed and coloured brilliantly. + +“I suppose so. We do not coalesce; our ideas, age and country are +different; he is hard as a rock, brusque and overbearing—but amazingly +clever and energetic. He seems to hold so many threads in his hands, to +deal with such numbers of people; his correspondence is enormous; his +office, when he is at home, is surrounded and stormed by all sorts of +people—Mohammedans, Chinese, Burmese, all waiting on his good pleasure +and his nod. I scarcely see anything of him except at meals, and then +he is too much taken up with eating to have time to spare for +conversation; but we meet in one spot—music-land! He plays the violin; +we do Beethoven together and are great friends; then when the piano +closes——” she paused. + +“You are enemies?” + +“Not exactly enemies, but I do hate the way he gobbles his food and +bullies the servants; and then he says such rude things about +England—perhaps it’s only done on purpose to make me angry? He declares +we are a wretched, rotten, played-out old country, going down the hill +as hard as we can fly. He is narrow-minded, too; so arrogant—the +Germans can do no wrong, the English can never do right. I am telling +dreadful tales, am I not? All the same, he has an English wife, and is +simply devoted to Aunt Flora; nothing is too good for her. It is really +funny to see this rough overbearing man so gentle and thoughtful. But +then, she is a dear!” + +“Oh, is she?” + +“You shall see for yourself. You must come to tea on Sunday. I am sure +I may invite you; Aunt Flora is so kind and sympathetic, and has a look +of mother.” + +“I’ll come all right, if you think she’ll not be _durwaza bund_.” + +“No, she is ever so much better, but the last few years has been more +or less an invalid.” + +“What is her particular illness? Is it fever?” + +“Fever and neuralgia. Some days she will lie in a darkened room and see +no one but her ayah; she won’t even admit me, though occasionally I do +slip in; she has had a bad attack lately, but is now convalescent. Oh, +I see Mrs. Muller moving at last; now we shall be going.” + +“I’m afraid you’ve found this show a hit dull.” + +“Not at all—it has been a most interesting sight; I don’t know when I +have enjoyed myself so much.” + +“So have I; it has been a——” + +Whatever Shafto was about to add was interrupted by Mrs. Muller, who +pounced on his companion with a laughing apology, and handed her over +to the charge of Herr Bernhard. + +Two days later Mrs. Gregory and Mrs. Milward called at “Heidelberg,” +and on the veranda encountered Sophy, who was hurrying out to keep an +appointment to practise duets with Frau Muller. + +“I’m so dreadfully sorry,” she said, when the first greetings were +over, “but I must go; I’ll get back as soon as ever I can. Aunt Flora +is at home.” + +But when Sophy returned the visitors had already departed, leaving +their hostess a good deal disturbed. Indeed, Mrs. Krauss’s languid +spirits had been violently shaken. Mrs. Milward had remarked on Sophy’s +changed appearance, and her tone had been hostile. + +“It is very plain that Burma does not suit her,” she said. “I could not +believe that any girl would have altered in so short a time; I shall +write to her mother at once.” + +“Oh, dear Mrs. Milward, what do you mean?” + +“I should think anyone could _see_ what I mean,” rejoined the lady, who +was very angry and had heard the tale of Sophy’s heavy cares. + +“The girl looks ill. I have known Sophy for years—known her since she +was a small child—and I can assure you that she has never been +accustomed to a strenuous indoor employment, to getting no exercise or +relaxation—or ever meeting people of her own age.” + +Her hostess was struck dumb; her torpid conscience suddenly awoke and +condemned her; Mrs. Milward, who was immediately leaving Rangoon and +had no fear of retaliation, continued with ruthless animosity: + +“It is true what you say—that your niece has been a wonderful comfort +to _you_, but will it be a comfort to her mother when she hears that +she is merely a hard-worked lady-help? I think it would be well to +arrange that she should return home with _me_.” + +Tears now trembled in the culprit’s dark eyes, and she fumbled for her +handkerchief. + +“Oh, Mrs. Milward,” she said piteously, “I do see what you mean. I have +been ill and stupid; my husband has always spoiled me, and thinks that +other people are only brought into the world to wait upon _me_. I +realise my selfishness now. Yes, you are right, the child looks pale +and no longer flits about the house singing her little songs. I beg you +will not alarm my sister; I will undertake that things are altered and +you may depend upon me, dear Mrs. Milward; you have made me feel +horribly guilty. I know I am a self-centred invalid, but I intend to +mend my ways.” And tears, no longer to be restrained, trickled down the +worn, cadaverous face of Mrs. Krauss. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII +THE CHINESE SHOP + + +The solemn promise Mrs. Krauss had made to Mrs. Milward was honourably +redeemed, and a new and agreeable vista opened before Sophy Leigh. Her +aunt roused herself, as it were, from a long sleep; the little bay +horse was recalled from Prome; a Rolls-Royce was purchased (Herr Krauss +signed the cheque without a murmur); a highly-recommended Portuguese +butler was engaged to undertake the heavier forms of housekeeping; and +Mrs. Krauss once more re-entered society—figuratively leading by the +hand a lovely niece, of whom she was unaffectedly proud and who, she +imparted to her friends, “had given her a new interest in life.” + +Hitherto, she declared, she had felt like a flower that was withering +for the lack of sun; now Sophy supplied the sunshine. Sophy was endowed +with a personality that inspired happiness, and looked on the world as +the abode of joy. And so at last pretty Miss Leigh tasted the delights +of the Gymkhana Club, and took part in tennis, golf and dancing. There +were boating parties on the Royal lakes and picnics in the woods. She +made many acquaintances and had quite “a waiting list” of partners. +Sometimes of a morning, but much more frequently of an evening, after +tennis or boating, Mrs. Krauss would drive down to Phayre Street. There +the shops were on the best European lines, and exhibited all the latest +articles from London, Paris, or Berlin, tempting rupees out of people’s +pockets. Mrs. Krauss was a liberal purchaser, whether of European +stores, fancy goods, drapery, or jewellery; this generous aunt +presented Sophy with a pair of heavy gold bangles, a string of pearls +and an exquisite fan and kimono. These latter were found at an Indian +repository owned by a well-known Bengali, with a large clientèle +(Burmese themselves are too indolent to make successful +shopkeepers—they much prefer to look on, and laugh, and bargain). In +this and other emporiums of the same class were to be found rare +embroideries, ivory carvings, eggshell china, Oriental draperies, jade, +and piles of Chinese and Japanese silks of the most exquisite fabric +and colour. Sophy liked to wander round, to marvel and admire, but soon +discovered that to do the latter was to be immediately endowed with her +fancy—be it an enormous Chinese jar, or a lacquered cabinet, or a mere +silver bowl. Mrs. Krauss firmly resisted every denial and excuse. + +“My dear,” she would protest, “do not refuse me; mine is the pleasure. +I don’t know how to spend all my money, and never until now have I had +a girl to whom I could offer presents—and to _give_ is such a joy. I am +a rich woman, with no belongings except you and yours. Certainly, I +don’t deny that this big gong” (the present in question) “is rather a +clumsy affair, but it is old and a beauty. What a deep, rich, +melancholy tone! When struck it seems to tell of some sad, sad story +that happened hundreds of years ago. After you are married, dear child, +it will be so useful in your hall.” + +On these excursions there was one little shop that was never neglected +or overlooked; this was situated in a narrow slum, a long way from the +great artery of traffic and fashion. After negotiating various tortuous +windings and encountering horrible gusts of stale _napie_ and the +ever-odorous _dorian_, the car halted at a certain corner, and Mrs. +Krauss and her companion made their way into a narrow ill-lit lane, and +entered a mean den kept by a fat, crafty-looking Chinaman and his lean, +pock-marked son. There was, as far as Sophy could discern, nothing +whatever to interest or attract upon the premises. The stock was +ordinary and scanty; a few coarse china tea-sets, some teapots in cane +baskets, paper fans, lacquer trays and odds and ends of the cheapest +rubbish; but Mrs. Krauss solemnly assured her niece that “it was the +_only_ place in Rangoon for the real guaranteed netsukes,” of which she +was making a collection. + +A Japanese netsuke is an elaborately-carved ivory button of various +shapes and sizes—no two are alike; they take the form of men or animals +and, as a rule, are executed with amazing delicacy, and, if signed and +old, are of considerable value. + +Mrs. Krauss, who spoke a little Chinese—and was proud of her +accomplishment—appeared to know the fat proprietor rather well, and +together they would retire into a dim inner recess, illumined by an oil +lamp hanging before an altar, and there examine, bargain and gloat over +treasures. + +Meanwhile Sophy, who remained in the outer shop, was offered a seat and +tea, without milk or sugar, in what resembled a doll’s cup; by her +aunt’s express desire she always accepted this refreshment, although +she found the decoction unspeakably nasty; it seemed to taste of an +evil odour. Sometimes Mrs. Krauss would linger for fifteen minutes, +sometimes for longer, talking over netsukes and Hong Kong with Ah Shee. +The atmosphere of the place was overpowering; such a stifling reek of a +mysterious effluvium, the combination of joss sticks, stale fish, +rancid oil, and a sickly taint like the fetid breath of some mortal +sickness; it made Sophy feel faint and, after a short interval, she +invariably made her way into the street, where the air—though by no +means fresh—was an improvement on that within the shop. + +The street was narrow and squalid and the houses were dilapidated—even +for a native quarter; passers-by had a slinking stealthy gait, and cast +glances of surprise and suspicion at the young lady who lingered +outside the premises of Ah Shee. + +One evening, as she waited thus, in the warm, damp dusk, FitzGerald in +uniform clattered by; he caught sight of Sophy out of what is called +“the tail of the eye,” and pulled up so suddenly as to throw his horse +upon its haunches. + +“Miss Leigh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, it is! May I ask why you find +yourself among the Seven Dials, or devils, of Rangoon?” + +“Oh, Aunt Flora comes to Ah Shee’s shop hunting for ivories; she is +collecting netsukes.” + +“Netsukes!” he repeated; “netsukes _here_!” + +“Oh yes, and such good ones—the best in Burma; but it’s a horrible +place, and as to the odours!” and she made a gesture expressive of +disgust. + +“Yes, by Jove, the Chinese beat all the world in stinks; but I say, +Miss Leigh, try to persuade your aunt to hunt elsewhere for +ivories—this part of the world is unhealthy.” + +“I’m not surprised at that.” + +“Be advised by me and make _this_ your last visit to this chinky shop. +Well, I must be shoving on,” and he trotted away. + +A moment later Mrs. Krauss emerged and, by the quivering eye of an +electric lamp, Sophy noticed that she looked strangely animated—indeed +almost radiant. No doubt she had secured some wonderful prize. + +“Who were you talking to, my dear?” she asked. + +“Mr. FitzGerald; he was so surprised to see me and says we ought not to +come here—the place is unhealthy and, indeed, Aunt Flora, I wonder you +can stand the reek of Ah Shee’s den for so long without feeling +horribly sick.” + +“Oh, Mr. FitzGerald—the police-officer? Yes, he is right; it is a low +neighbourhood and the air is poisonous, but I’ve managed to get what I +wanted,” and she held up a pocket handkerchief bulging with ivories. “I +won’t have to come again for ages and ages.” + +Meanwhile Ah Shee and son had shuffled off to summon the chauffeur, and +the car now appeared round the corner of the street, looking like some +crouching black monster, with round, fiery eyes. Attended by the two +obsequious Chinamen, Mrs. Krauss and her niece entered the motor and +were speedily borne away. For a considerable time the former did not +open her lips, but lay back in her corner in an attitude of contented +lassitude. + +They made their way homewards through the teeming bazaar and +brilliantly illuminated Phayre Street, with its brave show of shops, +offering a kaleidoscopic review of jewellery, glittering silver, cut +glass and brass work, or masses of rich, many-coloured stuffs and +silks, each shop with a special circle of admirers. + +It was the hour when offices disgorge their employés, when idlers come +to lounge and stare, and between foot-passengers, trams, taxis and +carts, the thoroughfare was almost impassable. During a block Mrs. +Krauss suddenly roused from her condition of happy contemplation, and +said, as she opened her handkerchief: + +“My dear Sophy, I’ve got _such_ treasures—such finds; real, old +netsukes, signed, and _so_ cheap! Do look at this delicious rabbit!” +holding out a beautiful model. “Is it not too perfect, exquisitely +carved, and smooth with age? And the tortoise with the little tiny one +on its back—what a darling!” and she took it up and kissed it with +rapture. + +It puzzled Sophy to witness this extraordinary enthusiasm and then to +recall the cold fact that, on her return to “Heidelberg,” her aunt’s +interest in these ivories seemed to wane and disappear. Was there not a +bowl of specimens in the drawing-room already consigned to oblivion and +dust? Aunt Flora’s character exhibited an amazing combination of +fantastic caprice and invincible good nature. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX +CHAFF + + +It was Thursday, the Station holiday. A capital paper-chase had +recently engaged the entire community; the pace had been unusually +severe; the obstacles large and formidable—especially the notorious Log +Jump—and casualties were not a few. Shafto and FitzGerald, on hot and +heaving horses, had only halted for a moment at the hospitable +“Finish,” where refreshments were being served, as care for their +precious steeds was taking them and their animals home. After an +unusually long silence FitzGerald exclaimed, apropos of nothing in +particular: + +“So—sits the wind in that quarter?” + +Shafto turned his head and met a pair of knowing Irish eyes. + +“That quarter!” repeated FitzGerald, indicating the red-tiled roof of +the Krausses’ bungalow, where it peeped out from amid a solid mass of +palms and bamboos. + +“I haven’t the remotest idea what you are driving at,” said Shafto +impatiently. “Is it a bit of dialogue in the play you are rehearsing?” + +“No, me boy, that is fiction—this is fact! In my official capacity I am +bound to take notes, and within the last week I have twice met you +early of a morning riding with Miss Leigh—no third party visible to the +naked eye. In fact, you were there before the rest of the crowd—and, of +course, the early bird gets the worm!” + +“And which is the worm—Miss Leigh or I?” + +“Oh yes, you may try to laugh it off, but there’s some reason for these +early _tête-à-têtes_. The reason is as plain as the stick in my +hand—no, I beg its pardon, the reason is uncommonly pretty.” + +“FitzGerald, you are talking most blatant bosh.” + +“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not, and, let me tell you, you’re not the +only string to the lady’s bow; she has as many as a harp! There’s +Fotheringay, the A.D.C.; there’s Captain Howe; there’s Bernhard——” + +“Bernhard’s a beast,” burst out Shafto. + +“Naturally _you_ would think so—it’s only human nature. But Otto is a +handsome man and has a fine seductive voice; and mind you, music has +charms to soothe the breast, savage or otherwise; as for your +prospects, you may apply to me for a testimonial of character: steady, +sober——” + +“There, Fitz, that’s enough—drop it!” + +“Drop it!” repeated FitzGerald with a laugh. “Don’t get your frills +out, old boy, I mean no harm; she is by a long way the prettiest girl +in the place.” + +“That will do,” exclaimed Shafto impatiently; “leave the ladies alone, +or, if you must discuss them, what about the little American Miss +Bliss? You danced with her half the night at the last Cinderella.” + +“Ah! now I suppose you think you’re carrying the war into the enemy’s +quarter, don’t ye? Dancing is not compromising—like solitary rides with +a girl before the world is warm, and Miss Bliss, by name and nature, is +the only girl in Rangoon who can do a decent turkey trot. Now, as to +Miss Leigh——” + +“Oh, for goodness’ sake leave Miss Leigh alone and talk about something +else—talk about horses.” + +“Talk about horses,” repeated FitzGerald in a teasing voice, “and if he +isn’t blushing up to his ears! I’ll tell you what, young Shafto, it’s a +treat to see a real blush in this part of the world; blushing is rare +in Burma, and I’d just like to have your coloured photograph,” +continued FitzGerald, whose methods of chaff were as rude and crude as +those of any schoolboy. + +“Come, don’t let’s have any more of this, Fitz, or you and I will +quarrel.” + +FitzGerald grinned from ear to ear, delighted at the rise he had taken +out of his companion, touched his cap, and said: + +“All right, yer honour,” but to himself he added, “by Jingo, it’s +_serious_! Well, well! However, he’s as poor as a rat and that’s a +great comfort.” + +Comfort was constituted by the fact that, in these circumstances, there +could be no immediate prospect of a break-up of the congenial chummery. + +“See here, Mr. Shafto, on your high horse, if you promise not to trail +your coat and frighten me, I’ll tell you something that will interest +you. I know you have been poking round with Roscoe and diving into +queer places—are you as keen as ever?” + +“I am, of course,” rejoined Shafto, still stiff and unappeased. + +“Well, then, I can show you a quarter where Roscoe has never dared to +stick his nose—a cocaine den.” + +“Not really? Surely you couldn’t take me in there.” + +“I can so, as one of my subordinates; I am looking for evidence in a +murder case; I’ll lend you a coat, and all you will have to do is to +look wise and hold your tongue.” + +“This is most awfully good of you,” exclaimed Shafto, “and I needn’t +tell you I’ll go like a shot.” + +“Oh, I’m good now, am I?” jeered FitzGerald; “but, joking apart, this +will be an experience. Not like puppet plays and dances—but a black +tragedy.” + +“Yes, I suppose so; I know it’s pretty awful.” + +“Cocaine smuggling is playing the very devil with the country and +there’s no denying that.” + +“But can’t you do something to stop it?” + +“Is it stop it? You might just as well try to stop the Irrawaddy with a +pitchfork. And it’s growing worse; there are some big people in it—the +Hidden Hand Company—who keep out of sight, pay the money, employ the +tools and collar the swag. They have agents all over this province, as +well as India, China and the Straits.” + +“Where does the stuff come from?” + +“It’s chiefly manufactured in Germany, though some comes from England.” + +“What, you don’t mean that! I always thought it was concocted out +here.” + +“’Tis little ye know! It is mostly sent in from Hamburg, and in all +manner of clever ways; the smugglers are as cute as foxes and up to +every mortal dodge. A lot of the contraband is done by native crews, of +course without the knowledge of the ships’ officers. Hydrochloride of +cocaine travels in strong paper envelopes between fragile goods, or in +larger quantities in false bottoms of boxes, under plates in the engine +room, or in the bulkheads.” + +“But how can they possibly land the stuff?” inquired Shafto. + +“Easier than you think! There are lots of nice, lonely, sequestered +coves, where goods can be put ashore of a dark night, or dropped +carefully overboard, hermetically sealed, with an empty tin canister as +a float, and picked up at daybreak by a friendly sampan. Of course, the +customs house officers have to be reckoned with from the moment a ship +enters till she leaves the port, but sometimes in this drowsy climate a +man falls asleep in his long chair, and here is the _serang’s_ +chance—the _serang_ being the head and leader of the crew. The +contraband is quickly lowered in gunny bags to the sampans and carried +off in triumph to its destination. However, not long ago, the customs +made a haul of twelve hundred ounces; out here cocaine sells for six +pounds an ounce. So that was a nice little loss, and yet only a drop in +the ocean—for every grain that is seized a pound enters the market. Oh, +I’d make my fortune if I could run one of these foxes to earth.” + +“I wish you could,” said Shafto; “have you no clue, no suspicions?” + +“Hundreds of suspicions, but no clue. There’s a fellow in a sampan who +unnecessarily hoists a white umbrella—I have my best eye on him; and +there is said to be a broken-down, past-mending motor-launch in a creek +beyond Kemmendine, which I propose, when I have a chance, to overhaul +on the quiet. Chinese steamers plying between Japan and Rangoon run +stacks of contraband; as soon as one method of landing is discovered +they find another; their ingenuity is really interesting to watch. The +chief smugglers are never caught—only their satellites, who get about +four months’ gaol and never blow the gaff. If they did I wouldn’t give +much for their lives.” + +“Do you mean to tell me that their employers wouldn’t stick at murder?” +cried Shafto aghast. + +“They stick at nothing; a murder done second-hand is quite cheap and +easy—just a stab with a _dah_, or long knife, and the body flung into +the Irrawaddy; you know the pace of that racing current and how it +tells no tales! Well, here we are! You see, for once I can discourse of +other things than horses; and, talking of horses, these fellows had +better have a bran-mash apiece; but once you get me on cocaine +smuggling, I warn you I can jaw till my mouth’s as dry as a lime-kiln.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX +THE PONGYE + + +Late one warm afternoon in January, when Shafto was unusually busy on +the Pagoda wharf—consignments of paddy were coming in thick and +fast—suddenly, above the din of steam winches and donkey engines, there +arose a great shouting, and he beheld an immense cloud of white dust +rolling rapidly in his direction. + +“Look out, it’s a runaway!” roared a neighbouring worker. “By George, +they’ll all be in the river!” + +Sure enough, there came a rattle-trap hack _gharry_ at the heels of a +pair of galloping ponies. The reins were broken, a yelling soldier sat +helpless on the driver’s seat and several of his comrades were inside +the rocking vehicle. The animals, maddened with fear, were making +straight for the Irrawaddy and, as Shafto rushed forward with +outstretched arms to head them off, they swerved violently, came into +resounding contact with a huge crane, and upset the _gharry_ with a +shattering crash. Several men ran to the struggling ponies; Shafto and +another to the overturned _gharry_ and hauled out two privates; number +one, helplessly intoxicated; number two, not quite so helpless; the +third person to emerge was, to Shafto’s speechless amazement, no less a +personage than a shaven priest—a full-grown _pongye_ in his yellow +robe! He looked considerably dazed and a good deal cut about with +broken glass. Waving away assistance, he tottered over and sat down +behind a huge pile of rice stacks. Shafto immediately followed to +inquire how he could help him, but before he had uttered a word, the +_pongye_, who was much out of breath, gasped: + +“Bedad! that was a near shave!” + +Could Shafto believe his ears? + +“Whist! now, and don’t let on!” he continued, staunching a cut with a +corner of his yellow robe—which he presently exchanged for Shafto’s +handkerchief—“the fright knocked it out of me!” + +“So you’re not a Burman?” + +“Faix, I am not; I’m a native of Cork and was born in Madras, and only +for yer honour we’d all be floating down the Irrawaddy this blessed +minute.” + +His honour found it impossible to articulate; he merely stood and +gaped. The Irish _pongye_, born in Cork and Madras, was a tall, gaunt, +middle-aged man, with high cheek-bones, a closely-shorn head, and horn +spectacles. + +“Might I ask yer name, sorr?” he inquired at last, “and where ye live?” + +“My name is Shafto; I live in a chummery at the corner of Sandwith +Road.” + +“Oh, an’ well I know it an’ its old compound. They say it’s full of +_nats_, because of a murder as was done there. My name is Mung Baw, at +yer service, and I’ll not forget what ye did for me this day, and I’ll +call round. Blessed hour! where’s my begging-bowl?” + +As soon as Shafto had discovered and restored his _patta_, the _pongye_ +arose, gave himself a shake and, without another word, stalked away, a +tall, erect, unspeakably majestic figure. + +When Shafto met Roscoe he lost no time in recounting his extraordinary +adventure, and added triumphantly: + +“So you see, Joe Roscoe, you are not the only man here who makes a +strange acquaintance.” + +“I’m not surprised,” he rejoined; “I’ve heard more than once of these +white _pongyes_. I dare say the chap will be as good as his word and +will look you up; I foresee an interesting interview.” + +In about three weeks Roscoe’s prediction was verified. Returning home +late one evening Shafto was struck by the unusually impressive +appearance and gestures of the fat Madrassi butler who, beckoning him +aside with an air of alarming mystery, informed him that “someone was +in his room waiting to see his honour.” + +“In my room,” he repeated indignantly. “Why the mischief did you put +him in there? Couldn’t he sit in the veranda, like other people?” + +“No, saar, he refused; he would not.” + +Shafto flung open the door of his apartment with a gesture of annoyance +and, to his profound amazement, discovered the _pongye_ seated in easy +comfort upon his bed. He was surrounded by an odd medicinal aromatic +atmosphere, his sandals, begging-bowl and umbrella were carefully +disposed beside him and he appeared to be thoroughly at home. + +“I thought I’d give ye a call, sorr, before I went up country. I’m off +to Mandalay to-morrow on a pilgrimage.” + +“Oh, are you?” said Shafto, taking a seat and feeling at a complete +loss what he was to say and how he was to handle this novel situation. + +“I thought,” resumed the _pongye_, “that I’d like to offer ye an +explanation of the way I happened to be in that ’ere accident.” + +“Yes,” assented his host; “I suppose this,” pointing to his yellow gown +with his stick, “is a fancy dress, for, of course, you are not a real +_pongye_?” + +“Troth, I am so,” he rejoined with indignant emphasis; “I’ve been +properly initiated—I know Burmese and the Pali language, and can intone +a chant with anyone.” + +“All the same, you’re an Irishman and your speech bewrayeth you. I +wonder you are not kicked out.” + +“Is it kick me out? No fear! For besides being well respected and well +liked, I’m a magician.” + +“Oh, come, that’s all rot!” exclaimed Shafto impatiently. + +“’Tis not,” he rejoined in a vigorously defensive tone; “and ’tis +little ye know. This is a queer country; the people are terribly +superstitious and weak in themselves, on account of _nats_ and bad +spirits.” + +“Oh, that I can believe,” replied Shafto; “your pals in the _gharry_ +could tell you something about bad spirits.” + +“Wait now and I’ll explain,” said the _pongye_, with an intimate +gesture of his great bony hand. + +“Sometimes I’ve a sort of ache to be mixing up with European +soldiers—even if it’s only for a couple of hours.” After a pause he +added in a thoughtful tone, “For ye see I was wance a soldier meself.” + +“What!” + +“It’s the pure truth I’m tellin’ ye—a corporal, with two good-conduct +stripes; the other week Paddy Nolan had drink taken, and nothin’ would +please him but that he must drive, so he turned off the _garriwan_ and +made a cruel bad hand of it—as you saw for yourself! They were a couple +of raw new ponies, come down out of last drove, and unused to trams and +motors, and frightened dancing mad; only for you heading them off, we +were all as dead as mutton.” + +“But how did you get into the Burmese priesthood?” inquired Shafto