"Yes, but for native peoples only and half-castes, who live in the old bungalows—and never paying no rent. No one ever coming, but sometimes to see big big temple, and house opposite," pointing dramatically into the thick darkness, "where one English lady was murdered. Master, chase with knife, and cut throat!"
"There is one English gentleman here," said Mallender, "Major Smith. I want you to make acquaintance with his servants, I wish to meet him myself."
"Oh, yes, sir, I understand," replied Anthony, with a whole volume of significance in his voice. "That I can do! I shall get introduced—then I will introduce Master."
"I see you know what I mean,—and now you can go."
Thus dismissed, Anthony took his noiseless departure, and presently made one of the corpse-like figures, swathed in white, that were stretched on the ground—successfully wooing sleep, between the servants' quarters, and the cook's house.
Mallender remained alone, pacing to and fro, whilst the candles within burnt low, a distant pi dog howled, and bats made muffled noises, as they fluttered in and out of the verandah.
Early the next morning, after a truly miserable night,—thanks to heat, mosquitoes and the skirmishing of toddy cats in the ceiling-cloth, the adventurer went forth to reconnoitre, and make observations. He discovered an immensely wide road, with stretches of grass at either side, lined with magnificent banyans. Here and there a bungalow arrested the eye; some were large and stately, some were insignificant; some were thatched, some tiled, many—among a wild tangle of fruit trees, and long-neglected bushes of oleander, and jasmin—were falling into ruin; one and all the miserable reminders of the opulence, and glories of the past. In India the elements assist old Father Time with amazing zeal and success. The blasting hot winds, the blistering sun, torrents of tropical downpour and the perpetual ravages of legions of white ants, soon occasion surprising changes in an uninhabited dwelling. At a little distance to the left, the explorer noticed a straggling bazaar; still continuing the main road, he came to a house standing apart, and surrounded by a high and dignified wall,—such as might enclose an important monastic institution. The entrance was by a heavy iron-studded wooden gate, with a small postern.
Mallender walked slowly past, then turned, and retraced his steps, and finally halted before the gate. Within, was the man he sought! How soon would he see him face to face? How soon might he summon the law to his assistance? Undoubtedly the criminal had found an admirable hiding-place; here he lay, so to speak, entrenched, far from the madding crowd. Probably these solid walls had once encompassed the home and harem of some wealthy "Free" Madras merchant, in the good old times when Panjeverram was a fashionable resort, and the pagoda tree was laden with golden fruit.
For several days nothing happened, save that each morning the heat steadily increased, and like some bodily force descended upon the hard, cracked soil, and consumed all moisture. The only breath of air came from the flat plains behind the station, where spasmodic puffs of a scorching sirocco, suggested the gasps of some dying monster. Mallender, a prey to monotony and prickly heat, sat in a stuffy little darkened room, under a listless old punkah, clad in pyjamas, smoking, and meditating; listening to the roar of the hot wind, the thin rustle of whirling dead leaves, and realising that he was in for a long siege!