Chapter XXX

It was growing dark as the train from Bangalore rolled into Madras Station, and the ceaseless moaning of the surf fell once more upon the ears of Mallender, who promptly descended from his carriage, and looked eagerly about him; as he did so, he noticed the stately approach of a gorgeous peon, who with a deep salaam enquired:

"Is it Captain Mallender?"

"Yes--all right."

"Then, please your honour, to come with me."

"What about my luggage?" indicating bag and suit-case.

"That we will send to cloak-room."

"Evidently I am not expected to stay the night," thought the traveller, with amusement. When his baggage had been disposed of, he accompanied his guide, to where a fine closed motor was waiting to receive him; as soon as he was seated the peon mounted beside the chauffeur, and they glided swiftly away. It was a magnificent car, evidently of great horse-power! Mallender noted its luxurious and expensive equipment, as he leant back and lit a cigarette, with the air of a man who has not a care in the world!

"This," he said to himself, "is the rummiest thing, that has happened yet! I'm in someone's two thousand guinea car, and I have not the faintest notion of who it belongs to,--or where I am going!"

He was undoubtedly on the track of an adventure; and this agreeable beginning, was much more auspicious than his various other openings.

Madras at this hour was crowded. The World had now descended from the Hills and Society was once more abroad. Many cars and carriages were flitting to and fro. Mallender noticed that he was not about to visit "fresh fields, and pastures new," but was being taken along a familiar road in the direction of Hooper's Gardens. Surely not there? No--they swept smoothly by the entrance, and as they passed, he looked out, and noticed, that there were lights in the house. So the Tallboys were at home! The next moment, the car came to a sudden stop, and then turned into a dark and densely overgrown drive; in places, the crowding shrubs seemed to lash, and oppose the motor; as it moved steadily forward, Mallender caught casual glimpses of a vast compound, and an impression of cattle, and tethered horses. The house, as they approached it, had an air of gloom and reserve, but when the car came to a standstill under the portico, he noticed a crowd of men, numerous as a Royal Body Guard, who were assembled in the lower verandah. Most of them were smoking and playing cards, but one was evidently doing "sentry go."

Undoubtedly this was the residence of some wealthy native. Why, how stupid of him! how infernally stupid, not to recognise the premises of the relative of the Prince of Gulberga; that pungent atmosphere of green burning wood, huka smoke, and boiling gram, had frequently assailed his nostrils, when he occupied a tent in the neighbourhood.

The door of the car was flung open, as Mallender alighted the sentry presented arms, and he was invited to ascend to the verandah. A peon held a flaming lamp at the head of the marble stairs, where stood a tall slender woman, evidently awaiting him. She wore a richly embroidered satin _sari_, and massive gold ornaments. In this dress, the now experienced eye of the traveller recognised the costume of a high-born Coorg lady, or Princess.

As she turned, and the light fell on her face, he saw that she was no longer young, but still preserved the remains of astonishing beauty. The nose was delicate and clear-cut, the skin like ivory, the drooping lips, and dark tragic eyes, told a tale of sorrow,--yes, on the whole, here was the most striking personality that the young man had ever beheld.

"So you have come," she said, speaking English in a low full voice. "You will be very gentle and patient, will you not? Remember that your Uncle has not spoken to a kinsman, nor an English officer, for many years."

"So then my Uncle _is_ here?" cried Mallender excitedly.

"Yes," she assented, "now you shall see him," and with wonderful grace, she glided out of the verandah, and across an antechamber, pushed open a door into a large dim apartment,--and there abandoned him.

Mallender stood for a moment gazing vaguely about. In size and shape the room was a counterpart of the familiar drawing-room next door (the houses were precisely alike) only there, was brilliant electric light in the French chandeliers,--here, on a table, two candles in old-fashioned shades merely made the darkness visible. The room appeared to be almost entirely empty of furniture, and saturated with novel and aromatic odours; but as the visitor's eyes became accustomed to the twilight, he gradually made out some shadowy divans along the wall, a few rugs on the floor, and--he gave a slight start, as he discerned an arm-chair, and an outline of the spare stooping figure of a man in Europe dress. As he continued to stare, he noticed that he was wearing a black skull cap, a short black beard, and a pair of black-rimmed spectacles.