with +abrupt irrelevance. + +“It was like this, sorr, I’m country-born; me father was a sergeant in +the Irish Rifles, me mother was a half-caste—an Anglo-Indian from +Ceylon—so I’m half Irish, quarter Cingalese. I was left an orphan when +I was seven years old and educated at the Lawrence Asylum. I always had +a wonderful twist for languages; it came as easy as breathing to me to +talk Tamil or Telugu. Well, when I was close on eighteen I enlisted and +put in seven years with the Colours, mostly in Bengal; then we come +over here and lay in Mandalay and, after a bit, I—somehow got lost.” + +“That is, you deserted,” sternly amended Shafto. + +“Oh well, have it whatever way ye like, sorr. I was shootin’ in the +jungles and was took terribly bad with fever and nearly died. The +natives are good-natured, kind, soft people—none better; they took me +in and nursed me, and one of the _pongyes_ doctored me. You see, I was +entirely out of touch with Europeans, and when I got cured was just a +walking skeleton. Some thief had made away with my boots and breeches, +so I stopped among the natives and never laid eyes on a white face for +two years. I soon picked up the Burmese lingo, which some say is +difficult; but to me it was aisy as kiss me hand. Then I was received +into the priesthood; that was over seven years ago, and here I am +still. Of course, as ye know, I can go or stay as I please; but I stick +to the yellow robe as if it was me skin. Still and all, I won’t deny +that the sight of a soldier draws me, and that,” he concluded modestly, +“is my only wakeness.” + +“I say, you don’t mean to tell me that you are a _real_ Buddhist?” + +“Why, of course I am; what else would I be? The religion is pure and +good and friendly; the other priests know that I’m from India—and +that’s enough for _them_. In this country no questions is asked—and +that’s what makes livin’ so nice and aisy. And, sure, aren’t we +Buddhists all over the world? Our doctrines are wise and ancient; we +pray and keep fasts and live to ourselves, and there’s little differ, +in my mind, between us and the Catholic religion—in which I was born +and reared. Haven’t we the mass, and vespers, and beads, and +monasteries, and Lent,—all complate?” + +“So then you’re a celibate—a monk?” + +“And to be shure I am; ye don’t think I look like a nun, do ye?” + +“A water drinker?” + +“Well, sorr, I’m tell ye no lie—not altogether; I am not a teetotaller +all out, I’m a sober man, and I mostly drink cocoanut water and tea. +It’s a fine, free life, I can tell ye.” + +“Fine and idle, eh?” + +“I’m not more idle than the rest of them; it’s true that I don’t teach, +and, of course, it’s only the young fellows that do the sweeping, +water-carrying and filtering, and the work at the _kyoung_. I see a +heap of the country and have many friends, who give me small presents, +and smokes and food; I have a far better time—a thousand times a better +time—than sweating in route marches and carrying round Orderly books in +Rangoon or Calcutta; and many’s the quare tale I could tell ye—tales +about animals and elephant dances and big snakes, ay, and spirit tales +that would open your eyes.” + +“Well, if it’s any comfort to know it, you’ve opened my eyes about as +wide as they will go. What is your real name?” + +“Michael Ryan. Me father came from Cork—a real fine country for +fighting men, and I understand that, once upon a time, my ancestors had +a great kingdom beyond the Shannon. Well, sorr,” now beginning to +unfold himself and rise from the bed, “I thought I’d just drop in and +explain matters a bit before I go up country.” + +“That was very thoughtful of you, Mung Baw.” + +“I’ll be back in a while, and I needn’t tell ye, Mr. Shafto, that as +long as I draw breath I’ll never forget how I’m beholden to ye. I’m +vowed to poverty, of course, but I’m a rover and go about a lot, and +some day I may be able to put a good thing in your way, and I can tell +ye one thing—ye have a lucky face!” + +“I’m glad to hear it; and now, before you depart, will you tell me +something else? How do you contrive to get so much liberty—careering +round the town with Tommies and coming to look me up? It’s past seven +o’clock—and I understand your Roll Call is at six.” + +“That’s true,” assented the _pongye_, “but there are exceptions, and +I’m one of them,” suddenly sliding off the bed and drawing himself up +to his full height—about six feet two. “I don’t enjoy very good health +being, as ye understand, no native of the country; so I’m allowed a +certain margin and liberty. Well now, I’ll be takin’ leave of ye; but +before I go, I want you to accept something I brought you—just a small +trifle of a talisman.” + +And from some mysterious receptacle he produced a good-sized dark +stone, about the size of a pigeon’s egg. “Now, whatever ye do, put this +carefully away and keep it safe and secure.” + +Shafto took it in his hand, examined the gift and murmured his thanks. + +“No harm of any sort can come next or nigh ye,” continued the _pongye_, +“as long as that stone’s in your possession—and that’s as shure as me +name’s Mung Baw.” + +And hastily collecting his umbrella and bowl, before Shafto could +realise the intended move the stranger was gone. Nothing remained of +his visit but the curious aromatic odour and the so-called “talisman.” +The stone was round, dark and by no means beautiful, and at first +Shafto was inclined to throw it into the compound, but, on second +thoughts, he thrust it into his dispatch box and locked it away. + +“Evil spirits, a magician, a talisman,” he said to himself. “I suppose +the poor fellow was discharged from the Service as a hopeless lunatic.” + +Having arrived at this conclusion, Shafto changed his clothes and went +to dinner in the veranda, where he was well chaffed about his recent +visitor. + +“Been stealing something up at the Pagoda and they sent a _Bo_ after +you,” suggested FitzGerald; “I must say your new friend is a +rum-looking customer; a powerful, strapping _pongye_. He’d make a grand +constable! What did he want?” + +“Oh, he merely came to pay a visit of ceremony,” replied Shafto. “He +was in a _gharry_ accident a few weeks ago, and I happened to come to +his rescue and pick up the pieces; he called to express his thanks and +drop a P.P.C.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI +THE COCAINE DEN + + +“To-night’s the night,” said FitzGerald to his confederate. “You and I +will creep out in half an hour’s time, and no questions asked. Roscoe +has gone up to Tonghoo about oil; the MacNab is dining at the Pegu Club +with one of his Big Pots and talking Flotilla and finance.” + +“All right, I’ll be ready in two jiffs—you won’t forget the coat?” + +“Not likely! We will taxi down to the end of Dalhousie Street, and into +the bazaar about half-past nine o’clock, and then proceed on foot. I am +taking two constables—both armed.” + +It was a gay and busy scene; Dalhousie Street—which, it is said, never +sleeps—was a blaze of light, humming with noise and excitement and +packed with crowds of pleasure-seekers; a crude mixture of races, +struggling and pushing to their different goals of entertainment. + +As the two young men halted for a moment at a popular corner, it seemed +as if the whole town and bazaar flowed past in a wave of colour and +movement. Burmans’ and Shans, male and female, clothed in coloured silk +and satin, the women decked with flowers and jewellery, all smoking and +jabbering in their strange monosyllabic tongue; solid, well-set-up +Germans parading in couples; rollicking sailors; Chinamen; Malays in +great numbers; stately Sikhs and the inevitable Babu filled the scene. + +“They are all out to-night,” observed FitzGerald, “lots of shows on; +well, now for _ours_.” + +As he spoke he turned into a narrow street that led through an endless +maze of curves and angles and, followed by two stalwart Sikh police, +they made their way into the heart of the China bazaar and plunged into +the worst slum quarter of this crowded, cosmopolitan city—a city, at +least, in wealth, extent, population and importance. They passed +flaring joss-houses, gambling dens and brazenly naked haunts of vice, +and after picking their steps through a particularly noisome +gully—odorous of _napie_ and rotten vegetables—they arrived at an +innocent little door in a high blank wall. After some whispered parley +with an old Chinaman, the pair were admitted and ushered into a large, +low saloon, where scores of gamblers were engrossed in the hypnotic +pleasures of “Fan Tan,” or the “36 animal lottery,” so popular and so +simple! + +The adjoining room was a well-appointed opium resort. Here the roar of +the bazaar and pulsing of tom-toms were blurred and almost inaudible. A +reek of _bhang_ and _betel_ hung in the air; there were rows of neat +bunks, lacquered pillows, and small trays containing the opium pipe, +lamp and other necessaries. Everything was apparently carried out +decently and in order; the clients were of a respectable, well-to-do +class—some who had merely dropped in for a pipe of _chandu_, or a jolt +of opium; and Shafto noticed quite a number of Europeans and, among +them, at present asleep, a man whom he knew and frequently met on the +Strand. He had sometimes wondered at his dried-up, withered skin and +lank, dead-looking black hair. _Now_ he understood. + +The police officer was not disposed to linger on these premises. A +cocaine den was his goal, and after a short talk with an affable old +Chinaman, who spoke perfect English, he took leave and once more they +were threading the odorous gloom of the slums. They soon came to a halt +and, leaving the two constables outside, after the usual delay and +mystery, were admitted and entered a most evil-smelling den. This was +lighted by two or three smoky oil-lamps, the rank smell of which, with +the sickly reek of squalid humanity, struck them like a blow in the +face. Between forty and fifty victims appeared to be present, all +belonging to the poorer classes, and nothing could be more repulsive +than their appearance. Excessive emaciation and festering sores were +their most marked characteristics. Some were lying on their mats in +semi-stupor, several who had just received an injection were patiently +awaiting their dreadful sleep—one of the chief attributes of cocaine is +its almost immediate effect. Here was a group squatting round a man +armed with a syringe—fatal germ-carrier—busily engaged in mixing the +cocaine and morphia. When the concoction had been prepared, one of the +customers turned up his sleeve to discover—if he could—a spot in which +to insert the needle; but there was not a place, even the size of a +pin’s head, so he rolled up his _lungyi_ and searched for a site on his +thigh; then the needle was produced, its contents were pumped in, and +the man made room for the next victim. This performance held Shafto +with a sort of hideous fascination; the crowd appeared to be entirely +insensible to his presence and only alive to the enjoyment awaiting +them. + +At the far end of the room was an iron-bound enclosure, behind which +sat a wily and inscrutable Chinaman who, having received a formal +notice that this visit was “safe and unofficial,” obligingly exhibited +his scales and small packets of drugs—wares to bring rich delights to +the narcotised—which he disposed of in infinitesimal quantities, at +from four to six annas a dose. + +Sprawling about on filthy rush mats were numerous Chinese, Burmese and +Indians; also a few women of the lowest class, each and all sunken in +the various stages of an ecstatic slumber. + +As FitzGerald was now engaged in whispered conference with a +pock-marked Malay (who was awaiting his turn), Shafto stood back +against the wall, a completely detached figure, acutely sensible of the +chill horror of this unknown sphere—the so-called “underworld.” + +He noticed that one or two customers sat round covetously watching the +operation of the syringe—not having the money with which to indulge +themselves; he also observed several who appeared to be in the last +stage of their existence—thin to emaciation, mere wrecks, like +half-dead flies, scarcely able to crawl about the floor. + +Quite in the shadow, he caught sight of a tall figure in European +clothes, who was, like himself, an impassive spectator, and, with a +start, he recognised Roscoe’s cousin. To-night he appeared cleaner and +more human; he had shaved recently, and there was an undeniable family +likeness between him and his relative—such a resemblance as may exist +between a dead and broken branch and one still flourishing upon a +healthy tree. On this occasion he was evidently not ashamed to be seen +and recognised, for he nodded to Shafto, then crossed the room and +joined him. + +“Ah, so you’ve not taken a pull at yourself yet?” said Shafto. + +“No, the cocaine debauchee has no power to resist the drug,” he replied +in a thin refined voice. “I am fairly normal to-night; it is not a case +of virtuous repentance, but merely because I have no money.” + +As he made this statement the despairing eyes that looked into Shafto’s +were those of some famishing animal. + +“You have the power to raise me from the pit,” he continued in a husky +voice; “you can lift me straight into heaven!” + +“Only temporarily,” brusquely rejoined Shafto. + +“Even that is something when it offers peace and satisfaction to the +restless human heart.” + +“But surely you can free yourself and your restless heart? Why not walk +out of this filthy den with us? Roscoe will help you, so will I. Come, +be a man!” + +“It would be impossible for me to regain the normal balance of life,” +declared the victim of the drug; “also, I am no longer a man—I am a +fanatical worshipper of cocaine, and only death can part us. Some day +soon I shall fall out of her train, the police will find me in the +gutter and take the debased body to the mortuary, whence, unclaimed and +unknown, it will be carried to a pauper’s grave.” + +“But can nothing be done to stop this hellish business?” + +“Nothing,” replied the victim with emphasis, “nothing whatever, until +sales are rendered impossible and the big men—the real smugglers who +are trading in the life-blood of their brothers—are reached and +scotched. As for myself, I am past praying for; but thousands of others +could and ought to be saved—by drastic measures and a stern exposure. +The fellows in this business are as cunning as the devil; the stuff +arrives by roundabout channels and from the most surprising quarters. +Now and then they allow a consignment to be seized, but as a mere +blind, a sop, and trade flourishes; there is no business to touch it in +the money-making line.” + +He paused and met Shafto’s searching eyes, then went on: + +“It must amaze you to hear a fellow in this sink talking plain +grammatical English, but before the cocaine fiend caught and tortured +me I had brains. Joe Roscoe is a good chap—he has often held out a +helping hand, but it was not a bit of use, I only sank deeper. When I +recall the things I have done, the meannesses I have stooped to, I +squirm and squirm and _squirm_! Well, I am nearly at the end of my +tether, and a hair of the dog that bit me is all I ask. Your friend +FitzGerald here, now looking up evidence from that rascally Malay, is +working his very best to find some clue to the headquarters of the +gang; but they are much too clever and are making their thousands and +tens of thousands; profits are enormous, and the servants of the +company are well paid for any risks or prosecutions.” + +“But what about informers?” asked Shafto. + +“Oh, as for betraying secrets or giving the game away, the employés +know exactly what to expect. More than one would-be witness has +disappeared; his epitaph is, ‘Found drowned.’ Ah, I see FitzGerald +moving, and so you must take your departure out of this inferno into +the clean upper-world.” + +“You come along with us,” said Shafto, suddenly seizing him by the arm. + +But Roscoe threw him off with astonishing force and shook his head +emphatically. Nevertheless he followed the pair to the entrance—a tall +wraith-like form moving behind them, a shadow in the shadows. + +As soon as the door had closed and the visitors were once more in the +street, the police officer broke out: + +“Upon my word, Shafto, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Didn’t I +see you slip money into the hand of that broken-down Englishman?” + +“Yes, you did,” Douglas boldly admitted; “I was obliged to, right or +wrong. If you had only seen his eyes, his starving, despairing eyes! I +believe they will haunt me as long as I live; somehow I feel to-night +as if I had looked through the gates of hell!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII +THE APPROACHING DREAD + + +The cold weather was waning in the month of March, women and children +were flocking to cooler climes than Lower Burma—chiefly to May Myo, +north-east of Mandalay. Once a stockaded village, it was now a +fair-sized and attractive station, with a garrison, a club, many +comfortable bungalows, an overflowing abundance of flowers and fruit, +and in its neighbourhood beautiful moss-green rides. When the hot +weather had begun to make itself felt, and the brain-fever bird to make +himself heard, Mrs. Krauss had insisted on dispatching her niece to +this resort, chaperoned by Mrs. Gregory; but as far as she herself was +concerned nothing would induce her to leave home. + +“I love my own veranda and my own dear bed,” she declared; “I shall +have lots of electric fans and ice, all the new books, and Lily will +look after me; but you, Sophy, being a new-comer and not acclimatised, +must positively depart.” + +Sophy exerted her utmost eloquence to induce her aunt to follow the +fashion and spend, at least, two months in the hills, and her efforts +were warmly supported by Mr. Krauss, but his wife made no reply—she +merely beamed and shook her head. Eloquence and persuasion were wasted. +He and Sophy might just as well have appealed to the alabaster Buddha +in the drawing-room. Flora Krauss never argued—possibly this was one +phase of her indolent nature. She merely assumed an immovable, negative +attitude and met every suggestion with a smile and a shake of the head. + +Sophy had no desire to leave Rangoon; she protested that she had only +been out seven months and really required no change; but her appeal was +silenced by the voice of authority. + +“My dear child,” said her aunt, “you’ve no idea what you would be like +in three months’ time. I am hardened and acclimatised, but your nice +complexion would soon take leave, never to return. You would be covered +with hideous spots and you would probably get fever. Mrs. Gregory is +most anxious for your company and _I_ am equally anxious for your +departure. You will have a very good time up at May Myo and go you +must!” + +Sophy had no alternative and was compelled to obey orders. + +“I shall miss you most dreadfully, my dear,” said her aunt; “it is so +nice to have you flitting about the house, not to speak of your +vivacious company and delicious music. Your music is really wonderful; +it seems to exorcise an evil spirit that gives me no peace.” + +“Oh, Aunt Flora,” expostulated the girl, “how can you say such things? +Surely you don’t believe in evil spirits?” + +“But, my dear child, how can I help it when I live in a country where +millions of people worship and fear them?” + +“Those are only ignorant natives; you would not allow their +superstitions to affect you.” + +“Well, at any rate, your playing uplifts and soothes me; I can’t +imagine how you inherited this gift; your mother was not particularly +musical, nor was I. I recollect my misery as a girl in struggling +through ‘The Harmonious Blacksmith,’ and I never remember hearing that +we had any musical genius in the family. Of course, the natives here +would find an easy answer and say that you had been a great musician in +another incarnation.” + +On hearing this solemn explanation Sophy burst into peals of laughter, +at which rejoinder Mrs. Krauss looked both shocked and hurt and, after +an awkward silence, the subject dropped. + +And so, in spite of Sophy’s efforts to remain in Rangoon, she was +figuratively driven into the arms of Mrs. Gregory. The Maitlands and +the Pomeroys had also invited her to May Myo, but Mrs. Gregory overbore +all competition and insisted that she must have Sophy as a companion to +share her bungalow and accompany her songs, and departed in triumph, +carrying the girl with her. + +Mrs. Krauss attended her niece to the railway station, loaded her with +books and fruit and saw her off with urgent and affectionate +injunctions and many kisses. During the last few months Mrs. Krauss +appeared to have become a transformed person; she went about +continually in her smart new car, was seen at dances, little dinners +and the theatre, and had recovered a faint shadow of her former good +looks and something of her old animation. + +Herr Krauss naturally attributed this change to her niece, and showed +his gratitude to Sophy in various abrupt ways, suffering her to mix +with the English society without sneers or interference. Sophy did not +now see so much of the German community; she was aware that Mrs. Muller +and others no longer approved of her, and Frau Wurm had said openly, +“that although the girl had done her best to learn how to keep a house, +her heart had never been in the business and she was not +_schwärmerisch_ to German people or German ways!” + + +Whilst Sophy Leigh had been enjoying herself at May Myo, among the +green hills and soft airs of Upper Burma, Shafto, in the oppressive +sultry heat, had had some pleasant and unpleasant experiences. + +The pleasant experience was that his salary had been raised. Now he +could afford to buy another horse and keep a _tum-tum_; with a heavier +purse he was able to send home some well-chosen and handsome presents—a +China crêpe shawl for Mrs. Malone, ivory carvings to the Tebbs, an +Indian _chuddah_ to his aunt and a heavy gold bangle for each of the +girls. Unfortunately one gift to “Monte Carlo” had a dire and +unexpected result—it brought him a deluge of letters from Cossie, who +was rapturous over his promotion and “his beautiful, exquisite, +_darling_ gift,” which she wore on her arm day and night! + +“I felt sure you had _not_ forgotten me,” was her ominous opening; “you +could not; there is a secret telepathy between us, and I am _always_ +thinking of you, dear old boy.” + +Several mails later there arrived a letter from Sandy, the contents of +which almost made his cousin’s hair stand on end. After one or two +preliminary sentences, Shafto’s eyes fell upon these lines: + +“By this you will have heard that our Cossie will be afloat; she has +been very restless and unsettled for a long time—almost ever since you +left; nothing seems to please her. First she took up nursing and soon +dropped that; then she took up typing and soon dropped that. At last +she has got the wish of her life, which is to go abroad. She has +answered an advertisement and secured a top-hole situation, as lady +nurse in Rangoon. She starts in ten days in the ship that took you +out—the _Blankshire_, and is so busy and excited that she is nearly off +her nut.” + +The same post delivered a thick letter from Cossie, which her +ungrateful and distracted relative tore up unread. Already, in his +mind’s eye, Shafto could see Cossie permanently established in Rangoon, +informing everyone that she was his cousin, bombarding him with +_chits_, worrying him for visits, treats and attentions. Heaven be +praised! neither of his horses carried a lady, it was as much as he +could do to ride them himself. He could not possibly leave Rangoon and +so effect his escape; he was nailed down to his work, not like his +lucky chums, whose business duties occasionally carried them up the +country. His job was confined to Rangoon itself, for eight hours a day. + +The prospect filled him with despair; life would become intolerable. A +vivid imagination painted the picture of Cossie, helpless and +plaintive, appealing for information and advice, coming to him to patch +up disputes between her and her employer, to take her on the lakes, to +the gymkhana, or the theatre on her days out. And what would Sophy +Leigh think when she saw him accompanied by Mrs. So-and-So’s European +nurse? Putting her absurd partiality for him on one side, Cossie in her +normal condition was a good-natured, amiable creature, and, of course, +when she arrived in Burma he, as her only relative in the country, +would be bound to look after her and show her attention; probably all +the world would believe that they were engaged! Unchivalrous as was the +idea, he had a hateful conviction that it would not be Cossie’s fault +if they did not arrive at that conclusion. + +With this sword of Damocles hanging over his head, and the object of +his apprehension being daily brought nearer and yet nearer, Shafto was +and looked abjectly miserable. FitzGerald rallied him boisterously on +his glum appearance, and on being “off his feed.” + +“What on earth ails you?” + +To his well-intended queries he invariably received the one brief +unsatisfactory answer: “Nothing.” + +Roscoe, too, endeavoured to puzzle out the mystery. It was not the lack +of money—Shafto was prompt in his payments; _his_ door was never +haunted by bill-collectors, nor had he got into hot water in his +office; both his horses were sound. What could it be? + +In due course the _Blankshire_ was signalled and arrived, and the usual +mob of people swarmed aboard to meet their friends. Among these, +carrying a heavy heart, was Shafto; after all, he realised that he must +do the right thing and go to receive his cousin; but, amazing to +relate, there was no Miss Larcher among the passengers! On inquiry he +was presented to an excited lady, who had brought her all the way from +Tilbury, filling the situation of lady nurse. Miss Larcher had not +completed the voyage, but had landed at Colombo! On hearing of his +relationship to her late employé, Mrs. Jones, a hot-tempered matron, +fell figuratively tooth and nail upon defenceless Shafto. In a series +of breathless sentences she assured him that “his cousin, Miss Larcher, +was no better than an adventuress, and had behaved in the most +dishonest and scandalous manner.” + +After a moment—to recover her breath—she went on in gasps: + +“I took her on the recommendation of a mutual acquaintance, and at our +interview she appeared quite all right and most anxious to please; but +once on board ship, with her passage paid, I soon discovered that she +was not anxious to please _me_, but any and every unmarried man she +could come across! Such a shameless and outrageous flirt I _never_ saw. +As to her duties, she was absolutely _useless_; I don’t believe she had +ever washed or dressed a child in her life before she came to me; she +did nothing but dress herself and sit about the deck with men, leaving +me to do her work. When I spoke to her she simply laughed in my face; +the children couldn’t endure her and screamed whenever she came near +them. So I was obliged to do nursemaid whilst she danced and amused +herself—and all at my expense. She made no secret of the fact that she +was on the look out for a husband; and she has gained her end—for she +is married.” + +“Married!” repeated Shafto. The news was too good to be true. + +“Well, at least they landed at Colombo with that intention,” announced +the lady sourly; “she and a coffee planter, a widower, with a touch of +black blood. They were going up country to his estate, and she declared +that she was about to have the time of her life—but I doubt it.” + +This piece of news was an unspeakable relief to Shafto. The hypocrite +listened to the long list of his cousin’s enormities with a downcast +and apologetic air, whilst all the time he could have shouted for joy. +When at last he was permitted an opportunity of speaking, he assured +the angry matron that he much deplored Miss Larcher’s shortcomings. His +sympathy even took a practical form, for he generously offered to +refund Mrs. Jones half of Miss Larcher’s passage money; this the lady +vouchsafed to receive and subsequently always spoke of young Shafto as +“a remarkably nice, gentlemanly fellow.” Little did she suspect that +the cheque so punctually lodged at her banker’s was in the form of a +heartfelt thank-offering—the price of a young man’s peace! