Complete Works of Talbot Mundy, page 950
“You don’t know nothing,” said Moses, “excep’ what I tell you. And I ain’t saying much. So if we exaggerate your genius a bit you’re ninety-nine parts ignorant.”
Stoddart passed the matches to Moses. “Probably,” he answered, “that’s why the Captain sent me to keep an eye on you. He said I’m to bring you home sober, in one piece, right side up and with your trousers on. Last time I had to rescue you, remember, you left your trousers in a bad-house.”
“Sure. I snaffled a new pair out o’ that. They cost the Government three rupees eight annas. And I saved ’em come close to a lakh o’ rupees by spoiling one o’ Gulbaz’ little games. He had it all set that time to loot a railway pay car. But I spiked him.”
“Says you.”
“Oh, all right. It was Captain Norwood spiked him. But it was me who tipped him the office, even if I was in shirt tails, and a torn shirt, too.”
“Yes, and pye-eyed drunk,” said Stoddart. “Drunk, was I? Did you never hear o’ General Grant?”
“You mean the American General? Him who was President later on and sold his sword to pay his debts or something?”
“That’s him. You’re not so ignorant as I thought you are.”
“What do you know about General Grant?”
“Time he was General, fighting a war, he sent a barrel o’ whiskey to President Lincoln, so the Government would have sense enough to okay his plans. That’s history.”
“I don’t get your point,” said Stoddart. “You’ll see the point about the day after tomorrow. The point is that when I’m drunk I’m worth ten o’ you sober, and the Captain knows it.”
“Maybe. But you didn’t catch Gulbaz.”
“Nobody can’t catch Gulbaz. Not with the goods. He’s too crafty. Me and you have got to find out what Gulbaz is up to tonight.”
“I thought this was all about a diamond mine,” said Stoddart.
“It was. But it ain’t.”
“Oh? Have they settled that argument already? Did the Maharajah climb down that quick? It took me less than half a day to run the line from the ancient landmark. The whole of that temple area belongs to the priests. But that won’t stop a lawsuit, will it? These Indians ‘ud go to law about twice two. They’re never satisfied until the lawyers get all their money.”
“You keep your fat head out o’ mischief and let problems alone,” said Moses. “Tonight’s no problem. It’s easy excep’ the consequences. We’re going to lose a good officer, one way or the other, and the question is which.”
“You half breeds are all alike,” said Stoddart. “You daren’t say what you think.” He stuck his thumb in the bowl of his pipe and struck another match. His eyes were inquisitive. “You don’t mean—”
“I mean you’re a fathead. That’s plain talk, isn’t it? Now it’s your turn. You tell me what you’re thinking about, plain words and no this, that, and the other. Come clean.”
“Everyone in camp has heard it,” said Stoddart. “First I heard of it was from a coolie down by the river.”
“Heard what?”
“Someone’s been bribed.”
“And you believe it?”
“Long ago,” said Stoddart, “I gave up believing anything in India except pay-day and where there’s smoke there’s fire. I’ve known of officers burning their fingers. If the officer we’re thinking about took a bribe, he’ll be broke for it as sure as you and I sit in this truck. That’s one way we can lose him. What’s the other?”
“He didn’t take no bribe,” said Moses. “Me or you might take one — you special. But not him. If Captain Catch-’em-alive-o Norwood should be sitting on the South Pole with nothing to eat, and he’d lost his return ticket, and there was moneylenders sitting all around him threatening lawsuits, and he’d a tip on the stock-market that only called for a couple o’ thousand rupees to make a fortune with in fifteen minutes, even so you couldn’t bribe him to okay a phoney voucher for two annas.”
“They may have framed him,” said Stoddart. “They’ll frame your picture in a museum one o’ these days as the champion fathead that ever came even from England to look popeyed at a puzzle. There’s three men in India who can’t be framed successful, that’s to say unless they frame each other. One’s me. Another’s Captain High-Cockalorum Norwood. And the third is Gulbaz.”
“Who’d want to frame you?” asked Stoddart. “You’re not worth it. What’s the other way we can lose the Captain?”
“Woman.”
