"There"s room for another set of rooms up here, and, by Jove, some one is occupying "em!"
"Snakes?" I said from below.
"No. It"s a buffalo. Hand me up the two last joints of a mahseer-rod, and I"ll prod it. It"s lying on the main roof-beam."
I handed up the rod.
"What a nest for owls and serpents! No wonder the snakes live here,"
said Strickland, climbing farther into the roof. I could see his elbow thrusting with the rod. "Come out of that, whoever you are! Heads below there! It"s falling."
I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre of the room bag with a shape that was pressing it downwards and downwards towards the lighted lamp on the table. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the lamp out of danger and stood back.
Then the cloth ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and shot down upon the table something that I dared not look at, till Strickland had slid down the ladder and was standing by my side.
He did not say much, being a man of few words; but he picked up the loose end of the tablecloth and threw it over the remnants on the table.
"It strikes me," said he, putting down the lamp, "our friend Imray has come back. Oh! you would, would you?"
There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake wriggled out, to be back-broken by the b.u.t.t of the mahseer-rod. I was sufficiently sick to make no remarks worth recording.
Strickland meditated, and helped himself to drinks. The arrangement under the cloth made no more signs of life.
"Is it Imray?" I said.
Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment, and looked.
"It is Imray," he said; "and his throat is cut from ear to ear."
Then we spoke, both together and to ourselves: "That"s why he whispered about the house."
Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her great nose heaved open the dining-room door.
She sniffed and was still. The tattered ceiling-cloth hung down almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move away from the discovery.
Tietjens came in and sat down; her teeth bared under her lip and her forepaws planted. She looked at Strickland.
"It"s a bad business, old lady," said he. "Men don"t climb up into the roofs of their bungalows to die, and they don"t fasten up the ceiling cloth behind "em. Let"s think it out."
"Let"s think it out somewhere else," I said.
"Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We"ll get into my room."
I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland"s room first, and allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lit tobacco and thought. Strickland thought. I smoked furiously, because I was afraid.
"Imray is back," said Strickland. "The question is---who killed Imray?
Don"t talk, I"ve a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow I took over most of Imray"s servants. Imray was guileless and inoffensive, wasn"t he?"
I agreed; though the heap under the cloth had looked neither one thing nor the other.
"If I call in all the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and lie like Aryans. What do you suggest?"
"Call "em in one by one," I said.
"They"ll run away and give the news to all their fellows," said Strickland. "We must segregate "em. Do you suppose your servant knows anything about it?"
"He may, for aught I know; but I don"t think it"s likely. He has only been here two or three days," I answered. "What"s your notion?"
"I can"t quite tell. How the d.i.c.kens did the man get the wrong side of the ceiling-cloth?"
There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland"s bedroom door. This showed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep and wished to put Strickland to bed.
"Come in," said Strickland. "It"s a very warm night, isn"t it?"
Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot Mahomedan, said that it was a very warm night; but that there was more rain pending, which, by his Honour"s favour, would bring relief to the country.
"It will be so, if G.o.d pleases," said Strickland, tugging off his boots.
"It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee remorselessly for many days---ever since that time when thou first earnest into my service. What time was that?"
"Has the Heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went secretly to Europe without warning given; and I-even I-came into the honoured service of the protector of the poor."
"And Imray Sahib went to Europe?"
"It is so said among those who were his servants."
"And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?"
"a.s.suredly, Sahib. He was a good master, and cherished his dependants."
"That is true. I am very tired, but I go buck-shooting to-morrow. Give me the little sharp rifle that I use for black-buck; it is in the case yonder."
The man stooped over the case; handed barrels, stock, and fore-end to Strickland, who fitted all together, yawning dolefully. Then he reached down to the gun-case, took a solid-drawn cartridge, and slipped it into the breech of the "360 Express.
"And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly! That is very strange, Bahadur Khan, is it not?"
"What do I know of the ways of the white man. Heaven-born?"
"Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more anon. It has reached me that Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and that even now he lies in the next room, waiting his servant."
"Sahib!"
The lamplight slid along the barrels of the rifle as they levelled themselves at Bahadur Khan"s broad breast.
"Go and look!"said Strickland. "Take a lamp. Thy master is tired, and he waits thee. Go!"
The man picked up a lamp, and went into the dining-room, Strickland following, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. He looked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth; at the writhing snake under foot; and last, a gray glaze settling on his face, at the thing under the tablecloth.
"Hast thou seen?" said Strickland after a pause.
"I have seen. I am clay in the white man"s hands. What does the Presence do?"