The Road to Mandalay Part 24

Quite in the shadow, he caught sight of a tall figure in European clothes, who was, like himself, an impa.s.sive spectator, and, with a start, he recognised Roscoe's cousin. To-night he appeared cleaner and more human; he had shaved recently, and there was an undeniable family likeness between him and his relative--such a resemblance as may exist between a dead and broken branch and one still flourishing upon a healthy tree. On this occasion he was evidently not ashamed to be seen and recognised, for he nodded to Shafto, then crossed the room and joined him.

"Ah, so you've not taken a pull at yourself yet?" said Shafto.

"No, the cocaine debauchee has no power to resist the drug," he replied in a thin refined voice. "I am fairly normal to-night; it is not a case of virtuous repentance, but merely because I have no money."

As he made this statement the despairing eyes that looked into Shafto's were those of some famishing animal.

"You have the power to raise me from the pit," he continued in a husky voice; "you can lift me straight into heaven!"

"Only temporarily," brusquely rejoined Shafto.

"Even that is something when it offers peace and satisfaction to the restless human heart."

"But surely you can free yourself and your restless heart? Why not walk out of this filthy den with us? Roscoe will help you, so will I.

Come, be a man!"

"It would be impossible for me to regain the normal balance of life,"

declared the victim of the drug; "also, I am no longer a man--I am a fanatical worshipper of cocaine, and only death can part us. Some day soon I shall fall out of her train, the police will find me in the gutter and take the debased body to the mortuary, whence, unclaimed and unknown, it will be carried to a pauper's grave."

"But can nothing be done to stop this h.e.l.lish business?"

"Nothing," replied the victim with emphasis, "nothing whatever, until sales are rendered impossible and the big men--the real smugglers who are trading in the life-blood of their brothers--are reached and scotched. As for myself, I am past praying for; but thousands of others could and ought to be saved--by drastic measures and a stern exposure. The fellows in this business are as cunning as the devil; the stuff arrives by roundabout channels and from the most surprising quarters. Now and then they allow a consignment to be seized, but as a mere blind, a sop, and trade flourishes; there is no business to touch it in the money-making line."

He paused and met Shafto's searching eyes, then went on:

"It must amaze you to hear a fellow in this sink talking plain grammatical English, but before the cocaine fiend caught and tortured me I had brains. Joe Roscoe is a good chap--he has often held out a helping hand, but it was not a bit of use, I only sank deeper. When I recall the things I have done, the meannesses I have stooped to, I squirm and squirm and _squirm_! Well, I am nearly at the end of my tether, and a hair of the dog that bit me is all I ask. Your friend FitzGerald here, now looking up evidence from that rascally Malay, is working his very best to find some clue to the headquarters of the gang; but they are much too clever and are making their thousands and tens of thousands; profits are enormous, and the servants of the company are well paid for any risks or prosecutions."

"But what about informers?" asked Shafto.

"Oh, as for betraying secrets or giving the game away, the employes know exactly what to expect. More than one would-be witness has disappeared; his epitaph is, 'Found drowned.' Ah, I see FitzGerald moving, and so you must take your departure out of this inferno into the clean upper-world."

"You come along with us," said Shafto, suddenly seizing him by the arm.

But Roscoe threw him off with astonishing force and shook his head emphatically. Nevertheless he followed the pair to the entrance--a tall wraith-like form moving behind them, a shadow in the shadows.

As soon as the door had closed and the visitors were once more in the street, the police officer broke out:

"Upon my word, Shafto, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Didn't I see you slip money into the hand of that broken-down Englishman?"

"Yes, you did," Douglas boldly admitted; "I was obliged to, right or wrong. If you had only seen his eyes, his starving, despairing eyes!

I believe they will haunt me as long as I live; somehow I feel to-night as if I had looked through the gates of h.e.l.l!"

CHAPTER XXII

THE APPROACHING DREAD

The cold weather was waning in the month of March, women and children were flocking to cooler climes than Lower Burma--chiefly to May Myo, north-east of Mandalay. Once a stockaded village, it was now a fair-sized and attractive station, with a garrison, a club, many comfortable bungalows, an overflowing abundance of flowers and fruit, and in its neighbourhood beautiful moss-green rides. When the hot weather had begun to make itself felt, and the brain-fever bird to make himself heard, Mrs. Krauss had insisted on dispatching her niece to this resort, chaperoned by Mrs. Gregory; but as far as she herself was concerned nothing would induce her to leave home.

"I love my own veranda and my own dear bed," she declared; "I shall have lots of electric fans and ice, all the new books, and Lily will look after me; but you, Sophy, being a new-comer and not acclimatised, must positively depart."

Sophy exerted her utmost eloquence to induce her aunt to follow the fashion and spend, at least, two months in the hills, and her efforts were warmly supported by Mr. Krauss, but his wife made no reply--she merely beamed and shook her head. Eloquence and persuasion were wasted. He and Sophy might just as well have appealed to the alabaster Buddha in the drawing-room. Flora Krauss never argued--possibly this was one phase of her indolent nature. She merely a.s.sumed an immovable, negative att.i.tude and met every suggestion with a smile and a shake of the head.

Sophy had no desire to leave Rangoon; she protested that she had only been out seven months and really required no change; but her appeal was silenced by the voice of authority.