“He’s no womanizer,” said Stoddart. “That’s where your half breed intellect can’t wrap itself around a fact and hang on. You’ve got all the vices of both races, and you can’t believe that a white man can live clean just because he feels that way about it.”
“What I can’t believe is one thing,” said Moses. “For instance, I can’t believe in your intelligence. But what I know is something else. Since Captain Ginger-headed Norwood cut his milk teeth on his first job for the secret intelligence, I’ve been his teacher, his preacher, his nurse and confidential adviser and—”
“You should be Viceroy, you should.”
“No, I’d have no patience with the Council. The point is, I know Captain Norwood. I know him asleep and awake and between times. I know the hard side of him, and it’s as hard as iron. I know the soft side of him, and it’s about as soft as a kick from a battery mule. I know the good-natured side of him. There ain’t no dog that ever wagged a tail that’s half as good-natured as Captain Carl Norwood when the mood’s on him. And I know his temper; if you’d use it for dynamite you could blow up the Taj Mahal with one shot. It ‘ud win a world war easy. Me, I know him. I know him inside out, and outside in. I’ve seen all sorts o’ women try to put one over on him, in all sorts o’ ways, open, surreptitious and clandestine, including offering me money — and me a pauper. Not one of ’em had any more chance than a pye-dog has to catch a railroad train. I’d stand at the Golden Gate and take my soul’s oath to St. Peter himself, that Captain Redhead Norwood is a clean living Captain of Engineers. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“Then what do you mean by calling him a womanizer?” Stoddart demanded.
“You ought to be a reporter for the papers. You get all your facts right. I said woman. A woman, you fathead. One woman — half o’ two women. Can you figure that one?”
“You mean one of Gulbaz’ women? Is that what we’re going after?”
“I know what you’re good for,” said Moses. “You should have one o’ them booths at a Fair. You should set yourself up as a clairvoyant fortune-teller. Use a crystal and a deck o’ cards. You’d make a fortune at it. Lord, you’d guess ’em right every time.”
“Well then, what woman are you talking about?”
“Naming no names, she’s at the palace.”
“You mean Miss Lynn Harding? It’s all over the camp that Prince Rundhia has her number.”
“You seen her?” asked Moses.
“Yes,” said Stoddart, “I saw her on horseback riding with the Prince. She’s a good looker.”
“How close did you look?”
“Oh, a couple of hundred yards.”
“Are you blind?”
“I’ve better sight than you, you drunkard.”
“And you couldn’t tell, from two hundred yards away, that that girl’s a good ‘un? You want to bet? D’you want to bet your month’s pay against mine that Norwood hasn’t made up his mind that he wants her?”
“What makes you think you know?”
“If Captain Carrot-head Norwood wants something, it’s good. And if it’s good, he goes after it. And if he goes after it, you bet your boots he gets it. He’ll get a brass hat before he’s finished. And he’ll get that girl before a week’s out. That’s how we lose him.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing she’ll like to see a real smart looking Sergeant around. So you’ll get a transfer. And can you imagine a sweet, nice virtuous young lady putting up with me for longer than it takes to get drunk once?”
“It wouldn’t hurt you to stay sober for a change,” said Stoddart.
“I could do it. I’m a man o’ mettle. But she’d ask me questions. And I’m no liar. I’d get telling her the truth. And it ain’t ladylike. She’d object, and who’s to blame her. You can’t change decent women. And you can’t change me. The truth’s indecent. So my number’s up. I turn in my resignation on the day he says come hither and she cometh. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tonight.” Stoddart refilled his pipe with almost supernatural patience. “What are we up to tonight?” he demanded. “Why are we here in this bloody truck? Where are we going?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, he told me to look after you.”
“That’s what I told him to tell you.”
“All right, General Moses, where are we going? To the Promised Land?”
“We’re going hunting a bribe.”
“Who from?”
“Gulbaz.”
“How much?”
“You may keep all you get.”
“How much do you reckon we’ll get?”
“Twice half o’ what he thinks it’s worth. We split it fifty-fifty, on account o’ your puritan nature and your good looks and your gift for not letting your head know what your brains are doing.”
