"When you've 'eard the East a-calling
You never 'eed nought else."
KIPLING.
LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.
PATERNOSTER ROW
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
WHAT SHE OVERHEARD
THE SERPENT'S TOOTH
A RASH EXPERIMENT
THE YOUNGEST MISS MOWBRAY
CHAPTER I
A heavy tropical surf boomed on the shingle, with the precision andmonotony of minute guns, and a fierce clammy breeze raged from the sea,where Massulah boats and small shipping rocked uneasily. The same wind,circulating inland, drove whirling clouds of brick-red dust throughMadras City, and vigorously swept the long Mount Road,—ere it diedwith a whisper, among distant paddy fields.
By ten o'clock on this detestable morning, all troops had returned tobarracks, signallers and golfers deserted the Island, riding-partieswere no longer abroad, but under languid punkahs, or tireless electricfans, the military, civil, and mercantile element were still activelyengaged.
Among the latter, the wealthy house of Brown, Brown and Co. stoodprominent as one of the oldest firms in India.
Established in the humble early days of John Company, it had acquiredname and fame, expanded and flourished. Undisturbed by wars, unshakenby mutinies, or famine, its grim, hard-featured offices continued tofrown upon the first line of beach. Possibly those storm-beaten walls,and gloomy flagged passages, had echoed to the voice and footsteps of avisitor from "Writer's Buildings"—the future hero of Arcot and Plassy,a junior clerk, named Robert Clive. Who knows?
At present, within the inhospitable waiting-room (a loftyslate-coloured apartment, with heavily barred windows), a well set-upyoung Englishman was unnecessarily pacing the worn cocoanut matting.His thin cashmere suit, and Panama hat, indicated the recent efforts ofa London tailor to cope with a warm climate. The white-covered umbrellawhich he carried in his hand was also new—indeed, its owner himselfwas new to the country, having arrived the previous evening.
At the moment, the stranger was impatiently awaiting an interview withthe acting representatives of Brown and Brown—but apparently thesewere in no hurry to receive him.
Meanwhile, in a spacious inner office, Mr. Fleming, a stout, sleekpersonage with a bald head and heavy face, had been handed avisiting-card by his partner Mr. Parr—a shrivelled little gentleman,known indifferently as "Monkey Parr," or "Old Nick," for Anglo-Indiadelights in nicknames.
"Captain Mallender, Army and Navy Club," he read aloud, then staringhard at his companion, gave a low and distinctly unofficial whistle.
"Oh, yes," responded Mr. Parr, removing his pince-nez with a decisiveclick. "Same name, same club. I can tell you, that it gave me a nastyshock; but, of course, here is the heir, now his father is dead, comeout to nose about, and make enquiries."
"He may enquire till he's blue—he will find that he has undertaken afool's errand. Why can't the young ass leave well alone?" demanded Mr.Fleming testily.
"Because he doesn't believe things are well," sharply rejoined hispartner.
"And intends to better them, eh? If he is not mighty careful, he willlose his half-loaf; and anyway it's a deuced nuisance; a very awkwardbusiness—we shall have the fellow in and out all day, bothering forinformation."
"Well, he won't get it!" declared Mr. Fleming. "Let's send for him,and see what he is like? Here, Parsons!" he shouted to a pallid clerk;"just ask the gentleman to step this way."
In less than two minutes, the said gentlema