A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

Title: OM: The Secret of Ahbor Valley (1924)
Author: Talbot Mundy
eBook No.: 0500271.txt
Edition: 1
Language: English
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Date first posted: February 2005
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Title: OM: The Secret of Ahbor Valley (1924)
Author: Talbot Mundy




CONTENTS

I. "Cottswold Ommony...is no Man's Fool."
II. Number One of the Secret Service
III. "What is Fear?"
IV. "I Am One Who Strives to Tread the Middle Way."
V. The House at the End of the Passage
VI. "Missish-Aunbun is Mad."
VII. "Sarcasm? I Wonder if that ever Pays."
VIII. The Middle Way
IX. "Gupta Rao"
X. Vasantasena
XI. "All this in the Space of One Night"
XII. "All Things End--Even Carriage Rides."
XIII. San-Fun-Ho
XIV. The Second Act
XV. The Roll-Call by Night
XVI. "Where are We?"
XVII. Diana Rehearses a Part
XVIII. Diana Adopts Buskins
XIX. A Message from Miss Sanburn
XX. Ommony Capitulates
XXI. The Lay of Alha
XXII. Darjiling
XXIII. Tilgaun
XXIV. Hanna Sanburn
XXV. The Compromise
XXVI. Ahbor Valley Gate
XXVII. Under the Brahmaputra
XXVIII. The Lama's Home
XXIX. The Lama's Story
XXX. The Lama's Story (continued)
XXXI. The Jade of Ahbor

-------------



EVOLUTION

Tides in the ocean of stars and the infinite rhythm of space;
Cycles on cycles of aeons adrone on an infinite beach;
Pause and recession and flow, and each atom of dust in its place
In the pulse of eternal becoming; no error, no breach
But the calm and the sweep and the swing of the leisurely, measureless roll
Of the absolute cause, the unthwarted effect--and no haste,
And no discord, and nothing untimed in a calculus ruling the whole;
Unfolding; evolving; accretion; attrition; no waste.

Planet on planet a course that it keeps, and each swallow its flight;
Comet's ellipse and grace-note of the sudden firefly glow;
Jewels of Perseid splendor sprayed on summer's purple night;
Blossom adrift on the breath of spring; the whirl of snow;
Grit on the grinding beaches; spume of the storm-ridden wave
Hurled on the north wind's ice-born blast to blend with the tropic rain;
Hail and the hissing of torrents; song where sapphire ripples lave
The crest of thousand-fathom reefs upbuilt beneath the main,

Silt of the ceaseless rivers from the mountain summits worn,
Rolled along gorge and meadow till the salt, inflowing tide
Heaps it in shoals at harbor-mouth for continents unborn;
Earth where the naked rocks were reared; pine where the birches died;
Season on season proceeding, and birth in the shadow of death;
Dawning of luminous day in the dying of night; and a Plan
In no whit, in no particle changing; each phase of becoming a breath
Of the infinite Karma of all things; its goal, evolution of MAN.




Chapter I

"Cottswold Ommony...is no Man's Fool."


If you want views about the world's news, read what Cottswold
Ommony calls the views papers; there is plenty in them that
thoroughly zealous people believe. But remember the wise old
ambassador's word of caution to his new subordinate--"And above
all, no zeal!" If you want raw facts devoid of any zeal whatever
try the cafes and the clubs; but you must sort the facts and
correlate them for yourself, and whether or not that process
shall leave you capable of thought of any kind must depend
entirely on your own ability. Thereafter, though you may never
again believe a newspaper, you will understand them and if you
are reasonably human sympathize.

There used to be a cafe, in Vienna, where a man might learn enough
in fifty minutes to convince him that Europe was riding
carelessly to ruin; but that was before 1914 when the riders,
using rein and spur at last, rode straight for it.

There is still a club in Delhi, where you may pick up odds and
ends of information from over the Pamirs, from Nepaul, from
Samarkand, Turkestan, Arabia and the Caucasus, all mixed up with
fragments from the olla podrida of races known collectively as
India. And having pieced them all together you may go mad there,
as comfortably as in Colney Hatch, but with this advantage that
nobody will interfere with you, provided you pay your bills on
the first of the month and refrain from sitting on two newspapers
while you read a third.

It is a good club, of the die-hard kind; fairly comfortable,
famous for its curry. It has done more to establish empire, and
to breed ill-will, than any other dozen institutions. Its
members do not boast, but are proud of the fact that no Indian,
not even a Maharajah, has ever set foot over its threshold; yet
they are hospitable, if a man knows how to procure the proper
introduction (no women are admitted on any pretense), and by
keeping quiet in a long-armed chair you may receive an education.
You may learn, for instance, who is and who is not important, and
precisely why. You may come to understand how the old guard,
everywhere, inevitably must die in the last ditch. And, if you
have it in you, you will admire the old guard, without trying to
pretend that you agree with them.

But above all, you may study the naked shape of modern history as
she is never written--history in the bathroom, so to speak. And
once in a while, you may piece together a dozen assorted facts
into a true story that is worth more than all the printed
histories and all the guide-books added together. (Not that the
club members realize it. They are usually bored, and almost
always thinking about income-tax and indigestion, coupled with
why in thunder so-and-so was fool enough to bid no trumps and
trust to his partner to hold the necessary ace.)

When Ommony turned up at the club after three years in a forest
he produced a refreshing ripple on a calm that had grown
monotonous. For a week there had been nothing to discuss but
politics, in which there is no news nowadays, but only repetition
of complaint. But Cottswold Ommony, the last of the old-time
foresters (and one of the few remaining men in India whom the new
democracy has not reduced to a sort of scapegoat rubber-stamp),
stirred memories and conjecture.

"_His_ turn for the guillotine! He has done too damned well for
twenty years, not to have his head cut off. I'll bet you some
babu politician gets his job!"

"You'll have to make that bet with Ommony, if he's mad enough.
Didn't you hear poor Willoughby was killed? That leaves Jenkins
at the head of Ommony's department, and they've hated each other
since Jenkins turned down Ommony's younger sister and Ommony told
him what he thought about it. Not that the girl wasn't fortunate
in a way. She married Terry later on and died. Who'd not rather
die than have to live with Jenkins. Willoughby always considered
Ommony to be a reincarnation of Solon or Socrates, plus Aristides
crossed on Hypatia. Willoughby--"

But everybody knew the ins and outs of that news. A fat babu in
a dirty pink turban that would have scared any self-respecting
horse, driving a second-hand Ford, with one eye on the Punjabi
"constabeel" at the street crossing, bumped into and broke the
wheel of Willoughby's dog-cart, setting any number of sequences in
motion. The horse bolted, tipped out Willoughby, who was killed
under a tram-car, and crashed into Amramchudder Son and Company's
open storefront, where blood from the horse's shoulder spoiled
two bales of imported silk. A lawsuit to recover ten times the
value of the silk was commenced against Willoughby's estate that
afternoon. (Mrs. Willoughby had to borrow money from friends to
carry on with.)

The babu put on full speed, naturally, and tried to escape down a
side-street, of which there are as many, and as narrow ones in
Delhi as in any city of its size. He ran over a Bengali (which
nobody except the Bengali minded very much), knocked down two
Sikhs (which was important, because they were on their way to a
religious ceremony; righteous indignation is very bad stuff when
spilled in the street), and finally jammed the Ford between a
bullock-cart and a lamp-post, where the pride of Detroit
collapsed into scrap.

The owner of the bullock-cart, a Jat with a wart on his nose,
which his mother-in-law had always insisted would bring bad luck
(she said so at the trial later on, and brought three witnesses
to prove it), was carrying, for an extortionate price, a native
of a far-northern state, who had recently arrived by train
without a ticket, and who knew how to be prompt and violent.
The man from Spiti (which is the name of the northern state)
descended from his perch at the rear of the cart, picked up a
spoke that the collision had broken away, and hit the babu with
it exactly once between the eyes. The babu died neatly without
saying anything; and a hot crowd of nine nationalities, that was
glad to see anybody die with politics the way they had been for a
year or two, applauded.

The man from Spiti vanished. The "constabeel" arrested the owner
of the bullock-cart, who turned his face skyward and screamed
"Ayee-ee-ee!" once, which was duly noted in a memorandum book for
use as evidence against him. Seventeen onlookers, being
questioned, all gave false names and addresses, but swore that
the Jat with the wart had attacked the babu; and a _wakil_
(which is a person entitled to practice law), who knew all about
the Jat's recent inheritance from his uncle, offered legal
services that were accepted on the spot. Presently, in the jail,
a _jemadar_ and two "constabeels" put the Jat through a hideously
painful third degree, which left no marks on him but did induce
him to part with money, most of which was spent on a debauch that
ended in the _jemadar_ being reduced to the ranks since the
_wakil_ objected on principle to sharing the loot of the Jat with
any one and therefore righteously exposed the _jemadar's_
abominable drunkenness.

Meanwhile, the native papers took the matter up and proved to
nine points of decimals that the incident was wholly due to
British arrogance and the neglect of public duty by an "overpaid
alien hegemony," demonstrating among other things that the
British are a race "whose crass materialism is an insult to the
spiritual soul of India, and whose playing fields of Eton are an
ash-bed from which arise swarms of Phoenixes to suck the life
-blood of conquered peoples." (Excellent journalese conceived on
the historic principle that if you make sufficient smell you are
sure to annoy somebody, and he who is annoyed will make mistakes,
which you may then gleefully expose.)

The Sikhs who had been knocked down by the Ford accused the
"obsequious servants of alien tyranny"--meaning the police--of
having tried to prevent them from attending their religious
ceremony; the fact being that the police had taken them to
the hospital in an ambulance. The entire Sikh community in
consequence refused to pay taxes, which set up another sequence
of cause and effect, culminating in a yell of "Bande Materam!" as
three or four thousand second-year students, who were not Sikhs,
rushed foaming at the mouth into the Chandni Chowk (which is a
business thoroughfare) with the intention of looting the
silversmiths and putting the whole city to the torch. A
fire-engine dispersed them; but the stream of water from
the hose ruined the contents of Chanda Pal's drug-store.

Chanda Pal called in an actuary who possessed a compound
geometrical imagination, and sent in a bill to the government
that is still unpaid; and, having failed to collect immediately,
he wrote to a friend who was an undergraduate at Oxford, with
the result that a Member of Parliament for one of the Welsh
constituencies asked at Question Time whether it was true that
the Viceroy of India in person had high-handedly confiscated
without compensation all the drugs in the Punjab; and if so, why!

The answer from the Treasury Bench was "No, sir;" but the
foreign correspondents omitted to mention that, so the French,
Scandinavian and United States newspapers had it in headlines
that "British in India inaugurate new reign of terror. Goods
confiscated. Revolution threatened." A bishop in South Africa
preached a sermon on the subject; thirty-seven members of the
I.W.W., who were serving a term in San Quentin, went on a
sympathetic hunger strike and were locked up in the dungeon; and
a Congressman from somewhere in the Middle West wrote a speech
that filled five pages of the _Record._ Stocks fell several
points. Jenkins stepped into Willoughby's official shoes.

However, clocks continued ticking. Roosters crowed. The sun
appeared on schedule time. And Willoughby's funeral was marked
by dignified simplicity.

Except that he hugely regretted his friend Willoughby, Cottswold
Ommony cared for none of these things. He sat near the electric
fan in a corner of the club smoking room, aware that he was being
discussed, but also quite sure that he did not mind it. He
had been discussed, on and off, ever since he came to India.
He looked quite unlike Hypatia, whatever Willoughby may have
thought of his character.

"Willoughby overrated him," said somebody. "You can't tell me
Ommony or any other man is such a mixture of marvels as
Willoughby made out. Besides, he's a bachelor. Socrates wasn't."

"Oh, Ommony's human. But--well--you know what he's done in that
forest. It was raw, red wilderness when he was sent there. Now
you can stand on a rock and see ninety miles of trees whichever
way you care to look. Besides, dogs love him. Did you see that
great dog of his outside? You can't fool that kind of dog, you
know. They say he knows the tigers personally, and can talk the
jungle-bat; there was only one other man who ever learned that
language, and he committed suicide!"

"All the same--he's not the only man who's done good work--and
I've heard stories. Do any of you remember Terry--Jack Terry,
the M.D., who married Ommony's young sister? One of those
delightful madmen who are really so sane that the rest of us
can't understand 'em. Had weird theories about obstetrics.
Nearly got foul of his profession by preaching that music was an
absolute necessity at child-birth. Wanted the government to
train symphony orchestras to play the Overture to Leonori while
the birth takes place. Perfectly mad; but a corking good
surgeon. Always dead broke, from handing out his pay to beggars
--broke, that is, until he met Marmaduke. Remember Marmaduke?"

"Dead too, isn't he? Wasn't he the American who endowed a
mission somewhere in the Hills?"

"Yes, at Tilgaun. Marmaduke was another--ab-so-lutely mad--and
as gentle as sunrise. Quiet man, who swore like a trooper at the
mention of religion. Made his money in Chicago, slaughtering
hogs--or so I heard. Wrote a book on astrology, that only ran to
one edition. I sold my copy for ten times what I paid for it. I
tell you, Marmaduke was madder than Gandhi. They say he left
America to keep the elders of the church he belonged to from
having him locked up in an asylum. The mission he founded at
Tilgaun caused no end of a stir at the time. Surely you
remember that? There were letters to the _Times,_ and an
archbishop raised a shindy in the House of Lords. Marmaduke's
theory was that, as _he_ couldn't understand Christianity, it was
safe to premise that people whose religion was a mixture of
degraded Buddhism and devil-worship couldn't understand it
either. So he founded a Buddhist mission, to teach 'em their own
religion. No, he wasn't a Buddhist. I don't know what his
religion was. I only know he was a decent fellow, fabulously
rich, and ab-so-lutely mad. He persuaded Jack Terry to chuck the
service and become the mission medico--teach hygiene to men from
Spiti and Bhutan--like teaching drought to the Atlantic! Jack
Terry married Ommony's sister about a week before leaving for
Tilgaun, and none of us ever saw them alive again."

