Black is White

by George Barr McCutcheon

He recalled the tales of the old men, in which they spoke of the unaccountable swiftness with which news leaped across the unpopulated deserts, far in advance of any material means of transmission. Along the reaches of the Nile and in the jungles of India, weird instances of the astonishing projection of thought across vast spaces were constantly being reported. There was magic in the air. News travelled faster than the swiftest steed, even faster than the engines of man, into the most remote places, and yet there was no visible, tangible force behind the remarkable achievement.

His father had said more than once that the Hindu and the Egyptian possessed the power to be in two distinct places at the same time. He was wont to establish his theory by reciting the single instance of a sick dragoman who had been left behind in a village on the edge of the desert, with no means of crossing the vast stretch. And yet, when the caravan reached its destination after a long but record-breaking march, the man himself met them on the outskirts of the town with the astonishing report that he was quite well and strong after a two weeks' rest in his own house just inside of the city gates.

How he had passed them on the desert, and how he had reached his home a fortnight ahead of them, was one of the greatest mysteries James Brood had ever sought to unravel. The man's presence there created no surprise among the native members of the caravan. To them it was a most ordinary thing.

Again, in the depths of an Indian jungle Brood expressed the wish that he had brought with him a certain rifle he had left at home. Not a man left the camp, and yet at the end of the week a strange Hindu appeared with the rifle, having traversed several hundred miles of practically unexplored country in the time that would have been required to get the message to Lahore by horse alone.

James Brood, a sensible man, was a firm believer in magic.

This much Frederic knew of Ranjab: if James Brood needed him, no matter what the hour or the conditions, the man appeared before him as if out of nowhere and in response to no audible summons.

Was there, then, between these two, the beautiful Yvonne and the silent Hindu, a voiceless pact that defied the will or understanding of either?

He had not failed to note a tendency on her part to avoid the Hindu as much as possible. She even confessed to an uncanny dread of the man, but could not explain the feeling. Once she requested her husband to dismiss the faithful fellow. When he demanded the reason, however, she could only reply that she did not like the man and would feel happier if he were sent away. Brood refused, and from that hour her fear of the Hindu increased.

Now she was speaking in a nervous hurried manner to Lydia, her back toward the window. In the middle of a sentence she suddenly got up from the chair and moved swiftly to the opposite side of the room, where she sat down again as far as possible from the window.

Frederic found himself watching her face with curious interest. All the time she was speaking her eyes were fixed on the window. It was as if she expected something to appear there. There was no mistaking the expression. After studying her face in silence for a few minutes, Frederic himself experienced an irresistible impulse to turn toward the window. He half expected to see the Hindu's face there, looking in upon them, a perfectly absurd notion when he remembered that they were at least one hundred feet above the ground.