"You have arrived, Geoffrey Mallender!" said the figure in a harsh but muffled voice.

"Yes, I'm here," he answered boldly.

"Grope," continued the bearded man, "and you will find an arm-chair, draw it up to the table, and sit down."

Geoffrey obeyed without a word.

"So I have found you. You never found _me_," continued the mysterious individual, and he chuckled audibly.

"Do you mean to say that you are my Uncle?" enquired Mallender brusquely.

"I am."

"How am I to be sure of that? You see, I've been let in pretty often."

To this statement, a loud discordant laugh was the sole immediate response; after an appreciable pause, the bearded man added, "Ask me some questions, my doubting Thomas?"

"All right then. Tell me the address of our old town house?"

"Two hundred and ninety Bruton Street. Your father was born there."

"Good. Now the best fox cover at Opershaw?"

"Tylney Corner," was the prompt reply.

"And my grandmother's name?"

"Althea Chandos, she brought a beautiful foot into the family."

"Right, but perhaps you are a medium--or a clairvoyant or something."

"No--nor a tom-fool," he answered, "I am your Uncle Geoffrey."

Something in the accent--was it a faint resemblance to his father's voice?--carried conviction, and there came to Mallender, a keen sense of the importance of this revelation and interview.

"Now we are together," resumed his Uncle, "I may as well inform you, that you have provided me with an extraordinary amount of interest and amusement, during this last year."

"How was that?" asked his visitor sharply.

"_I_ pulled all the strings, and you danced beautifully, my good puppet! I had Jaffer in my pay, and of course Shumilal his agent; it was I, who sent you on all those crazy excursions; for instance, to terrify Rochfort, and amuse old Beamish. I remember him thirty years ago: a splendid fellow even then. Poor chap, he still clings like a limpet to an outworn past. You see, I live behind the scenes; it is my rôle in every sense; I am a wire-puller. I have assisted at meetings. _I_ was the writer who sat with his back to you in Shumilal's office, I was next door to you over the wall, when you stayed with Fred; I paid you a visit one night at Panjeverram. This sort of half-light existence, the life of a bat or an owl, is all that is left to me now."

He ceased to speak, evidently expecting his listener to make some remark, but Mallender remained dumb; he was furiously angry with his Uncle, and could not trust himself with words.

"I don't know how long I should have continued to amuse myself at your expense. I intended to pass you on next, to a miserable devil of a lunatic, who believes he has committed a murder, and has lived in hiding for years--but you were spared that, by a paragraph in a little local rag."

"Oh!"

"It mentioned that you had met with a frightful accident, and were at the point of death; so then I realised that I had gone too far. I despatched a special messenger to Wellunga, tracked you to the Hills, and summoned you at last. I must confess, that the news of your accident gave me a shock. I sent the paper in next door--of course by post. I did not see why Fred should not have a bad shock too!"

Mallender made no reply, his heart was hot within him. So all the time he had been--as his Uncle declared,--a mere plaything, or puppet, who was made to dance for his amusement! Probably his companion was struck by his silence, and the judicial attitude of his young relative.

Leaning suddenly forward in his chair he said, "And now I am going to unveil the mystery; a mystery unexplained for a lifetime. Only for you, it would never have been cleared up,--and I confess, that your eagerness and determination to find either my murderer, or myself, has touched, and flattered me. There was a smack of romance about the whole thing! You have shown extraordinary pertinacity, and in spite of all sorts of obstacles, and many failures, have held on with the grip of a bulldog, or grim death. It's going to be a fairly long story, so if you smoke--I know you do--pull out the drawer in the table, and help yourself to cigarettes."

Geoffrey deliberately did as suggested, produced matches, struck one on the sole of his boot, and throwing himself back in his chair, prepared to listen to his Uncle's disclosure.