"_Now_ I remember. There was a nine days' scandal, or a mystery,
or something."

"You bet there was! Terry and his wife vanished. Marmaduke was
carpeted, but couldn't or wouldn't explain, and he died before
they could make things hot for him. Then they gave Ommony long
leave and sent him up to Tilgaun to investigate--that was--by
gad! that was twenty years ago--Good lord! how time flies.
Ommony discovered nothing; or, if he did discover anything, he
_said_ nothing--he's a great hand at doing that, by all accounts.
But it leaked out that Marmaduke had appointed Ommony a trustee
under his will. There was another trustee--a red-headed American
woman--at least I heard she's red-headed; maybe, she isn't
--named Hannah Sanburn, who has been running the mission ever
since. She was not much more than a girl at the time, I
remember. And the third trustee was a Tibetan. Nobody had ever
heard of him, and I've never met a man who saw him; but I'm told
he's a Ringding Gelong Lama; and I've also heard that _Ommony_
has never seen him. The whole thing's a mystery."

"It doesn't seem particularly discreditable to Ommony. What are
you hinting at?"

"Nothing. Only Ommony has influence. You've noticed, I dare
say, he always gets what he goes after. If you asked me, there's
an even chance he may 'get' Jenkins, if he cares to."

"That's notorious. Whoever goes after Ommony's scalp gets left
at the post. What's the secret?"

"I don't know. Nobody seems to. There's Marmaduke's money, of
course. Ommony handles some of it. I don't suggest fraud, or
any rot like that; but money's strange stuff; control of it
gives a man power. Ommony's influence is out of all proportion
to his job. And I've heard--mind you, I don't know how true it
is--that he's hand-and-glove with every political fugitive from
the North who has sneaked down South to let the clouds roll by
during the last twenty years. They even said Ommony was on the
inside of the Moplah business. You know the Moplahs didn't burn
his bungalow, they say he simply asked them not to--can you beat
that--and it's a fact that he stayed in his forest all through
that rebellion."

Ommony was restless over in his corner. His obstinate jaw was
only half-concealed by a close-clipped, graying beard, and there
was grim humor on his lips. Having done more than any living man
to pull the sting out of the Moplah rebellion, hints to the
contrary hardly amused him. He was angry--obviously angry.
However, one man claimed casual acquaintance and dropped into the
next chair.

"Expecting to stay long in Delhi?"

"I don't know. I hope not."

"Care to sell me that wolf-hound?"

Ommony's reserve broke down; he had to talk to somebody:

"That dog? Sell her? She's the sum total of twenty-years'
effort. She's all I've done."

The inquisitor leaned back, partly to hide his own face, partly
to see Ommony's in a more distinct light; he suspected sunstroke,
or the after-effects of malaria. But Ommony, having emerged
from his reserve, continued:

"I don't suppose I'm different from anybody else--at least not
from any other reasonably decent fellow--made a lot of mistakes,
of course--done a lot of things I wish I hadn't--been a bally ass
on suitable occasion but I've worked--damned hard. India has had
all the best of me and--damn her!--I haven't grudged it. Don't
regret it, either. I'd do it again. But there's nothing to show
for it all--"

"Except a forest. They tell me--"

"A forest, half-grown, that corrupt politicians will play ducks
and drakes with; a couple of thousand villagers who are now
being taught by those same politicians that every thing they've
learned from me is no good; a ruined constitution--and that dog.
That's all I can show for twenty years' work--and like some
others, I've had my heart in it. I think I know how a missionary
feels when his flock walks out on him. I'm a failure--we're
all failures. The world is going to pieces under our hands.
What I have taught that dog is all I can really claim by
way of accomplishment."

That particular inquisitor lost enthusiasm. He did not like
madmen. He withdrew and considered Ommony in a corner, behind a
newspaper, _sotto voce._ Another not so casual acquaintance
dropped into the vacant chair, and was greeted with a nod.

"You've been absent so long you ought to see things with a fresh
eye, Ommony. D'you think India's breaking up?"

"I've thought so for twenty years."

"How long before we have to clear out?"

"The sooner the better."

"For us?"

"I mean for India!"

"I should have thought you would be the last man to say that.
You've done your bit. They tell me you've changed a desert into
a splendid forest. D'you want to see it all cut down, the lumber
wasted and--"

Ommony pulled out his watch and tapped his finger on the dial.

"I had it cleaned and repaired recently," he remarked. The man
charged me a fair price, but after I had paid the bill he didn't
have the impudence to keep the watch for fear I might ruin it
again. India has a perfect right to go to hell her own way.
Surgery and hygiene are good, but I don't believe in being
governed by the medical profession. Cleaning up corrupted
countries is good; but to stay on after we've been asked to quit
is bad manners. And _they're_ worse than breaking all ten
commandments. Besides, we don't know much--or we'd have done
much better."

"You think India is ripe for self-government?" 

"When things are
ripe, they fall or decay on the tree," said Ommony. "There's a
time to stand aside and let 'em grow. There's such a thing as
too much nursing." 

"Then you're willing to chuck your forest job?"

"I _have_ chucked it."

"Oh! Resigned? Going to draw your pension?"

"No. Pension wouldn't be due for two years yet, and I don't need
it. India has had the use of me for twenty-three years at a fair
price. I'd be satisfied, if she was. But she isn't. And I'm
proud, so I'll be damned if I'll accept a pension."

Ommony was left alone again. That news of his resignation was
too good to be kept, even for a minute. Within five minutes it
was all over the club, and men were speculating as to the real
reason, since nobody ever gives any one credit (and wisely,
perhaps) for the motives that he makes public.

"Jenkins has succeeded Willoughby. Ommony knows jolly well that
Jenkins has it in for him. He's pulling out ahead of the
landslide--that's what."

"I don't believe it. Ommony has guts and influence enough to
bust ten Jenkinses. There's more than that in it. There never
was a man like Ommony for keeping secrets up his sleeve. You
know he's in the Secret Service?"

"That's easy to say, but who said so?"

"Believe it or not--I'll bet. I'll bet he stays in India. I'll
bet he dies in harness. I'll bet any money in reason he goes
straight from here to McGregor's office. More than that--I'll
bet McGregor sent for him, and that he didn't resign from the
Forestry without talking it over with McGregor first. He's deep,
is Cottswold Ommony--deep. He's no man's fool. There's no man
alive but McGregor who knows what Ommony will do next. Anybody
want to bet about it?"

The remainder of the conversation at the club that noon rippled
off into widening rings of reminiscence, all set up by Ommony's
arrival on the scene, and mostly interesting, but to stay and
listen would have been to be sidetracked, which is the inevitable
fate of gossips. There was a story in the wind that, if the club
had known it, would have set all Delhi by the ears.

--------


He who would understand the Plains must ascend the Eternal Hills,
where a man's eyes scan Infinity. But he who would make use of
understanding must descend on to the Plains, where Past and
Future meet and men have need of him.



Chapter II

Number One of the Secret Service


Ommony did go straight to McGregor but he and Diana, his enormous
wolf-hound, walked and club bets had to be called off because
there was no cab-driver from whom the _chuprassi*_ could bludgeon
information.

--------
* Uniformed doorkeeper
--------

Neither his nor Diana's temper was improved by the behavior of
the crowd. The dog's size and apparent ferocity cleared a
course, but that convenience was not so pleasant as the manners
of twenty years ago, when men made way for an Englishman without
hesitation--without dreaming of doing anything else.

The thrice-breathed air of Delhi gave him melancholia. It was
not agreeable to see men spit with calculated insolence. The
heat made the sweat drip from his beard on to the bosom of a new
silk shirt. The smell of over-civilized, unnaturally clothed
humans was nauseating. By the time he reached an unimaginably
ugly, rawly new administration building he felt about as sweetly
reasonable as a dog with hydrophobia, and was tired, with feet
accustomed to the softness, and ears used to the silence, of long
jungle lanes.

However, his spirits rose as he approached the steps. He may
have made a signal, because the moment the _chuprassi_ saw him he
straightened himself suddenly and ran before him, upstairs and
along a corridor. By the time Ommony reached a door with no name
on it, at the far end of the building, the _chuprassi_ was
waiting to open it--had already done the announcing--had already
seen a said-to-be important personage shown out with scant
excuses through another door. The _chuprassi's_ salaam was that
of a worshiper of secrets, to a man who knows secrets and can
keep them; there is no more marrow-deep obeisance in the world
than that.

And now no ceremony. The office door clicked softy with a
spring-lock and shut out the world that bows and scrapes to hide
its enmity and spits to disguise self-conscious meanness. A man
sat at a desk and grinned.

"Sit. Smoke. Take your coat off. Sun in your eyes? Try
the other chair. Dog need water? Give her some out of the
filter. Now--"

John McGregor passed cigars and turned his back toward a laden
desk. He was a middle-sized, middle-aged man with snow-white
hair in a crisp mass, that would have been curly if he had let it
grow long enough. His white mustache made him look older than
his years, but his skin was young and reddish, although that
again was offset by crow's-feet at the corners of noticeably
dark-gray eyes. His hands looked like a conjurer's; he could do
anything with them, even, to keeping them perfectly still.

"So you've actually turned in your resignation? We grow!" he
remarked, laughing. "Everything grows--except me; I'm in the
same old rut. I'll get the ax--get pensioned some day--dreadful
fate! Did you have your interview with Jenkins? What happened?
I can see you had the best of it--but how?"

Ommony laid three letters on the desk--purple ink on faded paper,
in a woman's handwriting. McGregor laughed aloud--one bark, like
the cry of a fox that scents its quarry on the fluke of a
changing wind.

"Perfect!" he remarked, picking up the letters and beginning to
read the top one. "Did you blackmail him?"

"I did."

"I could have saved you that trouble, you know. I could have
'broke' him. He deserves it," said McGregor, knitting his
brows over the letter in his hand. "Man, man, he certainly
deserves it!"

"If we all got our deserts the world 'ud stand still." Ommony
chose a cigar and bit the end off. "He's a more than half
-efficient bureaucrat. Let India suck him dry and spew him forth
presently to end his days at Surbiton or Cheltenham."

McGregor went on reading, holding his breath. "Have you read
these?" he asked suddenly.

Ommony nodded. McGregor chewed at his mustache and made noises
with his teeth that brought Diana's ears up, cocked alertly.

"Man, they're pitiful! Imagine a brute like Jenkins having such
a hold on any one--and he--good God! He ought to have been
hanged--no, that's too good for him! I suppose there's no human
law that covers such a case."

"None," Ommony answered grimly. "But I'm pious. I think there's
a Higher Law that adjusts that sort of thing eventually. If not,
I'd have killed the brute myself."

"Listen to this."

"Don't read 'em aloud, Mac. It's sacrilege. And I'm raw. It
was at least partly my fault."

"Don't be an idiot!"

"It was, Mac. Elsa wasn't so many years younger than me, but
even when we were kids we were more like father and child than
brother and sister. She had the spirituality and the brains; I
had the brute-strength and was presumed to have the common sense;
it made a rather happy combination. As soon as I got settled in
the forest I wrote home to her to come out and keep house for me.
I used to trust Jenkins in those days. It was I who introduced
them, Jenkins introduced her to Kananda Pal."

"That swine!"

"No, he wasn't such a swine as Jenkins," said Ommony. "Kananda
Pal was a poor devil who was born into a black art family. He
didn't know any better. His father used to make him stare into
ink-pools and all that devilment before he was knee-high to a
duck. He used to do stunts with spooks and things. Jenkins, on
the other hand, had a decent heritage and ditched it. It was he
who invited Kananda Pal to hypnotize Elsa. Between the two of
them they did a devil's job of at. She almost lost her mind, and
Jenkins had the filthy gall to use that as excuse for breaking
the engagement."

"My God! But think if he had married her! Man, man!"

"True. But think of the indecency of making that excuse! I
called in Fred Terry--"

"Top-hole--generous--gallant--gay! Man, what a delightful fellow
Terry was!" said McGregor. "Did he really fall in love with
her?--You know, he was recklessly generous enough to--"

"Yes," said Ommony. "He almost cured her; and he fell in love.
She loved him--don't see how any real woman could have helped it.
But Jenkins and Kananda Pal--oh, curse them both!"

"Amen!" remarked McGregor. "Well--we've got what we want. How
did you hear of these letters?--Just think of it! That poor girl
writing to a brute like Jenkins--to give her mind back to her.
So that she may--oh, my God!"

"I saw Kananda Pal before he died. That was recently. He was
quite sorry about his share in the business. He tried to put all
the blame on Jenkins--you know how rotters always accuse each
other when the cat's out of the bag. He told me of the letters,
so I went to Jenkins yesterday and, having resigned, I was in
position to be rather blunt. In fact, I was dam' blunt. He
denied their existence at first, but he handed 'em over when I
explained what I intended to do if he didn't!"

"I wonder why he'd kept them," said McGregor.

"The pig had kept them to prove she was mad, if any one should
ever accuse him of having wronged her," Ommony answered. "Do
they read like a mad-woman's letters?"

"Man, man! They're pitiful! They read like the letters of a
drug-addict, struggling to throw off the cursed stuff, and all
the while crying for it. Lord save us, what a time Fred Terry
must have had!"

"Increasingly rarely," said Ommony. "He had almost cured her.
The attacks were intermittent. Terry heard of a sacred place in
the hills--a sort of Himalayan Lourdes, I take it--and they set
off together, twenty years ago, to find the place. I never found
a trace of them, but I heard rumors, and I've always believed
they disappeared into the Ahbor country."