“What are we going to be bribed for?”
“For our virtue. What else could he buy? Mine ain’t for sale, but yours is. He wants it for the travelling wax-works o’ curiosities he’s taking along to tour India. Bottle o’ brine containing extract o’ Sergeant Stoddart’s virtue. Very scarce. Poison. Don’t touch.”
“All right then, put it this way: why are we worth bribing?”
“We ain’t,” said Moses.
“Speak for yourself. Whose money is he chucking away?”
“You may bet your boots it isn’t his money. Considering the kind o’ badmash crook he is, that has to pay out money by the bucketful to keep his skin on his back and his line o’ retreat open, Gulbaz is close. He’s so mean that a Scotch flea couldn’t get a living off him.”
“But you say he’ll bribe us?”
“Don’t start spending it before you get it. Want to gamble? I’ll take ten rupees for my half.”
“I haven’t ten with me. I left it in camp. I know better than bring money when I’m in your company in the red-light district.”
“All right then, I’ll toss you for it — winner take all.”
“I’ve a long memory,” said Stoddart. “I’ve seen what you can do with a coin. What you could do to it in a dark truck would be worse than Gulbaz.”
“Gulbaz,” remarked Moses, “is a sucker. You know what that means?”
“Yes, but what do you mean?”
Moses raised the cover of the truck and took a quick glance at the narrow street. Then he lowered the cover and spoke:
“We’ll be there in a minute. I want you to get this, Stoddart. Try to understand it. It’s important.”
“You may cut the preamble. In case you don’t know it, you ignorant savage, a preamble is a lot of words intended to disguise the meaning of what follows. So say it plain.”
“Gulbaz has it in for Captain Norwood. That’s how big a sucker he is. He’s crafty. But he hasn’t sense enough to know that there’s two men in India can beat him. One’s me. The other’s Cockalorum Norwood. Catch-’em-alive-o Norwood.
One o’ these days Gulbaz is going to sit in Norwood’s net, alive and nasty. But not yet.”
“Why not?”
“None o’ your business. You’re only a fathead sergeant. You know nothing o’ the inside working o’ things. But Gulbaz isn’t here in Kadur for his health, or for yours and mine either. He’s here to get Captain Norwood and make a profit at the same time. He’s got a game on, and he’s got it all timed to a minute. That’s why you’re here.”
“There you go again,” said Stoddart. “Blowed if I understand you. Speak plain.”
“I’ll say it slow,” said Moses. “Words o’ one syllable. If I was alone, and if Gulbaz was ready, he’d stick a knife into me. But seeing that you’re along, and you a soldier that has cost the taxpayer a heap o’ money for upholding the blooming dignity of His Majesty the King, he’ll think twice about it. If I was stuck in the back it ‘ud be a loss to the human race and a bull’s eye for Gulbaz. But they wouldn’t even write it up in the paper.”
“Not in the society column?” asked Stoddart.
“But if it happened to you, half the sweating countryside ‘ud have to turn out for your funeral, marching slow, arms reversed, Dead March in Saul. And after that, there’d be an investigation, two courts of enquiry, military and civil, plus a headache for the Maharajah and at least a column in the Bombay Times embellishing the record of a faithful Tommy Atkins, first in peace and first in war and first claim on the C.I.D., police and supernumerary units if he’s bumped off without a formal declaration o’ war that’s okayed by the League o’ Nations. You’re an unimportant fathead, and you don’t know nothing. But if you was stuck in the back in Kadur they’d work hard to avenge you, and Gulbaz knows it. So I’m safe. And I’m valuable. That’s the point.”
“I don’t get your point. If we’re not out to bag Gulbaz, why go near him? What do you reckon to find out?”
“Time,” said Moses. “Gulbaz times it like a jockey. He’s the best judge o’ pace in all India. He times it to the minute. If he isn’t ready, then he’ll play for time. If he’s ready, he won’t. And if hi doesn’t, and the Army don’t have to bury you wi’ a brass band, you’re lucky. Most fatheads are lucky; they have to use luck for brains. But we’ll soon know. Here we are.”
