Chapter XIV

In a totally different spirit to that in which he had quitted them, Mallender descended to the plains; as in the silvery moonlight, he caught occasional glimpses of the old road, by which he and Nancy had ridden up that very morning, his heart felt sick. He was turning his back on all his friends; on Lena, on a perfect climate, and retracing his steps to sweltering heat, and an unknown fate. Nevertheless he assured himself that if in one sense he was going the wrong way, he was actually on the right road at last!

Once more in Madras, Mallender, accompanied by his two retainers, put up at Spencer's Hotel, and as soon as he had rested, and recovered from the long double journey, set out for 805 Pophams Broadway; here he sent in his card, and asked to see the principal.

After some delay, he was ushered upstairs into a large dingy office; its shelves were packed with immense ledgers, and tin boxes; heaps of dusty receipts were filed, and stacked on the top of clumsy presses, the whole place reeked of an odour peculiar to Southern India--a combination of betel nut, cocoanut oil, aniseed, with a dash of ground coffee. The visitor was received by an elderly native, with dignified manners, who wore an enormous white turban of the very finest muslin, and was seated at a roll-top desk. In the background, were clerks in velvet skull caps, each and all exhibiting an appearance of extraordinary industry.

"Ah, Captain Mallender," said the principal, rising as he closed a huge account book. "The client of our honoured friends--Jaffer and Co."

"Yes, I got your wire soon after I arrived at Coonoor,--and returned by the next train."

"I'm afraid your friends must have been disappointed," observed Shumilal, and in his studiously bland voice there lurked the quality of unction.

"They were, but my business comes first, and they know that. And so you have news at last--you have found him?"

"We must still continue to go very slowly, and wait."

"_You_ may!" cried Mallender, suddenly losing his temper between heat, mosquitoes, want of sleep, and annoyance, "but I refuse to do so; I must go ahead, and set the pace. I've been out here more than three months, I've paid you a hundred and fifty pounds down----" a clerk at a distant table raised his head, "I return in answer to an urgent summons and at great inconvenience, in hopes of immediate success; and you say I must wait. By Jove, I tell you, that I _won't_ wait!" and a light shone in his dark eyes.

"But, my dear sir, we are doing our best," protested the other soothingly, "you know, it is a strange, and intricate business," he held out a pair of delicate and appealing hands.

"Yes, so you always say," continued the young man angrily. "I hope for your own sakes, that you have not made a fool of me?"

"Come, come, come, young gentleman, this is not good talk."

"No, and I won't give you good talk! I'm not out here in this country, and this furnace of a place, for humbug, and waiting, and 'good talk.' I'm here for action, for real serious business. I don't care how hard it is, so that I succeed in the end. If you have--fooled me I'll make it pretty hot for you, and so I tell you."

Shumilal drummed for an absent moment on the desk, then answered, with a coal of fire!

"Well, Captain Mallender, if you were not so impatient, I was going to give you first-class news, and inform you, that you are very near success."

"Oh! But why not say so before, instead of keeping me on the string?"

"Yes; and we believe, that he you seek, is close to you, at an old place twenty miles out; once a depôt for military--but now abandoned. In one of the bungalows there lives the gentleman you want; he is over fifty years of age. He shuns all society, he hides some weighty secret, he has been in India for many years; and if you are patient and cautious, you are bound to catch him. You will have to go out there, and put up at the Dâk Bungalow. Better take food, and servants, and provisions."

"All right!" said Mallender curtly, "but you haven't told me the fellow's name?"

"Smith, Major Smith; his cheques and bills are made out to John Smith."

"Very well, I shall start this evening. What do you call the place?"

"Panjeverram; and now that we are talking secretly, tell me, Captain Mallender, do you expect to find your Uncle?"

"No, but I hope to secure his murderer; he has had a tremendous start, and a long respite, but please God, I'll lay my hands on him within a week."

"But if this man is not your object--I believe he _is_--but, we are all liable to mistakes, what then?"

"Then, I shall still go on searching for the fellow I want, but your description seems to promise success."

"That is true. We will send you by hand to your hotel, a formal letter as a reference, and guide, and," rising, in order to close the interview, "we shall hear from you no doubt shortly."

"Yes, without fail," said Mallender, with emphasis. "Don't think me rude, but I hope I shall have no occasion to call again, and now I will wish you good day."

Mallender's next visit was to the bank; here he asked for a statement of his account, and to know the amount of his balance. After a considerable delay, a pale, smart-looking young man, came forward, and said:

"Your balance in hand, Captain Mallender, is exactly Seventy-two Pounds, Eighteen Shillings, and Nine-pence."

These tidings so startled the enquirer, that for a moment he stood speechless. Of course, on second thoughts there was some monstrous mistake; he must have at least five or six hundred to his credit. But no, the practical, clear-headed clerk, produced the big book, and went steadily through the items. To each of these Mallender assented with a sinking heart.

"You see," said the accountant, "nothing has come in since the first of January,--and you have made some large payments."

This was the truth. How the money had melted! He glanced over the column of figures. One hundred and fifty to Shumilal and Co., one hundred for Miss Sim, fifty lent to Wylie, fifty for a gold bag, one hundred for outlay of sorts; subscriptions, wages, hire of motor, presents, tips, one hundred ditto, ditto. Yes, the account was all right, or rather--all wrong.

A letter handed to him did not serve to raise his spirits. It came from his solicitors at home, and in neat type-writing, imparted this information:

"The firm of contractors who are now repairing Mallender, require a final advance, otherwise the work cannot be continued. Times are bad in the building trade."

When the advance was paid, his available funds were at an end; he would have nothing coming in, for another twelve months! This was indeed heavy news; how was seventy pounds to last a man for a whole year? He might borrow, the old family lawyer might lend him a few hundreds, or he could raise a mortgage on Mallender; but was Mallender his to mortgage? was not the property strictly entailed?

Mallender's brain,--according to his own account,--worked slowly, and with difficulty, and he sat for some time, with these questions buzzing in his aching and bewildered head, then he rose, and with an abstracted salute departed from the bank, a grave and anxious wanderer.