"Where they probably were crucified!" McGregor added grimly.

"I don't know," said Ommony. "I've heard tales about a
mysterious stone in the Ahbor country that's supposed to have
magic qualities. Terry probably heard about it too, and he was
just the man to go in search of it. I've also heard it said that
the 'Masters' live in the Ahbor Valley."

McGregor shook his head and smiled. "Still harping on that string?"

"One hundred million people, at a very conservative estimate, of
whom at least a million are thinkers, believe that the Masters
exist," Ommony retorted. "Who are you and I, to say they don't?
If they do, and if they're in the Ahbor Valley, I propose to
prove it."

McGregor's smile widened to a grin. "Men who are as wise as
they are said to be, would know how to keep out of sight. The
Mahatmas, or Masters, as you call them, are a mare's nest,
Ommony, old man. However, there may be something in the
other rumor. By the way: who's this adopted daughter of
Miss Sanburn?"

"Never heard of her."

"You're trustee of the Marmaduke Mission, aren't you? Know Miss
Sanburn intimately? When did you last see her?"

"A year ago. She comes to Delhi once a year to meet me on the
mission business. About once in three years I go to Tilgaun.
I'm due there now."

"And you never heard of an adopted daughter? Then listen
to this."

McGregor opened a file and produced a letter written in English
on cheap ruled paper.

"This is from Number 888--Sirdar Sirohe Singh of Tilgaun, who has
been on the secret roster since before my time. His home is
somewhere near the mission. `Number 888 to Number 1. Important.
Miss Sanburn of mission near here did procure fragment of crystal
jade by unknown means, same having been broken from antiquity of
unknown whereabouts and being reputed to possess mysterious
qualities. _Miss Sanburn's adopted daughter'_--get that?
--'intending to return same, was prevented by theft of fragment,
female thief being subsequently murdered by being thrown from
precipice, after which, fragment disappeared totally. Search for
fragment being now conducted by anonymous individuals. Should
say much trouble will ensue unless recovery is prompt and secret.
_Miss Sanburn's adopted daughter'_--get that, again?--'has
vanished. Should advise much precaution not to arouse public
curiosity. 888.'--What do you make of it?" asked McGregor.

"Nothing. Never heard of an adopted daughter."

"Then what do you make of this?"

McGregor's left hand went into a desk-drawer, and something the
color of deep sea-water over a sandy bottom flashed in the
sunlight as Ommony caught it. He held it to the light. It
was stone, not more than two inches thick at the thickest
part, and rather larger than the palm of his hand. It was
so transparent he could see his fingers through it; yet
it was almost fabulously green. One side was curved, and
polished so perfectly that it felt like wet soap to the touch;
the other side was nearly a plane surface, only slightly
uneven, as if it had been split off from another piece.

"It looks like jade," said Ommony.

"It is. But did you ever see jade like it? Hold it to the
light again."

There was not a flaw. The sun shone through it as through glass,
except that when the stone was moved there was a vague obscurity,
as if the plane where the breakage had occurred in some way
distorted the light.

"Keep on looking at it," said McGregor, watching.

"No, thanks." Ommony laid the stone on his knee and deliberately
glanced around the room from one object to another. "I rebel
against that stuff instinctively."

"You recognize the symptoms?"

"Yes. There's a polished black-granite sphere in the crypt of a
ruined temple, near Darjiling, that produces the same sort of
effect when you stare at it. I'm told the Ka'aba at Mecca does
the same, but that's hearsay."

"Put the stone in your pocket," said McGregor. "Keep it there a
day or two. It's the fragment that's missing from Tilgaun, and
you'll discover it has peculiar properties. Talk with Chutter
Chand about it, he can tell you something interesting. He tried
to explain to me, but it's over my head--Secret Service kills
imagination--I live in a mess of statistics and card-indexes that
'ud mummify a Sybil. All the same, I suspect that piece of jade
will help you to trace the Terrys; and, if you dare to take a
crack at the Ahbor country--"

"How did you come by the stone?" asked Ommony.

"I sent C99--that's Tin Lal--to Tilgaun to look into rumors of
trouble up there. Tin Lal used to be a good man, although he was
always a thorough-paced rascal. But the Service isn't what it
used to be, Ommony; even our best men are taking sides nowadays,
or playing for their own hand. India's going to the dogs. Tin
Lal came back and reported everything quiet at Tilgaun--said the
murders were mere family feuds. But he took that piece of jade
to Chutter Chand, the jeweler, and offered it for sale. Told a
lame-duck story. Chutter Chand put him off--kept the stone for
appraisal--and brought it to me. I provided Tin Lal--naturally
--with a year behind the bars--no, not on account of the stone. He
had committed plenty of crimes to choose from. I chose a little
one just to discipline him. But here's the interesting part:
either Tin Lal talked in the jail--_or_ some one followed him
from Tilgaun. Anyway, some one traced that piece of jade to this
office. I have had an anonymous letter about it; worth
attention--interesting. You'll notice it's signed with a glyph
--I've never seen a glyph quite like it--and the handwriting is
an educated woman's. Read it for yourself."

He passed to Ommony an exquisitely fashioned silver tube with a
cap at either end. Ommony shook out a long sheet of very good
English writing-paper; It was ivory-colored, heavy, and scented
with some kind of incense. There was no date--no address--no
signature, except a peculiar glyph, rather like an ancient, much
simplified Chinese character. The writing was condensed into the
middle of the page, leaving very wide margins, and had been done
with a fine steel pen.

"The stone that was brought from Tilgaun by Tin Lal and was
offered for sale by him to Chutter Chand is one that no honorable
man would care to keep from its real owners. There is merit in a
good deed and the reward of him who does justly without thought
of reward is tenfold. There are secrets not safe to be pried
into. There is light too bright to look into. There is truth
more true than can be told. If you will change the color of the
sash on the _chuprassi_ at the front door, one shall present
himself to you to whom you may return the stone with absolute
assurance that it will reach its real owners. Honesty and
happiness are one. The truth comes not to him who is inquisitive,
but to him who does what is right and leaves the result
to Destiny."

Ommony examined the writing minutely, sniffed the paper, held it
to the light, then picked up the tube and examined that.

"Who brought it?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was handed to the _chuprassi_ by a native he
says he thinks was disguised."

"Did you try changing the _chuprassi's_ sash?"

"Naturally. A deaf and dumb man came. He looked like a Tibetan.
He approached the chuprassi and touched his sash, so the
_chuprassi_ brought him up to me. He was unquestionably deaf and
dumb--stone-deaf, and half of his tongue was missing. The drums
of his ears had been bored through--when he was a baby probably.
I showed him the stone and he tried to take it from me. I had to
have him forcibly ejected from the office; and of course I had
him followed, but he disappeared utterly, after wandering
aimlessly all over Delhi until nearly midnight. I have had a
look-out kept, but he seems to have vanished without trace."

"Have you drawn any conclusions?"

McGregor smiled. "I never draw them before it's safe to say
they're proved. But a young woman almost certainly wrote that
letter; Miss Sanburn's adopted daughter--"

"Who I don't believe exists," said Ommony.

"--is reported by 888, who has hitherto always been reliable, to
have disappeared. She disappeared, if she ever _did_ exist, from
Tilgaun; the stone unquestionably came from Tilgaun, and it
seems to have been in Miss Sanburn's possession, in the mission.
_Ergo_--just as a flying hypothesis,--Miss Sanburn's adopted
daughter may have written that letter. If so, she's in Delhi,
because the ink on that paper had not been dry more than an hour
or two when it reached me."

"Have you searched the hotels?"

"Of course. And the trains are being watched."

"I'm curious to meet Hannah Sanburn's adopted daughter!" said
Ommony dryly. "I've known Hannah ever since she came to India
more than twenty years ago. I've been co-trustee ever since
Marmaduke died, and I don't believe Hannah Sanburn has kept a
single secret from me. In fact, it has been the other way; she
has passed most of her difficult personal problems along to me
for solution. I've a dozen files full of her letters, of which I
dare say five percent are purely personal. I think I know all
her private business. As recently as last year, when we met here
in Delhi,--well--never mind; but if she had an adopted daughter,
or an entanglement of any kind, I think I'd know it."

"Women are damned deep," McGregor answered. "Well; we've not
much to go on. I'll entrust that stone to you; if you're still
willing to try to get into the Ahbor country, I'll do everything
I can to assist. You've a fair excuse for trying; and you're a
bachelor. Dammit, if I were, I'd go with you! Of course,
you understand, if the State Department learns of it you'll
be rounded up and brought back. Do you realize the other
difficulties? Sven Hedin is said to have made the last attempt
to get through from the North. He failed. In the last hundred
years about a dozen Europeans have had a crack at it. Several
died, and one got through--unless Terry and your sister did, and
if so, they almost certainly died. When Younghusband went to
Lhassa he considered sending one regiment back by way of the
Ahbor Valley but countermanded the order when he realized that a
force of fifty thousand men wouldn't stand a chance of getting
through. From time to time the government has sent six Goorkha
spies into the country. None ever came back. It's almost a
certainty that the River Tsangpo of Tibet flows through the
valley and becomes the Brahmaputra lower down, but nobody has
proved it; nor has any one explained why the Tsangpo contains
more water than the Brahmaputra. Old Kinthup, the pundit on the
Indian Survey Staff, traced the Tsangpo down as far as the
waterfall where it plunges into the Ahbor Valley, and he threw a
hundred marked logs into the river, which were watched for lower
down; but none of the logs appeared at the lower end, and not
even Kinthup managed to get into the valley. The strangest part
about it is, that the Northern Ahbors come down frequently to the
Southern Ahbor country to trade, and they even intermarry with
the Southern Ahbors. But they never say a word about their
valley. The rajah of Tilgaun--the uncle of the present man
--caught two and put them to torture, but they died silent. And
another strange thing is, that nobody knows how the Northern
Ahbors get into and out of their country. The river is a lot too
swift for boats. The forest seems impenetrable. The cliffs are
unclimbable. There was an attempt made last year to explore by
airplane, but the attempt failed; there's a ninety-mile wind
half the time, and some of the passes to the south are sixteen or
seventeen thousand feet in the air to begin with. I'm told
carburetors won't work, and they can't carry enough fuel.--So, if
you're determined to make the attempt, slip away secretly, and
don't leave your courage behind! If it weren't that you've a
right to visit Tilgaun I should say you'd have no chance, but you
_might_ make it, if you're awfully discreet and start from the
Tilgaun Mission. If it's ever found out that I encouraged you--"

"You've been reeling off discouragement for fifteen minutes!"

"Yes, but if it's known I knew--"

"You needn't worry. What made you say you think this stone will
help me to trace the Terrys?"

"Nothing definite, except that it gives me an excuse for sending
you to Tilgaun more or less officially. I employ you to
investigate the mystery connected with that stone. As far as
Tilgaun you're responsible to me. If you decide to go on from
there, you'll have to throw me over--disobey orders. You
understand, I order you to come straight back here from Tilgaun.
If you disobey, you do it off your own bat, without my official
knowledge. And I'm afraid, old thing, you'll have to pay your
own expenses."

Ommony nodded.

"See Chutter Chand," said McGregor, "and dine with me tonight--
not at the club--that 'ud start all sorts of rumors flying--say
at Mrs. Cornock-Campbell's--her husband's away, but that doesn't
matter. She's the only woman I ever dared tell secrets to.
Leave it to me to contrive the invitation--how'll that do?"

"Mrs. Cornock-Campbell is a better man than you or me. Nine
o'clock. I'll be there," said Ommony, noticing a certain slyness
in McGregor's smile. He bridled at it. "Still laughing about
the 'Masters,' Mac?"

"No, no. I'd forgotten them. Not that they exist--but never mind."

"What then?"

"I'll tell you after dinner, or rather some one else will. I
wonder whether you'll laugh too--or wince? Trot along and have
your talk with Chutter Chand."

---------



Deciphered from a Palm-Leaf Manuscript Discovered in a Cave in
Hindustan.

Those who are acquainted with the day and night know that the Day
of Brahma is a thousand revolutions of the Yugas, and that
the Night extendeth for a thousand more. Now the Maha-yuga
consisteth of four parts, of which the last, being called the
Kali-Yuga, is the least, having but four-hundred-and-thirty-two
thousand years. The length of a Maya-yuga is four-million-and
-three-hundred twenty thousand years; that is, one thousandth
part of a Day of Brahma. And man was in the beginning, although
not as he is now, nor as he will be...[Here the palm leaf is
broken and illegible]...There were races in the world, whose
wisemen knew all the seven principles, so that they understood
matter in all its forms and were its masters. They were
those to whom gold was as nothing, because they could make it,
and for whom the elements brought forth...[Here there is
another break]...And there were giants on the earth in those
days, and there were dwarfs, most evil. There was war, and they
destroyed...[Here the leaf is broken off, and all the rest
is missing.]



Chapter III

"What is Fear?"


Chutter Chand's shop in the Chandni Chowk is a place of chaos and
a joy for ever, if you like life musty and assorted. There are
diamonds in the window, Kodak cameras, theodolites, bric-a-brac,
second-hand rifles, scientific magazines, and a living hamadryad
cobra in a wire enclosure (into which rats and chickens are
introduced at intervals). You enter through a door on either
side of which hang curtains that were rather old when Clive was
young; and you promptly see your reflection facing you in a
mirror that came from Versailles when the French were bribing
Indian potentates to keep the English out.

