“Just turn your back, old dear,” continued the man’s voice of this strange ayah, “while a woman takes off a few of her clothes.”
It was undoubtedly a man who spoke and with the words he rose and began unwinding a long, dirty sari from about his head and waist. With the sari came the gray matted wig, revealing nut-brown, close-cropped hair.
“Shall I go through his pockets?” asked the dapper little man. “He’s got a gun.”
“You have blundered twice already, Higgins,” was the reply in sarcastic tones. “I would as soon trust a baby with a razor as I would you with this man again. Go back to my compartment and bring my clothes. Change your own while you are there.”
As Higgins once more climbed out upon the foot-board the other man tossed out of a window the long, cotton, bandage-like garment and revealed a circle of dark skin where a skimpy white jacket failed to reach down to a sagging woolen skirt. Deftly he picked Smith’s gun from his pocket and, with a few expert pats, located and extracted the two pistols that Smith had taken from Higgins. Meanwhile Smith, tall and angular, stood silently with his hands up and his back turned.
“Now that your teeth are drawn, Mr. — ah — Smith, you might make yourself comfortable on the opposite seat.”
Smith quietly did as was suggested and gazed, in a bored manner, at the opposite seat, where sat the incongruous figure of a white man partly disguised as an old native woman. He gave but a glance at the gun resting on the seat beside his companion and then studied the remarkably clever make-up on the face. As he looked he began to smile.
“So you came down the opposite side of the carriage and arrived first while our friend Higgins pretended to have his skirt caught and so delayed me?”
“A fairly clever deduction,” returned the man with the gun. “Anything else you would like to ask?”
“It would interest me to know why Mr. Sterne, the well-known pearl buyer of Calcutta, has taken to thieving.”
“I am honored by your recognition,” was the suave reply. “Perhaps you remember a game of billiards that we had at the club. You said then that the only profession more exciting than the detection of crime was the profession of the criminal. That is true. You do not detect crime for money but for the excitement. There is not sufficient excitement in your profession to satisfy me.”
“And yet,” continued Smith in an easy conversational tone, “throughout all India your word is known to be as good as your certified check.”
“To break one’s word is to lose one’s self-respect,” replied Sterne. “To steal is to lose the respect of a few people for whose esteem you may not care a snap of your finger.”
“All honest men despise a thief.”
“There are few honest men,” was the cool reply, “and most of them are stupid.”
“May I smoke?” asked Smith, languidly gazing out of the window, although he was keenly estimating the distance to the next station.
Sterne took a package of Smith's own cigarettes from the table and tossed it over. He followed it with a box of matches before adding:
“We are coming to the Small town of Ellore. It is extremely unlikely that there will be any first-class passengers or that anybody will come near this compartment. However, I will pull down the blinds on this side, which is next to the station. Whatever happens I will handle the situation, and if you make the slightest untoward move I shall be forced to shoot — and shoot to kill.”
IV
Smith made no reply and smoked lazily, leaning back with his eyes half closed. He was puzzled about Langa Doonh. He knew that the boy’s training would make him try to keep in touch with his master. Had he heard through his thin door? If so, what was he doing? Had he met with foul play at the hands of the strange native? Smith feared for his servant and it worried him even more than his own awkward predicament.
When the train stopped at Ellore it was just as Sterne had anticipated. No stranger came near their compartment. A few seconds before the train started, however, Higgins entered from the platform, dressed in his own clothes and with a suitcase in his hand.
“Sit here,” directed Sterne very curtly. “Take this gun and shoot him if he moves.”
Smith reflected that it was fifty miles to the next station, which was Rajahmundry, an important one on the Godavery River. At Rajahmundry he felt sure that the guard would look into his compartment. Instinctively he knew that his critical moment must arrive before the train stopped again. The failure of his boy to appear at the last station convinced him that he had to depend entirely upon himself. Only his own wits could save him.
Meanwhile Sterne had opened the suitcase and taken out a bottle of whitish fluid with which he liberally sponged face, neck, hands and wrists. Magically the dark skin turned to the sunburned hue of the average European. Disregarding the remainder of his body he quickly donned the white man’s garb, standing forth in a faultlessly pressed suit of white flannels. The transformation was almost incredible. Where had been a slovenly old ayah was a smartly dressed white man of India.
“While I was dressing, an idea occurred to me,” said Sterne, taking the pistol from Higgins and sitting down opposite to Smith. “It is foolish for any man to commit murder so long as he can get somebody else to do it for a few hundred rupees. Any man with brains would be willing to pay more than that to escape the danger of the death penalty. However, nobody seems to be able to kill you — even when you walk straight into my trap. It remains for me to do it. Isn’t that reasonable?”
“Uh-huh,” said Smith very casually, “but what’s the idea that occurred to you while dressing?”
“Look!” continued Sterne, carelessly throwing open the door of the small servants’ compartment. “My servant carried out my orders in regard to your servant.”
Through the open door Smith saw the bound form of Langa Doonh lying upon the floor. A great load was lifted from his mind at the sight. Smith was fond of Langa Doonh, and dead people do not have their legs tied.
“I merely show you this so that you may know how utterly helpless you are,” continued Sterne as he closed the door and resumed his seat. “It would be weak-minded for me to kill you if I can find another solution. You have intimated that I never break my word. The same truth applies to you. Every criminal in India knows it. Your word would be accepted by any thief with brains if he has worked long in this country.”
“Your proposition?” drawled Smith.
“I will spare your life,” returned Sterne, “if you will promise to do as I tell you.”
Smith merely raised his eyebrows in an interrogative manner.
“You will get off the train at Rajahmundry,” continued Sterne, “and go down the Godavery River by native boat to Yanaon, which is a French possession. There you will take ship out of India and you will never set foot in this country again.”
“An interesting idea,” replied Smith but showing slight interest. “Will you entertain a counter proposition from me?”
“Proceed.”
“I will give you two hundred thousand rupees in jewels if you will go down the Godavery River and leave the country as you would have me do.”
“Scarcely enough, old dear,” bantered Sterne, but a gleam came into his eyes.
“You forget,” argued Smith, “that you will avoid the necessity of killing me and thereby escape the unpleasantness of a death penalty hanging over your head. That surely is worth several lakhs of rupees.”
Through his half-shut eyes, as he smoked, Smith believed that he could detect upon the face of his opponent the faintest trace of cunning covetousness. He was fencing for his life and was about to deliver his most skilful thrust. Failure to penetrate his adversary’s guard almost surely would forfeit his life or his honor. With apparent unconcern he flicked the ash from his cigarette and waited for the reply.