"My dear child," said her aunt, "you've no idea what you would be like in three months' time. I am hardened and acclimatised, but your nice complexion would soon take leave, never to return. You would be covered with hideous spots and you would probably get fever. Mrs.

Gregory is most anxious for your company and _I_ am equally anxious for your departure. You will have a very good time up at May Myo and go you must!"

Sophy had no alternative and was compelled to obey orders.

"I shall miss you most dreadfully, my dear," said her aunt; "it is so nice to have you flitting about the house, not to speak of your vivacious company and delicious music. Your music is really wonderful; it seems to exorcise an evil spirit that gives me no peace."

"Oh, Aunt Flora," expostulated the girl, "how can you say such things?

Surely you don't believe in evil spirits?"

"But, my dear child, how can I help it when I live in a country where millions of people worship and fear them?"

"Those are only ignorant natives; you would not allow their superst.i.tions to affect you."

"Well, at any rate, your playing uplifts and soothes me; I can't imagine how you inherited this gift; your mother was not particularly musical, nor was I. I recollect my misery as a girl in struggling through 'The Harmonious Blacksmith,' and I never remember hearing that we had any musical genius in the family. Of course, the natives here would find an easy answer and say that you had been a great musician in another incarnation."

On hearing this solemn explanation Sophy burst into peals of laughter, at which rejoinder Mrs. Krauss looked both shocked and hurt and, after an awkward silence, the subject dropped.

And so, in spite of Sophy's efforts to remain in Rangoon, she was figuratively driven into the arms of Mrs. Gregory. The Maitlands and the Pomeroys had also invited her to May Myo, but Mrs. Gregory overbore all compet.i.tion and insisted that she must have Sophy as a companion to share her bungalow and accompany her songs, and departed in triumph, carrying the girl with her.

Mrs. Krauss attended her niece to the railway station, loaded her with books and fruit and saw her off with urgent and affectionate injunctions and many kisses. During the last few months Mrs. Krauss appeared to have become a transformed person; she went about continually in her smart new car, was seen at dances, little dinners and the theatre, and had recovered a faint shadow of her former good looks and something of her old animation.

Herr Krauss naturally attributed this change to her niece, and showed his grat.i.tude to Sophy in various abrupt ways, suffering her to mix with the English society without sneers or interference. Sophy did not now see so much of the German community; she was aware that Mrs. Muller and others no longer approved of her, and Frau Wurm had said openly, "that although the girl had done her best to learn how to keep a house, her heart had never been in the business and she was not _schwarmerisch_ to German people or German ways!"

Whilst Sophy Leigh had been enjoying herself at May Myo, among the green hills and soft airs of Upper Burma, Shafto, in the oppressive sultry heat, had had some pleasant and unpleasant experiences.

The pleasant experience was that his salary had been raised. Now he could afford to buy another horse and keep a _tum-tum_; with a heavier purse he was able to send home some well-chosen and handsome presents--a China crepe shawl for Mrs. Malone, ivory carvings to the Tebbs, an Indian _chuddah_ to his aunt and a heavy gold bangle for each of the girls. Unfortunately one gift to "Monte Carlo" had a dire and unexpected result--it brought him a deluge of letters from Cossie, who was rapturous over his promotion and "his beautiful, exquisite, _darling_ gift," which she wore on her arm day and night!

"I felt sure you had _not_ forgotten me," was her ominous opening; "you could not; there is a secret telepathy between us, and I am _always_ thinking of you, dear old boy."

Several mails later there arrived a letter from Sandy, the contents of which almost made his cousin's hair stand on end. After one or two preliminary sentences, Shafto's eyes fell upon these lines:

"By this you will have heard that our Cossie will be afloat; she has been very restless and unsettled for a long time--almost ever since you left; nothing seems to please her. First she took up nursing and soon dropped that; then she took up typing and soon dropped that. At last she has got the wish of her life, which is to go abroad. She has answered an advertis.e.m.e.nt and secured a top-hole situation, as lady nurse in Rangoon. She starts in ten days in the ship that took you out--the _Blankshire_, and is so busy and excited that she is nearly off her nut."

The same post delivered a thick letter from Cossie, which her ungrateful and distracted relative tore up unread. Already, in his mind's eye, Shafto could see Cossie permanently established in Rangoon, informing everyone that she was his cousin, bombarding him with _chits_, worrying him for visits, treats and attentions. Heaven be praised! neither of his horses carried a lady, it was as much as he could do to ride them himself. He could not possibly leave Rangoon and so effect his escape; he was nailed down to his work, not like his lucky chums, whose business duties occasionally carried them up the country. His job was confined to Rangoon itself, for eight hours a day.

The prospect filled him with despair; life would become intolerable. A vivid imagination painted the picture of Cossie, helpless and plaintive, appealing for information and advice, coming to him to patch up disputes between her and her employer, to take her on the lakes, to the gymkhana, or the theatre on her days out. And what would Sophy Leigh think when she saw him accompanied by Mrs. So-and-So's European nurse? Putting her absurd partiality for him on one side, Cossie in her normal condition was a good-natured, amiable creature, and, of course, when she arrived in Burma he, as her only relative in the country, would be bound to look after her and show her attention; probably all the world would believe that they were engaged!

Unchivalrous as was the idea, he had a hateful conviction that it would not be Cossie's fault if they did not arrive at that conclusion.