Every square foot of the walls within is covered with ancient
curios. A glass counter-show-case runs the full length of the
store, and is stuffed with enough jewelry to furnish a pageant of
Indian history; converted into cash it would finance a very
fair-sized bank. Rising to the level of the counter at the
rear is a long row of pigeonholed shelves crowded with ancient
books and manuscripts that smell like recently unwound mummies.
Between shelf and counter lives (and reputedly sleeps by night)
the most efficient jeweler's babu in Indian--a meek, alert,
weariless man who is said to be able to estimate any one's bank
balance by glancing at him as he enters through the front door.
But Chutter Chand keeps himself out of sight, in a room at the
rear of the store, whence he comes out only in emergency. On
this particular occasion there were extra reasons for remaining
in the background--reasons suggested by the presence of a special
"constabeel" on duty outside the shop-door, who eyed Ommony
nervously as he walked in.

Ommony went straight to the room at the rear and found Chutter
Chand at his desk--a wizened, neat little man in a yellow silk
turban and a brown alpaca suit of English cut. The suit and his
brown skin were almost of the same shade; an amber pin in his
yellow necktie corresponded with the color of his laced shoes;
the gold of his heavy watch-chain matched the turban; his lemon
silk handkerchief matched his socks; his dark-brown, kindly,
intelligent eyes struck the keynote of the color harmony.

Unlike so many Indians who adopt a modified European style of
dress, he had an air of breeding, poise and distinction.

"There is always something interesting when you come, Ommonee!"
he said, rising and shaking hands. "Wait while I remove the
specimens from that chair. No, the snakes can not escape; they
are all poisonous, but carefully imprisoned. There--be seated.
You are full of news, or you would have asked me how I am. Thank
you, I am very well. And you? Now let us get to business!"

Ommony grinned at the gibe, but he had his own way of going about
things. He preferred to soak in his surroundings and adjust his
mind to the environment in silence before broaching business. He
lit a cigar, and stared about him at the snakes in cages and the
odds and ends of rarities heaped everywhere in indescribable
confusion. There were an enormous brass Gautama Buddha resting
on iron rollers, a silver Christian crucifix from a Goanese
cathedral, and some enamel vases, that were new since his last
visit; but the same old cobwebs were still in place in the
corners of the teak beams, and the same cat came and rubbed
herself against his shins--until she spied Diana in the outer
shop and grew instantly blasphemous.

Still saying nothing, Ommony at last produced the lump of jade
from his hip pocket.

"Yes," said Chutter Chand, "I have already seen it." But he took
off his gold-rimmed spectacles and wiped them as if he was eager
to see it again.

"What do you know about it?" asked Ommony.

"Very little, Sahib. To crystallize hypothesis into a mistake
is all too easy. I prefer to distinguish between knowledge
and conjecture."

"All right. Tell me what little you do know."

"It is jade undoubtedly, although I have never seen jade exactly
like it--I, who have studied every known species of precious and
semi-precious stone."

"Then why do you say it is jade?"

"Because I know that. I have analyzed it. It is chloromelanite,
consisting of a silicate of aluminium and sodium, with peroxide
of iron, peroxide of manganese, and potash. It has been broken
from a greater piece--perhaps from an enormous piece. The
example I have previously seen that most resembled this was found
in the Kara-Kash Valley of Turkestan; but that was not nearly so
transparent. That piece you hold in your hand is more fusible
than nephrite, which is the commoner form of jade; and it has a
specific gravity of 3.3."

"What makes you believe it was broken from a larger piece?"

"I know by the arc of the curve of the one side, and by the
shape of the fracture on the other, that it has been broken
by external violence from a piece considerably larger than
itself. I have worked out a law of vibration and fracture
that is as interesting in its way as Einstein's law of relativity.
Do you understand mathematics?"

"No. I'll take your word for it. What else do you know positively?"

"Positively is the only way to know," the jeweler answered,
screwing up his face until he looked almost like a Chinaman.
"There was human blood on it--a smear on the fractured side, that
looked as if a careless attempt had been made to wipe it off
before the blood was quite dry. Also the print of a woman's
thumb and forefinger, plainly visible under the microscope,
with several other fingerprints that certainly were Tin Lal's.
The stone had come in contact with some oily substance, probably
butter, but there was too little of it to determine. Furthermore,
I know, Ommonee, that you are afraid of the stone because to
touch it makes you nervous, and to peer into it makes you
see things you can not explain."

Ommony laughed. The stone did make him nervous.

"Did _you_ see things!" he asked.

"That is how I know it makes you see them, Ommonee! Compared to
me you are a child in such respects. If I, who know more than
you, nonetheless see things when I peer into that stone, it is
logical to my mind that you also see things, although possibly
not the same things. Knowing the inherent superstition of the
human mind, I therefore know you are afraid--just as people were
afraid when Galileo told them that the earth moves."

"Are _you_ afraid of it?" asked Ommony, shifting his cigar and
laying the stone on the desk.

"What is fear?" the jeweler answered. "Is it not recognition of
something the senses can not understand and therefore can not
master? I think the fact that we feel a sort of fear is proof
that we stand on the threshold of new knowledge--or rather, of
knowledge that is new to us as individuals."

"You mean, then, if a policeman's afraid of a burglar, he's--"

"Certainly! He is in a position to learn something he never knew
before. That doesn't mean that he will _learn,_ but that he may
if he cares to. People used to be afraid of a total eclipse of
the sun; some still are afraid of it. Imagine, if you can, what
Julius Caesar, or Alexander the Great, or Timour Ilang, or Akbar
would have thought of radio, or a thirty-six-inch astronomical
telescope, or a Kodak camera."

"All those things can be explained. This stone is a mystery."

"Ommonee, everything that we do not yet understand is a mystery.
To a pig, it must be a mystery why a man flings turnips to him
over the wall of his sty. To that dog of yours it must be a
mystery why you took such care to train her. Look into the stone
now, Sahib, and tell me what you see."

"Not I," said Ommony. "I've done it twice. You look."

Chutter Chand took up the stone in both hands and held it in the
light from an overhead window. The thing glowed, as if full of
liquid-green fire, yet from ten feet away Ommony could see
through it the lines on the palm of the jeweler's hand.

"Interesting! Interesting! Ommonee, the world is full of things
we don't yet know!"

Chutter Chand's brows contracted, the right side more than the
left, in the habit-fixed expression of a man whose business is to
use a microscope. Two or three times he glanced away and blinked
before looking again. Finally he put the stone back on the desk
and wiped his spectacles from force of habit.

"Our senses," he said, "are much more reliable than the brain
that interprets them. We probably all see, and hear, and smell
alike, but no two brains interpret in the same way. Try to
describe to me your sensations when you looked into the stone."

"Almost a brain-storm," said Ommony. "A rush of thoughts that
seemed to have no connection with one another. Something like
modern politics or listening in on the radio when there's loads
of interference, only more exasperating--more personal--more
inside yourself, as it were."

Chutter Chand nodded confirmation. "Can you describe the
thoughts, Ommonee? Do they take the form of words?"

"No. Pictures. But pictures of a sort I've never seen, even in
dreams. Rather horrible. They appear to mean something, but the
mind can't grasp them. They're broken off suddenly--begin
nowhere and end nowhere."

Chutter Chand nodded again. "Our experiences tally. You will
notice that the stone is broken off; it also begins nowhere and
ends nowhere. I have measured it carefully; from calculation of
the curvature it is possible to surmise that it may have been
broken off from an ellipsoid having a major axis of seventeen
feet. That would be an immense mass of jade weighing very many
tons; and if the whole were as perfect as this fragment, it
would be a marvel such as we in our day have not seen. I suspect
it to have qualities more remarkable than those of radium, and I
_think_--although, mind you, this is now conjecture--that if we
could find the original ellipsoid from which this piece was
broken we would possess the _open sesame_ to--well--to laws and
facts of nature, the mere contemplation of which would _fill_ all
the lunatic asylums! I have never been so thrilled by anything
in all my life."

But Ommony was not thrilled. He had seen men go mad from
exploring without landmarks into the unknown. He laughed cynically.

"'We fools of nature,'" he quoted, "'so horridly to shake our
disposition with thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls!' I'd
rather wipe out the asylums."

"Or live in one, Sahib, and leave the lunatics outside!
Shakespeare knew nothing of the atomic construction of the
universe. We have advanced since his day--in some respects.
Has it occurred to you to wonder _how_ this stone acquired
such remarkable qualities? No! You merely wonder _at_ it.
But observe:

"You have seen a pudding stirred? The stupidest cook in the
world can pour ingredients into a basin and stir them with water
until they become something compounded, that does not in the
least resemble any one of the component parts. Is that not
so? The same fool bakes what he has mixed. A chemical process
takes place, and behold! the idiot has wrought a miracle.
Again, there is almost no resemblance to what the mixture
was before. It even tastes and smells quite different. It
looks different. Its specific gravity is changed. Its
properties are altered. It is now digestible. It decomposes at
a different speed. It has lost some of the original qualities
that went into the mixture, and has taken on others that
apparently were not there before the chemical process began.

"You can see the same thing in a foundry, where they mix zinc
with copper and produce brass, and the brass has qualities that
neither zinc nor copper appears to contain. A deaf and dumb man,
knowing neither writing nor arithmetic, could produce brass from
zinc and copper. A savage, who never saw an abstraction, can
produce wine from grapes. Good. Now listen, Sahib:

"Let us dive beneath the surface of these experiments. The
capacity to become brass under certain conditions was inherent
to begin with in the zinc and in the copper, was it not? But
how so? It was inherent in the atoms, of which the zinc
and the copper are composed; and, behind those again, in
the electrons, of which the atoms are composed. Let us then
consider the electrons.

"Suppose that we knew how to pour electrons into a receptacle and
make, so to speak, a pudding of them! Could we not work what the
world would think are miracles? I have made diamonds in my
workshop. I believe I can make gold. What could I not do, if I
knew how to manage electrons in the raw--electrons, in every one
of which is the capacity to become absolutely _anything!_

"It has possibly not occurred to you, Ommonee, but the more I
pursue my studies the more I am convinced that there was once a
race of people in the world, or possibly a school of scientists
drawn from many then-existent races, who knew how to manage
electrons. I think they lived simultaneously with the cave-men.
We find the bones of cave-men because those were ignorant people,
such as the Bushmen of today, who buried their dead. We do not
find the bones of the scientists of that period, because they
were enlightened and disposed of corpses in the fire. The _art_
of the cave-men is evidence that there _was_ art of a very high
order, which some one presumably taught. They painted pictures
in caves into which no sunlight penetrated; therefore, there
must have been artificial light of a sort superior to torches or
tallow candles, because otherwise the color work would have been
impossible. That is proof that there was science in those days,
of which the cave-men could avail themselves just as today a
lunatic may use electric light. And the fact that we find no
traces at present of what we can recognize as a very high order
of civilization then existent is no proof that there was none;
it may have been totally different from anything with which we
are familiar. Furthermore, the world has only been extremely
superficially explored.

"Be patient, Ommonee. I am coming to my point. I have studied
that piece of jade. Three days and nights I studied it without
sleep. To me its peculiar properties appear to confirm
observations--micro-photographic observations that I have made
and recorded during a period of ten years. In its essence, what
is photography? It is the practice, by means of chemicals, of
rendering visible to the human eye impressions of objects
produced by light on a prepared surface. It is necessary to
prepare the surface, which we call a dry plate or a film, because
we do not yet know how else to render the light-made impression
visible to the human eye. But it is there, whether we make it
visible or not. And what I have discovered is this: that every
particle of matter has a photographic quality, which varies only
in degree. You stand against a rock--and not necessarily in
sunlight, although sunlight helps; your impression is indelibly
photographed on that rock, as I can prove, if you have time to
witness some experiments. It is photographed on anything against
which you stand. Other images may be superimposed on yours, but
yours remains. In rare instances, in certain atmospheric
conditions, these impressions become visible without any other
chemical process, although it seems to require a certain nervous
state of alertness before the human eye can perceive them.

"You remember the case of the Brahman who hanged himself in a
cellar not far from this shop of mine? His body hung there for a
day before they found it. For weeks afterward what was supposed
to be his ghost was seen--by scores of reputable witnesses
--hanging from the beam. That was several years ago. There was a
great stir made about it at the time, and there were letters to
the newspapers stating instances of similar occurrences. There
was an investigation by experts from a research society, who
denounced the whole story as an imposture.

"However, I was one of those who saw the ghost, and I made notes,
and some experiments. Finally I photographed it! That satisfied
me. I am sure that the alleged ghost was nothing but a
photograph made on the wall, and that it was rendered visible
by certain chemical conditions, not all of which I have been
able to ascertain.

"Now then: if that is possible in one instance, it is possible
in every instance. There is no such thing as an exception in
nature; we have discovered a law. So take this piece of jade:
we see things when we look into it. I deduce that they are
photographic. And because no other piece of stone that I
know of has the same quality of receiving impressions that are
instantaneously visible, it seems probable to me that it has been
intelligently treated by some one who knew how to do that."

"It might be a natural chemical process," said Ommony.

"I think not. Have you noticed that the strange moving images
visible _within_ the stone are not the reflections of _objects?_
The stone is not a mirror in the ordinary sense. It does not
seem to reflect at all the objects that surround it. I have
never succeeded in seeing my face in it, for instance, although I
have tried repeatedly, in all sorts of light, from every angle.
It appears to me to reflect _thought!_"

Ommony made the peculiar noise between tongue and teeth that
suggests polite but otherwise unconditioned incredulity. Chutter
Chand, deep in his theme, ignored the interruption.

"I believe it reflects _character!_ I believe that every thought
that every man thinks, from the day he is born until the day he
dies, leaves an invisible impress on his mind as well as a
visible impress on his body. You know how changing character
affects the lines on the palm of a man's hand, on the soles of
his feet, at the corners of his eyes, at his mouth, and so on?
Well: something of the same sort goes on in his mind, which is
invisible and what we call intangible, but is nevertheless made
up of electrons in motion. And those impressions are permanent.
I believe that somebody, who knew how to manipulate electrons,
has treated this stone in such a way that it reflects the whole
of a man's thought since he was born--just as a stone wall,
if it could be treated properly, could be shown to retain the
photograph of every object that had passed before it since the
wall was built.