The truck halted in front of a house whose red front door was bolted, barred, and scrawled in chalk with infamous remarks anent the virtue of its inmates. There was an alley, a yard wide, pitch dark at the farther end. Into that alley yellow light streamed through a door that was partly ajar. There was a faint staccato drumbeat, a twang of stringed music, the sickly wail of a flute, and a stench in which sensuous perfume fought with the reek of garbage. Moses spoke to the truck driver, and the truck driver sounded the horn — three times, then three more, then once.
The dissolute and dirty looking person in the big white turban, to whom Moses gave a captured knife in the bazaar, appeared suddenly, apparently from nowhere.
“What’s that bloke up to? Where did he come from?” Stoddart demanded.
“If you’d looked under the truck you’d know,” said Moses. “He ain’t respectable, so he don’t ride first class like me and you.”
Moses whispered to the man, who walked down the alley and entered the door.
“Is this your harem? Aren’t we going in?” asked Stoddart.
“No. You’d break the ladies’ hearts. We’ll wait here and give ’em a chance. This is Gulbaz’ temporary field headquarters. I’ve sent him a message. He’ll come or he won’t. If he don’t, we’ll know the answer.”
“What did you tell that bloke to say to him?”
“I said that Sergeant Stoddart’s here with information that he’ll sell for a price and wants a personal interview, face to face, no go-betweens.”
“You’ve got your nerve,” said Stoddart. “It’ll be all over the bloody bazaar that I’m telling secrets. Why don’t you use your own name?”
“We’ve hooked him. Here he comes,” said Moses. “Keep your hair on now and sit tight. Say nothing, and leave it to me.”
Through the door, down the alley and straight to the truck, without glancing aside, without a moment’s hesitation, came a man of medium height and middle weight, who walked like a young god, though he was middle-aged. He was dressed in a tight-fitting turban, white singlet and loin-cloth and a striped silk semi-European jacket. He had deep dark eyes, classic features and a face that was almost an Apollo’s except for his mouth. The mouth was ribald, ingenious, versatile. It was an actor’s mouth. The lips were capable of almost any expression within the human scope including the rarest of all, which is no expression. At the moment he was smiling as if tolerant benevolence had overflowed the brim of contentment. He looked like a man who had just made a fortune and knew exactly how to spend it to the best advantage. He came to the tail of the truck, gave one glance at Stoddart and stared straight at Moses. His smile changed, outwardly only a little, but something happened at the corners of his lips. It had changed to a fighting smile, merciless, malicious.
“You’re a dog,” he remarked in plain English.
“Fancy you giving away secrets,” Moses answered. “I’m here to sell ’em for cash on the nose. Me and this Sergeant know something. It’s hot. We’re splitting fifty-fifty. How much?”
“I will listen. You may tell your secret.”
“Cash on the nose,” said Moses. “Money down or nothing doing.”
Gulbaz’ smile changed again. It conveyed a suggestion of vanity beyond the utmost reach of ordinary mortals. He glanced at Stoddart, then back at Moses.
“Are you satisfied?” he asked. “You have recognized me? You can truly report that you have seen me in Kadur? You saw the door I came from? Very well, you may watch me return. After that, you may go to the devil.”
“I’m staying here until my messenger comes out into the street alive,” said Moses.
“I will send him to you,” Gulbaz answered. “He is lucky. Luckier than you are. Wait and see.”
Gulbaz strode back down the alley and entered the door. A moment later the messenger came out, looking scared, as if he felt murder behind him. He ran and crawled in under the truck. Moses spoke to the driver. The truck started, forward, because the street was too narrow to turn around in.
“Where now?” asked Stoddart.
“Back to camp,” said Moses.
“Well, you drew blank that time. If you feel as foolish as you look you’ll think twice before you call me a fathead again. You’ve spent a rupee eight annas for nothing, and you’re not a cent the wiser.”
“Plus having learned that you’re stupider than any other blasted Britisher I ever met,” said Moses, “I’ve learned all I came for. Gulbaz isn’t as smart as he thinks. In some ways he’s near as stupid as you, all along of his pride.”