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII +MYSTERY AND SUSPICION + + +One evening after dinner the four chums—unusual circumstance—were all +present; MacNab, seated at the big round table, engaged in putting up a +remarkably neat parcel, the others lounging at ease, smoking and +talking. + +“Bedad, I know the address of that!” drawled FitzGerald from his long +cane chair, “St. Andrew’s Lodge, Crieff, Perthshire, N.B. Ahem—presents +endear absents.” + +“N.B.,” retorted MacNab, “_you_ don’t send many!” + +“Why, man alive, it’s all I can do to keep myself in boots! And you’re +wrong about presents, for I did send my sister a ruby ring out of +‘Top-Note’s’ winnings. Things are getting so bad with me +financially”—here he struck a match and then went on—“that some day +I’ll be obliged to make a present of myself!” + +Shafto, who was reading, looked up over the edge of his book and said: + +“How do you know you won’t be declined with thanks?” + +“I will take an observation and make sure, me boy—I’m not a confounded +fool. Talking of fools—what about your crazy expedition to-morrow? I +say,” addressing himself particularly to Roscoe and MacNab, “did you +know that this fellow is going out tiger shooting? Tiger shooting, if +you please! Tiger shooting is to be his way of spending the Sabbath; +what do you say to _that_, my stiff-necked Presbyterian?” + +“Tiger shooting where?” inquired Roscoe. + +“Somewhere near Elephant Point, with Stafford of the Buffers,” replied +Shafto. “We have got leave, a pass and two trackers.” + +“You’ll find it a pretty expensive business,” remarked the canny +Scotsman. + +“Worse than that!” supplemented Roscoe. “There will be no bag, no tiger +skin, claws, whiskers, or fat. As long as I’ve been in Rangoon—and +that’s some years—I’ve been hearing of this same tiger. Dozens of +parties have been out after him, with no success; he is still living on +his reputation—just a myth and a fortune to the trappers. Lower Burma +is much too wet a district for the great cat tribe.” + +“But I am told that there are plenty of elephants and tigers in this +district,” argued Shafto. “And what about the tiger that was actually +crawling on the Pagoda not so very long ago! Why, hundreds of people +saw the brute; it was shot by a fellow called Bacon.” + +As this was a hard and unanswerable fact Roscoe was for the moment +silenced. After a short pause he continued: + +“All the same, I don’t believe in the Elephant Point tiger; the other +was no doubt a pious beast—who came from Chin Hills to make a +pilgrimage.” + +“You’ll have a fine, rough journey, me boy.” said FitzGerald; “nasty +deep swamps, terrible thorn thickets, grass ten foot high—it wouldn’t +be _my_ idea of pleasure.” + +“No,” retorted Shafto, “tiger shooting and turkey-trotting are widely +apart.” + +“But look here,” exclaimed FitzGerald, as if struck by a thought and +now sitting bolt upright. “Mind you keep your eyes skinned and your +ears pricked when you are down there,” and he threw his friend a +significant glance; “you never know your luck, and you might happen on +valuable _kubber_—and start some rare sort of game.” + +FitzGerald’s warning was amply justified; the tiger-shooting expedition +proved a much rougher business than the sportsmen had anticipated. Once +they quitted the roads and foot-path, vegetation became rank and +overpowering and in places impassable. Swampy ground, dense thorn +thickets and elephant grass made progress enormously difficult—the +jungle guards well its many secrets and is full of dangers to mankind. + +It was a bright moonlight night when Shafto and his companions alighted +at the selected area and tossed for posts. These were at a considerable +distance apart, each in a tree, over a “tie-up”—which, on this +occasion, happened to be a goat. + +The hours dragged along slowly; Shafto, doubled up in a cramped +position on a _machan_, felt painfully stiff and was obliged to deny +himself the comfort of a cigarette. There was no sound beyond the bleat +of the victim—unwittingly summoning its executioner, the buzz of +myriads of insects, the bass booming of frogs and the stealthy, +mysterious movements of night birds and small animals. Then by degrees +the moon waned and the stars faded—though the sky was still light. It +was about three o’clock in the morning and Shafto was beginning to +agree with Roscoe respecting the tiger myth and to feel uncommonly +drowsy, when his ear was struck by a far-away sound, entirely distinct +from buzzing insects or booming frogs. + +The spot which had been thoughtfully selected by the trapper, was +within a few hundred yards of a small cove, chosen as an inviting place +for the tiger to come and slake his thirst. The distant sound came from +this direction and, by degrees, a faint but definite pulsation grew +more audible and distinct, and finally resolved itself, into the steady +throbbing of a motor-launch. It was approaching. + +Then from the back of Shafto’s mind he dragged out a memory of +FitzGerald’s mention of a broken-down petrol boat. Here was probably +the very one—by no means a derelict; on the contrary, a fast traveller. +For a moment he was startled, then promptly made up his mind. This was +a chance, perhaps, to secure some really valuable _kubber_. More than +once he had heard it rumoured that, in these distant creeks and bays, +some of the smugglers had discharged their valuable cargo. Well, if the +cargo was now about to be landed, here was his opportunity! As the +bleating of the goat would undoubtedly give him away, he must get rid +of the animal immediately, so he quickly shinned down the tree and +commanded the trapper to remove it. + +“Tiger not coming to-night,” he explained to the astonished Burman, who +rejoined: + +“Tiger coming soon, soon, now; after the waning of the moon.” + +“Oh well, never mind,” said Shafto impatiently, “you take away the +goat. Look sharp—take him quickly, quickly and _keep_ him.” + +This was an extraordinary _thakin_, who, at the very climax of the +tiger hour, climbed out of the _machan_ and liberated the bait! +Certainly these English folk were mad. + +“You go towards the camp,” he ordered, “and take my gun.” + +The Burman, still completely bewildered, obeyed; he could not +understand the situation, but he felt bound to do what he was told, and +presently he disappeared, moving with obvious reluctance, leading the +goat and carrying gun and cartridges. His employer did not immediately +follow, but remained for a considerable time motionless—listening. The +pulsation had almost ceased—evidently the motor-boat had arrived at her +destination, which was unfortunately not in his immediate vicinity. He +crept stealthily along in the direction of the possible anchorage, +fighting his way through roots and undergrowth; it was all of no use—a +barrier of morass and elephant grass proved absolutely impassable, so +he turned back towards his camp, pausing now and then to listen. He +could make out voices—one in an authoritative key summoning “Mung Li.” +Well, he had at least discovered something definite—he was in the +vicinity of smugglers. In a short time he discovered something else; +through a breach in the undergrowth he caught a glimpse of a Burman +leading a stout, grey pony carrying a European saddle and—unless his +eyes entirely deceived him—the animal was Krauss’s well-known weight +carrier, “Dacoit.” + +Two evenings later, at the Gymkhana Club, Krauss lounged up to Shafto, +who happened to be looking on at a billiard match. Taking a cigar out +of his mouth he astonished him by saying: + +“Well, so you had no luck after that tiger down the river!” + +This was taking the bull by the horns indeed. “No,” replied Shafto, +“but Stafford saw him and got a shot. He is there all right.” + +“Perhaps you will have another try?” suggested Krauss. + +“Perhaps so—but not for some time.” + +“Too much work, eh? Gregory is doing a big trade just now.” + +“Pretty well,” rejoined Shafto, who was secretly surprised that Krauss +should accost and talk to him in this way. Hitherto their acquaintance +had been slight and, when he had been to tea at “Heidelberg,” the +master of the house was invariably absent. + +“How is Mrs. Krauss? I hope she is better.” + +“No, she has been pretty bad the last few weeks—her niece is coming +home in a day or two and that will cheer her up.” As he concluded he +gave Shafto a nod and a curious look and then, with a sort of +elephantine waddle, lounged away. + +So far Shafto had never spoken of his _kubber_; even with the evidence +of his own eyes he shrank from suspecting anyone connected with Sophy +Leigh; but links were joined in spite of his reluctance to face facts. +How could Krauss have known that he had gone tiger shooting? Surely the +affairs of an insignificant fellow like himself never crossed the +mental horizon of such a big and busy person as Karl Krauss? There was +no doubt that the animal he had seen near Elephant Point bore a +suspicious resemblance to Krauss’s weight-carrying grey pony! What was +“Dacoit” doing in the jungle, thirty miles from Rangoon? He could make +a pretty good guess. Krauss had motored down, sent the animal on ahead, +and ridden through the grass and jungle in order to superintend the +landing. + +Could this be a fact? Or was the whole thing a mere coincidence? Was he +obsessed by FitzGerald and suspecting an honest man, who might have +been shooting in the swamps—why not? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV +SENTENCE OF DEATH + + +When Sophy Leigh returned from May Myo she had half expected her aunt +to meet her at the station, and was much concerned to discover, when +she arrived home, that Mrs. Krauss had suffered a serious collapse, had +not been out of the house for weeks, but was confined to her own +apartments, nursed and attended by the ever-faithful Lily. Her +condition seemed as serious as when Sophy had arrived from England, ten +months previously, she found the patient propped up among her pillows, +weak, apathetic, and terribly wasted. She looked dreadfully ill and her +whole appearance was unkempt and strange. + +“Oh, my dear Aunt Flora,” said Sophy kneeling beside her and taking her +limp hand, “why did you not let me know? _Why_ did you not wire for me? +I would have come back at once.” + +“No, no, no!” murmured Mrs. Krauss as she rolled her head slowly from +side to side and closed her drowsy, dark eyes. + +“But yes, yes, yes! and when you wrote to me you never said one word +about being ill—though I might have suspected it. Your writing was so +feeble—so shockingly shaky. How long has my aunt been like this?” she +asked, appealing to Lily. + +“About three—four weeks,” replied the pouter pigeon, with calm +unconcern; “ever since Mr. Krauss went to Singapore.” + +“Most of her friends have been away and my aunt has had no one to look +after her, except you? Did the German ladies come to see her?” + +“They did—yes, three, four times; asking plenty questions. Mem-sahib +would not receive them, she liking only be left alone.” + +To-day Mrs. Krauss appeared almost unconscious of Sophy’s presence and +to be sunken in a sort of stupor. + +As soon as Herr Krauss arrived home Sophy accosted him and deplored her +aunt’s condition. + +“If you had only sent me a line I would have been here the next day.” + +“Oh yes, of course,” he acquiesced brusquely. “She wanted you to have a +good time. I have been away, too. Now that you are here I expect she +will pick up, same as before.” + +“But do you not think that Aunt Flora should see a doctor? The pain is +so agonising that she seems quite stupid and dazed!” + +“A doctor—no,” he replied; “she would not allow him inside the +compound; her complaint comes and goes after the manner of its kind; +just now it has been troublesome and this damp climate is bad for +neuralgia. Your aunt refuses to leave home, and so there it is! Lily +knows the remedies; she has been with us for years, and I have every +confidence in her nursing.” + +After this Sophy realised that there was nothing more to be said or +done, but patiently to await her aunt’s recovery. + +It was now the cool weather and, by degrees, Mrs. Krauss was able to +leave her bed and repose in a long chair in the veranda. As her husband +predicted, Sophy’s company was a wonderful help towards her +convalescence. She liked to hear all the news from May Myo about the +people, their clothes, their doings and their gaieties. She even roused +herself to play patience and picquet, to read, to enjoy Sophy’s music, +but she showed no inclination to emerge into society, or receive +friends. + +“You must go about and amuse yourself, Sophy; I do not feel up to +motoring round, as I did last winter, but I won’t keep you cooped up +here with me—then we should have, not one invalid, but two. You must +enjoy your young days, mix with other young people, dance and ride, +bring me the gossip and tell me all your love affairs, honour bright! +Mrs. Gregory has promised to chaperon you until I am better.” + +“No, indeed, Aunt Flora, I’d much rather stay with you,” she protested. +“I could not enjoy myself half so much if you are not with me. Don’t +you remember how nice it was last year, talking over everything +together after dances and the theatre? I will play to you and read +aloud, and if I ride in the morning, that will be as much outing as I +shall require.” + +But in spite of Sophy’s anxious protestations, once more her aunt +consigned her to the charge of Mrs. Gregory, who, delighted in the +responsibility, escorted her to dances and tennis parties, rode with +her, and proved, in spite of the disparity in their years, a dear and +congenial friend. + +When at home Sophy would sit with her relative in her darkened room, +which always seemed to hold a peculiar and distinctive atmosphere, +resembling that of a chemist’s shop. She brought her all the news that +she thought would interest or amuse her, read the letters from home, +tempted her to drive out, and read her new novels; but in these days +Aunt Flora seemed to take but a languid interest in life, and her +recovery was strangely tardy and fitful. On some days she was better, +on others worse. Occasionally she would crawl out to the motor, or +appear at dinner, but she looked dreadfully ill, her face so yellow and +wrinkled, her whole appearance unkempt and peculiar. She was also +abstracted and odd in her manner, at times even a little incoherent; +and her eyes had a glazed, fixed expression. Sometimes as Sophy sat in +the darkened room her mind was burdened with vague anxieties; she +recalled the looks and questions of Frau Wurm; could it be altogether +neuralgia that brought her aunt to such a pass? And if not, what? A +casual eye might suppose that the invalid was under the influence of +drink, but this was not the case. Mrs. Krauss was exceedingly +temperate—her favourite stimulant was strong black coffee. + +The rains were over and Rangoon was unusually full, and the committee +of the Pegu Club decided to give a dance. This dance was to be the +cheeriest of the season, the secretary had exerted himself to the +utmost, and the great ballroom looked particularly well, all colour and +glow, with splashes of bright shades, a profusion of palms and flowers, +and a reckless prodigality of electric light. Practically everyone was +present, even Herr Krauss, who, on this supreme occasion, had +volunteered to chaperon his niece. The band was playing the newest +waltzes and a varied assortment of Rangoon residents swung over the +polished floor—men well known and otherwise, stout girls of German +ancestry, daughters of judges, and soldiers, princesses of the Burmese +dynasty, and dark-eyed maidens of Anglo-India. + +Shafto had only succeeded in securing two dances with Sophy +Leigh—besides the privilege of conducting her to supper. They were +resting in the veranda, after a long, exhausting waltz, watching the +crowd pour out of the ballroom; among others they noticed, approaching +them, Mr. FitzGerald and his partner, Miss Fuchsia Bliss, a little +frail American, who had dropped out of a touring party from the +Philippines, and since then, as she expressed it, “had been staying +around in Rangoon,” first at the Lieutenant-Governor’s, next at the +Pomeroys’, now, with a slight descent in the scale of precedence, with +the Gregorys. She had struck up a demonstrative but sincere friendship +with Sophy Leigh and stood in the forefront of her admirers. + +Fuchsia Bliss was an orphan, absolutely independent in every sense of +the word, who looked considerably younger than her real age, and +appeared so small and so fragile that, like thistledown, she might +almost be blown away. Nevertheless, she was anything but light, in +either head or purse. Fuchsia was not pretty; indeed, to be honest, was +barely good-looking. Her complexion was colourless, her thick hair a +dull, ashen shade, her eyes, though remarkably lively, were much too +small, her chin, on the other hand, was much too long. Beautifully +marked brows, white teeth, and a fairy figure, were her assets; and, as +she herself said, “she had plenty of snap!” Miss Bliss was uncommonly +shrewd and vivacious. Her friends (these were many) were somewhat +afraid of Fuchsia’s plain speaking (her thoughts were too close to her +tongue); she professed to be enormously interested in Burma and found +it such a quaint old country, declared that the pagodas were “too sweet +for words,” and the Burmese women “just the dearest, daintiest, best +tricked out, little talking dolls!” + +(A cynical critic might have compared Miss Fuchsia herself to a +“talking doll.”) + +“America,” she announced, “was a brand-new nation, bubbling over with +energy and vim, whilst this drowsy old Eastern land was most +deliciously restful and ancient—it made a nice change.” + +Down at the bottom of a good-sized heart Miss Fuchsia was aware that it +was not altogether an admiration for the East which detained her +lingering in Burma. For the first time in her life the pale-faced +heiress was seriously interested in one of the other sex. This +fortunate man happened to be Patrick FitzGerald, of the Burmese Police; +a fellow without a penny beyond his pay, but well set up, +self-possessed, and handsome; a capital partner, a congenial spirit, +and a complete contrast to herself. + +The couple now approached Shafto and his companion, FitzGerald, rather +warm, mopping his good-looking face, Miss Bliss, tripping airily beside +him, in an exquisite green toilet, still—as always—talking. + +“Only think—he has got to go!” she announced with a dramatic gesture, +halting in front of Sophy as she spoke. “Isn’t it too—too awfully +provoking? He has been sent for, right now in the middle of the +ball—engaged to me for two more waltzes, supper and an extra, and here +am I, side-tracked!” + +“A true bill—I am off,” said FitzGerald, with a significant glance at +Shafto; “I leave Miss Bliss and my reputation in your hands.” + +“Miss Bliss can take good care of herself,” she announced, sitting +down. + +“No doubt of that,” assented Shafto; “all the same, Miss Leigh and I +will attend Miss Bliss to supper.” + +“No, no,” she protested, “I have planned to take in Mr. Gregory.” + +“That is if you can get hold of him,” argued her late partner; “he is +playing bridge.” + +“Oh well, anyway, _I_ shan’t go begging!” said Fuchsia, leaning back on +the lounge and crossing her tiny, exquisitely shod feet. + +“But whoever dreamt of that?” exclaimed Shafto. “And here by great good +luck comes Gregory. I say, he looks as if his last partner had gone No +Trumps on a Yarborough!” + +Almost before he had joined them the police officer disappeared, and +the party adjourned to the supper-room, where they found places at the +same round table as Mrs. Pomeroy and Herr Bernhard. Herr Krauss, a +ponderous free lance, who was completely detached, joined the circle +uninvited, and pushed his huge person into an empty chair, next to Miss +Bliss. The soup, hot quails, and champagne were above criticism. Miss +Bliss, as usual, did most of the talking and entertained the company. + +“What a difference there is between our dancing and the native +performance,” she remarked. “Our tangos and turkey-trotting are just an +amusement, ending in a feast, whilst their diversion is mostly prayers, +intoning, gongs, and bells, burning candles and telling beads. The +Burmese seem to be always thinking of their souls; Oriental nations +beat us at religion.” + +“Religion, such as it is!” rejoined Bernhard with a sneer. “After all, +what does it amount to with them but the fear of evil spirits and the +propitiation of _nats_ and demons? Crowds go to the Pagoda and offer +flowers, prayers and candles, yet all the time their faith is not in +Buddha, but in devils. They cover up their pillars and offer sacrifices +to the _nats_, build them nice little houses, make them flattering +speeches, and look for a return in the shape of a piece of luck! +Buddhism is merely a philosophy—not a religion,” he concluded +sententiously. + +“Well, there is one item in their faith which I admire,” said Shafto; +“they have no fear of death—they firmly believe that we shall pass into +another existence, and how we fare in the next world depends on our +good or evil deeds in this.” + +“Surely that is an ordinary point of view,” said Fuchsia, “and talking +of evil deeds, such as big and little lies—murder—robbery—fraud, does +anyone think there is _real_ harm in smuggling? No one would call that +an evil deed, although it is punishable by law. I must confess that it +appeals to me enormously; it’s like a game, a sort of hide and seek. If +I only had an opening, I feel confident that it is _in_ me to become a +most accomplished professional! There is no injury to anyone, and it +must be so exciting, and if you bring it off, oh, what a triumph! I did +envy a woman I came across with from France. She landed a +twenty-thousand pearl necklace in a hair-pad.” + +“You needn’t go far for smuggling—there’s plenty of it in this +country,” said Mrs. Pomeroy, in her slow, decided manner. “My husband +says it is on the increase, and is a most serious question—a matter of +vital concern.” + +“Increase!” echoed Krauss. “No, no, my dear lady, that is nonsense; +don’t you believe it. Smuggling isn’t worth while in Burma—it couldn’t +pay.” + +“Oh, but it does exist and it pays hand over fist,” argued Shafto. “Why +only last week a piano-case full of opium was taken off a Chinese +steamer.” + +“Opium smuggling!” broke in Fuchsia eagerly. “We know all about that in +the States. Opium smuggling is frightfully bad in ’Frisco. There are +deadly dens in parts of the town, where they say they make away with +people.” + +“And here people make away with themselves,” supplemented Shafto, whose +thoughts flew to a recent suicide. + +“Did any of you ever happen to read a story by Frank Norris about a +girl who was lost?” And Fuchsia planted her sharp elbows on the table +and cast an interrogative glance round her audience. “No, I expect not; +but it’s perfectly true. Then listen,” she proceeded with an air of +genial narration. “A pretty girl and her fiancé—both from New York—were +poking round the sights in ’Frisco and, leaving the rest of their +party, pushed on into the worst Chinese quarter, without a guide. It +had such a bad name that even the police gave it a wide berth. Well, in +they went, these two innocents; it looked quite all right, just the +same as other places they had visited, and they found a real dandy +tea-house and ordered tea. Whilst they waited a most superior Chinaman +appeared and invited the young man to come and inspect a wonderful +piece of silk. He said it would not take him a moment to look at, while +the young lady was resting; so the young man accepted the invitation, +examined the beautiful piece of silk, made an offer for yards and +yards, and hurried back, only to find that the girl had disappeared. +Her gloves and sunshade were there all right, but she was never seen +again, although her people offered an enormous reward, and more or less +raised Cain!” + +“Oh, that’s just a bit of sensational fiction,” growled Herr Krauss, +“and I dare say brought the author a couple of hundred dollars. They +pay high rates for that sort of rubbish in the States.” + +“I shouldn’t be surprised if it couldn’t be pretty well matched here,” +was Shafto’s bold declaration. “Not in the way of kidnapping +inquisitive young ladies, but there are dens and spiders’ webs in +Rangoon where people are drawn in like flies—and die like flies.” + +Krauss threw back his head, gave a loud harsh laugh, and tossed off a +tumbler of champagne. + +“Young Shafto,” he exclaimed, “you _are_ a funny fellow!” + +“I do believe there is something in what Mr. Shafto says,” said Fuchsia +in her thin nasal voice. “I was told this as a mighty secret—but of +course it’s safe here,” throwing a complacent glance round the table, +“and I’d just like you all to know that the reason Mr. FitzGerald was +sent for in such a hurry is that the police have been given the +straight tip, and expect to make a real fine haul of smugglers and +opium—this very night!” + +Herr Krauss glanced quickly at his neighbour, his eyes flickering. + +“Mr. FitzGerald,” she continued, “said that if he could only get hold +of one or two big men who are behind the cocaine and opium trade he’d +be doing a service to the world; he is most frightfully keen on +catching them.” + +“Not easy to catch what doesn’t exist,” declared Herr Krauss in his +guttural voice. + +“But smuggling does exist—surely you know that, and smuggling on an +enormous scale,” pronounced Mrs. Pomeroy authoritatively; “there are +awful dens off the China bazaar.” + +“Yes, the place is honeycombed with them,” supplemented Shafto. + +“Pray, how do you know?” demanded Krauss with asperity. + +“Well, since you ask me—I’ve been in one or two.” + +“Getting copy for a book, eh? Local colour—and local atmosphere.” + +“The atmosphere was pretty foul,” rejoined Shafto; “I don’t attempt to +write.” + +“Not even fiction?” + +There was a bitter sneer in Krauss’s question. + +“No, not even fiction,” echoed Shafto stolidly. + +“Now, I’ll tell you all something that sounds like fiction or a dime +novel,” volunteered the irrepressible Fuchsia. Then, without a pause, +she continued: “Mr. FitzGerald got a note from a broken-down European +loafer; a gentleman who had lost every single thing in the wide +world—self-respect, money, friends and wits—through drugs and nothing +else; he could not keep away from them unless he was chained up, but he +wanted to save others from his own wretched fate.” + +“That was very splendid of the loafer!” remarked Mr. Krauss, and +leaning back in his chair he beckoned to a waiter and said: “Boy, +champagne!” When the champagne was brought, he said: “Let us all drink +the health of this noble loafer, who cannot help himself but helps +others. Here’s to the benevolent informer! Let us hope he will meet +with his reward—even in this life,” and he raised a brimming glass. + +“I’m afraid there’s not much chance of that, poor chap,” murmured +Shafto, “for if he is a man I know, he is down and under—his case is +hopeless.” + +Mrs. Pomeroy, who had been slowly drawing on her gloves, now pushed +back her chair and rose and, with sudden unanimity, the company broke +up and dispersed. + +Little did Fuchsia suppose, as she chattered unguardedly and gave away +a confidence, that, in doing so, she had signed what was neither more +nor less than a sentence of death. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV +THE LATE RICHARD ROSCOE + + +Two days after the ball, as Shafto was passing through the veranda, +Roscoe met him, took him by the arm, accompanied him into his room, and +solemnly closed the door. + +“Anything up?” + +“Well, yes, there is,” replied Roscoe gravely, “and I thought I’d tell +you when we were by ourselves. That cousin of mine, Dirk Roscoe, has +been done for. He was found this morning in a back drain, in one of the +gullies, with the stab of a _dah_ in his back.” + +“Oh, poor chap!” exclaimed Shafto. + +“Well, he hadn’t much of a life to lose, had he? However, such as it +was, he laid it down for others.” + +“Then I suppose it was he who put FitzGerald on the track of this +splendid haul—six hundred ounces of cocaine?” + +“It was—yes, although he knew the risk he ran. He sent FitzGerald a +line and warned him that there would be two sampans in Bozo creek; that +one sampan would be a decoy, loaded with stones, but that they would +find what they wanted in the other, which would attempt to clear off +whilst they were examining the dummy. It’s a pretty big loss to some +people, and cocaine will be scarce for a week or two—and dear.” + +“It beats me to understand how these beggars manage to find the money?” + +“Oh, they prowl round at night and thieve—and are capable of the most +daring theft. I’ve known them steal a whole lot of furniture out of a +sitting-room, a man’s evening clothes out of his dressing-room—not +forgetting his gold watch and chain and even tooth-brush and tumbler. +Once they actually had the cheek to take a pony belonging to the Chief +Inspector of Police and sell him over at Moulmein. The small fry take +taps, pipes, bits of zinc roofing, rope—anything that will bring in a +few annas.” + +“What about your cousin? Tell me more.” + +“Not much more to tell. He is in the mortuary and, of course, there has +been the usual inquest; he will be buried this evening, quite late; +FitzGerald and I are going to the funeral.” + +“I’ll come, too, if I may.” + +“All right, do. Our padre is a brick—he is having a quiet service in +the cemetery at ten o’clock; there is a good moon. If it had been a +public, daylight affair, lots of questions would have to be asked—and +answered.” + +At ten o’clock the three Englishmen and the chaplain stood round the +grave of a man who, within the last few hours, had arrived at the end +of a wasted life—a victim to the drug that deals misery and +destruction. As the three chums walked away to where their horses +awaited them, Roscoe said: + +“My cousin Richard, although he looked any age under eighty, was only +thirty-five—two years younger than myself.” + +“Look here, Joe,” said FitzGerald, “your cousin was murdered for giving +me information. He knew the risk he was running, he knew that there are +eyes and ears all over the place, and the chances were ninety to one he +would be put out of the way—he hinted as much in his letter. Now then, +I’m going to put my back into the business, and if I don’t find out +something about this cocaine smuggling, I’ll—I’ll——” he reflected for a +moment and added abruptly, “never go to another dance! It’s a syndicate +who had this crime carried out; they have their hired assassins like +the ‘Black Hand’ in Sicily. Some of the crew are bound to be in +Rangoon, for Roscoe’s sentence and execution took place within a few +hours. Now it is my aim and intention to discover who they are—and to +carry war into the enemy’s quarter.” + +“Well, Fitz,” said Roscoe, “I know how you love adventure—and the smoke +of battle, and I feel fairly confident that you will do your best and, +let us hope, storm and shatter the cocaine stronghold.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI +FITZGERALD IMPARTS INFORMATION + + +Up to the time of the murder of Roscoe, Shafto had kept his experience +to himself; even with the evidence of his own eyes he shrank from +suspecting anyone connected with Sophy. After all, there were plenty of +Shan ponies in Rangoon, and Krauss’s inquiry about the tiger might be +just a mere coincidence; but now facts were forming up in stern array, +despite his reluctance to face them. There was no doubt that Krauss had +spies and tools, and if that was his grey pony “Dacoit,” what was +“Dacoit” doing in the jungle, thirty miles from Rangoon? It was +suspiciously strange that, after Miss Bliss’s mention of a loafer who +had given information—a loafer toasted by Krauss—an individual +answering the description had so promptly disappeared. Well now, Sophy +or no Sophy, FitzGerald must be told! + +Shafto found his opportunity the following night, when he and the +police officer had the veranda to themselves. Roscoe, with an actor’s +unquenchable ardour for the theatre, was patronising a play. The tour +of “Charley’s Aunt” had reached Rangoon. The MacNab was dining with the +Presbyterian minister. + +After the table had been cleared and cheroots produced, without any +circumlocution or preface, Shafto plunged into his subject and laid his +information and suspicions before his friend who, to his amazement, +replied: + +“Oh well, I’ve had my own ideas for some time, me boy. I have noticed +that Krauss is one of the loudest in crowing whenever we make a haul of +contraband; it has struck me that his enthusiasm is a bit overdone. I +believe he is in with a pack of swindlers, but has a wonderful knack of +safeguarding his own ugly carcass. His wealth is a well-known fact, but +its source is distinctly mysterious. He is not like the usual business +man, who puts by a few thousands every now and then, made in teak or +paddy; Krauss has a share in everything that’s any good. Oil, rubies, +trams, wolfram, rubber, and so on. The capital he invests in these +concerns cannot come from ordinary speculation in rice and teak—so the +question is, where does he get it?” + +As Shafto made no reply, FitzGerald put down his cheroot, drew his +chair closer to the table and, leaning over to his companion, said: + +“Look here, me boy, you are a thundering good sort, and I’d like to +tell you one or two small things—and give you a bit of advice that may +be useful. From what you say, I have no doubt that Krauss suspects that +you have seen something of his game—how much he cannot be sure; but one +thing is absolutely certain—he won’t trust you, and you’ll find that, +in some way or other, he’ll have his knife into Douglas Shafto.” + +“Same as the late Richard Roscoe?” + +“Let us hope he won’t feel obliged to take such strong measures; but I +wouldn’t put it past him to do you a devilish nasty turn.” + +“This is pleasant but indefinite.” + +“Well, let me advise you to take cover; do not go about alone after +dark, or on foot.” + +“I never do, except over to the Salters.” + +“Don’t stir, even over to the Salters, or when you do go, take Roscoe; +he and Salter are birds of a feather—a couple of philosophers, clever, +deeply-read cranks. I shall notify to my men to keep a sharp eye on +you.” + +“So then I’m to be under police protection, am I?” + +“I am afraid it will be a distressing necessity; but the fact will +naturally be known only to you and me.” + +“So you honestly believe that Krauss is not on the square?” + +FitzGerald nodded and then replied: + +“He does not associate with the best German people here—I think they +smell a rat; and the English give him a fairly wide berth. His manners +are impossible; even in Rangoon money is not everything, and his record +is peculiar. He came away from China stony-broke, picked up a few +thousands in Singapore and then settled in Rangoon about twelve years +ago—and Rangoon has suited him down to the ground. When they first +arrived Mrs. Krauss was an extraordinarily handsome woman, popular and +lively; could keep a whole dinner-table going and was always splendidly +dressed. On the whole, a valuable, but unconscious tool! Latterly her +health has failed and she has subsided. Besides his German hangers on, +the oddest sort of guests collect at ‘Heidelberg,’ though you and I may +not meet them—men from Calcutta, the Straits and even China. Not long +ago I came across Krauss’s brown motor in a block in Phayre Street. I +happened to glance inside; there was Krauss himself and two fat +natives, one a notorious _budmash_, and I noticed that, after I had +passed, a hand _pulled down the blind_. Why? In a place like this, and +indeed everywhere, a man is judged by his friends. Krauss tries to keep +in with Rangoon society and poses as a brusque, eccentric sort of a +fellow, with a rude manner and a good heart. The days of his grand +dinner-parties came to an end some time ago. Now the fat grey spider at +‘Heidelberg’ has to rely more or less on his wife’s pretty niece; she +is bright and popular and attracts a lot of useful people into his web. +To see that girl pouring out tea, or sitting at the piano, making +delicious music, who would suppose that ‘Heidelberg’ was the +headquarters of a gang of thieves? Mrs. Krauss is a back number, her +health has gone to pieces, and lately I believe she is in a bad way.” +He paused, and surveying Shafto with half-closed eyes, added: + +“I suppose you don’t know what her complaint is?” + +“Oh, yes—acute neuralgia.” + +“Acute grandmother!” scoffed FitzGerald. “Guess again!” + +“Well—what?” + +FitzGerald leant over, took a long breath, and whispered the word +“Cocaine.” + +“Oh, nonsense!” And Shafto burst out laughing. “Why, man, you’re mad!” + +“Mad—not a bit of it! I happen to know where she gets the stuff and +I’ve known for a good while, Krauss has no idea that his wife drugs; +it’s all so artfully managed. That Madras ayah is a rare treasure and +as cunning as the devil; she ought to be in our Secret Service. I +needn’t tell you that she is extravagantly paid.” + +“Well—but, Fitz, I don’t believe it; no, and I won’t believe it.” + +“All right, then. Look here, have you never noticed how brilliant and +lively Mrs. Krauss is at times, with shining eyes and a colour in her +cheeks? Then on other days, if she does appear, she is limp as a wet +rag, depressed and old; there is a complete lack of all vital force. +Now tell me how you account for that?” + +“Her illness,” stammered Shafto; “the climate.” + +“Neither the one nor the other. But bar the cocaine habit, Mrs. Krauss +is all right and straight; she has no suspicion of her husband’s ill +practices, nor he of hers.” + +“And you suspect both?” + +“Why not? Suspicion is part of my trade. I think you and I had better +be seeking our beds; I have seen the _chokidar_ peering round the +corner of the staircase; I don’t know what he is up to; he may imagine +that we are hatching mischief. I caught his eye when I was whispering +just now, and it is more than likely that he has suspicions of us +both!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII +A ROPE TRICK + + +This conversation with FitzGerald gave his housemate ample food for +serious reflection. If Krauss was a deep-dyed scoundrel, and his wife a +victim of the cocaine habit, what a home for Sophy! If he could only +take her away from it! But what grounds had he for hoping that she +would marry him? In spite of their pleasant meetings, their rides and +dances, he had never ventured to hint at his real feelings, knowing +that he was far from being what is called “an eligible match,” and +having a surprisingly humble opinion of his own merits. He was now +receiving five hundred rupees a month, which, after all, did not go far +in expensive Rangoon. Could a man marry on such an income, or on the +supposition that what was barely enough for one would be sufficient for +two? + +As far as he was in a position to judge, Sophy’s ideas were not +extravagant, and she would be better almost anywhere than in her +present abode; but he had not the slightest right to suppose that she +cared two pins for him; on the other hand, he had a hateful and +well-founded conviction that not a few of the young men among her +acquaintances would be glad to claim Miss Leigh as a wife. There were +Fotheringay the A.D.C., Gubbins of the Oil Company, and one or two +others, fluttering about her and scorching their wings. + + +After a month of procrastination and delay, the Rangoon Commissariat +Department, under an energetic new official, decided to embark a +collection of sixty elephants, which had long been awaiting transport +from the neighbourhood of Rangoon, to India. Now a large sailing-ship +had been chartered to carry this interesting cargo across the Bay of +Bengal to Vizagapatam, where they would be scattered to work in all +parts of the country. + +The sailing-ship was anchored across the river at Dallah, and, in order +to reach their destination, the elephants were called upon to swim the +Rangoon River—sixty, no fewer, mostly young animals which had been +caught and trained, the property of the Indian Government. The move +took place upon Thursday (the Garrison holiday), and a large number of +people were assembled to witness this unusual departure. The emigrants +were ranged up in groups, two huge tuskers appeared to be in charge of +the business of embarkation, and, to do them justice, carried it out +with conspicuous success, taking it in turn to convoy select parties +across the river, here a mile wide. The “personally conducted” were at +first delighted to be in the water. They splashed and played about like +huge porpoises, and were smacked and kept in order like naughty +children by their great tusker nurse, and eventually guided to a +landing. Some, on the other hand, did not enjoy the excursion, were +alarmed by the force of the current and turned tail. These were chased, +vigorously chastised, herded in the way they should go, and escorted to +the other side—all save one, which obstinately refused to quit terra +firma, and was accordingly fastened to a launch, in order to be towed +across; but the powerful and headstrong brute towed the launch inland +and, having utterly smashed it and destroyed several bamboo sheds, +effected its triumphal escape. + +Meanwhile the fifty-nine were assembled at Dallah, patiently awaiting +their fate. A number of people had collected on the landing-stage, +close to the big ship, to watch her strange cargo being placed on +board. The lower hold of this huge four-master had been entirely +cleared, and into this receptacle the devoted elephants were lowered by +a gigantic steam crane. Meanwhile they were formed up behind a huge +shed in order that none should witness the scheme of departure, or the +undignified transfer of its companions. A selected victim was coaxed, +flattered, caressed, and then marched proudly down the pier between two +deceitful and majestic tuskers, a pair of stern old gentlemen that +would stand no nonsense; soothed and bribed by a generous supply of +sugar-cane, the unsuspicious traveller was halted directly under the +crane; a belly-band encircled his enormous waist, and to this was +attached a hook; then, at a given signal, the astonished animal was +suddenly hoisted into the air. And what a sight! Trunk waving madly, +legs wildly reaching for foothold, a helpless and ridiculous monster, +endeavouring to clutch the rigging. Presently the frantic passenger was +slowly lowered to the hold, where his own beloved mahout and a pile of +luscious lucerne awaited his agitated arrival. + +Lookers-on found the spectacle of a helpless elephant struggling in +mid-air excessively amusing, and the immediate neighbourhood of the +ship was crowded. Here were the Pomeroys, Maitlands, Morgans, Puffles, +Mrs. Gregory, Miss Leigh, and numbers of others, including Shafto, who, +much interested in this novel sight, had taken several snapshots. Just +as he snapped the last elephant, he felt the sharp jerk of a rope round +his ankles, and in another second was swept into the racing Irrawaddy. + +As the water surged over his head, the sharp shock and the submersion +momentarily took away his breath. Shafto was a strong swimmer, but the +current was tremendous and not to be denied; it carried him right out +into the middle of the river, spinning him round and round like a leaf +in a torrent. He realised his danger and that his lease of life could +now be counted by seconds. His thoughts flew straight to Sophy; with a +sensation of piercing agony he felt that he would never see her again. +By extraordinary good fortune a steam launch which was crossing had +noticed the swimmer’s dark head, as well as the shouts and the signals +from the landing-stage, and promptly overtook him, drew him breathless +and half drowned on board, and landed him at Dallah. Shafto had had a +miraculous escape, for those who fall into the Irrawaddy rarely emerge +alive; his adventure was much discussed and debated for one whole day +at Gregory’s and elsewhere. + +“How on earth did it happen? Lucky you were clear of the ship, +otherwise you would have been sucked underneath and never been found,” +remarked a friend; “we cannot imagine how you tumbled in—did anyone +_shove_ you?” + +“Oh, I just tripped over a rope,” he announced, when questioned at the +Club; but to FitzGerald he confided the truth—the whole truth: + +“I was standing pretty close to the edge of the stage—among a lot of +natives, as it happened—taking snapshots of the elephants, when all of +a sudden I felt a rope twist round my legs; it gave a sort of sharp +pull, and the next moment I was in the water! It’s a nasty experience +to have the Irrawaddy closing over your head; I have its taste in my +mouth still! I’ll swear that there were hands at the end of the rope, +and that I saw no rope about when I first came on the pier, for I +happened to be early—and it was pretty empty. Later, there was a big +crowd and a lot of pushing and hustling. I noticed several Chinamen +hanging round and pressing together; now that I come to think of it, +they surrounded me. The rope was not the usual thick hawser, but +something thinner and more flexible—more like whipcord such as a fellow +could carry in his pocket.” + +“What did I tell you?” said FitzGerald, thumping on the table with both +his fists. “We must get a move on and try to corner Krauss; that rope +was a preliminary experiment, and all but landed you in Kingdom Come!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII +MA CHIT + + +Although Shafto had many acquaintances and continual engagements, he +never forgot his first friends, the Salters, and still strolled over of +an evening, accompanied by Roscoe, to sit in the veranda, talk, smoke, +and listen, until his companions began to discuss such abstract +questions as, “What is the real driving force of life?” or to argue on +the philosophy of Buddhism, or Herbert Spencer’s “Descriptive +Sociology” and the “Unknowable.” + +When conversation turned in this direction Shafto felt entirely out of +his element and slipped indoors to play games with Rosetta or her +mother. Recently it had struck him that Ma Chit appeared to have become +more or less a permanent member of the establishment, being so +constantly with her cousin. She took an enthusiastic interest in +Rosetta’s brick-building, superintended and sharply criticised Mee +Lay’s games of dominoes, and even suggested herself as a substitute. +Burmese dominoes are black, with brass points, and held in the hand +like cards. Mrs. Slater, a keen and clever opponent, indignantly +refused to relinquish her post to her relative, and was radiant and +triumphant when she carried off a stake of eight annas. Shafto would +have enjoyed these matches, and this contest of wits and luck, had Ma +Chit been elsewhere, instead of leaning on his chair, looking over his +hand, laughing, throwing quick glances, and making idiotic remarks. +Once he had been not a little startled to find her tiny brown fingers +inserted between his collar and his neck! He shook them off +impatiently; he hated such practical jokes, and said so in no measured +terms. + +More than once, he had been solemnly assured, the fascination of this +girl’s personality worked like a charm, and it had become disagreeably +evident that she wished to cast a spell over _him_. How often had her +bright black eyes imparted an alluring tale! However, he felt himself +well protected by an impenetrable shield on which was inscribed the +name of “Sophy,” and Ma Chit gracefully posturing with tingling bangles +and twittering talk, had no more effect upon her prey than on a stone +image. No; although she hung over him, tapped him with too eloquent +fingers, whispered jokes in his ear, and filled his nostrils with an +exquisite and voluptuous perfume, she was powerless! + +One evening he happened to be playing chess with Salter; Roscoe was at +_pwe_; Mee Lay was putting Rosetta to bed, but Ma Chit was present, +listening, smiling, and smoking her white cheroot. At the conclusion of +a close and hard-fought game, in which Shafto was victorious she leant +over, gazed into his eyes, and stroked his face with two caressing +fingers. As he drew back quickly, she burst out laughing and exclaimed: + +“But why are you so shy, dear boy? Always so shy—so odd and so +foolish?” + +Shafto found the siren undeniably pretty and seductive, but at the same +time irrepressible and odious. He hated her catlike litheness, her +undulating walk, and the unmistakable invitation of her whole +personality. + +“Come, Ma Chit, behave yourself!” said her host sternly. “If you +can’t—you don’t come here again.” + +The beauty received this admonition with a scream of laughter, tossed a +flower at Salter, wafted a kiss to his guest, and faded away into the +veranda. + +By degrees, thanks to his constant encounters with Ma Chit, Shafto +avoided the Salters’ bungalow, and Roscoe made his visits alone; but as +it was not more than three hundred yards from the chummery Shafto had a +painful conviction that, when dusk and darkness had fallen, the +neighbourhood of his compound was haunted—not by the malignant and +resident _nat_, but by the graceful and sinuous figure of a little +Burmese girl! Once a stone, to which was attached a paper, was thrown +into his room. On it was inscribed in a babu’s clerkly hand: + +“Do come and talk to Ma Chit.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX +MUNG BAW + + +Returning one evening from a lively dinner at the “Barn,” Shafto was +surprised to see a light in his room, and still more surprised to find +the _pongye_ once again seated on his bed. + +“Oh, so you’ve come back!” he exclaimed aghast, and a shadow of +annoyance settled on his face. + +“I have so,” calmly responded this late visitor; “as I was passing I +thought I’d give you a call in. I came down a couple of weeks back—as I +have some small business here and wanted to show myself to a doctor. I +don’t hold with them native medicines and charms, and I’m inclined to a +weakness in me inside.” + +“Why, you look as strong as a horse!” was Shafto’s unsympathetic +rejoinder, as he sank into a chair and pulled out a cigarette. The +_pongye_ contributed a special personal atmosphere, composed of +turmeric, woollen stuff and some fiercely pungent herb. + +“Looks is deceitful, and so is many a fine fellow,” observed the +_pongye_ in a dreamy voice. After this pronouncement he relapsed into a +reflective silence—a silence which conveyed the subtle suggestion that +the visitor was charged with some weighty mission. At any rate, it was +useless for Shafto to think of undressing and going to bed, since his +couch was already occupied by the holy man, who appeared to be +established for the night. + +Interpreting Shafto’s envious glance, he said: + +“You’ll excuse me sitting on the _charpoy_, but I’ve got entirely out +of the use of chairs, and me bones are too stiff to sit doubled up on +the floor like a skewered chicken.” + +“Oh, that’s all right,” said Shafto, who was very sleepy. “I suppose +you have just come from Upper Burma?” + +“Yes, that’s the part I most belong to and that suits me. I can’t do +with this soft, wet climate, though I am an Irishman. I’m from Mogok, +that’s the ruby mine district, but what I like best is the real jungle. +Oh, you’d love to see the scenery and to walk through miles and miles +of grand trees on the Upper Chindwin; forests blazing with flowers and +alive with birds, not to speak of game. Many’s the time I’ve been +aching for the hould of a gun, but, of course, it was an evil thought.” + +“Your religion forbids you to take life?” + +“That’s true; I’ve not tasted meat for years, but there’s not a word to +be said agin fish or an odd egg.” + +“Tell me something more about your new faith!” + +“Well now, let me think,” said the _pongye_ meditatively. “We have no +regular service for marriage or burial, and no preaching. We keep the +five great rules—poverty, chastity, honesty, truth, and respect all +life. There are two hundred and twenty-seven precepts besides. Most men +can say them off out of the big book of the Palamauk, and there are +stacks and stacks—thousands of stacks—of sacred writings, but I just +stick to the five commandments, the path of virtue and the daily +prayers. The singing and chanting is in Pali—a wonderful fine, loud +language. Many of the _pongyes_ is teachers, for every boy in Burma +passes through their hands; but I’m no schoolmaster, though I was once +a clerk in the Orderly room. I could not stand the gabble of them +scholars, all roaring out the same words at the top of their voices for +hours together.” + +“I can’t imagine how you pass your time,” remarked Shafto, “or how you +stand the idleness—a man like you who were accustomed to an active +life.” + +“Oh, I get through me day all right. In the early morning there’s +prayers and a small refreshment, and I sit and meditate; the young +fellows, like novices, sweep and carry water and put flowers about the +Buddha; then we all go with our bowls in our hands, parading through +the village, looking neither right nor left, but we get all we want and +more—for giving is a great merit. When we return to the _kyoung_ we +have our big midday meal, and then for a few hours I meditate again. +The life suits me. It’s a different country from India, with its +blazing sun and great bare plains; there the people seldom has a smile +on them. Here they are always laughing; here all is green and +beautiful, with fine aisy times for flowers and birds and beasts. +There’s peace and kindness. Oh! it’s a fine change from knocking about +in barracks and cantonments, drilling and route-marching and sweating +your soul out. By the way, have ye the talisman I give you?” + +“If you mean the brown stone—yes.” + +“That stone was slipped into my begging-bowl one day.” + +“Not much of a find as an eatable!” + +“That is so, though according to fairy tales the likes has dropped out +of people’s mouths before now. Ye may not suspicion the truth, but it’s +a fine big ruby! I believe it was found stuck in red mud in the ruby +district, and someone who had a wish for me dropped it into the +_patta_, and I—who have a wish for you—pass it on.” + +“But if it is so valuable I could not dream of accepting such a gift,” +protested Shafto. “You will have to take it back—thanks awfully, all +the same.” + +“Oh, ye never rightly know the price of them stones till they are cut; +but the knowledgeable man I showed it to said it might be worth a +couple of thousand pounds, and I’ve come to tell ye this—so that ye can +turn it into coin—and if ye wanted to get out of Burma, there ye are!” + +“That _is_ most awfully good of you, but I really could not think of +accepting your treasure, or its value in money—and I have no wish to +leave Burma, the country suits me all right.” + +As he ceased speaking Shafto got up, unlocked a leather dispatch box +and produced the ruby, which he placed in the large, well-kept hand of +the visitor. + +“Well, now, I call this entirely too bad!” the latter exclaimed as he +turned it over. “An’ I need not tell ye that I can make no use of the +ruby, being vowed to poverty—which you are not; and I want to offer +some small return for what ye did for me last time I was down in +Rangoon. I can’t think what ails ye to be so stiff-necked; is there +nothing at all I can do for ye?” + +“Well, Mung Baw, since you put it like that, I believe you could give +me what would be far more use than a stone—some valuable help.” + +“Valuable help!” repeated the _pongye_, adjusting false horn spectacles +and staring hard. “Then as far as it’s in me power the help of every +bone in me body is yours and at your service.” + +“Thank you. Now, tell me, have you ever heard of the cocaine trade in +Burma?” + +“Is it cocaine? To be sure! It’s playing the mischief in Rangoon and +all over the country.” + +“I want you to lend a hand in stopping it; if we could only discover +the headquarters of the trade, it would be worth a thousand rubies.” + +“I have a sort of notion I could put me finger on a man that runs the +concern; ever since he come into Burma he has been pushing the world +before him and doing a great business. From my position, being part +native, part British, part civilian, and more or less a priest of the +country and clever at languages, I’ve learnt a few things I was never +intinded to know.” + +“Then I expect you have picked up some facts about cocaine smuggling?” + +“That’s true, though I never let it soak into me mind; but from this +out I promise ye I’ll meditate upon it.” + +“If you can help the police to burst up this abominable traffic you +will deserve to go to the highest heaven in the Buddhist faith.” + +“I’ll do my best; I can say no fairer. I’m sorry ye won’t take the +ruby,”—turning it over regretfully. “Maybe your young lady would fancy +it? It would look fine in a ring!” + +“But I have no young lady, Mung Baw.” + +“Is that so?” He paused as if to consider the truth of this statement, +cleared his throat and went on: “The other day, when I was down by the +lake, I saw a young fellow, the very spit of yourself, riding alongside +of a mighty pretty girl on a good-looking bay thoroughbred?” + +Here he again paused, apparently awaiting a reply, but none being +forthcoming, resumed: + +“And now, before I go, I want to give ye what ye can’t refuse or +return—and that’s a wise word. It was not entirely the ruby stone as +brought me here—it was some loose talk.” + +“Loose talk, Mung Baw, and you a Buddhist priest! I’m astonished!” + +“Yes, talk straight out of Fraser Street, my son. Many of our priests +are holy saints; altogether too good to live; with no thought whatever +of the world—given over entirely to prayer and self-denial, blameless +and without one wicked thought; but there does be others that is +totally different. ’Tis the same in a regiment—good soldiers and +blackguards. Some of the _pongyes_, when the prayers is done, spend all +their days gossiping, chewing betel nut and raking through +bazaar—_mud_!” Then suddenly he leant forward and stared at his +companion as if he were searching for something in his face, as he +asked: “Do you happen to know a girl called ‘Ma Chit’?” + +Shafto moved uneasily in his creaking wicker chair; after a moment’s +hesitation he replied: + +“Yes, I know her.” + +“Don’t let her put the ‘Comether’ on you! These Burmese dolls have a +wonderful way with them. She’s a gabby little monkey, and they say she +has chucked Bernard and taken a terrible fancy to you! I would be main +sorry to see you mixed up with one of these young devils—for I know you +are a straight-living gentleman.” + +“There is not the smallest chance of my being what you call ‘mixed up’ +with any young devil,” said Shafto in a sulky voice. “As for Ma +Chit—she is not the sort you suppose.” + +“Oh, may be not,” rejoined the _pongye_ in a dubious tone. “Still, I +know Burma—lock, stock and barrel, and a sight better nor you. Av +course, I never spake to a woman and give them all a wide berth—but I +cannot keep me ears shut. Listen to me, sir. These young torments have +no scruple. Ma Chit is dead set on you, and that’s the pure truth. Now, +there’s one thing I ask and beg—never take or smoke a cigarette she +might offer.” + +“Not likely! I only smoke Egyptians, or a pipe. But tell me—why am I to +refuse Ma Chit’s cigarettes?” + +“The reason is this, and a good one—these black scorpions employ what +they call ‘love charms.’ Oh yes, laugh, laugh, laugh away! But one of +these charms would soon make you laugh the wrong side of your mouth. +They are deadly, let me tell you; a cigarette loaded with a certain +drug has been the ruin of more than one fine young fellow. I +disremember the name of the stuff—it begins with an ‘M,’ and is surely +made in hell itself, for it drives a man stark mad. Once he smokes it +he falls into a pit and is lost for ever, body and soul.” + +“Come, I say, isn’t this a bit too thick, Mung Baw?” + +“Well, you ask the doctors. There’s a good few cases of lunacy and +suicide in this country—all caused by a love charm; so when Ma Chit +sidles up, showing her teeth, and offers you a smoke—you will know what +to do. Now,” concluded the visitor, scrambling to his feet, “I must be +on the move. I am stopping for a while at the big Pongye Kyoung, near +the Turtle Tank, and if you should happen to be riding round that way, +we might have a talk on this cocaine business. If I am to go into it, +neck and crop, I can’t be coming about here—as it would excite +suspicion.” + +“All right then; I’ll turn up and you will report progress; but how am +I to spot you among the crowd of priests?” + +“Easy enough!” replied Mung Baw, drawing himself up to his full height; +“I’m the tallest _pongye_ in Rangoon.” + +“Yes, no doubt. Burmese are a bit undersized.” + +“But fine, able-bodied fellows. I suppose you’ve seen the wrestlers?” + +“Yes. Now, before you go, can I get you a drink or a smoke?” + +“Oh, as for a smoke, I’m thinking your tobacco would not be strong +enough for me, but I don’t say that I wouldn’t like a drink, although I +am a sober man; just the least little taste of whisky and water, as a +sort of souvenir of old times. Ye might bring it in here, for I don’t +want them native chaps makin’ a scandal about me.” + +As soon as the _pongye_ had been secretly supplied with a fairly +moderate souvenir, he resumed his sandals, picked up his umbrella and +begging-bowl and, with a military salute to Shafto, swept down the +rickety stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX +ENLIGHTENMENT + + +Miss Fuschia Bliss was still in Rangoon and, as she modestly expressed +it, “crawling round, on approval.” She had brought letters of +introduction to the Lieutenant-Governor, the Pomeroys, and the +Gregorys. Sir Horace and Lady Winter had no young people, so she +presently passed on to the Pomeroys, who in their turn reluctantly +yielded their guest to Mrs. Gregory. + +Hosts and hostesses were only too glad to secure the company of Miss +Bliss, a girl who had seen so many strange countries, and noticed so +much with her sharp eyes, that her inferences and original remarks were +equally novel and interesting. Fuchsia’s society was invigorating, and +the American could easily have put in twelve months in Burma if so +disposed. But one obstacle—and one only—interposed, and detained her +from joining her friends in Cairo. (This is in the strictest +confidence.) She was awaiting the moment when that great, big stupid +Irishman would speak! + +Although Fuchsia looked no more than two- or three-and-twenty, +eight-and-twenty summers had passed over her ash-coloured head. She had +received an excellent education, had travelled far, and was as +experienced and worldly-wise as any matron of fifty. Indeed, in natural +wit and the art of putting two and two together, she was considerably +ahead of most of her sex. + +Mrs. Gregory enjoyed having young people with her, but her mornings +were engaged. She had a hand in the principal benevolent societies in +the place; was treasurer of this, or secretary of that, apart from her +house-keeping and large correspondence, so that she was rarely at +liberty before tiffin; therefore Fuchsia had all the forenoon to +herself, and spent the time visiting her girl friends or shopping in +the bazaar. The heiress had hired a motor, a little two-seater that she +could drive, and with respect to locomotion was entirely independent of +her hostess. No one in Fuchsia’s circle received so many visits as +Sophy Leigh; she was fond of Sophy, and frequently turned up at +“Heidelberg” to tiffin or to tea, although she did not care about the +set of people that she met there—stout German ladies with somewhat +aggressive manners, or second-rate women from the fringe of Society. +Everyone of these was, in the eyes of the little American democrat, an +“Outsider.” Fuchsia was fastidious, an aristocrat to her finger-tips, +and it was no drawback to Pat FitzGerald that his maternal uncle was an +earl. + +“How could Sophy tolerate these stupid people,” Fuchsia asked herself, +“with their sharp, probing questions and heavy jokes? Why did Mrs. +Krauss invite them?” + +And here she came to yet another question: What was the matter with +Mrs. Krauss? There was something strange and mysterious about her +ailment; her attacks were so fitful; now she appeared brilliant and +vivacious, with gleams of her former great beauty, the gracious and +agreeable hostess; again, her condition was that of sheer indifference +and semi-torpor. And who was the officious and familiar ayah, her +attendant and shadow, an obtrusive creature with bold black eyes and a +resolute mouth? Why did she speak so authoritatively to her mistress? +Why did she wear such handsome jewellery and expensive silk saris, +heavily fringed with gold, and strut about with such an air of +importance? + +Lily appeared to have enormous influence with Mrs. Krauss—she knew +something! She held some secret. This was the conclusion at which +Fuchsia the shrewd arrived, after she had paid a good many visits to +“Heidelberg.” + +Fuchsia, with her long chin resting on her hand, set her active brain +and cool judgment to work. She recalled a certain scene one evening +when she had driven over in her car to take Sophy to the theatre, and +was sitting in the veranda half hidden by a screen, awaiting her +friend, whilst Mrs. Krauss, lying prone upon the sofa, fanned herself +with a languid hand. Presently, from a doorway, Lily noiselessly +drifted in. She was amazingly light-footed for her bulk. + +“Now, it is nine o’clock,” she said, addressing her mistress, “and you +have got to go to bed.” Her voice was sharp and authoritative. The +reply came in a low murmur of expostulation. + +“I’m going to the Pagoda to-night,” continued Lily, “but you will be +all right. As soon as you are undressed you shall have your _dose_.” + +On hearing this promise Mrs. Krauss furled her fan, rose from the sofa +with astonishing alacrity, and followed her ayah as commanded. + +Now the question that puzzled Fuchsia was, what was the nature of the +dose? It must have been something agreeable, or Mrs. Krauss would not +have bounded off the sofa and hurried away—and who would rush for a +dose of quinine or even the fashionable petrol? Undoubtedly the dose +was a drug—some enervating and insidious drug. This would amply account +for the lady’s lethargy and languor. The crafty Fuchsia threw out +several feelers to her hostess on the subject of “Heidelberg”—she +wondered whether anyone shared her suspicions. Certainly Mrs. Gregory +did not, but sincerely lamented her neighbour’s miserable health, and +deplored her obstinacy in remaining season after season in Rangoon. + +“It’s rather a dull house for poor Sophy,” suggested her friend; “when +her aunt has one of her bad attacks she sees no visitors for days. Mr. +Krauss is absent from morning till night—not that I consider his +absence any loss, for I dislike him more than words can express.” + +“Well, I can’t say that I am one of his admirers,” admitted Mrs. +Gregory; “but I agree with you that Sophy has some long and lonely +hours; she can come over here whenever she pleases, and she cannot come +too often, for she is a dear girl, and I would be glad to have her +altogether. You know she and I were house-mates up at May Myo, and when +you live with another person in a small bungalow that is your +opportunity to get down to the bed-rock of character.” + +It was about a week after the elephants had been transported across the +river, and Sophy and Fuchsia were sitting in the latter’s bedroom at +the “Barn.” Sophy was altering a hat for her companion; she was +remarkably clever in this line, and a surprising quantity of her +friends’ millinery had passed through her fingers. + +“Mr. Shafto had a narrow squeak this day week,” remarked Fuchsia, who +was lounging in a chair, doing nothing. “Did you hear someone say that +he was _pushed_ in?” + +“Oh, no! By accident—or on purpose?” + +“Whichever you please; the result was the same.” Then, after a +considerable pause, she added significantly: + +“Perhaps he knows too much.” + +“Too much of what?” asked Sophy, looking up. + +“Oh, there are many secrets in Rangoon,” said Fuchsia, nodding her +head; “I have grasped that, although I have only been here two months, +and you a whole year. Have you never noticed anything? Have you no +suspicions about people?” + +“No—not of anything that matters. I suspect that the eldest Miss Wiggin +rouges and darkens her eyebrows, that Lady Puffle wears a wig, and that +the Grahams are thoroughly sick of their paying guest. But you are ten +times cleverer than I am, Fuchsia, and, according to Mr. Gregory, +singularly intelligent and acute.” + +“Acute—rubbish!” Fuchsia dismissed the idea with a gesture of her tiny +hand. “I’m not thinking of wigs, or paint, or such piffle. Say, have +you never heard of the cocaine business?” + +“Oh, yes; Mr. Shafto is tremendously keen on the subject.” + +“Pat FitzGerald is mad about it, too, and is having a great big try to +rope in the boss smugglers. He has told me the most terrible tales. +Once the drug—it’s cocaine and morphia mixed—gets a fast hold of a man, +or woman, he or she is doomed!” + +“Oh, Fuchsia, surely not so bad as that!” + +“It’s true; the poor thieve to get a few annas to spend in the dens; +the rich and educated buy it by stealth, and absorb it at home in +secret.” + +“What are the symptoms?” inquired Sophy. “Have you ever seen anyone who +took those drugs?” + +“Well, I could not say,” she answered evasively; “but I am aware that +the symptoms are unaccountable drowsiness and lethargy, followed by a +deathlike sleep, and, they say, the most _heavenly_ dreams. Later, the +dreamer wakes up, haggard, feverish, and miserable; the skin has a +dried, shrunken look. And you can always tell a drug-taker by the eyes; +the pupil is either as small as a pin’s point or else enormously +enlarged.” + +Fuchsia glanced sharply at Sophy, who was carefully manipulating a +large bow. + +Was she recalling a domestic picture? Did any suspicion sink into her +simple mind? If such was the case the girl gave no sign. + +“These drug-maniacs’ lives are a real burden,” continued Fuchsia; “they +become indolent and slovenly; all they want in the whole world is more, +and more, and more—cocaine. The effect on some is to clear and +stimulate the brain and, for a short time, they seem superhuman; but +soon this marvellous illumination that has flared up dies down like a +fire of straw, and leaves them nothing but the cold ashes.” + +“Fuchsia,” said her companion, suddenly raising her head and gazing at +her steadily, “I believe you are thinking of someone.” + +“Why do you say that?” + +“Tell me who it is.” + +But Fuchsia merely looked down on the ground and maintained an unusual +silence. + +“Do you know anyone that the cap fits?” persisted Sophy. Then, with a +quick movement, she put the hat aside and, confronting her companion, +said, “Surely—surely, you don’t mean _Aunt Flora_?” + +Fuchsia’s reply was a slow, deliberate nod. + +“Oh, Fuchsia, this is too dreadful—how can you? Tell me—why you have +such a hideous suspicion?” + +“All right then, I will,” and Fuchsia sat bolt upright. “I’m older than +you are, and have knocked about the world a bit, and I can’t help +seeing things that are thrust under my nose and drawing an inference. I +must tell you that my grandfather was a notable lawyer, and who knows +but that a scrap of his mantle may not have descended upon me! Now to +answer your question right away—you will admit that pretty often your +aunt is dressed like a last year’s scarecrow; that she is drowsy, +stupefied, and generally inaccessible. At another time she is real +smart and vivacious, and puts other women in the shade. Then suddenly +she disappears, shuts herself up along with Lily ayah, and not a soul +may approach her—no, not even you. Undoubtedly Lily provides the drug +and is handsomely paid. I ask you to look at her jewels and her diamond +nose-ring. Your aunt refuses to see a doctor, for a doctor would +diagnose her case the instant he set eyes on her; she also refuses to +quit Rangoon, and why? Because she would be torn away from what is +killing her inch by inch—and that is cocaine!” + +By the time Fuchsia had ended this speech Sophy’s face was colourless, +and, as she unconsciously stroked a piece of ribbon between her +fingers, many facts in support of Fuchsia’s verdict flocked into her +brain and forced themselves upon her comprehension. She had a +conviction that what her friend had just told her was neither more nor +less than a dreadful truth. An instant of clear vision had come; scales +had fallen from her eyes; she recalled those strange excursions to Ah +Shee’s stifling den, the purchase of ivories so soon thrown aside; +undoubtedly this collection of netsukes was a blind—her aunt’s real +object was to procure _drugs_! + +“I’m afraid this is an awful blow to you, Sophy,” resumed Fuchsia, “and +you will think I had no business to crowd in; but it is best that you +should have your eyes opened before it is too late. What do you think +yourself, dear?” + +There was an agonising pause. Self-deception was no longer possible. +With an effort she replied: + +“I am afraid what you have told me is terribly true; it was stupid of +me not to have guessed at something of the sort. I see things clearly +now that you have put them before my eyes. Many puzzles are +explained—the reason Aunt Flora keeps herself isolated; the reason why +she has no really intimate friends; the reason why she is so untidy in +her dress at times and talks so strangely. I suppose Mr. Krauss knows?” + +“No!” replied Fuchsia with emphasis, “I have watched him carefully, and +I don’t believe he has the faintest suspicion, any more than you had +yourself. Your aunt’s ayah, and possibly the cook, are +fellow-conspirators, and no doubt the cause of ‘the Missis’s’ long +strange illness is common talk in the compound.” + +“What can be done to cure it? Oh, Fuchsia, _do_ advise me!” + +“If I were to offer you one piece of advice you would not take it.” + +“Well, at least allow me to hear it.” + +“It is to clear out of the house altogether and return home.” + +“I shall certainly not take that advice; I was invited to Rangoon to be +a companion to Aunt Flora, and the moment that I find she has something +frightful to fight against is surely not the time for me to run away +and leave her in the lurch. No, I shall stay here and do what I can.” + +“Ah, if you only could; but, my dear girl, I’m afraid it is too late. I +have been questioning Pat FitzGerald—of course without letting him know +that I had any ‘case’ in my mind’s eye. From what I have gathered, Mrs. +Krauss has been taking this drug for a long time—and is past all help.” + +“Then do you mean, Fuchsia, that I am to sit by, utterly helpless, +whilst my aunt slowly puts herself to death?” + +“Of course you might try various things. You could make it your +business to find out and destroy the hypodermic syringe—or perhaps your +aunt takes it in pellets. I should interview the ayah and inform her +that you know the nature of her mistress’s complaint; threaten that you +will tell Mr. Krauss and have her discharged. I expect she gets +enormous wages and has feathered her nest handsomely. If you could +inveigle your aunt into taking a voyage to Australia, that might be of +use. But these are just suggestions; in any way that I can help or back +you up I will. All the same, I must return to my first statement, which +is, that no matter how you strive, and hope and fear, your effort will +come too _late_.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI +SEEING IS BELIEVING + + +The recent enlightenment had given Sophy a painful shock; thoughts +troublesome and insistent buzzed about her all day long and kept her +awake at night. At first she had wept and abandoned herself to misery; +then she summoned her strength and will and made plans, hoping that she +would have the courage to carry them out. She resolved to invade her +aunt’s bedroom and discover the true state of affairs. During the last +two or three days Mrs. Krauss had withdrawn into seclusion, being +threatened with one of her so-called “attacks.” On these occasions no +one but Lily was permitted to cross the threshold of her apartment. + +Late on the following evening, when the house was quiet and the +servants had departed to their _godowns_, or the bazaar, and the +“missy” was supposed to have retired, Sophy slipped on a dressing-gown +and soft slippers and made her way into the anteroom, usually occupied +in the day-time by her aunt, now dimly illuminated by one electric +light. Before the door of the next apartment hung a heavy curtain +which, when drawn aside, revealed a thick darkness, a peculiar odour, +and the sound of rapid breathing. Sophy groped with her hand along the +wall, found the switch, and the room and its contents were instantly +revealed. A richly-carved bedstead, a masterpiece of Burmese work, +stood in the middle of the floor; at either side were small tables, one +heaped with an untidy pile of books and magazines; on the other were +bottles, glasses and little boxes. In turning the switch Sophy had lit +the bulb which hung directly over Mrs. Krauss’s couch, and there, by +its pitiless glare, she lay fully exposed, sunken in a sleep resembling +a swoon, her splendid black hair lying loose upon the pillows. She +looked woefully old and shrunken, her arms, displayed by an +open-sleeved silk nightgown, were thin and strangely discoloured. + +As Sophy stood surveying the scene the bathroom door opened softly and +Lily stepped over the threshold. “Oh, my missy! Whatever are you doing +here?” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. + +“I am searching for the hypodermic syringe by which you reduce my +aunt,” pointing to the bed, “to this horrible condition. Come with me, +Lily,” leading the way to the outer room. “I have something to say to +you.” + +The ayah’s face was almost green; she was shaking all over, but after a +moment’s hesitation she ultimately obeyed in sullen silence. + +“I was not aware until two days ago,” resumed Sophy, “that my aunt took +drugs and that you supplied them.” + +“I don’t know what the missy is talking about,” stammered Lily. + +“Oh yes, you understand, and Mr. Krauss will understand. At present he +has no idea of my aunt’s real ailment.” + +“Missy going to tell _him_? Well, if I am sent away to Madras and the +drug taken from the missis she will soon die—you will see!” + +Lily’s tone was more triumphant than regretful. + +“She will die anyway,” rejoined Sophy, “and it were better that she +should die in her senses than a drugged victim to cocaine. How long has +this been going on?” + +“Two, three years—maybe four years.” + +“Four years!” repeated Sophy incredulously. + +“Yes, missis plenty sick—no sleep getting; doctor ordering small dose +sleep mixture; missis liking too much, taking more and more, and more.” + +“And you have kept her supplied—you get it from Ah Shee?” + +“If not me, then some other woman. I plenty fond of missis and I kept +her secret.” + +“And, no doubt, she has paid you well.” + +“Yes, giving money; but too much trouble to get morphia and cocaine and +to keep people from talk. One or two times she took too big dose, and +then nearly die—but missis will have it all the same—die or no die!” + +“Well, now, if I promise you one thing will you promise me another? I +will not say a word to Mr. Krauss if you will agree to buy no more +cocaine.” + +“I will promise not to give so much; but no more cocaine taking at all, +missis would shrivel up and go out like one bit of paper in a candle! I +will do what I can, missy, but missis always taking plenty—two grains +is nothing.” + +“I am astonished,” said Sophy, “that my aunt has never been suspected +of taking drugs.” + +“Missy, you never suspect it yourself, and yet you have lived in same +house for fifteen months. It was hard to keep it dark, but all the +servants know. Of course, that is no matter, and as for the big +mem-sahibs, they do not come here _now_.” + +“It seems so strange,” said Sophy, “that my aunt should have sunk into +this state—all through one little dose of morphia.” + +“Well, you see, missy, she was ill; it was in the rains; she was +awfullee melancholy and depressed, and she had not much to fill her +mind. She did not sew or ride or make music, like you do. Mr. Krauss +was away, she was sick and lonely, and so she got the doctor’s +prescription made up over and over again. If she could have gone to +Europe two years ago she might have cured herself of taking the stuff. +Two—three times she has begun to stop it, but it was no good. I have +talked to her and given her wise words and tried to help her—and +_cheat_ her, but she always found me out; so all I can do or have done +is to stand between her and the other mem-sahibs and hide her—trouble.” + +The sound of light footsteps stealing across the veranda caused Lily to +pause—then she added under her breath: + +“It is that Moti ayah, missy; she very cunning, same like little snake +and we had better go. I will keep my promise, though it will be plenty +bother; I am glad that you know—for it will make business more easy for +me now there is one less to hide it from.” + +Thus the conspirators parted, Sophy having maintained from first to +last her mastery of the situation. + +It was not long before Mrs. Krauss became aware, more by instinct than +actual knowledge, that her niece had discovered the real cause of her +illness. One evening as Sophy bent over to kiss her and say good night, +she took her hand in both of hers and, with tears trickling down her +face, whispered: + +“Sophy darling, I’ve tried—it’s no use; whatever happens, keep it from +_him_!” + +And this was the sole occasion on which Aunt Flora ever alluded to her +failing. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII +ON DUTY + + +The veil that shrouded her aunt’s secret being now withdrawn, by a +strange paradox a heavy cloud of darkness descended upon Sophy; she +seemed to have suddenly passed from a warm glow of sunlight into a cold +shadow-land of mystery and fear. Before Herr Krauss and the outer world +she still carried a buoyant standard of false high spirits. Her +rippling laughter and cheerful repartees were to be heard where young +people were assembled at the Gymkhana, or elsewhere; but this Sophy +wore another aspect when she sat on duty in her aunt’s bedroom, whiling +away restlessness and want of sleep with reading and talk, and even +cards. Many a time the dawn was breaking before she was at liberty to +go to bed. No wonder that she looked pale and fagged—no wonder people +gazed at her keenly and inquired about her health. It is not easy even +for a girl of two-and-twenty thus to burn the candle at both ends! +Riding, dancing, and playing tennis in the daytime, and then sitting up +half the night, with a restless and fretful patient. It was _this_ +Sophy who conferred so long and earnestly with Lily ayah, respecting +methods to be adopted, pretences effected, infinitesimal doses +exchanged for the usual amount, and the patient craftily beguiled—but +it is almost impossible to beguile a person who is suffering from the +fierce craving for a drug; and the want of her normal supply soon began +to make itself apparent in Mrs. Krauss, and there were not a few +exhausting scenes. + +Sophy found it necessary to take her ayah Moti into her confidence—a +humiliating obligation (as it happened, Moti had always been in the +secret), and among the three it was arranged that the mistress of the +house was to be watched and never left alone. Occasionally Mrs. Krauss +had disputes and dreadful altercations with Lily; but by degrees she +appeared to acquiesce; her strength was unequal to a prolonged +struggle, and the victim of cocaine would throw herself down on her bed +and moan like some dying animal. These moans pierced the heart of her +unhappy niece. + +Herr Krauss was seldom at home, but, when in residence, his personality +obtruded itself in all directions, and it was surprising to Sophy that +he never noticed any cause for anxiety in his wife’s appearance, she +looked so ill and emaciated; it was true that he was preoccupied with +important affairs, and that he only saw her of an evening when the +lights were shaded. She still appeared in the afternoon and at dinner, +particularly if they were alone. When she received visitors, especially +her German neighbours, Sophy felt exceedingly uncomfortable. It seemed +to her—although this might be imagination—that the ladies exchanged +coughs and significant glances, and noticed the trembling hand with +which Mrs. Krauss helped herself to cake, her sudden lapses into +silence, her abrupt interruptions and cavernous yawns. For years Mrs. +Krauss had been at home once a week to her German neighbours. They are +a gregarious nation, and the “Kaffee-Gesellschaft”—an afternoon affair, +beginning at four o’clock—is greatly beloved by German women. Here they +enjoy strong coffee, chocolate flavoured with vanilla and whipped +cream, and every description of rich cake. These coffee parties are +generally an orgy of scandal, and that at “Heidelberg” was no +exception. Whether Mrs. Krauss was well or ill, the guests never failed +to arrive. It was a standing institution and enjoyed their approval and +countenance. + +One bright hope upheld Sophy; Herr Krauss now talked of returning +home—that is, to Germany. + +“Business is booming, my dear old lady; I shall close down, and we will +all depart. You have been in Burma too long, but in six months we shall +be aboard the mail boat and watch the gold Pagoda gradually sinking out +of sight. I shall take a handsome place in the neighbourhood of +Frankfort, and entertain all my good friends. Then we will make music, +and eat, drink, and be merry.” + +His talk was invariably in this hopeful strain; he never exhibited the +least anxiety with regard to his wife’s illness; it had become her +normal condition, and he spoke of it as “that confounded neuralgia” and +cursed the Burmese climate. + +Sophy listened and marvelled, and yet she herself had been equally +dense. Neuralgia covers various infirmities, just as the cloak of +charity covers a multitude of sins. She had become excessively +sensitive and suspicious, a sort of domestic detective—a post that was +by no means to her taste. She had thought long and earnestly over the +situation, and from her reflections emerged the solid word “Duty.” It +was her duty to fight for her aunt, to contend against the demon +drug—and fight she did. Oh, if she could only maintain the struggle +until her charge was en route home, what a victory! + +Mrs. Krauss never alluded to her illness—a remarkable contrast to many +invalids; but one afternoon, as Sophy sat beside her in the dimly-lit +lounge, she suddenly broke an unusually long silence: + +“Life is very difficult, Sophy, my dear; death is easy, and I shall +soon know all about it.” + +“Oh, Aunt Flo, why do you say this?” + +“Because, before long, I shall die. Karl is full of great plans and +talks of our wonderful future. I see no future for myself in Europe; I +shall remain behind when you and he go down the Irrawaddy—but I am not +afraid. On the contrary, I look forward.” + +“As for death, I hope you are mistaken, Aunt Flora, but I confess that +yours is a most enviable frame of mind.” + +“It is, dear, I suppose, from living so long in the East, I have +imbibed some of the people’s ideas. In all the world these Burmans +cannot be matched for their radiant cheerfulness—they make the best of +the present, and, as they say, ‘merely die to live again.’ There is not +one of them who does not believe in and speak of his past life, and +look forward to a future existence; this is why they wear such an air +of happiness and contentment.” + +“And do you really believe there is anything in this comfortable faith, +Aunt Flora?” + +“Yes, my dear, I have a sincere confidence that my soul, not this +miserable wicked body, will live again, and be given an opportunity of +being better in another world.” + +“Well, at any rate that is a consoling creed. For my own part, I know +little about Buddhism, but I can see that the Burmans are a religious +people, much given to worship and offerings, and with a good deal of +gaiety in their ceremonies; but, Aunt Flora, although they are +delightfully picturesque, and so merry and cheerful, as a mass they are +terribly pleasure-loving and lazy; no Burman will work if he can help +it; even the women are difficult to get hold of. Mrs. Blake, who is in +the District, told me that her ayah, who never exerted herself, had put +in for a _year’s_ holiday and rest.” + +“But what had that to do with religion, my dear?” + +“Just this—that they are as a race too indolant and easy-going to study +any big question, or to take the trouble to think for themselves.” + +“But what about the hundreds and thousands of holy priests who spend +all their lives in profound meditation? What do you say to that? Come +now.” + +“I say that they live a life of incorrigible idleness; they have no +need to maintain themselves; they just eat, and sit, and muse; +everything is supplied to them, including their yellow robe and betel +nut. Their religion is selfish.” + +“Well, well, I’m too stupid to argue, my dear child, my brain is like +cotton wool; but I have my hopes, my sure hopes. Karl is different. He +is cultured, he reads Marx and Hegel, and says we are like cabbages and +have no future; when we go it is as a candle that is blown out. Oh, +here are visitors! What a bore! I shall not appear! Run and tell the +bearer.” + +“Oh, but these are your own special old friends, Mrs. Vansittart and +Mrs. Dowler. _Do_ let them come in; they will amuse you—poor dears, you +know they always call after dark.” + +These visitors, friends of former days, were social derelicts, who had, +so to speak, “gone ashore” in Rangoon. One was chained to Burma by dire +poverty and a drunken husband; the other, who had been a wealthy woman +of considerable local importance, was now a childless widow, supporting +herself with difficulty by means of a second-rate boarding-house. To +these old friends, and in many other cases, Mrs. Krauss had proved a +generous and tactful helper. Both visitors were wearing costumes which +had been worn and admired at “Heidelberg” and were still fairly +presentable. + +After a stay of an hour the ladies withdrew, leaving their hostess well +entertained but completely exhausted. Then they hastily sought out +Sophy in order to express to her, in private, their horror at the +terrible change in her aunt. + +“Her spirit is there all right,” said Mrs. Dowler (who had a +hundred-rupee note in her glove), “but oh, my dear Miss Leigh, _how_ +she’s wasted! I felt like crying all the time I was sitting with her.” + +“Yes, she should see a doctor, and that this very day,” added Mrs. +Vansittart. + +“Oh, but you know Aunt Flora,” protested Sophy; “she cannot bear +doctors, and Lily, her ayah, knows pretty well what to do.” + +“Tell me, Miss Leigh, what is the real truth about your aunt’s +illness?” said Mrs. Dowler, suddenly dropping her voice to a mysterious +whisper. “It has been so long and so tedious—off and on for at least +three years. She has been worse the last four months, and indeed ever +since you went up to May Myo. It is not a malignant growth, please +God?” + +“Oh, no, nothing of that sort; just weakness and this relaxing +climate.” + +“She should have returned home years ago,” said Mrs. Vansittart; “and +when she does go—oh, it will be a bad day and a sad day for me and many +others, not to speak of all the animals she has befriended. She is +wonderfully sympathetic to dumb creatures and indeed to everybody.” + +“That’s true,” echoed her companion, “no one knows of your aunt’s good +deeds and charities, not even her own servants, and that is saying +_everything_. Her hand has raised many an unfortunate out of the dust.” + +Thus whispering, advising and hoping and bemoaning, the two ladies were +conducted by Sophy to their jointly-hired _ticka gharry_, and were +presently rattled away. + +Sophy, too, had her own particular visitors, Mabel Pomeroy, Mrs. +Gregory and Fuchsia—Fuchsia, almost daily. To her it seemed that +Sophy’s confidences were frozen; she rarely mentioned her aunt, and +gave evasive answers to her friend’s probing inquiries. At last the +brave American spoke out: + +“You are frightfully changed, my Sophy girl—changed in a month. You +have become so dull and absent-minded, and have lost all your pretty +colour. Of course, _I_ know the reason, but you can do no good—no, not +a scrap. You had much better have gone home when you discovered the +secret—you are as thin as a walking-stick, and look as if you sat up +all night and never went to bed.” + +“Well, even if I did and, mind you, I’m not saying that I do, it is no +worse for my health than dancing all night, is it? I’m very fond of +Aunt Flora, and I’d do more than that for her.” + +“She has added years to your life; the gay flitting-about Sophy, with +her pretty kittenish ways and harmless claws, has been thrust in a +sack—and drowned!” + +“Well, I do think you might have given her Christian burial,” protested +Sophy with a laugh. + +“Christian burial brings me to the Marriage Service. What do you +think—that great stupid Irishman, has at last blundered out a proposal, +and in me,” rising and making a curtsey, “you behold the future Mrs. +Patrick FitzGerald.” + +“Oh, Fuchsia!” jumping up to embrace her, “I do congratulate you, and I +do hope you will be very happy.” + +“Yes, I believe we shall. I have money and he——” she hesitated, and +Sophy added: + +“Has a warm, kind heart.” + +“Oh, well, I was about to say _looks_, but I’ll throw in the heart as +well! Next week I am going up to Calcutta to see about the trousseau +and business. I’m real sorry to be the means of smashing up the +Chummery Quartette.” + +“And when does the blow fall?” + +“Not for some time; Patsy has asked for a long day.” + +“Fuchsia!” + +“Well, no, it’s not that; but he’s obliged to finish some inspections. +He really is fond of me—I dare say he’s not as fond of me as Shafto is +of someone! But _his_ is a more serious, rigid character. If someone +would smile, he would melt like a shovelful of snow on a coal fire!” + +“My dear Fuchsia, do give your imagination a rest.” + +“Maybe you are right, and my tongue, too. I’ve only just one thing more +to say,” she paused and walked into the veranda in silence. + +In silence Sophy followed her down to the car and, as she tucked in the +knee-sheet, she raised her eyes and asked: + +“What is this wonderful last word?” + +“That I think ‘Sophy Shafto’ would be a nice easy name to say.” + +In another second Fuchsia’s car had panted away and nothing remained of +her visit but a cloud of red dust. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII +SOPHY + + +Sophy had a difficult part to act—in fact no less than three separate +roles: one with her aunt, one with Herr Krauss, and a third in public. +Those who saw Miss Leigh dancing and playing tennis at the Gymkhana, +little guessed how she spent the remainder of the day, soothing and +interesting a fretful invalid, or sitting up half the night on duty—and +on guard. Herr Krauss was frequently from home, being incessantly +engaged in winding up his affairs. Business took him one week to +Moulmein, the next to Calcutta. This fat, elderly man displayed a sort +of volcanic energy; he lived in a fever of repressed excitement and +scarcely gave himself time to gobble his huge meals. Numbers of +people—principally natives—pressed for interviews; one or two arrived +in fine motor-cars; evidently it was not a European business that +appeared to absorb all his time and faculties. However, whatever its +nationality, Herr Krauss was happy and exultant; there was an +expression of assured triumph upon his frog-like visage. + +Naturally this triple life left its mark on Sophy, though she kept her +miseries and responsibilities to herself. Mrs. Gregory and other +friends put their heads together and decided that she looked ill and +careworn; and the ever-active Fuchsia laid certain information before +Shafto, with the result that the following day he arrived at +“Heidelberg” to make a formal call. Of late he found that he could +never have a word with Miss Leigh; she rarely rode in the morning and +was seldom to be seen at the Gymkhana, and so he, as Fuchsia had +suggested, “bearded the lioness in her den”—that is, he called at +“Heidelberg” between the orthodox hours of four and five. + +“This is very formal,” exclaimed Sophy, as he entered the somewhat +dusky drawing-room; “visiting hour and visiting card complete. What +does it mean?” + +“It merely means that I wish to see you,” replied Shafto; “I can never +get a look in elsewhere. One would almost think that you avoided me and +wanted to cut me.” + +“What a ridiculous idea!” she exclaimed, sitting down and motioning him +to a chair. + +“Well, it does seem ridiculous that we see so very little of you. I +hope you are not ill?” + +“No, indeed, why should I be ill? Do I look like an invalid?” + +“Since you ask me, I don’t think you seem particularly fit. How is Mrs. +Krauss?” + +“Oh, much the same. Sometimes she is able to be out in the car and sits +in the veranda; other days she cannot appear at all.” + +“And you and Herr Krauss are _tête-à-tête_! How do you get on +together?” + +“Oh, pretty well. I only see him at breakfast and dinner, and we talk +about food and cooking and the servants. It’s all right when he is +alone, but when he brings friends to dinner it is rather disagreeable. +I understand German now and am able to make out the hateful things they +say about us as a nation. Naturally I stick up for my own country. I +talk to them in English—they gabble to me in German, and we make an +awful clatter. Herr Krauss looks on, or joins in, and roars and bangs +the table. I am fighting one to five, and with my back to the wall! +They are full of facts that I cannot dispute—not being posted up in +statistics. When I attempt to bring forward our side they interrupt and +shout me down. Now we have declared open war. Last night I got up and +left them in possession of the field, and I have told Herr Krauss that +the next time he has a session I prefer to dine alone. He treats it as +a splendid joke and says I am a silly, ignorant _Backfisch_.” + +“Of course, a lot of it is trade envy,” said Shafto; “but the Germans, +to give them their due, are energetic, thrifty and pushing, and are +taking places in the sun all over the world. Have you heard from Mrs. +Milward lately?” + +“No, not for some weeks; she writes such amusing letters.” + +“So I should imagine. She has a wonderfully elastic mind, and says and +does the very first thing that comes into her head. Do you remember one +day on the _Blankshire_ when, half in joke, she said that we were two +young lambs about to be turned out in strange and unknown pastures, and +if one of us got into any difficulty the other was bound to help?” + +“Yes, I remember perfectly well. It was after Mr. Jones, the +missionary, had been giving us a lecture on what he called ‘Pitfalls in +the East.’” + +“Well, now I warn you that I’m going to be officious and interfering. I +have a notion that you are in some difficulty. What Mrs. Milward said +in joke I repeat in deadly earnest. If you are in any sort of hole, let +me lend a hand.” + +“But why should you imagine that I am in any difficulty or, as you call +it, ‘a hole’?” + +Sophy tried to carry it off gaily, but her eyes fell. + +“Because you look so changed and depressed and seem to have lost your +spirits. Perhaps, as you have no bodily ailment, there is something on +your mind?” + +“And who can minister to a mind diseased?” she quoted with a smile. +“No, I’m really normal and absolutely sane.” + +“I wish you wouldn’t put me off,” he protested; “I know there _is_ +something.” + +“Even if there were, do you expect me to make you my Father Confessor?” + +“No, indeed; but I do think you might give us a hint—I mean your +friends—of what it is that has come between us.” + +For a moment she found it difficult to answer. At last she said: + +“Well, there _is_ something, I admit; something that claims all my +time. I am sorry I cannot tell you more, for it is not my own secret.” + +“I see—it belongs to another.” + +Evidently Sophy had discovered the truth at last—a truth that was +withering her youth and crushing her to the earth. His quick eye +understood the signs of strain and fatigue; all life and light had +faded from her face, and he realised that she was, as Fuchsia had +described, “terribly changed.” + +For a moment neither of them spoke; she fidgeted with a turquoise +ring—it was much too loose, or her fingers were much too thin, for it +suddenly slipped, dropped into her lap and then rolled far away upon +the floor with an air of impudent independence. + +Shafto, as he searched for and picked up this ring, felt something +forcing and driving him to speak and, after a moment’s reflection, he +made up his mind to dare all. + +“I believe I know your secret,” was his bold announcement, as he +restored her property. + +“You!” she ejaculated. “That is impossible.” + +“At least, I can guess,” he said, dropping his voice. + +Then he got up and, standing before her with his hands in his pockets, +looked down at her steadily and continued: + +“It has to do with a drug.” + +At the word drug she winced visibly, and her pale face changed. + +“The drug is cocaine,” he went on slowly, “and the victim is—a lady in +this house.” + +Sophy’s white cheeks were now aflame; bright tears stood in her eyes; +she was passing through a painful crisis. To assent would amount to a +betrayal. Should she put him off with a _lie_? There seemed to be an +interminable pause before she spoke. + +“Why do you say this to me?” she asked in a low voice. + +“FitzGerald has means of finding out curious facts, and sometimes he +tumbles into a thing by accident; he is mad keen to scotch this cocaine +business, and incidentally discovered that one of Ah Shee’s best +customers was—_you know who_. She has been procuring the stuff for the +last three years. I believe you have only recently found out the +hideous fact, and this accounts for what anyone can see with half an +eye—your look of care and anxiety. I am well aware that I have +undertaken a dangerous mission in coming here to tell you this. +Possibly you may never speak to me again; but I take the risk, because +I do want so very, very badly to be of some use and to stand by you.” + +There was nothing for it but to accept the situation, and at last she +said: + +“The only way in which you can help me is by keeping silent.” + +“How long have you known?” + +“About six weeks.” + +“So now I understand why we see you so seldom at tennis or the +paper-chases.” + +“Yes; and now that you _do_ understand, perhaps you will help me and +put people off when they ask tiresome questions.” She spoke with a +catch in her voice. “I scarcely ever leave my aunt. I read and talk and +play the piano, and do my best to keep her amused; I am very fond of +Aunt Flora.” + +“You must be!” he exclaimed sharply. + +“But, indeed, she is not so much to blame as you suppose. Think of her +loneliness and illness! Years of this relaxing climate and intense +depression tempted her to seek relief, and once she had touched the +drug it gripped her like a vice and made her a prisoner.” + +“Whom you are struggling to release? Does Herr Krauss know?” + +“No; he has no suspicion. No more had I till recently. Lily, the ayah, +Mr. FitzGerald, you and I, are all that are in the secret.” + +“It is much too heavy a load for your shoulders. Won’t you tell Mrs. +Gregory? She is so practical and so safe, and full of clever expedients +and energy.” + +“No, I shall not open my lips; how could I? Mrs. Gregory is my loyal +and kind friend; but once I began to take people into my confidence, I +could never tell where it would end; soon it might be all over Rangoon +that my aunt takes drugs. As it is I am making a little headway; we +have diminished the quantity, and I have great hopes that the craving +is _less_. Of course, I am obliged always to be on guard; that is why I +am so rarely able to leave home. Herr Krauss talks of retiring in four +months, and if I can only keep Aunt Flora safe until _then_, the day of +our departure means the day of her escape. And now, please, let us talk +of something more cheerful. I suppose you have heard about your friend, +Mr. FitzGerald, and Miss Bliss?” And she threw him a charming +confidential smile. + +“Oh yes, rather! FitzGerald was in the most awful funk and talked of +writing his proposal, but I choked him off, and told him that it was a +cowardly way of putting his fate to the touch—the telephone would have +been better—and that he must face the music like a man.” + +“You wouldn’t be in the least nervous in similar circumstances.” + +“No, honestly, I would not, if I believed the girl cared two straws +about me. Anyone that wasn’t stone blind could see that Miss Bliss +liked FitzGerald; he is a rattling good sort, and I believe they will +suit one another splendidly.” + +But Shafto had not come to “Heidelberg” to discuss FitzGerald and his +affairs; he wanted to talk to Sophy about herself. + +“I do wish you would confide in Mrs. Gregory,” he urged. “She is a +tower of strength. I don’t think you are strong enough to tackle the +situation here.” + +“Oh, yes I am,” she answered, rising; “it’s just a question of +will-power and holding out. It was good of you to come like this, but +now I’m afraid I must send you away. This is the time I always sit with +my aunt.” As she spoke she approached nearer to the long glass door +and, coming out of the gloom of the drawing-room, he saw by the +unsparing light the startling alteration in her appearance; she looked +so thin and worn, her eyes so large, her face so small—her whole +appearance wilted! When he thought of Mrs. Krauss, with her deadly +secret, her vampire hold on this girl; then of Krauss and his secret, +he could no longer restrain himself. All those influences which stir +the deepest emotions of the heart were silently operating on Shafto’s. +His face assumed a set expression and had grown suddenly pale. + +“Sophy!” he exclaimed. + +The word sent her heart galloping. + +“I am sure you know that I—I adore you, but somehow I’ve never ventured +to tell you this till now——” He paused, as if the words stuck in his +throat, and meanwhile a huge brown insect of the bee tribe entered, +booming alarmingly, and knocking itself about the room. “But now I’ve +got to speak out and take risks. There is a terrible cloud over this +house—a cloud of shame! I know I am saying all this most awfully badly, +but I ask you to let me take you away from ‘Heidelberg.’” He broke off +abruptly and stood looking into her eyes. + +Sophy, no longer pale, returned his gaze steadily. It was not now a +question of her aunt’s secret, but of her own future. She cared very +much for her companion—why deceive herself?—and with the instinct +common to her sex, had been aware of his feelings for a long time. All +the same, she could not desert her post. She put up her thin hand (it +was trembling, Shafto could see) with the gesture of one who was +thrusting aside temptation. + +“I don’t understand about the cloud, but even so, my place is here. +Surely you will see that—and—I am, all the same, very—grateful. I”—her +voice shook and sank almost to a whisper—“I am glad that you care for +me.” + +At this moment a curtain was hastily swung aside and Lily appeared. + +“Missy, the mem-sahib asking for you now; please to come quickly,” and +with a swift glance at her “missy” obeyed; the _purdah_ fell heavily +behind her slim, white figure and Shafto was alone. His mission had +been fruitless, and yet when he rode away from “Heidelberg” in his +heart he carried the flower of Hope. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV +ALL IS OVER + + +That same evening, as Sophy was sitting alone in the veranda after +dinner, Lily ayah appeared, her fat arms uplifted in eloquent appeal. + +“Oh, missy—you come with me—I think our mem-sahib soon, soon _die_!” + +“Die!” exclaimed Sophy, springing to her feet. + +“Yes, somehow these drug people are too clever—she has got cocaine. I +think that water man bring it; anyhow, mem-sahib has taken one big, big +dose, and lies as one gone from the world.” + +“Send at once for Herr Krauss—he is in his office,” and Sophy ran +towards her aunt’s room and found, as Lily had described, that her +relative was passing away; indeed, save for her faint breathing, one +would have supposed that she had already crossed the border. + +Herr Krauss cast one hurried glance, thundered out of the room, and +rang up the telephone; then he returned and stood gazing at his wife, +his face working with emotion. + +“What has happened?” he asked, turning abruptly to Sophy. “_Why_ is she +like this? What does it mean?” + +“I cannot tell.” A reply which could be taken in two ways. + +“It must have been some sudden attack—her heart, I suppose. Marling, +the nearest doctor, will be here instantly.” And as he spoke a +square-shouldered, severe-looking man entered. Without a word, but in a +most business-like manner, he made an examination of the patient, felt +her pulse, turned back her eyelids, and then ejaculated an ominous: + +“Ha!” + +“What is it?” inquired Krauss; “what is the matter with my wife? Is it +serious?” + +“Don’t you know?” demanded the doctor, turning on him sharply, “it is +cocaine poisoning—the last stage.” + +“Cocaine!” echoed Krauss, and his large buff-coloured face turned to a +leaden hue. “You are mistaken. That is not _possible_!” + +“Well, if you don’t believe me, get another opinion,” retorted the +doctor brusquely. “Judging from the slight examination I have made, +your wife has been taking the drug for _years_.” + +“Impossible!” almost shouted Krauss. + +“Not at all,” rejoined the doctor. “Cocaine has been poisoning people +in Rangoon by hundreds. Mrs. Krauss is not the only victim.” + +Krauss, great heavy man that he was, was now trembling so violently +that he was obliged to lean against the wall for support, and, pointing +to the bed, he said: + +“I had not the slightest suspicion—Gott bewahre, I had not. I thought +her ailment was neuralgia. I will pay any money, no matter what fee. +Surely, you can do something for her?” + +“I am afraid not; Mrs. Krauss is beyond help, and can never recover +consciousness. She has been taking quantities of the drug for a long +time. Look at her arm!”—turning back the sleeve and revealing an +emaciated tell-tale limb. + +“Did _you_ know?” said Krauss, appealing to Sophy, who stood at the +other side of the bed. The words came in short savage jerks. + +“Yes,” she replied, “I only discovered it six weeks ago.” + +“And never told _me_!” glaring at her with a furious expression. + +“No—because Aunt Flora implored me to be silent. I was doing my best to +stop it and minimising the doses.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed the doctor, “that accounts for this. She has been +starved and, with the cunning of these morphia maniacs, found means to +get a supply, and has absorbed an enormous quantity.” + +“Ach Gott! it seems incredible,” moaned Krauss, now rising and coming +towards the bed, and lifting his wife’s limp hand. “What could have +made her take to it?” + +“Illness—loneliness—depression; this enervating climate; having nothing +particular to do; an idle woman of forty has no business in Burma.” + +“But surely you have some remedy?—something that will bring her to? +Gott in Himmel! you don’t tell me that she will _never_ see me, or +speak to me again!” + +“No; cocaine is one of the most powerful drugs—the greatest curse in +our pharmacopoeia. It is better that she should go like this. Even if +she were to survive for a week, she would be a mere inanimate shadow.” + +“Oh, my poor Flora, my heart’s joy! You must not go; you shall not +leave me without one word!” And Herr Krauss tumbled down upon his knees +and sobbed stertorously. + +The doctor, who was surveying him with frigid amazement, suddenly +turned and, seizing Sophy by the arm, said: + +“You can do no good here now; this is no place for you.” + +Leading her to the door he closed it inexorably behind her. + +Half an hour later she was joined by Lily, her round face wet with +tears. + +“All is over now, Miss Sahib. My missis always so good to me—my missis +done die.