"I believe this was done very anciently, and for this reason:
that if any one possessed of such intelligence and skill were
alive in the world today, his intelligence would burn itself into
our consciousness, so that we could not help but know of him.

"I am of opinion that the process to which the jade was subjected
rendered it at the same time transparent; because it is not in
the nature of jade to be quite transparent normally. And in my
mind there is connected with all this the knowledge (which is
common property) that the Chinese--a _very_ ancient race--regard
jade as a sacred stone. Why? Is it not possible that jade
peculiarly lends itself to this treatment, and that, though the
science is forgotten, the dim memory of the peculiar property of
the stone persists?"

"You've a fine imagination!" said Ommony.

"And what _is_ imagination, Ommonee, if not a bridge between the
known and unknown? Between conventional so-called knowledge and
the unexplored realm of truth? Have _you_ no imagination?
Electricity was possible a thousand years ago; but until
imagination hinted at the possibility, who had the use of it?"

Ommony returned the stone to his pocket. He was interested, and
he liked Chutter Chand, but it occurred to him that he was
wasting time.

"You're right, of course," he said, "that we have to imagine
a thing before we can begin to understand it or produce or
make it."

"Surely. You imagined your forest, Ommonee, before you planted
it. But between imagination and production, there in labor. You
see, what the West can't understand it scoffs at, whereas what
the East can't understand it calls sacred and guards against all
comers! I think you will have to penetrate a secret that has
been guarded for thousands of years. They say, you know, that
there are Masters who guard these secrets and let them out a
little at a time. May the gods whom you happen to vote for be
grateful and assist you! I would like to go on the adventure
with you--but I am a family man. I am afraid. I am not strong.
That stone has thrilled me, Ommonee!"

"If you like, I'll leave it with you for some more experiments,"
said Ommony.

"Sahib--my friend--I wouldn't keep it for a rajah's ransom! It
was traced to this place--how, I don't know. You noticed the
policeman at the door? He is put there to keep out murderers!
There has been a ruffian here--a Hillman--a cutthroat who said he
came from Spiti--a great savage with a saw-edged tulwar! Ugh! He
demanded the stone. He demanded to know where it was. If it had
not been that I had a shop-full of customers, and that I promised
to try to get the stone back from the man who now had it, he
would have cut me in halves! He said so! I am afraid all the
time that he will return, or that some of his friends will come.
Oh, I wish I had your lack of an imagination, Ommonee! I could
feel his saw-edged tulwar plunging into me! Listen!" (Chutter
Chand began to tremble visibly.) "Who is that?"

Ommony glanced into the shop. There were two men, evidently
unarmed or the "constabeel" would never have admitted them,
standing talking to the clerk across the show-case-counter. One
was apparently a very old man and the other very young. Both
were dressed in the Tibetan costume, but the older man was
speaking English, which was of itself sufficiently remarkable,
and he appeared to be slightly amused because the clerk insisted
that Chutter Chand was "absent on a journey." Neither man paid
the slightest attention to the jewelry in the show case; they
were evidently bent on seeing Chutter Chand, and nothing else.

"Admit 'em!" whispered Ommony. "I'll hide. No, never mind the
dog; she'll follow them in and sniff them over. If they ask
about the dog, say she belongs to one of your customers who
left her in your charge for an hour or two. What's behind
that brass Buddha?"

"Nothing, Sahib. It is hollow. There is no back."

"That'll do then. Help me pull it out from the wall--quick!--quiet!"

They made rather a lot of noise and Diana came in to investigate,
which was opportune. Ommony gave her orders _sotto voce_ and she
returned into the shop to watch the two curious visitors.

"Now, don't let yourself get frightened out of your wits, Chutter
Chand. Encourage 'em to talk. Ask any idiotic question that
occurs to you. When they're ready to go, let 'em. And then,
whatever you do, don't say a word to the policeman."

Ommony stepped behind the image of the Buddha. Chutter Chand,
leaning all his weight against it, shoved it back nearly into
place, but left sufficient space between it and the wall for
Ommony to see into an old cracked mirror that reflected almost
everything in the room. Then, taking a visible hold on his
emotions, Chutter Chand strode to the door and stood there for a
moment--looking--listening--trying to breathe normally. He forced
a smile at last.

"Oh, let them in--I will talk to them," he said to the clerk in
English, with an air of almost perfect, patronizing nonchalance.
Only a very close observer might have known he was afraid--that
fear, perhaps, in him was more than "recognition of something
that the senses do not understand."

---------



We should ascend out of perversity, even as we ascend a mountain
that we do not know, with the aid of guides who do know. None
who sets forth on an unknown voyage stipulates that the pilot
must agree with him as to the course, since manifestly that would
be absurd; the pilot is presumed to know; the piloted does not
know. None who climbs a mountain bargains that the guide shall
keep to this or that direction; it is the business of the guide
to lead. And yet, men hire guides for the Spiritual Journey, of
which they know less than they know of land and sea, and
stipulate that the guide shall lead them thus and so, according
to their own imaginings; and instead of obeying him, they desert
and denounce him, should he lead them otherwise. I find this of
the essence of perversity.
--From The Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup



Chapter IV

"I Am One Who Strives to Tread the Middle Way."


The two Tibetans entered, the older man leading, and squatted on
a mat which the younger man spread on the floor. Their manner
suggested that they had accepted an invitation, instead of having
gained admission by persistence; but Ommony, watching every
movement in the mirror, noticed that the older man laid his hand
on the seat of the chair he himself had just occupied--which,
being old, he _might_ have done to help himself down on the mat,
but, being active, he almost certainly did for another reason.

Chutter Chand sat at his desk magisterially, wiping at the gold
-rimmed spectacles again, waiting for the visitors to speak first.
But they were not to be tempted into that indiscretion. They sat
still and were bland, while Diana came and deliberately sniffed
them over. The hound seemed interested; she lay down where she
could watch them both, her jowl on her paws, one ear up, and her
tail moving slightly from side to side clearing a fan-shaped
pattern in the dust.

The old man was a miracle of wrinkles. He resembled one of those
Chinese statuettes in ivory, yellowed by time, that suggest that
life is much too comical a business to be taken seriously--much
too serious a business to be cumbered with pride and possessions.
He was a living paradox in a long, snuff-colored robe, the ends
of which he arranged over his lap, leaving the hairy strong legs
of a mountaineer uncovered. He helped himself to an enormous
quantity of snuff from an old Chinese silver box, that he
presently stowed away in a fold of his garment. The pungent
stuff appeared to have no effect on him, although Diana, catching
a whiff of it, sneezed violently and Chutter Chand followed suit.

The young man was another ivory enigma, absolutely smooth in
contrast to the elder's wrinkles, and much paler. He, too, wore
snuff-colored clothes. His head was wrapped in a turban of
gorgeously embroidered brown silk, in contract to the other's
monkish simplicity, and the cloth of which his cloak was made
seemed to be of lighter and better material than the older man's.
He was remarkably good-looking--straight-featured and calm
-placid, not apparently from self-contentment but from assurance
that life holds a definite purpose and that he was being led
along the narrow road. There was an air of good temper and
wisdom about him, no apparent pride nor any mean humility. His
eyes were blue-gray, his hands small, strong and artistic. His
feet, too, were small but evidently used to walking. He was
in every dimension smaller than the older man, unless mind
is a dimension; they appeared to be equals in mental aroma,
and they exuded that in the mysterious way of a painting
by Goya Lucientes.

"Well, what do you want?" Chutter Chand asked at last in English.
It was a ridiculous language, on the face of it, to use to a
Tibetan; but the older man had been using English in the outer
shop, and Chutter Chand knew no Prakrit dialect.

The answer, in English devoid of any noticeable accent, was
given by the older man in a voice as full of humor as his
wrinkled face.

"The piece of jade," he said, unblinking, ending on a rising note
that suggested there was nothing to explain, nothing to argue
about, nothing to do but be reasonable. He snapped his fingers,
and Diana, normally a most suspicious dog, came close to him. He
ran his fingers through her hair and she laid her huge jowl on
his knee. Chutter Chand crossed and uncrossed his legs restlessly.

"I haven't it," said the jeweler. "Besides--er--ah--you would
have to tell me your--that is--er--you would have to establish
first by what right you make such a demand. You understand me?"

"I have made no demand," the old man answered, smiling. His
voice was sweetly reasonable; his bright old eyes twinkled.
"You have asked what I want. I have told you."

"Tell me who you are," said Chutter Chand.

"My son, I am a Lama. I am one who strives to tread the
Middle Way."

"Where from?"

"From desire into peace!"

"I mean, what, place do you come from?"

"From the same place that the piece of jade came from, my son.
From the place to which he who desires merit will return it."

"Is the jade yours?" asked Chutter Chand.

"Is the air mine? Are the stars mine?" the Lama answered,
smiling as if the idea of possessing anything were a joke made by
an inquiring child.

"Well; what right have you to the piece of jade?" Chutter Chand
snapped back at him. He let the irritation through without
intending it and smiled directly afterward in an attempt to undo
the impression. But if the Lama had noticed the acerbity, he
made no sign.

"None, any more than you have," came the answer in the same mild
voice. "None has any right to it. I have a duty to return it
to whence it came--and a duty to you, to preserve you from
impertinence, if that may be. It is not good, Chutter Chand,
to meddle with knowledge before the time appointed for its
understanding. He who would tread the Middle Way is patient,
keeping both feet on the ground and his head no higher than
humility will let it reach. Be wise--O man of intellectual
desires! Destruction is in rashness."

His fingers touched Diana's collar and twisted it around until
the small brass plate, on which Ommony's name was engraved, came
uppermost; but his eyes continued to look straight at Chutter
Chand. It was the younger man, squatting in silence beside
him, his head and body motionless, whose bright eyes took
in every detail of the room, not omitting to notice the movement
of the Lama's hand. Except for the eyes, his face continued
perfectly expressionless.

"Well--er--ah--before I answer definitely, I would like you to
tell me about the jade," said Chutter Chand. "You will find me
reasonable. I am not a sacrilegious person. Er--ah--can you not
establish to my satisfaction that--ah--I would be doing rightly
to--er--let us say, to entrust the piece of jade to you?"

"I think you know that already," said the Lama, in a voice of
mild reproof, as if he were speaking to a child of whom he was
rather fond. "What does your heart say, my son? It is the heart
that answers wisely, if desire has been subdued. I have come a
very long way--"

"_Desiring_ the piece of jade!" sneered Chutter Chand--regretting
the sneer instantly--driving fingernails into the palm of his
hand with impatience of himself.

"True," said the Lama. "Desire is not easy to destroy. Yet I do
not desire it for myself. And for you I desire peace--and merit.
May the Lord live in your heart and guide you in the Middle Way."

The jeweler moved restlessly. The atmosphere was getting on his
nerves. There was an indefinable feeling of being in the
presence of superiority, which is irritating to a man of intellect.

"You mean, there will be no peace for me unless I give up the
piece of jade to you?" he asked tartly.

"I think that is so," said the Lama gently.

"Well; it is not in my possession."

"But you know who has it," said the Lama, looking straight at him.

The jeweler did not answer, and the Lama's eyes beamed with
intelligence. The young Tibetan moved at last and whispered in
his ear. The Lama nodded almost imperceptibly, turning the dog's
collar around again with leisurely fingers, whose touch seemed
magically satisfying to Diana. He looked once, sharply, at the
big brass Buddha, let his eyes rest again on the jeweler's, and
went on speaking. "What a man can not do is no weight against
him. It be the hand of Destiny, preventing him from a mistake.
The deeds a man does are the fruits that are weighed in the
balance and from which the seeds of future lives are saved.
Peace be with you. Peace refresh you. Peace give you peace that
you may multiply it, Chutter Chand."

The Lama arose and the younger man rolled up the mat. Diana
jumped to her feet. Chutter Chand made an attempt to get out of
his chair with dignity; but the Lama seemed to have monopolized
in his own person all the dignity there was in sight, which was
embarrassing. "Er--ah--I appreciate the blessing. Er--ah--are
you going? But you haven't told me what I asked about the jade
--ah--would you care to come again?--Perhaps--"

The Lama smiled, stroked Diana's head, bowed, so that his long
skirts swung like a bronze bell, and one almost expected a
resonant boom to follow, and led the way out, followed by the
younger man, who smiled once so suddenly and brightly that
Chutter Chand's nervous irritation vanished. But it returned the
moment they had gone. He jumped at the noise Ommony made pushing
the brass Buddha away from the wall.

"Damn them both!" he exploded. "Sahib, I hate to be mystified!
I detest to be patronized! I feel I made myself contemptible!
I could not think! I could not make my brain invent the
questions that I should have asked!"

"You did pretty well," said Ommony. "See 'em home, girl!"

Diana's tail went between her legs, but she did not hesitate;
she trotted out of the shop--stood still a moment on the
sidewalk--sniffed--vanished.

"Sahib, they will send some one to loot this shop of mine! Ommonee--"

"Tut-tut! Those two didn't overlook one detail. The young one
read my name on Diana's collar and whispered it to the Lama. The
Lama knew I was behind the Buddha. He suspected something when
he felt the chair-seat and found it warm."

"Worse and worse!" said Chutter Chand despondently. "To incur
the enmity of such people is more dangerous than to tamper with
my snakes!"

Chutter Chand, his brain full of western and eastern science, his
suit from London and his turban from Lahore, yearned to the West
for protection from eastern mystery. Ommony, all English,
steeped in the Orient for twenty years, had thrown his thought
eastward and was reckoning like lightning in terms of Indian thought.

