But Mallender did not move for another hour, he was reading Orme's "History of India," and deeply interested. The night was warm and muggy after rain; the moon shone fitfully above the black banyan trees, as he lay with his door to the verandah wide open, listening to the night's mysterious sounds; the uncertain dripping from the mango trees, the chaunting of frogs, and the far, far-away cry of a jackal. For a long time he remained awake, worried by his own conflicting thoughts. Finally he decided, that if his next venture failed, he must abandon his search,—driven to the extremity by a process of exhaustion. He would wait till after Christmas, in order to put in a full twelve months, and then go home,—defeated. He had his house to see to, a home, which for all he knew to the contrary, he held on sufferance. He must find some employment, that would bring him in two or three hundred a year. Oh, if he was only still in the service!—yes, but how to live on his pay? and the problematical rent of Mallender!
At last sleep claimed him. He seemed to have slept for a long time, but it was really not more than a couple of hours, when he suddenly awoke with the conviction that there was someone creeping stealthily about the room. His heart gave a violent lurch—was this the ghost, come to answer his challenge?
Whatever it was, it was disagreeably near, for he could distinctly hear its hurried breathing.
"Who's there?—what do you want?" he demanded in a sharp "on parade" tone of voice. No answer, so he hastily put out his hand to reach the matches, overset a small lamp, and was immediately rewarded by an atrocious odour of kerosene oil. Helpless, he stared steadily into the gloom; the moon had sunk, and the room was dark as pitch. Gradually by degrees, he discerned, that the outline of the door, was a shade lighter, and it seemed to him, as he gazed, that a shadow flitted through and melted away into the surrounding gloom. He had no light, and no slippers—otherwise, he would have risked the fatal chance of a cobra under foot, and pursued the intruder.
As he sat erect, staring hard, a faint glimmer of dawn became apparent; and at this moment, a cock crew!—evidently a young and inexperienced bird, whose note was weak and discordant.
"So it was the ghost!" muttered Mallender. "He might have given me a tip," and he threw himself back on the pillows, and was soon fast asleep.
CHAPTER XXI
Within a fortnight, the promised information arrived by special coolie. On this occasion, Mallender's destination was one hundred and fifty miles from Madras, and described as Wellunga, an old cantonment, twice decimated by cholera, and long abandoned. "Here," announced the letter, "you will meet your Uncle, who now goes by the name of Beamish, and is a benevolent gentleman, of wealth and caprice."
Two days later, found the adventurer and his suite once more en route. The first eighty miles of the journey were accomplished by rail, the latter part by dâk, in a tonga behind lean and ill-tempered ponies, who were changed amid sensational scenes every ten miles. This was by no means a comfortable expedition, but Mallender's resources were nearly exhausted, and he was obliged to study economy. Researches in Mysore, Coorg, and Travancore,—though planned with the most rigid prudence,—had proved unexpectedly expensive. Fascinated by the allurement of pursuit, Mallender had parted with his guns, and watch, and thanks to Anthony's exertions, obtained a fair price. This transaction had brought home to Anthony the painful fact that his master was short of money; and he was now keener than ever in quest of his fortunes. Mallender had applied to his family lawyers in London questioning the stoppage of his income; but their answer had not been satisfactory; in formal terms, they reminded him that his father had agreed to certain stipulations, and by these he was bound to abide; unless he preferred to embark on a costly law-suit, and compel his Uncle to come forward, and establish his identity.