CHAPTER XXXIX
Two evenings after this boating party Mr. Lepell and his nephew had a long interview with Mr. Chandos, who heard with astonishment that in Abdul Buk's house in the bazaar part of his daughter's jewellery had been recovered. That Abdul Buk's money ledgers had been examined, and he stood exposed as a cheat, a swindler, and a thief. He was a true wolf in sheep's clothing, who had contrived to pass himself off as an inoffensive, if somewhat garrulous, old man. Terrified by his situation, Abdul had turned King's evidence, and had confessed all, and figuratively given away his employer. His employer—incredible as it seemed—was Mrs. Chandos.
It was she, who for twenty long years had been the chief usurer in Rajahpore; she it was, who had lent money, taken bonds, charged huge interest, extorted pitilessly, ground down the faces of the poor, and was very wealthy. It seemed inconceivable, but it was proved beyond doubt that Rosa Chandos was no other than the notorious "Saloo." Her husband lived too much with his splendid dreams, his books, and his opium (alas! for those little black pills), to realise who Saloo was; for, as he had repeatedly assured Mr. Lepell, he had nothing to do with soucars now. His monthly salary he handed to his wife; and Rosa, his wife, was a notorious usurer! At first he declared that it was impossible—for one thing, she had no capital.
"She had a large amount of capital, secured in her mother's name, in the Bank of Bengal, as well as shares in half the good things in India. She had impressed deeds and papers which did not belong to her, and she must relinquish them at once, or her office would be searched. We will wait here, Chandos," said Mr. Lepell, "and you can talk to your wife about it. These papers are the property of zemindars, her debtors; she has come by them illegally. If they are not given up, there will be a row. Salwey and I wish to manage this thing quietly, for the sake of you and your family, and that is one reason why Brian rode out here before dark and came first to me, so as to disarm any notice; but he has a search warrant in his pocket."
"God knows, I have gone through many things in my life," declared Mr. Chandos, with dignity, "and I have been brought low in the world; my wife has her faults, but she is no money-lender, that is certain."
It was also certain that Mrs. Chandos happened to be in a peculiarly bad temper that evening; she had had a quarrel with Dominga; and although she adored Dom, they had their little differences.
Dom was the only creature who dared to withstand her mother, and their disputes were terrible. Beginning in the ordinary every-day English tongue, as the altercation waxed in fury, they passed into shrill Hindustani, from that to "Gali" (abuse), and to hear the pair when the battle was raging an outsider would have supposed them to be a couple of mad grass cutters! Mrs. Chandos was walking about the dining-room in a highly-strung condition, when her breath was almost taken away by her husband entering the room and demanding "the keys of her office!"
At such an impudent request, she simply laughed in his face.
"Give them at once, Rosa," he said, with astonishing decision, "and clear your character; there are terrible charges against you. If what the police say is true, you have covered us all with shame and disgrace."
For a moment Mrs. Chandos was too paralysed to speak, but she speedily found her tongue, and overwhelmed her husband with such a torrent of wild, shrieking abuse, that she literally drove the poor man before her, backing him down the verandah steps into his own sanctum. Then turning swiftly about, she found herself face to face with Salwey—Salwey, in full official dress (a khaki uniform, with narrow red collar, spurred boots, and cord breeches).
"The keys of your office, if you please," he said, holding out his hand.
"Get out of my house," she screamed. "Get away!"
"The keys of your office," he repeated, with the utmost composure, "I do not wish to proceed to extreme measures, but I have a search warrant here, and I will break open the door."
"What do you want, you thief! you beast! you spy!"
"Stolen bonds and documents which I've every reason to believe are in your possession. The keys!" He spoke with an air of decision and command.
The keys were not to be had, and to the astonishment of the peeping servants, the door of the dufta was taken off its hinges and Mr. Lepell and Salwey entered in the wake of two men in blue coats and red turbans—in other words, constables. The desk was opened, also the press. These did not yield much, but thanks to a hint from Abdul Buk, the rug was lifted, and the trap door laid bare. Everything necessary to incriminate Mrs. Chandos was found in this secret hiding-place. Their owner looked on in silence, but her pocket handkerchief was torn into rags, and in her eyes sat two devils. The bulk of the papers were carried into Mr. Chandos' smoking-room, and subsequently examined at leisure.
Yes, these were the books of "Saloo"; there were her webs, there were her flies. There were receipts, there were letters from Abdul Buk, replying to certain instructions; there were bags of rupees and notes, the ledgers disclosed receipts for very large sums invested in various ways. Mrs. Chandos had followed her effects with hysterical screams, precisely like some bird of prey whose nest had been robbed! Finally, she stood in the middle of the room, unashamed, furious—and at bay. Mr. Lepell, Salwey, Dominga and Verona were present, as well as poor old Mrs. Lopez, who cowered in a corner muttering to herself and weeping audibly.
When these proofs of guilt and rapacity, cruelty and avarice had been exposed, Mr. Chandos turned to his wife, and said in a shaky voice:
"So, for twenty years you have secretly carried on your father's trade. Whilst your children have lacked education and common necessaries, you have hoarded money and been the ruin of hundreds. And I thought, till to-day, that I was beyond the reach of shame! I thought that after long penance I might once more venture out and face the world. My cousin is dead and, as Mr. Lepell is aware, I have been summoned to England to take up my place there as head of the family. Since Nicky is gone, there is no heir to come after me; but for the sake of my girls I had almost decided to claim my own. This," turning fiercely on her, "I will never do now. Do you suppose I will put such a woman as you in my aunt's place? No, I will let my name be called across the seas in vain. I will live and die out here—an obscure Anglo-Indian."
At the name of Charne, and the news of her husband's succession to the property, Mrs. Chandos' face changed, her eyes lit up like beacons.
"Bah! you old guddah!" she cried, "these men have stuffed your head with silly nonsense; if I did take interest, what harm? I traded with my own money. As to Charne—since you are hanging back, I will go to England, and claim it for you."
From many years of terrible experience her husband knew that she invariably carried out her threats, and in a sudden transport of fear and fury he snatched the picture of Charne off the wall, smashed the glass, and destroyed the sketch.
"Idiot!" jeered his wife, "you will be sorry for that to-morrow. You have broken your fetish!"
"And these papers," he said, dragging a packet from a drawer, "are the proofs of my identity." He held them towards his wife, and then with a sudden, furious energy, tore them into shreds, and scattered them over the floor.
"Charne is only mine for life," he gasped breathlessly, "the place is strictly entailed. For the rest of my days I live here—because of you. I am sorry for the girls; and of all my children, I am most sorry for Verona."
"Verona!" interrupted Mrs. Chandos, at last finding her voice; her face was working and livid with fury. "You throw away your great estate to punish me! Oh, ho! Well, now! see—I will punish you!"
She glared at her husband, as if she was going to fly at his throat; then she drew one long breath, and announced with grim composure:
"Verona is not our daughter."