"They didn't suspect my presence until _after_ they came in here.
Shut up, Chutter Chand! Listen to me!--They'll have brought a
man to watch outside the shop and follow any one who follows
_them._ They can't have cautioned him about the dog, because
they didn't know about the dog, and they would never suspect a
dog of having enough intelligence. Their man will be still out
there watching the shop-door. Wait here!"

He ran into the outer shop, hid behind one of the curtains at the
door, and stood facing the mirror that gave him a view of the
"constabeel's" back and of fifty yards of crowded street,
including the sidewalk opposite. The "constabeel" appeared to be
intently watching somebody, and in less than a minute Ommony
picked out the individual--a tall, good-looking, boy-faced
Hillman in a costume that suggested Bhutan or Sikkim--shapeless
trousers and a long robe over them, with a sort of jacket on top
of that. He was trying to look innocent, which is the surest way
of attracting attention; and he was so intent on watching the
shop-door that passers-by continually bunted into him--whereat he
seemed to find it hard to keep his temper. Ommony watched him
for a minute or two, and then spoke to the policeman through
the curtain.

The policeman nearly gave the game away by turning his head to
listen, but spat and scratched himself to cover the mistake.
Ommony repeated his instructions carefully and the policeman
strolled down-street. Ommony emerged and walked slowly in the
opposite direction; over the way, the Hillman began at once to
follow him, suiting his pace to Ommony's. Ommony crossed the
street; so did the policeman. Ommony turned and walked toward
the Hillman; the policeman followed suit, approaching from the
rear. Ommony came to a halt exactly in front of the Hillman,
feeling dwarfed by the man's big-boned stature and aware of the
handle of a long knife just emerging through a slit in a robe
that reeked strongly of ghee. The policeman, nervously fingering
his club, halted to the Hillman's rear, six feet away. Passers
-by began to detect food for curiosity; there were searching
glances and a palpable hesitation; there would have been a crowd
in sixty seconds.

"Come with me," said Ommony, in Prakrit.

"Why?" asked the Hillman, staring at him, wide-eyed with surprise
at being spoken to in his own tongue. 

"Because if you do, no harm will come to you;
and if you don't you'll go to jail."

The Hillman's hand crept instinctively toward his knife, and the
policeman made ready to swing for the back of his head with a
hard-wood club.

"Are you a fool, that you don't know a friend when you meet one?"
asked Ommony.

"I have met enemies, and women, and one or two whom I called
master, and many whom I have mastered--but never a friend yet!"
the Hillman answered. "Who art thou?"

"Come with me and learn," said Ommony.

The Hillman hesitated, but the crowd was distinctly beginning to
gather now--a little way off, not sure yet but alert for the
first hint of happenings. It grew clear to the Hillman that
escape might not be easy.

"I fear no man!" he said, turning his head and recognizing
the policeman, who was hardly two-thirds his size. He spat
eloquently for the policeman's benefit, missing him neatly by
about the thickness of a knife-blade. "Whither!" he asked then,
looking straight into Ommony's eyes.

Ommony led the way across the street into Chutter Chand's shop,
where he halted to let the Hillman go in first.

"Nay, lead on!" said the Hillman, stepping aside.

"No. For you have a weapon and I have none. Moreover, I have
said I am a friend, and I prefer to be a living friend rather
than a dead one! Go in first," laughed Ommony.

The Hillman laughed back. There was none of the solemnity about
him that enshrouds the men from the Northwest frontier. Eastward
along the Himalayas, where the smell of sweat leaves off and the
smell of rancid butter begins, laughter becomes part of life and
not an insult or indignity. He swaggered into the shop with no
more argument and at a nod from Ommony walked straight through to
the office at the rear.

"Krishna!" exclaimed Chutter Chand. He jumped for a corner,
seized a two-handed Samurai sword, drew it from the scabbard, and
laid it on the desk. "I will let my snakes loose!" he almost
screamed, in Hindustanee.

But the Hillman sat down on the floor, on the exact spot where
the Lama had been, and Ommony sat down in the chair facing him,
motioning to Chutter Chand to resume the other chair and
be sensible.

"But this is the ruffian who came and threatened me!" said
Chutter Chand. "That knife of his is saw-edged! Take it from
him, Ommonee!"

The Hillman appeared to know no English, but seemed to have made
up his mind about Ommony. Friendship he might not believe in,
but he could recognize good faith. He watched Ommony's face as a
child follows a motion picture.

"What is your name?" asked Ommony.

"Dawa Tsering."

"Where are you from?"

"Spiti."

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Chutter Chand. "Does he say he is from
Spiti? They are all devils who come from that country! It is
there they practise polyandry, and their dead are eaten by dogs!
He is unclean!"

"Who is that Lama who was in here just now?" Ommony went on.

"Tsiang Samdup."

Chutter Chand did not catch that name; or, if he did, the name
meant nothing to him. Ommony, on the other hand, had to use all
his power of will to suppress excitement, and even so he could
not quite control himself. The Hillman noticed the change
of expression.

"Aye," he said, "Tsiang Samdup is a great one."

"Who is the other who was with him--the young one?"

"His _chela_." * [* Disciple]

"What name?"

"Samding. Some call him San-fun-ho."

"And what have you to do with them?"

Instead of answering, the Hillman retorted with a question.

"What is _thy_ name? Say it again. Ommonee? That sounds like a
name with magic in it. _Om mani padme hum!_ Who gave thee that
name? Eh? Thy father had it? Who was he? How is it a man
should take his father's name? Is the spirit of the father not
offended? Thou art a strange one, Ommonee."

"Why did you come in here some days ago and threaten Chutter
Chard?" asked Ommony.

"Why not!" said the Hillman. "Did I not ride under a te-rain,
like a leech on the belly of a horse, more hours and miles than
an eagle knows of? Did I not eat dust--and nothing else?
Did I not follow that rat Tin Lal to this _place?_ Did I not
--pretending to admire the cobra in the window--_see_ him with my
own eyes _sell_ the green stone to this little lover-of-snakes?
I _said_ too much. I _did_ too little. I should have slain them
both! But I feared, because I am a stranger in the city and
there were many people. Moreover, I had already slain a man--a
Hindu, who drove an iron car and broke the wheel of the cart I
rode in. I slew him with a spoke from the broken wheel. And
it seemed to me that if I should slay another man too soon
thereafter, it might fare ill with me, since the gods grow weary
of protecting a man too often. So I returned four days later,
thinking the gods might have forgotten the previous affair. They
owe me many favors. I have treated the gods handsomely. And
when this little rat of a jeweler swore he no longer had the
stone, I threatened him. I would have slain him if I thought he
really had it, but it seemed to me he told the truth. And he
promised to get the stone back from some one to whom he had
entrusted it. And I, vowing I would sever him in halves unless
he should keep faith, went and told Tsiang Samdup, who came here
accordingly, I following to protect the old man. I suppose
Tsiang Samdup now has the stone. Is that so?"

"He _shall_ have it," said Ommony.

"I think thou art _not_ a liar," said the Hillman, looking
straight into Ommony's eyes. "Now, I am a liar. If I should
have said that to thee, it would only be a fool who would believe
me, and a fool is nothing to be patient with. But I am not a
fool, and I believe thee--or I would plunge this knife into thy
liver! Who taught thee to speak my language?"

Ommony saw fit not to answer that. "Is it not enough for
thee that I can speak it? Where can I find the holy Lama
Tsiang Samdup?"

"Oh, as to that, he is not particularly holy--although others
seem to think he is; but I am from Spiti, where we study devils
and consider nonsense all this talk about purity and self
-abnegation and Nirvana. Who wants to go to Nirvana? What a
miserable place--just nothing! Besides, I know better. I have
studied these things. It is very simple. Knife a man in the
bowels, as the Goorkhas do with a _kukri,_ or as I do as a rule,
and he goes to hell for a while; he has a chance; by and by he
comes to life again. Cut his throat, however, and he dwells
between earth and heaven; he will come and haunt thee, having
nothing else to do, and that is very bad. Hit him here--" (he
laid a finger on his forehead, just above the nose)--"and he is
_dead._ That should only be done to men who are very bad indeed.
And that is the whole secret of religion."

Ommony looked serious. "I would like to talk to you about religion--"

"Oh, I could teach you the whole of it in a very short time."

"--but meanwhile, I would like to know where the holy Lama Tsiang
Samdup is staying."

"I don't know," said the Hillman.

"You are lying," said Ommony. "Is that not so?"

"Of course. Did you think I would tell you the truth?"

"No. That hardly occurred to me. Well--"

Diana came in, waving her long tail slowly. She flopped on the
floor beside Ommony and there was silence for about a minute
while the Hillman stared at her and she returned the gaze
with interest. Finally her lip curled, showing a prodigious
yellow fang and Ommony laid a hand on her head to silence
a thunderous growl.

"That is an incarnation of a devil!" said the Hillman. "In my
country we keep dogs as big as her to eat corpses. Devils, as a
rule, are very evil, but I think that one--" (he nodded at the
dog) "--is worse than others. Well--I go. Say to that fool at
the door that he should not offend me with his little stick, for
it may be he desires to live. I am glad I met thee, Ommonee."

He waved his hand, smiled like a Chinese cherub, and walked out,
ignoring Chutter Chand as utterly as if he had never seen him;
and at the door he smiled at the policeman as the sun smiles on
manure. The policeman did his best, but could not keep himself
from grinning back.

---------



He who puts his hand into the fire knows what he may expect. Nor
may the fire be blamed.

He who intrudes on a neighbor may receive what he does not
expect. Nor may the neighbor be blamed.

The fire will not be harmed; but the neighbor may be. And every
deed of every kind bears corresponding consequences to the doer.
You may spend a thousand lives repaying wrong done to a neighbor.

Therefore, of the two indiscretions prefer thrusting your own
hand into the fire.

'But there is a Middle Way, which avoids all trespassing.

--From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup



CHAPTER V

The House at the End of the Passage

Chutter Chand's usefulness had vanished. His brain did not
function now that fear had the upper hand. He could think of
nothing but the Hillman's knife and of the possibility that there
might be more Hillmen, who would knock down the policeman at the
door, storm the shop, loot everything and slay.

"I tell you, Ommonee, you have only lived in India twenty years.
You do not know these people!"

He began hurriedly putting in order a mechanical system of
wire and weights by which the snakes might be released in
an emergency, all the while complaining bitterly against a
government whose laws forbade the keeping of firearms by
responsible, reputable, law-abiding citizens.

Ommony laughed and walked out with both fists in his pockets,
preceded by Diana, who was a lady of one idea at a time, and that
one next door to an obsession. She had "seen 'em home." Ergo,
she should now show Ommony where "home" was, and he was quite
satisfied to follow her. To have tracked Dawa Tsering the
Hillman would simply have been waste of time, for the man would
soon see he was followed and would almost certainly play a great
game of follow-my-leader all over town. Moreover, the very name
of the Lama--Tsiang Samdup--had excited Ommony in the sort of way
that news of an ancient tomb excites an archeologist.

It was well on toward evening--that quarter-of-an-hour when the
streets are most densely thronged and every one seems in a hurry
to get home or to get something done before starting homeward.
All cities are alike in that respect; there is a spate before
the slack of supper-time and temple services.

The hound threaded her way patiently through the crowd and turned
down a narrow thoroughfare past fruit and vegetable shops, where
chafferers were arguing to cheapen produce at the day's end
and all the races of the Punjab seemed to be mixed in tired
confusion--faded and ill-tempered because the evening breeze had
not yet come, and walls were giving off the oven-heat they had
stored up during the day.

There was no especial need to take precautions. Sufficient time
had elapsed since the Lama and his young companion left the
Chandni Chowk to convince them they had not been followed; and
in any case, the most ill-advised thing Ommony could have done
would have been to act secretively. A man attracts the least
attention if he goes straight forward.

Those who noticed him at all admired, or feared, the dog, and she
paid no attention even to the mongrels of her own genus, who
snarled from a respectable distance or fled down alleyways.
Diana turned at last down suffocating passages that led one into
another between blind walls, where death might overtake a man
without causing a stir a dozen yards away. But if you think of
death in India, you die. To live, you must think of living, and
be interested.

One of the passages opened at last into a square, whose walls
were built of blocks that had been quarried from the ancient
city; (for cities surrender themselves to posterity, even as
human mothers do). The paving was of the same material, still
bearing traces of the ancient carving, but rearranged at random
so that the pattern was all gone. At the end of the courtyard
was a stone building of three stories, whose upper windows
overlooked it. (Those below had been bricked up.) There was an
open door in the wall, that led into a long arched passage in
which other doors to right and left were visible. Diana ran
straight to the open door, and stopped.

Ommony began to feel now like a sailor on a lee shore, with rocks
ahead and pirates to windward. It was growing dark, for one
thing. At any moment the Hillman with the saw-edged knife and
the haphazard notions about death might approach down the passage
from the rear. Forward lay unknown territory, and a buttery
smell that more than hinted at the presence of northerners, whose
notions of hospitality might be less than none at all. He could
be seen through the window-shutters, but could not see in through
them. And he had in his pocket the lump of jade, that had lured
men all the way from beyond Tilgaun into the hot plains that they
hate. He wished he had left the jade somewhere.

It was the sound of a footstep some distance behind, that might
be the Hillman's, which decided him. He strode forward and
entered the door, his footsteps echoing under the arch. Diana
followed, growling; she seemed to have a feeling they were
being watched.

The passage presently turned to right and left in darkness, and
Ommony, as he paused to consider, became acutely conscious that
his trespass was not only rash, but impudent. He had no vestige
of right to intrude himself into the quarters of strangers, nor
had he the excuse that he did not know what he was doing. A
tourist might commit such an impertinence and be forgiven on the
ground of ignorance, but if _he_ should be knifed for ill manners
he would not be entitled to the slightest sympathy. He decided
at once to retrace his steps; and as he turned to face the dim
light in the doorway a voice spoke to him in English suddenly,
making his skin creep.