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV +MUNG BAW LIES LOW + + +In some mysterious manner the cause of Mrs. Krauss’s death was hushed +up; there was no inquest, and the announcement in the Rangoon Gazette +merely stated: “On the 8th inst., Flora, the beloved wife of Herr Karl +Krauss, suddenly, of heart failure.” + +Sophy had been carried off to the “Barn” a few hours after her aunt had +passed away, and never again entered “Heidelberg.” The funeral was +large, expensive, and imposing, and included a crowd of rather +unexpected and decidedly shabby mourners, who brought with them +offerings of cheap, home-made wreaths and crosses, and wore faces of +sincere and unaffected grief. Strange to say, the grave prepared to +receive Mrs. Krauss was next to that in which lay the remains of +Richard Roscoe. The two cocaine victims rested side by side in death, +drawn together by the long arm of coincidence. + +It had been decided that Sophy was to remain at the “Barn” and +accompany Mrs. Gregory when she went home in August. She quickly +recovered her looks and spirits amid bright society and cheerful +surroundings. There had been an auction at “Heidelberg,” everything was +disposed of; the accumulation of twelve years was scattered to the +winds, the servants were disbanded, and the house was closed. + +Herr Krauss sent Sophy a quantity of his wife’s jewels, with a letter +thanking her for all her care and attention, but she only retained a +ring that had been worn daily by her aunt, and returned the remainder, +which was afterwards disposed of in Balthazar’s Sale Rooms and fetched +a handsome sum. + +It was said that Herr Krauss had felt his wife’s death acutely; he had +left Rangoon without the ceremony of farewells, departing no one knew +whither. + +Time slipped by, and so far had brought no trace of the cocaine gang. +On several occasions Shafto had ridden round by the big Kyoung behind +the Turtle Tank and met with no success—nothing but a shake of the +_pongye’s_ shaven head. On his first visit he had dismounted, given his +horse to its _syce_, and boldly approached the monastery, outside of +which an imposing group of _pongyes_ was assembled. The attitude of +some was lofty and disdainful; others, with a friendly glance, +acknowledged the stranger’s ceremonious greeting. Towering majestically +among his fellows stood Mung Baw, who, throwing them a hasty +explanation, advanced to welcome Shafto with a soldierly tread and a +jaunty swing of his yellow robe. Then taking him aside he began to talk +to him in a cautious undertone: + +“I am sorry to tell you I have no _kubber_ yet. If I had some female +acquaintance it would so as easy as ‘kiss my hand,’ but I cannot break +my vow or spake to a woman.” + +“So you have no clue?” + +“There’s dozens of clues, if I could get hold of one; that’s what +aggravates me and has me tormented. But I’ll worry it out yet, and +that’s as sure as me name is Mick Ryan.” + +“I thought it was Mung Baw.” + +“So ’tis mostly—and officially, but this business I’m on is a white +man’s job, and if it’s to be done, I’ll do it.” As he spoke he removed +his clumsy horn spectacles, and Shafto realised that the eyes gazing +unflinchingly into his own were those of an enthusiast, and possibly a +hero. + +Seen in tell-tale daylight, and without his disfiguring glasses, the +_pongye_ looked years younger; hitherto Shafto’s impression had been +that his strange acquaintance was a man of fifty. Five-and-thirty would +be nearer the mark. His eyes were a shade of deep indigo blue, with +thick black lashes, high cheek bones were possibly a legacy from his +Cingalese grandmother; a square, well-shaped head, firmly set upon a +fine pair of shoulders, a square chin and jaw, and a well-cut mouth +with shining white teeth, were his inheritance from the West. +Undoubtedly if Mung Baw’s religion had not compelled him to sacrifice +every hair on his body—including his eyebrows—he would have been an +uncommonly good-looking fellow, but an absolutely bare face and bald +cranium was a heavy handicap—were he Apollo himself! + +At least thrice a week Shafto, in the character of a private inquiry +officer, rode slowly round by the Kyoung and had a word or two with the +tall upstanding priest. + +One evening the latter beckoned to Shafto to dismount, and, leading him +apart, assured him that he was creeping on at last. “As soon as I know +what I think I know, I’ll send you a bit of a _chit_. It’s an awful +traffic, this infernal trade, now I’ve seen into it, cheek by jowl; +these drugs is worse and crueller than wild animals, and we can’t kill +them.” + +“No, worse luck!” assented Shafto; “they kill us. I say, Mung Baw, +don’t your friends in the monastery wonder why I so often ride round +this way and look you up?” + +“Oh, yes, some does be as curious as a cat in a strange larder, but I +have it all explained to their satisfaction.” Then, dropping his voice, +he added mysteriously: “They think I’m _convarting_ you!” + +“What—to Buddhism!” And Shafto burst out laughing. + +“Faix, ye might do worse.” + +“Possibly; but I am all right as I am.” + +“That’s a good hearing. Well, I’m not for troubling anyone’s mind, +shure; aren’t we all,” with a sweep of his powerful hand, “shtriving to +reach the same place, and if it’s what I expect, I’ll hope to meet ye? +There’s the gong for prayers, and I must fall in.” + +Two days later Shafto received a letter written in a neat clerkly hand. +It said: + +“If you will be at the Great Goddema in the woods beyond the Turtle +Tank by five o’clock to-morrow, Tuesday, you may hear news,—M.R.” + +The Great Goddema in the woods is a gigantic image in alabaster, +encompassed by palm ferns, and half clothed in flowering creepers. The +day of this particular shrine has sunk below the horizon; worshippers +are absent and the flowers laid around and about are entirely the +contribution of Nature herself. Some day the shrine will disappear +altogether, buried, like many others, in appreciative vegetation. + +As Shafto approached the rendezvous, he saw the _pongye_ seated on the +steps, engrossed in a book with a red cover, which he hastily thrust +into some inner pocket as he rose to his feet. + +“Ye might not think it, but I’m a great reader,” he explained +apologetically. “It passes the time and is no sin; the saints +themselves were wonderful writers and readers. A friend here gets me +books out of the public library, and then I borrow when I can.” + +“What have you got hold of now?” inquired Shafto. + +“‘Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World,’ and before that, ‘Jungle +Tales.’ I could tell a good few myself; animals and birds does be very +friendly and confidential with me; but it’s not books I brought you +here to talk about, but cocaine and opium.” + +“Yes, rather. Have you any news?” + +“I have so. I’ve found out what I may call the head lair of the +divils.” + +“Good for you—how splendid! How did you manage it?” + +“Bedad, it was a terrible touch-and-go business, as you shall hear. You +see, I should first explain how I get so much liberty to go mouching +round the bazaars and wharves. Being for so long weak in the head—and +also of another country—allowances are made, and I’m looked on as an +oddity, and yet well respected, for I’m clever with cures and language. +Well, I used to poke about among a lot of scum that has no respect for +any cloth whatever—no, nor for life itself; and all the time I felt in +me bones I’d surely find what I wanted among a crew that’s just the +sweepings of creation! + +“There was one particular low wharf I used to hang round by way of +watching fellows netting fish; and one warm afternoon, as I was +meditating there, the chance looked my way. Two half-drunken Chinamen +come along quarrelling and sat down near me, and I ‘foxed’ I was sound +asleep. They argued about shares and money, and jabbered away very +angry, telling me all I wanted. By and by, when they cooled down a bit, +they saw me, an’ this was what ye may call a critical moment for Mick +Ryan.” + +“No doubt of that. Go on!” + +“At first one of them was undecided as to whether I was asleep—or not. +The other brute said: ‘No chance take, stick knife in throat, and shove +into the water.’ You know what these thieves are with their long +blades. I tell ye, Mr. Shafto, they might have heard me heart thumping! +However, my good angel, Saint Michael himself, had his eye on me, for +it turned out that neither of them had a _dah_ with him. Then they come +and leant over me, breathing into me face with their filthy rank +breath, reeking of napie and pickled eggs, and I snored back like a +good one! I snored for my very life, and I done it so natural, they +were well satisfied; and I being such a big man and heavy to shift, +they give up the notion of slinging me into the Irrawaddy and went off +still quarrelling. I stayed on without a move out of me for a full +hour; then I got up yawning my head off, and walked away with the +_clue_ in me hand!” + +“Is the den in Rangoon? There’s many a queer place here?” + +“No, not in Rangoon itself, but some way up the river; about twenty +miles beyond Prome there is a deserted village that was cleared out by +cholera twenty years ago. They say a big cholera _nat_ lives there, and +no one will go next or nigh it. There’s a pagoda, a Kyoung, and a rest +house, all smothered in jungle, and a nice little bit of a convenient +landing, and ’tis there the Cocaine Company does its business—I learnt +all their tricks. The Chinamen gave me a lot of news; it seems they +smuggle opium, too, and distribute the stuff up and down the river by +boats; on land by pack animals and the railroad. Oh, it’s a wonderfully +handy situation; they couldn’t have picked a better!” + +“And what about the people who run it?” asked Shafto. + +“Well, the head of them all is gone; he was, as you may have +suspicioned yourself, that fellow Krauss. No one knows what’s become of +him. Some say he’s in Calcutta; more think he’s dead—died aboard ship; +but that may not be true. Them sort of ruffians generally live to a +great age. Someone may have put him out, or rather done him in. There +were two or three chaps what I’ve heard talkin’ terrible bitter agin +him; and one fine young man, Ar Bo, who is back from the Andamans—where +he got sent to for three year, on account of this cocaine business—told +me that he met a lot of clever fellows from all parts of the world; up +to every dodge they were, and one of them instructed him in the way of +killing a man stone dead—and not leaving a spot on him! I believe it’s +some little trick with the head, where it joins the spine. This chap +confessed that he had tried it on several with success, and it wouldn’t +surprise _me_ if he had made an experiment on Krauss!” + +“But what about the cocaine?” said Shafto. “How, are we to set about +getting a haul?” + +“Ye’ll have to go aisy, or rather Mr. FitzGerald and the polis must +work by stealth; he can take a good few disguised, as it were on a sort +of pilgrimage, but well armed, and passing through this village as it +were accidental; and with a couple of boats on the river I think they +might scare the lot. I’d like to go with them meself, for a bit of +sport—only for me yellow robe, it wouldn’t look well for me to be seen +mixed up with cocaine, thaves and the polis.” + +“No, I suppose not,” agreed Shafto. “You have to think of your cloth. +Well, if you will write me down a few details on this slip of paper in +my notebook, I will give it to Mr. FitzGerald at once, and I can’t tell +you how thankful he will be to get hold of it, or how grateful to you +we are.” + +“Oh, I don’t want no thanks for what has been a real pleasure. Haven’t +I seen with me own two eyes all the terrible harm this drug-takin’ +leads to? And if I’ve been in a small way the means of puttin’ a stop +to some of it, I’ll be a proud man.” He paused to clear his throat, and +continued: “I suppose, you have not seen anything of Ma Chit lately?” + +“No.” + +“She keeps you from goin’ to the Salters, doesn’t she? She’s always +sittin’ about there on the steps, heart-broken, because she can’t get a +word wid ye! Of course, I’m not surprised she’s took a fancy to ye.” + +“Fancy! Rot!” burst out Shafto. “I can’t stand these cheeky Burmese +girls. I only hope I may never set eyes on Ma Chit again.” + +“Well, then, as likely as not ye won’t,” remarked Mung Baw soothingly. +“She has a rich relation up at Thayetmyo, and she’s swithering between +love and money. Perhaps, after all, money will carry the day. Well, +now, I must be goin’ to me duties—and me devotions, and I’ll bid ye +good evening.” + + +The conversation at “Heidelberg” interrupted by Lily had been resumed +on a suitable occasion in the gardens of the “Barn,” and Sophy and +Shafto were now provisionally engaged. + +“I’m a wretched match for you, Sophy,” he declared; “I don’t believe +your mother will allow it. I’ve no prospects.” + +“Never mind prospects,” was her reckless reply. “We shall have enough +to live on. I have a hundred a year of my own, and I’m quite a good +manager, with a real taste for millinery. If the worst comes to the +worst, I shall open a shop in Phayre Street and make our fortune!” + +It was mail day and Shafto, who now dined at the “Barn,” was unusually +late in appearing. He looked rather excited and out of himself as he +entered with many apologies. After dinner he and Sophy paced the drive +in the silver moonlight, and she began: + +“I could hardly sit still, or eat a morsel, for anyone could see that +you were bursting with some great news. What is it?” + +“I have two pieces of news, and I’ll give you first of all one that +concerns ourselves. I saw in the _Mail_ some weeks ago that my uncle, +Julian Shafto, was dead. He had no family and left no will; and I found +a letter to-day at the office from a lawyer, informing me that I, being +next of kin, am heir-at-law, and succeed to the property and a fairly +large income.” + +“Oh, Douglas, how splendid! It sounds too good to be true!” + +“I never saw my uncle; he and my father had a disagreement before I was +born, and had no communication with one another. He did not even send +us a line when my father died. I fancy he was a hard-bitten old +bachelor. I’ve not seen the family place, Shafton Court, and don’t know +much about it, except I remember my father saying there were one or two +fine pictures, a fair library, and, what did not interest him, +first-rate partridge shooting.” + +“Oh, what a piece of good fortune! Do let us go in at once and tell +Polly.” + +“But would you not like to hear my other piece of news, which is even +better?” + +“It could not be better; but do tell me quickly.” + +“FitzGerald has brought off a splendid _coup_ up the river—run in the +cocaine gang and collared no end of drugs. He is to receive the thanks +of the L.G. and the Government reward.” + +“How did he discover it?” + +“A man I know really put him on the track. The cocaine lair was in a +village, so deserted and tumble-down and haunted, that no one suspected +it, or went near it. A _pongye_ Kyoung, said to be infested by +malignant _nats_ and hundreds of snakes, was the head office. Rather a +clever dodge.” + +“Do you think this will put an end to the traffic?” + +“No; but it will give it a tremendous set-back; where there is a +demand, there will always be a supply, but for a considerable time—at +least a year or two—cocaine will be scarce. They caught a good many of +the small fry, but as usual the big fish escaped—all but one wealthy +Mahommedan, but he is bound to wriggle out somehow. Another point in +favour of the short supply of cocaine is the disappearance of Krauss.” + +“What!” exclaimed Sophy. “Oh, Douglas, surely you don’t mean that _he_ +was in it?” + +“In it—I should think so. Up to his neck!” + +“Oh, but are you certain?” + +“Quite certain! This will explain his many mysterious journeys, the +gangs of natives who were always hanging round his office, and his +suspicious opulence. You may have noticed that he had no friends among +the better class of Rangooner; whether British or German; they all +suspected him of dirty hands. He had no conscience and was absolutely +unscrupulous. It was a strange Nemesis that his wife—to whom you say he +was devoted—should kill herself with the very drug he was smuggling.” + +“Yes, poor Aunt Flora,” murmured Sophy; “that is a dreadful tale, which +I shall always keep from mother. I think if she were to know it, it +would nearly break her heart.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI +THE BOMBSHELL + + +In spite of the claims of his own affairs, Shafto did not immediately +resign his post at Gregory’s, for it happened to be an unusually busy +season; there was a heavy paddy crop and, owing to fever, the staff +were short-handed; therefore, for the present he decided to stick to +the ship, especially as Sophy was, so to speak, on board. + +Mrs. Gregory and Sophy were returning to England at the end of August; +naturally he booked his passage for the same date, and it was a happy +coincidence that he and his fiancée were once more to be shipmates on +the _Blankshire_. Meanwhile they were enjoying the time of their lives; +the rides or strolls in the grounds or in Dalhousie Park, and dances at +the Club, were delightful, and their world was sympathetic and smiled +upon the engagement. + +Mrs. Gregory loved a wedding. Her rooms, appointments and well-drilled +staff readily lent themselves to such festivals, and why, she asked, +should Sophy not be married from the “Barn,” take a trip up the river +for her honeymoon, in order to see something of the real country, and +buy her trousseau after her arrival in London? + +Fired with this project, both she and Shafto dispatched long and +plausible letters to Mrs. Leigh; but Mrs. Leigh declined to entertain +the idea and, in equally long and eloquent effusions, set forth the +fact that she had seen nothing of her youngest daughter for nearly two +years and claimed a share of her company ere she was carried away to +another home. She had, however, given a cordial assent to Sophy’s +engagement, and declared that she would gladly accept Douglas Shafto as +a son, but Sophy must be married from home and in the old church at +Chelsea. + +As Mrs. Gregory returned this letter, she said: + +“Well, Sophy, you must only take a sort of pre-honeymoon tour; we will +go up to Mandalay, and maybe explore a bit of the Shan hills; I shall +coax George to come—he has not had a holiday for ages. Douglas must get +a fortnight off duty, and Martin Kerr, our donnish old cousin, who is +arriving from Calcutta in a day or two, may accompany us; he is a +bachelor, very well off, and has lived all his life like a hermit crab +in his college in Oxford. Lately he had a bad breakdown, and was +ordered an immense rest and change; so now he has ventured out to blink +at the universe beyond Carfax and the High, I expect he will find us +shamelessly trivial and ignorant. How his eyes will open when they look +upon this glaring world and behold some glaring facts! I shall invite +Miss Maitland to join our party; she is of a nice suitable age, and I +shall pair her off with Martin; we will take George’s _durwan_, as +courier, for he has Upper Burma at his finger-ends, and will see that +we are comfortable.” + +The projected tour proved entirely successful; Mandalay was reached in +thirty hours. From Mandalay, after a few days’ halt, the explorers +fared to farther and less trodden fields, visited the ruby mines, and +the wonderful remains of Pagan; occasionally they found the +accommodation at _zayats_, or rest houses, a little rough, but this was +handsomely discounted by novel sights and experiences, a full view of +the Burman at home, and the easy joys of village life. First of all, +there was the morning procession of the stately _pongyes_, carrying +their empty begging-bowls, and looking neither to the right nor left; +there were delicious hours in the forests; boating and fishing +expeditions on the rivers, or rides to the ruins of ancient cities, +half buried in jungle. + +Shafto and Sophy saw so many novelties that they were almost +bewildered, but not nearly so much bewildered or impressed as was the +Professor, when first introduced to the library of an ancient +monastery, in comparison with whose age his beloved Bodleian was a mere +infant. Here the volumes were written on palm leaves, then rubbed over +with oil to toughen and preserve them; the edges were richly gilt and +fastened together by drilling a hole at one end, through which a cord +was passed, then they were placed in elaborate lacquer boxes. There +were countless numbers of such books, devout and mystic, all inscribed +in Pali; they included the “Three Baskets of the Law,” also the Laws of +Manu, which dated from the fifth century before Christ. Professional +scribes were kept constantly employed in re-copying and restoring these +precious tomes, as the palm leaves only last about a hundred years, +after which they become brittle and difficult to decipher, and the +copyists have an endless task. + +The Professor, attended by an interpreter, haunted the library, made +eloquent signs to the _pongyes_ in charge, and was permitted to examine +and make notes of the rarest of their frail treasures, for which favour +he duly made a generous acknowledgment. + +Thanks to Mr. Gregory’s courier, the travellers found comfortable +quarters in his own ancestral village, and here they were able to watch +the inhabitants both at work and play. They saw the oxen treading out +grain, men working an oil mill, or caging fish; women weaving gay +material, and children plaiting straw mats; so much for day-time +occupations! At nights there were songs, dancings, gamblings, and +games; these included chess, played somewhat differently from what it +is in Europe, but still the same chess as when it crossed the frontiers +from China. There was a king, but instead of a queen a general, instead +of bishops, elephants; and some of the moves were unusual. + +Mr. Gregory, who rather fancied himself as a chess-player, boldly +challenged one of the elders and, with the entire village as solemn +spectators, suffered, alas! a humiliating defeat. Then Shafto took a +hand at dominoes, at which, thanks to May Lee, he was an expert; +fortunately he came off conqueror, and thus restored to some extent the +credit of the party. These games were played by torchlight, the local +band—harp, dulcimer, two drums and clappers—discoursed at intervals; +here the inhabitants, unlike those of Rangoon, were early birds. By ten +o’clock lights were extinguished, the crowd had dispersed, and a serene +silence fell on the soft, purple night. + +The College Don had thoroughly enjoyed this excursion into primitive +life in Upper Burma; he also enjoyed the stimulating company of Miss +Maitland; and in this delightful, highly coloured atmosphere, +surrounded by agreeable companions, he fished, joked, flirted, and +appeared to have shed his formal Oxford manner, along with his Oxford +trencher and gown. He remembered Shafto’s father and, on the strength +of this memory, the two became excellent friends, and Shafto gave him +assistance in the way of adjusting his puttees, helping him over +awkward places, advising him what food to avoid and what insects to +destroy. + +The trip lasted for three weeks and the party returned to Rangoon +delighted with their tour, and bringing with them quantities of +snapshots, not a few small trophies and mementoes—which included the +great Shan hat, purchased by the Professor—and amusing anecdotes of +their varied adventures. + +“I feel as if I’d had a bird’s-eye view of the real country,” said +Sophy to her friend. “Those great calm seas of green rice, bounded by +dark woods, with a white pagoda peeping through here and there; the +fierce strong rivers flowing through overhanging forests, and the deep +red sunsets, turning old ruins into flames, and then the golden days +and silver nights, and all the nice friendly simple people. Douglas and +I feel quite sad at the idea of saying good-bye to Burma.” + +“Well, my dear, the matter lies in your own hands,” said Mrs. Gregory +briskly, “and after you are married, you can return to Rangoon; there +is a fine big empty house in Halpin Road; we might go over and inspect +it some morning.” + + +The assassination of the heir to the Crown of Austria and his Duchess +had caused a profound sensation in Europe; ripples of this far-reaching +tragedy had spread to the East; the Rangoon bazaar, like every other +bazaar, was full of thrilling whispers, and various prudent traders +were figuratively drawing in their horns and preparing for big trouble +across the “Kala Pani.” + +It was the first week in August and on Wednesday; there had been a +break-neck and exciting paper-chase, with the finish at Government +House. Here a profusion of refreshments was displayed and all the +world, more or less, was present; the men drinking pegs, the ladies +iced coffee, gossiping, discussing the recent performance and various +local matters. All at once a Government _peon_ ran quickly through the +crowd, a telegraph _peon_, then a motor arrived with two men +(officials) who had not taken part in the paper-chase. Sir Horace +Winter, the Lieutenant-Governor, and his military secretary disappeared +abruptly indoors, and there was a sudden pause in the continuous +chatter. + +More than one of the guests experienced a curious thrill, as if there +was something electric in the air; then from nowhere in particular the +word “War” was whispered. “Great Britain has declared war on Germany.” +This seemed incredible; people stared at one another aghast, and boldly +declared that “it was just a bazaar shave and a mistake,” for out in +the Far, Far East there had been no preliminary muttering of the storm +which was about to burst and drown half the world in tears. + +Nevertheless, the news was horribly true. “War” had come; war, after so +many years of European peace and prosperity; and newly aroused, +startled countries found themselves face to face with the malignity of +the unknown. + +Presently the Lieutenant-Governor reappeared and verified the whisper. +Wires were already active; the 29th Punjaub Infantry had been ordered +from Mandalay; guests pressed round, eagerly snatching at scraps of +information; Germans and British glanced curiously at one another, and +presently the gathering dissolved—to talk, to write, and to cable. + +For several days nothing remarkable occurred, save that the outgoing +mail carried a number of British who had booked their passages at the +last moment. Officers on leave were recalled, a few big business houses +were closed and, in the District, many German mills and a large influx +of stalwart young employés, who had been working in them and could not +speak a word of English, suddenly flocked in, prepared to embark for +Europe, to fight for the Fatherland. + +Every berth in the _Blankshire_ had been secured, and the night before +she sailed the well-known German Club gave its parting dinner; a wild +affair, with unlimited quantities of champagne, loud patriotic +speeches, songs and shouts of “Deutschland über Alles,” and finally a +smashing of glass, a breaking of furniture, and the customary wrecking +of the premises. + +In her frequent journeys from Rangoon, the popular _Blankshire_ had +never been so crowded as on the present occasion; every berth was +taken, chiefly by German passengers, who had also bespoken the chief +seats at table and the best positions for their deck chairs; such was +the crush that there would be no room whatever for casual travellers +from Colombo or Port Said. The British, who were in a comparatively +small minority, realised what a very bad time lay before them, when +they and their country’s enemies must pass weeks and weeks in close +proximity. Many had caught the previous steamer, but the remnant +included Mrs. Gregory, Sophy, Shafto and MacNab—who was actually paying +the passage out of his hoarded funds, and sternly resolved to join the +Cameronians. The party were figuratively swamped by the multitude of +Teutons, who had swarmed on board, already looking truculent, arrogant +and victorious—drinking and toasting one another noisily in vast +libations at the bar. On the wharf an immense gathering of natives +assembled to speed numbers of kind and generous patrons, who (with an +eye to the future) had distributed a considerable amount of largesse +and flattery, as well as silk and satin finery. What with the Germans +and their native friends, egress from and ingress to the steamer were +almost impossible; the gangway was choked, and the shouting and +hurrahing actually drowned the noise of the donkey-engine. + +Many friends had come to see the last of Mrs. Gregory and her party; +the military and official element were bound to remain in Rangoon. +Sophy was talking to Miss Maitland and Ella Pomeroy, when a fresh +influx of joyous and exultant Germans came pouring down the gangway +with the force and violence of a human cataract. Sophy and her friends +were thrust rudely apart and, from where she had been pushed against +the bulwarks, she saw Frau Wurm pass by, also Frau Muller, who threw +her a glance that seemed to distil hatred. She was immediately followed +by Bernhard, looking extraordinarily elated and deeply flushed. +Catching sight of Sophy he halted, clicked his heels together, and +said, with a sort of savage courtesy: + +“Ach, so here we are again, you and I, Miss Leigh, on the old ship that +brought us out! I am delighted to have your company.” + +Sophy looked round for some means of escape, but she was helpless, +being tightly wedged in between two bulwarks—the bulwark of the +_Blankshire_ and Bernhard’s solid form—and separated from Mrs. Gregory +by a seething crowd of jubilant Teutons. + +“So ‘Der Tag’ has come at last!” he continued, staring into her face +with arrogant blue eyes; “and we are on the eve of great events. I am +about to join my Brandenburger regiment—every German is a soldier—we +have several hundred reservists on board.” + +Sophy at last found her voice and murmured: “No doubt!” + +“I caught sight of Shafto just now. Why is _he_ going home?” + +“To serve his country.” + +“Ah, bah! Better stick to his pen; it takes two years to make a +soldier; in ten days we shall be in Paris, in a month in London. And +why not? You have no army; we are a nation of fighting men, and you are +a nation of shopkeepers!” + +“Of course we are not prepared; we would not listen to Lord Roberts; +and, on the other hand, you have been arming and drilling and +shipbuilding for the last forty years!” + +“Ah, well, meine liebe fräulein, we must spread our borders! Who could +expect the greatest nation in the world to remain cooped up in the +North Sea? We demand and we will have space, power, and the sun. We +understand patriotism and the love of country.” + +“The love of other people’s countries,” interposed Sophy sharply. “You +Germans are everywhere—like the sparrows.” + +“To other nations we bring valuable lessons in industry and Kulture, +prudence, thrift, and energy; other countries are only too fortunate to +receive us. We have brains, bold hearts, and discipline—and know how to +use them. Old Blücher, who won Waterloo, may yet find his aspirations +fulfilled.” + +“Ah, you mean the sack and plunder of London?” + +He nodded an impressive assent, and then said: + +“When I am there I shall call on you, and show you my loot!” As he +spoke he lent towards her, his eyes exultant, his breath heavy with +champagne. Sophy instinctively recoiled and said: + +“Pray do not trouble.” + +Bernhard gave a loud, boisterous laugh. + +“It will be ‘Missy can’t see.’ By the way, talking of loot, do you know +that Herr Krauss is dead?” + +“Dead!” she repeated. “No; I heard he had gone to Java.” + +“He has gone to his grave. Last night I was told that his body was +found floating near the landing-stage at Moulmein; there were no marks +on it, no signs of a violent end; and yet he was the last man in the +world to commit suicide.” + +“Yes,” assented Sophy; “he had so many plans and schemes for the +future.” + +“They say a little bunch of coarse black hair was found in his clutch; +however, at the inquest they brought in a verdict of ‘Found Drowned.’ +It saved trouble. I wonder who will get his money. He was enormously +rich.” + +“With ill-gotten gains.” + +“Well, he must have some German kin to claim his fortune, and I’ll make +it my business to find out all I can when I return here.” + +“So you are coming back?” + +“Why, of course—possibly in six months. I leave my house and belongings +all standing. Business is but temporarily closed. Burma, as old Krauss +used to say, is ‘the land of opportunity.’ When next I see the Golden +Pagoda, the whole of this rich and fertile country will belong to +_us_.” + +“You are sanguine!” + +“Sanguine! I am certain; and why not? Look at our wonderful trade! And +the Burmese themselves like us a million times better than you +English.” + +“Simply because you bribe them with money and presents.” + +“But look at the crowds,” waving his hand towards the masses, “who have +come to say ‘_Auf Wiedersehen_’; thousands and thousands.” Then he +turned his bold arrogant eyes on Sophy and said: “Your country has no +chance against us, Miss Leigh; we shall crush you like pulp—your money, +treasures and trade will all be ours. Hullo!” he exclaimed, “what are +these police doing? Mounted police, too! Any escaped convicts on +board?” + +As he stood and watched, the swaying masses were parted with authority +and a large force ranged up on the quay. Officers and officials came on +board, armed with an order from the Lieutenant-Governor. Among the +first strode FitzGerald in full uniform, not the everyday genial +Patrick, but a smart stern guardian of the law. Approaching the +bragging Bernhard, he said, with frigid severity: “Be good enough to go +ashore, Herr Bernhard.” + +“What!” stammered his prisoner, who had become livid. “What the devil +are you talking about! How dare you interfere with me? Or give me an +order?” + +“Official order,” rejoined FitzGerald, entirely unmoved. “All men of +German nationality to disembark immediately and be interned.” + +Sophy now made a forcible and frantic effort to effect her escape from +this hateful situation, and struggling through the crowd eventually +managed to join her own friends. + +Disembark—to be interned! What a thunderbolt! All at once Bernhard’s +flushed countenance became livid, his eyes glared savagely, and there +suddenly spread a choking, suffocating expression on his large handsome +face. The noise and clamour of hoarse angry voices became almost +stupefying, but in the end the Teutons were compelled to accept the +inevitable, and gradually streamed ashore, carrying their hand baggage, +parcels of delicatessen, and other comforts intended for the voyage. +The heavy baggage was hastily landed, for the _Blankshire_ had steam up +and was bound to catch the tide. + +A more than half-empty ship, she now slipped from her berth and turned +her bows towards home. As she glided slowly by the wharf, Shafto and +Sophy waved vigorous farewells to their numerous friends, Burmese and +European. There was Roscoe, there were the Salters and Rosetta. Apart +from all, a solitary little figure stood prominent on a heap of rice +bags. It was Ma Chit, waving a pink silk handkerchief. For once she was +not smiling, her piquant face was grave, and the eyes fixed upon Shafto +conveyed an eloquent and heartbroken farewell; presently she cowered +down and hid her face. + +“That was a wonderfully smart _coup_!” said a ship’s officer to Mrs. +Gregory and Sophy. “Those German fellows that were trampling all over +the ship as if she was their own property were neatly caught. They will +be shipped off to India out of harm’s way, and within a week or two, I +fancy, will find themselves at Ahmednuggur.” + +The interned passengers had left ample space and a grateful sense of +relief and freedom. As the _Blankshire_ throbbed down past “the +Hastings” Shafto and Sophy stood side by side, taking their last look +at the Great Pagoda, which gave an impression of being swathed in a +mantle of dazzling gold, and dominated all its surroundings. + +“It seems only the other day we were coming up the river in this very +old boat,” he said; “a year and ten months ago, and how much has +happened in that time! Well, we have had strange experiences, seen many +places, and made many friends. Here is one of them now,” indicating +Mrs. Gregory; “I expect she feels a bit down, after parting with old +George, although he does follow in three months; so do you try to cheer +her, while I go below and hurry up the tea.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII +THE TUG OF WAR + + +One evening, after they had been several days at sea, as Sophy and +Shafto were gazing down at the steerage passengers, she said: + +“I have noticed such an odd person watching you—he looks as if he knew +you!” + +“Knew me!” repeated Shafto. “What is he like?” + +“A tall, broad-shouldered, lanky man—there he is, leaning over the +side, wearing a blue serge suit and a soft felt hat.” + +Shafto stared for a moment, then he said: + +“By George! I _do_ know him—though I can hardly believe my eyes. I’ll +go and speak to him and find out what this means,” and he hurried away +below. + +“Hullo, Mung Baw!” he exclaimed. “Say, this is something like a +surprise! What are you doing here?” + +“Much the same as yourself, sir. The Tug of War is drawing us all home. +I have left Mung Baw and the yellow robe behind me, and I’m now +Corporal Michael Ryan. I’m going into the Army again. Why, I’m only +thirty-four when all’s said and done. Of course, the shaven head ages a +fellow, but I’ll grow me hair on me passage home and, maybe, a +moustache as well; someone told me that kerosene oil is a grand thing. +And you are going to join up too, sir?” + +“I hope so; I put in two terms at Sandhurst, so I shall have a try. I +should like to get into the Flying Corps.” + +“And what will herself say,” with a glance towards Sophy on the main +deck, “to all this fighting and flying?” + +“Oh, Miss Leigh won’t stand in my way—she intends to look for a job, +too. Tell me, Michael, do you really believe they will take you back +into the Service after your adventure in Upper Burma—and seven years’ +absence without leave?” + +“Well, since ye ask me, sir, in my opinion they might do worse; +annyhow, I’ll have a good try. I might get a sort of doctor’s +certificate—_mental_ you know. I’m a first-class shot, though naturally +a bit out of practice; and very hefty with the bayonet. I’d like well +to stir them Germans up, ever since one great ugly brute went out of +his way to give me a kick. I was black and blue for weeks. Did you hear +them the day before they were took off—just screeching mad, shoutin’ +and drinkin’, as if the world was their own. Well, annyhow, I can +enlist as full private; I’m sound in wind and limb and, I tell ye, we +want all the men we can get, for I heard them Germans talkin’ very big +in Rangoon, saying they’d eat us all up within the next three +months—body, sleeves and trimmings!” + +“Easier said than done,” rejoined Shafto; “although they have a +splendid army—and thousands of big guns.” + +“I’d like well to have a hand in real fighting—none of your autumn +manoeuvres, but the proper thing; and after I put the war over, I’ll go +and see Ireland. It’s strange, although I’m Irish, I’ve never put a toe +in the country, and never been nearer it than a black native. My +father’s people were reared in the Galtees; it’s my Irish blood that’s +uppermost now and driving me home. I’ve often heard the boys talkin’ of +the grand purple mountains, the wonderful greenery everywhere, and the +lovely soft, moist air.” + +“Well, Michael, I hope you may see it all some day. What put it into +your head to throw off the yellow robe and take this sudden start?” + +“It was the barrack talk, sir; I heard them chaps cursin’ and groanin’ +that they were stuck fast in Rangoon and had no chance of gettin’ a +look in, and says I to myself, what’s to hinder _you_ from goin’?” + +“But how about the passage money?” inquired Shafto. “I thought you were +vowed to poverty and had nothing in your wooden bowl?” + +“I had the ruby that you gave back to me. I believe it was a rare fine +stone. I had it in me mind to offer it to the Pagoda; it was well I +waited, as things turned out; a friend sold it for me in the bazaar—he +got four hundred pounds of English money. He says it was worth some +thousands; it was bought for a Pagoda, annyhow, and I have a nice big +sum lodged in a London bank, and when the war is over, please God, it +will help to settle me in a small place in Ireland. I took me passage +and bought some kit, and I have a few pounds in hand—so that I won’t be +stranded. At first I felt the clothes terrible awkward, especially the +trousers, after living in a petticoat so long; and I did not know what +to be doin’ with a knife and fork—and leadin’ such a quiet, cramped +sort of life I lost the use of meself; but I tramped up and down the +decks for a couple of hours of a morning, and a nice young fellow in +the pantry has lent me a pair of dumb-bells. By the time I get to +England I’ll be well set up with a black moustache—and mabbe, ye’ll +hardly know me!” + +“How did you get rid of the yellow robe?” + +“Oh, easy enough, and without any ceremony of disgrace whatever. Shure, +half the Burmans you meet have worn it for, p’r’aps, a year or two—but +it’s not everyone who has the vocation.” + +“I can’t understand your ever taking to it.” + +“Can ye not, sir?” rejoined the _ex-pongye_, laying a muscular hand on +the bulwark and fixing a far away, abstracted gaze upon the lazy green +sea. “I may as well tell ye that the first story I made out to ye was +not altogether the truth. I had in me mind a mental reservation. I just +slipped out of Army life and hid meself in the forests—all along of a +little girlie.” His lower lip trembled as he added: “She died, sir—and +I was just broke over it.” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Shafto. “Well, such things have happened before.” + +“It was like this, sir,” now turning and fixing a pair of tragic dark +eyes on his companion, “I was engaged to be married—same as yourself. +She was the daughter of a sergeant in the arsenal in Madras; her father +and mine were old friends, and when mine was killed in Afghanistan, me +mother just dwindled away and broke her heart. Sergeant Fairon and his +wife was real good to me and took me home; she mothered me and he +‘belted’ me, and they helped to start me for the Lawrence Asylum +Orphanage. I was about eight years of age then, and this little girl +was two. After a good spell I come back to St. George’s Fort, a +grown-up man and a corporal. Polly, she was grown up, too—and the +prettiest girl you could see in a thousand miles; we fell in love with +one another, and Sergeant Fairon had a sort of wish for me, being, they +said, the very spit of me own father, and though I knew in me heart +Polly was a million times too good for me and I was not fit to wipe her +shoes, still, I made bold to ask him for her and he said ‘Yes.’ I knew +I’d get permission to marry, for my name was never in the defaulters’ +book, and Polly was fair as a lily—not one of your yellow ‘Cranies’ the +Colonel was so dead set agin. Well, I was just too happy to be lucky, +saving up me pay and Mrs. Fairon buying a few bits of house linen for +us, and Polly making her trousseau, when the regiment was shifted all +of a sudden from Madras to Mandalay and our plans were knocked on the +head.” + +“Yes, that was bad luck,” said Shafto sympathetically. + +“Still and all, I was full of hope, expecting my stripes and hearing +every mail from Polly, when one day the letter corporal handed me an +envelope with a deep black edge; it was from Sergeant Fairon telling me +Polly was dead; taken off in three hours with cholera. He enclosed half +a letter she was writing to me when she was called. Well, sir, I would +not believe it! No; I held out agin it for days; but of course I had to +give in. At first the grief was just a little scratch; but every day +the pain went deeper and deeper, as if some one was turning a knife in +my heart. To think I’d never look upon her again or hear her voice, and +her gay laugh, it seemed impossible—but, in the end, I _believed_, and +I felt as if I was groping about in black darkness! What had I to live +for? What was the good of going on? + +“At times I thought of my rifle, but I put that idea aside because of +the regiment and the scandal in the newspapers—still, I was always +meditating some way _out_. I think now, if I’d opened my mind to one of +my pals, it would have been easier, and I’d not have felt it so cruel +hard; but somehow I’d never breathed the name of Polly to one of them—I +held her like a holy thing apart. I could not stand the talk and the +coarse chaff of the barrack-room, so I kept my trouble sealed up, till +at last it grew too big for me, and I made up my mind to do away with +myself, where no one would be a penny the wiser. I got a couple of +days’ leave—by way of seeing a pal at Tonghoo—and I went up the river +and away into the Jungles, and wandered about looking for some venomous +reptile to put an end to me in a natural way! But, if you’ll believe +me, sir, divil a bite could I get—not after searching for half a day; +and, av coorse, had I been looking without intention, I’d have found +dozens. + +“What with walking miles in the blazing sun and nothing to eat, I +believe I fell down with a stroke, and some wood-cutters found me and +carried me into their village—a big place with a great thorn hedge and +gates to keep off the Dacoits. The head man they call a Thugyi took me +over, and his women nursed me; he was a rich fellow with four yoke of +oxen, and so no expense was spared; and there I lived for many a long +day, very strange and out of myself. I could not remember who I was, +nor where I came from; all the clothes I had to me name was a shirt and +a pair of drawers. By degrees, thanks to great charity and kindness, I +come round, I remembered everything only too well, and then I buried +Mick Ryan in the jungle and became a _pongye_. The peace and quiet ate +into me very bones, and I took on the yellow robe. The rest and the +holy life tamed me and did my soul good; and many an evening when I’d +be roaming in the forests, among the splendid tall trees and beautiful +flowers, with the birds and animals around me so tame and at their +ease, I’d have a feelin’ that Polly was walkin’ alongside of me, the +face on her shining with the light of heaven! But,” drawing himself +erect, “excuse me, sir, for bothering you with all this foolish, crazy +sort of talk.” + +“Not at all,” said Shafto. “Thank you so much for telling me your +story. I am truly sorry for you, Ryan; it was hard lines losing your +Polly. Do you mind telling me some more? After you had recovered your +memory and become a _pongye_, what happened next?” + +“Well, after a while, I chanced to see English papers and hear outside +news, an’ I got a cast in a cargo boat down the river. I had a sort o’ +longin’ to see the soldiers, the love of the Service is in me blood, so +now and then I was drawn to Rangoon to get a sight of the khaki and to +hear the barrack yarns. Ye see, one quarter of me is Cingalese—I +suppose me grandfather on one side was a Buddhist, and that is how +_pongye_ life came so pleasant and aisy to me. The three quarters of me +is an Irish soldier, an’ every day the soldier within me grows an’ the +_pongye_ dies away.” + +“And you will never return to Burma?” + +“Never, no. I have laid out to go to Ireland and spend the rest of my +time there when the war is over.” + +“Ah—I wonder when the war will be over?” said Shafto. + +“God alone knows!” exclaimed the _pongye_. “They were talking in the +bazaar of the end coming about Christmas. I think meself it will be a +long business and an awkward business, too.” + +“So do I,” agreed Shafto, recalling the sage remarks of George Gregory. + +“Yes, it’s like a light stuck in an old thatch! We’ll have half the +world in it before long, an’ the greatest blaze as ever was known.” + +“I see that Australia and Canada and South Africa are all coming to +lend a hand.” + +“Well, we want every hand we can get—and every foot, too! I’ve heard +plenty of big talk in the bazaar, where the Germans have laid out a +mint of money. By all accounts they are going to take Persia, India, +Burma, the whole of our trade, money and fleet. Well, if that comes +off, it’ll be a cold world! By the way, sir,” he continued in another +tone, “did ye see Ma Chit the day we were leavin’ Rangoon, signin’ and +wavin’ to ye as we cast off?” + +Shafto nodded curtly. + +“An’ ye never tuk no notice! Ye might have given her just a small sign +to ease her heart—but I’m thinkin’ ye have a hard drop in ye.” + +“I dare say I have,” assented Shafto, “and I’m glad of it, for now and +then it has prevented me from making an awful fool of myself.” + +“Ah, well, sometimes the fools have the best of it; not that I’m sayin’ +a word in favour of Ma Chit—only that if ye’d waved yer hand she’d a +gone away with a small bit of consolation and comfort.” + +“By the way, Ryan, what did you mean by saying you were a magician?” + +“Oh, that was only a bit of a boast, sir. I know a few tricks I learnt +in the regiment; one of the privates was a professional conjurer and +mighty clever when sober. When I showed off one or two little tricks +with stones, or buttons, or bits of string, the Burmans were sure I was +a real wizard, and looked up to me, so they did, and then the birds and +animals being so friendly—I was always so much at my ease with them, +and the childher—they said I cast _spells_!” + +The steerage passengers were not a little surprised to note the +forgathering of a first-class passenger with this odd reserved person +(whose shaven head was associated in their opinion with the interior of +Rangoon jail). Nor was this all; now and then a remarkably pretty young +lady accompanied the said first-class passenger and brought fruit, and +books, and cakes, and the three appeared to be on the best of terms. +The _pongye_ and Shafto had many long talks together; they discussed +life among the Burmese, the prospects of war, the changes that might +awake and shake the world, and, appropriate supplement to the topic of +war, more than once they spoke of death. + +“I’ve been so long with the Buddhists that the fear of the grave is +wore out of me,” said Ryan; “I’d a’most as soon be dead as not—it’s +only another new life—ye just step in, an’ meet yer old friends. I +suppose, sir, you do not go along with me there.” + +“No,” replied Shafto, who had all an Englishman’s shrinking reluctance +to discuss his belief, or his inner life; “yours is a nice easy +path—too good to be true, I’m afraid. My creed is, to do our best, to +help other people, and to take what comes.” + +“Goodness knows you have helped me, Mr. Shafto”—and the _pongye_ drew +back a step and looked at him queerly—“what with saving me life and +then makin’ sort o’ friends with me—as man to man—your kindness will +stand in me memory till the clay is over me!” + +Shafto and the _pongye_ separated at Marseilles; the latter went round +by the Bay, whilst Mrs. Gregory and her party travelled overland, and +they did not meet again for nearly two years. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII +SERGEANT-MAJOR RYAN + + +Many months later, on a clear February night, Shafto and Tremenheere +stood together outside Headquarters, “somewhere in France,” anxiously +observing the signs in the sky. Shafto, a machine-gun officer attached +to the Blanks, had been granted twenty-four hours’ leave, and made a +muddy and dangerous journey of fifteen miles to visit his old +schoolfellow, now on the staff of a General commanding a division. He +was challenged and so was his companion; their faces expressed the long +strain of a terrible war; both looked years older than their actual +age, for, like the sons and daughters of the worshippers of Moloch, +“they had passed through the fire.” + +Shafto was fine-drawn to leanness, heavy lines were scored on his +forehead, he had twice been wounded, had taken part in desperate +fighting, witnessed many harrowing sights, and lost many friends. + +The chill air was full of sounds; a continuous rolling of wheels, +rumbling of guns, and the distant scream of a shell. + +“There goes a signal to lengthen the German range,” remarked Shafto. + +“That’s right, for they often show up lights that mean nothing.” + +“Look at that aeroplane of ours dropping red stars over the Boches’ +first line of trenches. I suppose the lines are fairly close?” + +“By Jove, you may say so! The men can shout across at one another, but +the trenches are a good four miles from where we stand.” + +As he concluded, a star shell broke and lit up a vast expanse of +gleaming mud. + +To the rolling and rumbling was now added a far-away sound of tramping +feet and song. + +“Here they come!” exclaimed Tremenheere; “back to billets; they changed +at six o’clock, but it’s heavy going—mostly wading in slosh.” + +The marching came nearer and nearer, also the sound of singing and +mouth-organs. + +“‘Michigan,’” said Shafto, “is a favourite; poor old ‘Tipperary’ is +down and out.” + +Presently the force which had been relieved, muddy to the waist, but +splendidly cheerful, splashed into the great courtyard. + +“Irish,” explained Tremenheere; “magnificent fellows, born fighters.” + +They watched the men as they fell out and scattered to their quarters +in outhouses, barns and offices; and then Shafto and his friends made +their way into the battered old chateau, and temporary Orderly +room—once a lady’s boudoir. It still exhibited strips of artistic +wall-paper, a cracked mirror, a beautiful Louis XIV. cabinet stacked +with papers, a few rude chairs, a couple of wooden tables. + +Presently a sergeant-major came in to report, a fine stalwart fellow +with a heavy black moustache and, in spite of his muddy waders, an air +of complete self-possession. Having saluted and handed over his papers, +his quick blue eyes rested on Shafto. He started, saluted, and said: + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Shafto, sir, but I see you don’t know me.” + +“Well, no, I can’t say that I do,” replied Shafto, casting his mind +over the last eighteen months. + +“Well, of course, sir, I’m entirely different to what ye may remember +in Rangoon.” + +“What?—you don’t mean to say——” + +The late _pongye_ nodded with emphasis.. + +“I’m now Sergeant-Major Ryan, in the second battalion of the old +regiment.” + +Then suddenly stepping back and lowering his voice, he added, “They +think I’m me brother. Shure, I never had one. And how is yourself, +sir?” + +“All right; I’m a machine-gun officer attached to the Blanks.” + +“And the young lady?” + +“She’s a Red Cross nurse at Rouen—I saw her three months ago.” + +“When next you meet will you give her my humble respects and tell her +I’ve not forgotten her invitation, an’ I’m coming to the wedding?” + +“And no one will be more welcome; you have our address. I’m told you’ve +been in some heavy fighting?” + +“Well, yes, sir, at Ypres we lost eighteen of our officers; oh, it was +a cruel bad mix-up. Still and all, the Boches were given their tea in a +mug! After our last charge ye’d see thim going every way—like crows in +a storm! Our guns are grand; as for them aeroplanes they do all but +speak; and the Tanks are wonders, God bless them!” + +“You have been wounded?” + +“Only just a cat’s scratch—the German wire is mighty stiff; and there’s +six-inch spikes. Well, since we were last together, sir, you and I have +been through a strange time and seen sights as we can’t talk about. One +thing is sure, we’ll worry through all right.” + +“Oh, yes, we shall, and give the Boches something to think about.” + +The sudden opening of a distant door released a roar of voices singing, +“Take me back to Blighty!” a rousing demand which instantly recalled +the sergeant-major to his duty. + +“Well, sir,” he said, “I must be moving; so I’ll wish you good-bye, and +the best of luck.” + +“The same to you, Ryan. You’ll let us have a line to say how you get +on, won’t you?” + +Shafto held out his hand; Ryan gave it a hard, convulsive squeeze, and +in another moment the stalwart Irishman had saluted and tramped forth. + +“An old friend, I see,” remarked Tremenheere. + +“Yes, I knew him in Burma.” + +“He is a tip-top non-com., and has the D.C.M. and the French Cross; he +worked miracles when his officers were killed at Ypres. They offered +him a commission, but he wouldn’t take it. The men love him; though he +has some funny fads, never touches meat, and sings queer outlandish +chants; but he’s the splendid sort of fellow who was _born_ for this +war; full of heroic qualities and as hard as a bag of nails. I suppose +his regiment was in Rangoon.” + +“Not in my time,” replied Shafto. He hesitated for a moment, and then +added, “If I were to tell you how I came across that Irish +sergeant-major you’d say I was pulling your leg.” + +“Oh, go on, then—pull away.” + +“When I first met him he was a Burmese priest, with a shorn head, +yellow robe, and begging-bowl.” + +“Come, I say, Douglas, this is a bit too much!” + +“But it’s a fact. He had been a soldier for six or seven years, got a +bad stroke in the jungle, was taken in by Burmans, and was for seven +years a _pongye_. When the war broke out he flung off his yellow robe, +paid his passage to England, and is here, as you see, in his element.” + +“It’s amazing—incredible—but incredible things come off nowadays.” + +Shafto nodded. + +“If he gets through this, do you suppose he will return to his +monastry?” + +“Never! It is his fixed intention to go to Ireland; he has some money, +and hopes to settle down on his own little farm.” + +“I’m afraid he’s some way off that yet; in the meanwhile, he is seeing +a good bit of life.” + +“And death,” mentally added Shafto. + +“I say,” exclaimed Tremenheere, glancing at his wrist-watch, “it’s time +for our dinner—come on!” + + +In the autumn of the same year, Shafto, who had again been severely +wounded, was granted a month’s leave, and he and Sophy were married. It +was the usual war wedding, no bridesmaids and no reception. Among the +friends, “welcome at the church,” were the Gregorys, Tebbs, Larchers, +MacNabs, Mrs. Malone, Mr. Hutton, and the Tremenheeres. Captain +Tremenheere supported his friend as best man. + +One specially bidden guest was absent from the gathering. He lay +beneath a black wooden cross, near by to Guinchy, where gallant Irish +regiments had immortalised their colours. Alas! Sergeant-Major Michael +Ryan was among the missing. To the unspeakable grief of his comrades, +he had gone West—but not to Ireland. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO MANDALAY *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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