Diana barked savagely at a small iron grating in a door to one
side of the passage, filling the arch with echoes. It took him
several seconds to get the dog quiet. Then the voice again:

"Go away from here! Go away quickly!"

It sounded like a boy's voice--young--educated. It was not
pitched high; there was no note of excitement--hardly any
emphasis. Diana barked again furiously, and there was no time
for hesitation; either he was in danger or he was not; the
hound said, Yes; the boy's voice implied it; curiosity said,
Stay! Common sense said, Make for the open quickly! Intuition
said, Jump! and intuition is a despot whom it is not wise
to disobey.

He reached the courtyard neck and neck with Diana, who nearly
knocked him over as she faced about savagely with every hair
bristling, fangs bared, eyes aglare. He seized her by collar and
tail and threw his weight backward to stop her from springing at
the throat of a man in dingy gray, who paused in mid-stride, one
hand behind him, in the doorway. There was another man behind
him, dimly outlined in the gloom. Their faces, high-cheek-boned
and fanatical--almost Chinese--were fiercely confident, and why
they paused was not self-evident; for the man who held a hand
behind his back was armed, and with something heavy, as the angle
of his shoulder proved.

Diana saved that second. Her animal instinct was quicker than
Ommony's eye, that read anticipation in the faces in front of
him. She nearly knocked Ommony over again as she reversed the
direction of effort, broke the collar-hold and sprang past him,
burying her fangs in something (Ommony knew that gurgling,
smothered growl). She had knocked him sidewise and he spun to
regain his balance while a ten-pound tulwar split the whistling
air where his back had been. He was just in time to seize the
wrist that swung the weapon--seize it with both hands and wrench
it forward in the direction of effort. The saw-edged tulwar
clattered on the paving-blocks, but the enemy did not fall, for
Diana had him by the throat and was wrenching in the opposite
direction. It was Dawa Tsering!

The Hillman's hands groped for the hound's forelegs; to wrench
those apart was his only chance, unless Ommony could save him. A
spring tiger-trap was more likely to let go than Diana with a
throat-hold. Ommony took the only chance in sight; he yelled
"Guard!" to Diana, and crashed his fist into the Hillman's jaw,
knocking him flat on his back as Diana let up for a fraction of a
second to see what the new danger might be. He seized her by the
tail then and dragged her off before she could rush in to worry
her fallen foe.

Her turn again! Struggling to free herself, she dragged Ommony
in a half-circle, nearly pulling him off his feet as the man in
the doorway lunged with a long old-fashioned sword. The third
man seemed to prefer discretion, for he still lurked in the
shadow, but the man with the sword came on, using both hands now
and raising the sword above his head for a swipe that should
finish the business.

There was nothing for it but to let Diana go. Ommony yelled
"Guard!" again, and jumped for the saw-edged tulwar that had
clattered away into the shadow. His foot struck it and he
stooped for it as the swordsman swung. The blow missed. Diana
seized the foe from behind and ripped away yards of his long
cloak. Dawa Tsering struggled to his feet, more stunned by the
blow on the back of his head when he fell than mangled by Diana's
jaws; he staggered and seemed to have no sense of direction yet.

And now Ommony had the tulwar. He was no swordsman, but
neither was his antagonist, who was furthermore worried by
Diana from the rear.

"Guard, girl!" Ommony yelled at her, and discipline overcame
instinct. She began to keep her distance, rushing in to scare
the man and scooting out of reach when he turned to use his
weapon. The third man possibly had no sword, for he still
lurked in the doorway. Ommony ran, calling Diana, who came
bounding after him, turning at every third stride or so to
bark thunderous defiance.

The strange thing was that no crowd had come. The walls had
echoed Diana's barks and Ommony's sharp yells to her, that must
have sounded like the din of battle in the stone-walled silence.
It was almost pitch-dark now, and there were no lights from the
upper windows, although the glow of street-lights was already
visible like an aura against the sly. The whole affair began to
seem like a dream, and Ommony felt his hip pocket to make sure
the jade was still there. He paused in the throat of the
narrow passage by which he had come, sent the hound in ahead
of him, and turned to see if he was followed. He heard footsteps,
and waited. In that narrow space, with Diana to guard his back,
he felt he could protect himself with the tulwar against all comers.

But it was only one man--Dawa Tsering--holding a cloth to his
throat and walking unsteadily.

"Give me back my weapon, Ommonee!"

The words, spoken in Prakrit, were intelligible enough but
gurgled, as if his throat was choked and hardly functioning.
Diana tried to rush at him, but Ommony squeezed her to the wall
and grabbed her collar.

"Down!" he ordered, and she crouched at his feet, growling.

"Aye, hold her! I have had enough of that incarnated devil.
Give me my knife, Ommonee!"

"You call this butcher's ax a knife! You rascal, it's not a
minute since you tried to kill me with it!"

"Aye, but that is nothing. I missed. If you were dead, you
might complain. Give me the knife and be off!"

Ommony laughed. "You propose to have another crack at me, eh?"

"Not I! Those Lamas are a lousy gang! They told me I could come
to no harm if I obeyed them and said my prayers! Their magic is
useless. That she-devil of thine has torn my throat out! I
doubt if I shall ever sing again. Give me the knife, and I will
go back to the Hills. I wish I had never left Spiti!"

"I told you I am a friend," said Ommony, spearing about in his
mind for a clue as to how to carry on.

"Aye. I wish I had believed you. Give me the knife."

"Do you know your way around Delhi?"

"No. May devils befoul the city! That is, I know a little. I
can find my way to the te-rain."

Ommony felt in his pocket, found an envelope, and penciled an
address on it in bold printed characters.

"Midway between ten and eleven o'clock tonight, go out into
the streets and get into the first _gharri*_ you _meet._
[* Carriage] Give that to the driver. If the driver can't
read it, show it to passers-by until you find some one who
can. Then drive straight to that address, and I will pay
the _gharri-wallah.*_ If your throat needs doctoring, it
shall have it." [* Cab-driver]

"And my knife?"

"I will return it to you tonight, at that address."

"All right. I will come there."

"I suppose, if I had given you the knife back now, you would have
killed me with it!"

"Maybe. But you are no fool, Ommonee! You had better go
quickly, before those Lamas find some way of making trouble
for you."

Ommony accepted that advice, although he did not believe that, if
they really were Lamas, they would go out of their way to make
trouble for any one outside their own country. It is one thing
to attack an intruder; quite another thing to follow a man
through the streets and murder him. He was glad he had hurt
nobody. Dawa Tsering's hurt was plainly not serious. There is
no satisfaction whatever in violence (if it can possibly be
avoided) to a man of Ommony's temperament. He walked in a hurry
along the narrow, winding passageways and found the street again,
bought food for Diana, gave her the package to carry (for she was
temperamentally dangerous in a crowd _after_ having used her jaws
in action, unless given something definite to do), and after
fifteen minutes' search found a _gharri,_ in which he drove to
McGregor's office. McGregor was not there, so he pursued him to
his bungalow, where he fed Diana and examined curios for fifteen
minutes before deciding what to say.

McGregor understood that perfectly. He might not know Ommony as
he knew files, the law of probabilities, and criminal statistics;
he might, from deep experience, mistrust his own opinion; but he
did know that when Ommony poked around in that way, picking up
things and replacing them, it was wise to wait and not ask
questions. He smoked and watched his servant putting studs into
a clean dress-shirt.

"Have you one man you can absolutely bet on, who could take a
package to Tilgaun and could be trusted not to monkey with it on
the way, or lose it, or let it get stolen?" he asked at last.

"Number 17--Aaron Macauley, the Eurasian, is leaving for
Simla on tonight's train. He would probably want to spend
a day or two in Simla, but he could go on to Tilgaun after
that. He's quite dependable."

"Yes. I'd trust Aaron Macauley. I want a small box, stout
paper, string and sealing-wax."

McGregor produced them and watched Ommony wrap up the piece of
jade and seal it with his own old-fashioned signet ring. He
addressed the package to Miss Hannah Sanburn at the Tilgaun Mission.

"Better tell Macauley it contains bank-notes," said Ommony.
"That'll give him a sense of importance and keep him from being
too curious. Tell him to ask Miss Sanburn to keep the package
there for me until I come."

"All right. Now what's the theory?"

"Nothing much. I was attacked just now--not serious. The man
who got the worst of it will join us after dinner. I'll give you
all the grizzly details then. Might possibly surprise you. See
you again at Mrs. Cornock-Campbell's."

"Who is a fountain of surprises," said McGregor, smiling.
"Meanwhile, how about protection? Do you want a bodyguard?"
It was not exactly clear why he was smiling.

"No," said Ommony, looking contemplatively at Diana, who appeared
to have fallen asleep on a Bokhara rug, "I've got a more than
usually good one, thanks. Observe."

He started on tiptoe for the door. Diana reached it several
strides ahead of him and slipped out first, to sniff the wind and
make sure that the shadows held no lurking enemy.

"If men were as faithful as dogs," he began. But McGregor laughed:

"They're not. Faith, very largely, is absence of intelligence.
Intelligence has to be trained to be honest; it has no morals
otherwise. Without a good Scots grounding in religion, the
greater the intelligence the worse the crook."

"Oh, rot!" said Ommony, and walked out, leaving McGregor chuckling.

-----------



A certain poet, who was no fool, bade men take the cash and let
the credit go. I find this good advice, albeit difficult to
follow. Nevertheless, it is easier than what most men attempt.
They seek to take the cash and let the debit go, and that is
utterly impossible; for as we sow, we reap.
--From the Book of the Sayings of Tsiang Samdup



Chapter VI

"Missish-Anbun is Mad"


Even since the Armistice, when military glory topped the rise and
started on the down-grade of a cycle, there are still worse fates
than being wealthy in your own right and the wife of a colonel
commanding a Lancer regiment--even if your children have to go to
Europe to be schooled, and your husband is under canvas half the
time. And there are much worse fates than dining with Mrs.
Cornock-Campbell, anywhere, in any circumstances. To be in a
position to invite yourself to dinner at her Delhi bungalow means
that, whatever your occupation, you may view life now and then
from the summit, looking downward. Viceroys come and go. Mrs.
Cornock-Campbell usually educates their wives.

They say she knows everything--even why the German Crown Prince
once cut short a tour of India; and that, of course, means she
is no longer in the bloom of youth, and never indiscreet, for
you don't learn state secrets by being young and talkative.

Ommony is one of her pet cronies, though they rarely meet (which
is the way things happen in India). He looks such a blunt
old-fashioned bachelor in a dinner-jacket dating from away before
the war, the contrast he creates with modern artificial cynicism
is so satisfying, and he so utterly lacks pose or pretense, that
he brings out all her vivacity (which is apt to be chilled
when imitation people assume manners for the sake of meals).

The talk, for the hour while dinner lasted, was of anything in
the world but Ringding Lamas and the Ahbor country. Ommony was
probed for epigrams, coined in the depths of his forest, that
should make John McGregor wince and laugh--such statements as
that "You can look for faults or virtue. Vultures prefer ullage.
Suit yourself. A man sees his own vices and his own virtues
reflected in his neighbor--nothing else! Another's crimes are
what you yourself would commit under equally strong pressure.
His virtues are greater than your own, if only because they're
less obvious. The most indecent exhibition in the world is
virtue without her cloak on!" Not polite exactly, (particularly
not to the chief of the Secret Service), but not tainted by
circumlocution. And again: "They say the fact that people work
entitles them to vote. Horses work harder than men! Soap-box
nonsense! The only excuse for work is that you like it, and the
only honest objection to loafing is that it's bad for you."

John McGregor, in the rare hours when he is not feeling the pulse
of India's restless underworld, is an addict of the Wee Free Kirk
with convictions regarding the devil.

"A personal devil?" said Ommony. "I wish there was one! Hell
breeds more dangerous stuff than that! If I thought there was a
devil, I'd vote for him. He'd clean up politics."

John McGregor, ganglion of India's crime statistics and acquainted
with all evil at first hand, was shocked, to Mrs. Cornock-Campbell's
huge delight.

"Now, John! What have you to say to that?"

McGregor cracked a nut nervously and sipped at his Madeira.

"He could find a host of half-baked theorists to praise him for
the blasphemy," he said deliberately, "but the ultimate appalling
circumstance of being damned is a high price for applause."

Ommony laughed. "I'd rather be thought damned by a man I respect
than be praised by damned fools," he retorted. "We three will
meet beyond the border, Mae. I'm looking forward to it. I can't
see anything unpleasant in death, except the morbid business of
dying. _'May there be no moaning at the bar when I put out to
sea.'_ It looks as if I might be the first of the three of us to
take that trip."

So, by a roundabout route, the conversation drifted to its goal.
Over her shoulder, at the piano, in the rose and ivory music-room
after dinner Mrs. Cornock-Campbell tossed the question that
brought secrets to the surface. "John says you are going to the
Ahbor country."

John McGregor's eyes glowed with anticipation, but he crossed his
legs and lit a cigarette, throwing himself back into the shadow
of an antique chair to hide the smile.

"Going to try," said Ommony. "My sister and Fred Terry
disappeared up there twenty years ago. They left no trace."

"Are you sure?"

She went on playing from Chopin and Ommony did not notice the
inflection of her voice; he was listening to the piano's
overtones, vaguely displeased when she closed the piano without
finishing the nocturne.

"I was at Tilgaun seven months ago," she said. "Colin" (that was
her husband) "had to go to Burma, so I went to Darjiling. I
heard of the Marmaduke Mission, and grew curious. I wrote, and
Miss Sanburn kindly invited me to come and stay with her. The
most delightful place. Please pass me a cigarette."

"Did Hannah mention me?" asked Ommony.

"Indeed she did. You seem to be her _beau ideal;_ and funnily
enough she said you, and the Lama Tsiang Samdup must have been
twin brothers in a former incarnation! She told me you and he
have never met each other, although you are co-trustees with her
under Marmaduke's will. It sounds like Gilbert and Sullivan. I
didn't see the Lama, but I did meet some one else who is quite
as interesting."

McGregor crossed his legs and blew smoke at the ceiling.

"How well do you know Miss Sanburn?" asked Mrs. Cornock-Campbell
at the end of a minute's silence. She was watching Diana,
stretched out on the bearskin, hunting gloriously in a dream
-Valhalla. If she saw Ommony's face it was through the corner
of one eye.

"Oh, as well as a man can ever hope to know a very unusual
woman," said Ommony.

"That doesn't go deep--does it! I admit I suspected _you_ at
first. Then I remembered how long I have known you and--well
--you're unorthodox, and you're a rebel, but--I couldn't imagine
you leaving a child nameless."

"What on earth do you mean?" asked Ommony.

"So I suspected Marmaduke--naturally. But all sorts of dates and
circumstances turned up quite casually, which eliminated _him._
I was at Tilgaun a whole month before I was quite sure that Miss
Sanburn is not a mother. I was almost disappointed! She is such
a dear--I admire her so much--that it would have given me a
selfish satisfaction to know such an abysmal secret, and to keep
it even on a deathbed! However, the child is not hers. She
calls her an adopted daughter, though I doubt that there are any
legal papers. The girl is white. She's about twenty. The
strangest part is this: that the girl disappears at intervals."

"This is all news to me," said Ommony. "Mac said something, but--"

"It isn't news, you iconoclast! It's a most romantic mystery.
The girl was there when I arrived. She wouldn't have been; but
you know what a business it is to get to Tilgaun. I was supposed
to wait for ponies and servants from the mission; they didn't
come, and as there was a party of rajah's people going, I
traveled with them. They were in a hurry, so I reached the
mission quite a number of days before I was expected, and I met
the girl on the far side of the rope bridge just before you reach
Tilgaun--you remember the place? There's a low steep cliff with
only a narrow passage leading out of it. She was sitting there
nursing a twisted ankle--nothing serious--but she couldn't get
away without my seeing her; and of course it never entered my
head to suspect that she would want to avoid me. She told me her
name was Elsa."

"That was my sister's name," remarked Ommony, who had an old
-fashioned way of growing sentimental when that name cropped up
among intimates.

"I lent her a spare pony and she rode up to the mission with me.
Jolly--she was the jolliest girl I have ever seen, all laughter
and intelligence--with strange sudden fits of demureness--or
perhaps that isn't the right word. Freeze isn't the right word
either. She would suddenly lapse into silence and her face would
grow absolutely calm--not expressionless, but calm--like a
Chinese girl's. It was as if she were two distinct and separate
women. But she's white. I watched her fingernails."

"Might be Chinese," Ommony suggested. "They're given to
laughter, and their fingernails don't show the dark lunula
when they're pressed. Hannah Sanburn receives all comers
at the mission."

"I am certain she is English," Mrs. Cornock-Campbell answered.
"But as far as I could judge she speaks Tibetan and several
dialects perfectly. Her English hasn't a trace of Chi-chi
accent. She has been wonderfully educated. She has art in every
fiber of her being--plays the piano fairly well--mostly her own
compositions, and you may believe me or not, they're fit to be
played by a _master._ And she draws perfectly, from memory.
That night at supper, and afterward, she talked incessantly and
kept on illustrating what she meant by drawing on sheets of
paper--wonderful things--not caricatures--snap-shots of people
and things she had seen. Wait; I've kept some of them. Let me
show you."

She found a portfolio and laid it on Ommony's lap. He turned
over sheet after sheet of pencil drawings that seemed to have
caught motion in the act--yaks, camels, oxen, Tibetan men and
women taken in mid-smile, old monastery doorways, flowers--done
swiftly and with humor. There was a sureness of touch that men
work lifetimes to achieve; and there was a quality that almost
nobody in this age has achieved--a sort of spirit of antiquity,
as simple as it was indefinable in words. It was as if the
artist knew that things are never what they seem, but was
translating what she saw of things' origins into modern terms
that could be understood. The drawings were of yesterday,
clothed in the garments of today and looking forward to tomorrow.

"She seemed to see right through you," Mrs. Cornock-Campbell went
on. "I don't believe the smartest man in the world could fool
that girl. She has the something within that men instinctively
recognize and don't try to take liberties with. She seemed
equally familiar with Tibetan and European thought, as well as
life, and to know all the country to the northward. I gathered
she had been to Lhassa, which seems incredible, but she spoke of
it as if she knew the very street-stones, and you'll see there
are sketches of bits of Lhassa in that portfolio--notice the
portrait of the Dalai-Lama and the sketch of the southern gate.

"And all the while the girl talked Miss Sanburn seemed as proud
and as uncomfortable as a martyr at the stake! When Elsa began
to talk of Lhassa I thought Miss Sanburn would burst with
anxiety; you could see she was on the perpetual point of
cautioning her not to be indiscreet, but she restrained herself
with a forced smile that made me simply love her. I know Miss
Sanburn was in agonies of terror all the time.

"When Elsa had gone to bed--that was long after midnight--I asked
Miss Sanburn what her surname was. She hesitated for about
thirty seconds, looking at me--"

"I know how she looked," said Ommony. "Like a fighting-man with
a heartache. That look has often puzzled me. What did she say?"

"She said: 'Mrs. Cornock-Campbell, it was not intended you
should meet Elsa. She is my adopted daughter. There are
reasons--.' And of course at that I interrupted. I assured her
I don't pry into people's secrets. She asked me whether I would
mind not discussing what little I already knew. She said: 'I'm
sorry I can't explain, but it is important that Elsa's very
existence should be known to as few people as possible,
especially in India.' Of course, I promised, but she agreed to a
reservation that I might mention having met the girl, if anything
I could say should seem likely to quiet inquisitive people. And
that was a good thing, because I had no sooner returned to Delhi
than John McGregor came to dinner and asked me pointedly whether
I had seen any mysterious young woman at Tilgaun. I think John
intended to investigate her with his staff of experts in--what is
the right word, John?"

"Worm's-eye views," said McGregor. "Not all the king's horses
nor all the king's men could have called me off, as you did with
a smile and a glass of Madeira. Thus are governments corrupted."

"So you're the second individual to whom I have opened my lips
about it," said Mrs. Cornock-Campbell, not exactly watching
Ommony, but missing none of his expression, which was of
dawning comprehension.

"I'm beginning to understand about a hundred things," he said
musingly. "You'd think, though, Hannah would have told _me._"

Mrs. Cornock-Campbell smiled at John McGregor. "Didn't you know
he'd say just that! Wake up, Cottswold! This isn't church!
It's because you're her closest friend that you're the last
person in the world she would tell. She's a _woman!_"

Then there were noises in the garden and Diana left off dreaming
on the bearskin to growl like an earthquake.

"An acquaintance of mine," said Ommony. "If you can endure the
smell, please let him in. Or we might try the veranda."

Diana had to be forcibly suppressed. The butler, a Goanese
(which means that he had oddly assorted fears, as well as a mixed
ancestry and cross-bred notions of convention, that were skin
deep and as hard as onyx) had to be rebuked for near-rebellion.
And Dawa Tsering, with his neck swathed in weirdly-smelling
cloth, had to be given a mat to sit on, lest he spoil the carpet.
It needed that setting to make plain how innocent of cleanliness
his clothes were; and his reek was of underground donkey
stables, with some sort of chemical added. (There were reasons,
connected with possible eavesdroppers, why the deep veranda
was unsuitable.)

"And the knife, Ommonee?" he asked, squatting cross-legged,
admiring the room. "Is this thy house? Thou art a rich man! I
think I will be thy servant for a while. Is the woman thy wife?
It is not good to be a woman's servant. Besides, I am a poor
hand at obedience. Nay, return me my knife and I will go."

"Not yet," said Ommony, studying by which roundabout route it
might be easiest to elicit information. He decided on the
sympathetic-personal. The man's neck had plainly received
attention, but the subject served. "Shall I get a doctor for
your neck?"

"Nay, Tsiang Samdup made magic and put leeches on it and some
stuff that burned. Lo, I recover."

"You mean the holy Lama Tsiang Samdup? The Ringding Gelong Lama?
He who was at Chutter Chand's this afternoon?"

Ommony knew quite well whom he meant, but he wanted to convey the
information to the others without putting the Hillman on guard.
By the look in the Hillman's eye, his mood was talkative
--boastful--a reaction from the failure of the afternoon.

"Aye, the same."

"I should have thought his _chela_ would have attended to that."

"Samding! Nay, they say that fellow is too sacred altogether.
Not that I believe it; I could cut his throat and show them he
dies gurgling and whistling like any other man! But the Lama
looks after him like an old wife with a young husband and the boy
mayn't soil his fingers. Rebuke thy dog, Ommonee--she eyes me
like a devil in the dark. So, that is better. _Ohe_--I wish I
had never come southward! Yet, I have seen this house of thine.
It is a wonder. It will serve to speak of, when I go back to
Spiti and tell tales around the fire."

Ommony translated for the others' benefit, and went on questioning.

"I suppose you will return to Tilgaun with the Lama and his _chela?_"

"May the stars and my _karma_ forbid! I go under the belly of a
te-rain, as I came. To Kalka I go; and thence by foot on the
old road to Simla, where I know a man who will pay me to carry
goods to the rajah of Spiti. That is a long journey and a
difficult. I shall be _well_ paid."

Again Ommony translated.

"Ask him how and where he learned that trick of riding under
trains," said McGregor.

"Oh, as to that," said Dawa Tsering, "there are few things
simpler. In my youth" (he spoke as if he were already ancient,
instead of perhaps two-or three-and-twenty) "I desired a woman of
Spiti whose husband was unwise. He should have gone on a journey
oftener. And he should not have returned in such haste. I
wearied of his homecomings, so I lay in wait and slew him. And
the rajah of Spiti, who is a jealous man--liking to attend to all
the slaying in that country, which is nevertheless too much for
one individual, even if he _does_ have an army of fifty men--
fined me three hundred _rupees.*_ Where should I get such a
fortune? Yet, unless I paid it, I should have to join his army
and gather fuel, which is as scarce in Spiti as an honest woman.
So I ran away. And after wandering about the Hills a month or
two, enjoying this and that adventure, I reached Simla, where I
met a man with whom I gambled, he offering to teach me a new
game, not knowing we use dice in Spiti. And _his_ dice were
loaded. So I substituted mine. And when I had won from him more
than he could pay, he offered to teach me his profession."

-------
* About one hundred dollars
-------

"Gambling?" asked Ommony.

"Nay. I never gamble. I take no chances. I do the gods a favor
now and then, since it seems from all accounts they need it, but
I never trust them. That fellow told me of the te-rains that run
from Kalka southward, to and fro, and of the many _rupees_ that
the passengers leave in their pockets while they sleep. He
supposed I would undertake the dangerous part and thereafter
share the loot with him, and he showed me how to hide under a
te-rain until nightfall and then--but it was _easy._ And I found
out after a while where he hid the half of our profits, which he
_claimed_ as _his_ share after _I_ had done all the climbing in
and out of windows in the dark. So I took what he had hidden,
and, what with my own savings, the total amounted to more than a
thousand _rupees._ Then I returned to Spiti, and I buried the
money in a certain place, and went to the rajah and lied to him,
saying I had earned the amount of the fine as a wood-cutter but
that a certain one (who was _always_ my enemy) had stolen the
money from me on the very first night that I returned. So the
rajah transferred my fine to that other man, who had to pay it,
and then, of course, I had to leave Spiti again--swiftly. That
other man has many friends. But I will find a way to deal with
him."

"When did you first meet the holy Lama Tsiang Samdup?" Ommony asked.

"Hah! I returned to the te-rains, being minded to make a
fortune, but the gods played a scurvy trick on me. I was doing
nicely; but on a certain night a fool of a policeman pounced on
me at an _istashun*_ just as I was crawling in under the wheels.
He dragged me out by the leg, and it was not a proper time to
kill him, since there were many witnesses. So I raised a
lamentation, saying I would ride to Delhi to the bedside of a
friend, and that I had no fare. And lo, the Lama Tsiang Samdup
stepped out of the te-rain and paid my fare, praying that I would
permit him thus to acquire merit. So I rode with him to Delhi,
he questioning me all the night-long and I at my wits' end to
invent sufficient lies wherewith to answer him. And in Delhi I
being a stranger in the city, he set out with me to help me find
my friend; and, there being no friend, we naturally did not find
him, whereat the Lama wept. So it seemed to me he was a man who
needed some one to look after him; moreover, he was certainly a
very rich man. And I had not yet thought of a way of defeating
my enemy in Spiti. Restrain thy she-dog, Ommonee; I like not
the look in her eye."

---------
* Railway station
---------

Ommony put Diana outside with orders to guard the front door.

"How long ago did this happen?" he asked, forcing himself to look
only vaguely interested as he resumed his seat.

"Oh, maybe a year ago--or longer. The time passes. I agreed to
serve the Lama for a while, although he wearied me with his
everlasting lectures about merit, and the Wheel, and the gods
know what else. Also he keeps low company--actors and singers
and such folk. When he left me at Tilgaun on his way northward I
was well content to rest from him a while. He gave me money, of
which he has _plenty_ although he is much too careful with it;
and there were good-looking girls at the mission, which is a
marvel of a place with a high wall. But I saw how to climb the
wall. So it came about that there was trouble between me and
Missish-Anbun--she who is Abbess of the place--a bold woman, who
was not afraid to stand up to me and speak her mind. Lo, I
showed her my knife and she laughed at it! I speak truth. So by
the time the Lama came back from the North I was a by-word and a
mockery amo