Barclay of the Guides

by Herbert Strang

Ahmed left the house doubly disappointed—at his failure to supply any information worth carrying to the Ridge, and at the bad news concerning the khansaman. He had been full of confidence when he entered Fazl Hak's presence. His confidence had been rudely shaken, and further, he had now a certain feeling of personal insecurity which he had not before. Not that he had been unaware of the risks that he was running. If his disguise were penetrated, if his connection with the English was so much as suspected, he would be hanged or shot without mercy. But his peril had not come home to him as it did now, when he found that, so far from being unknown in Delhi, his every movement had been watched. If he was thus known to the maulavi, was it not possible that he was also being spied upon by agents of the mutineers? Might they not be giving him the rope by which to hang himself? As he passed through the streets on the way back to his serai he felt that he was slinking along like a criminal. He seemed to see an enemy in every passer-by.

But before he reached the serai he had partially got the better of this feeling. After all, Fazl Hak himself appeared to have no idea that the bearded Afghan who had stood before him was a youth in disguise. It was a pleasure to find a gap in that wise person's knowledge, and as for the mutineers, the summary manner in which they had disposed of the man caught at the Kashmir gate, and the disguised fakir at the Ajmir gate, disposed him to believe that if he were suspected he would not now be alive.

Though thus gaining reassurance as to his safety, he had to confess that the discovery of Craddock Sahib seemed as far off as ever. He had counted much on the khansaman, and to find that the man was not only disloyal, but had actually taken service with one of the most malignant of the enemies of the sahibs, was much more than a disappointment. Since it appeared clear that the khansaman could have had no hand in the concealment of the doctor, he had no clue to follow, and to seek a hidden man without a clue in this immense city, with its labyrinths of streets and lanes, was a task that staggered him by its hopelessness.

After a night's rest, however, his fit of black despair had passed. He awoke with a settled determination to do his utmost, not merely to find the hakim, but to prove to Fazl Hak and to Hodson Sahib that he was worthy of the mission entrusted to him. In his interview with the maulavi his self-esteem had received a wound—not a very serious one, as his good sense informed him, but still one that could only be healed by accomplishment. The question was, how to achieve his end? Obviously he could not force things; it seemed as though the most he could do was to be alert and vigilant, trusting that chance would throw an opportunity in his way.

It occurred to him that a visit to Minghal Khan's house might help him a little. It would at least enable him to learn for himself, perhaps, whether the chaprasi's report about the khansaman was justified. He still felt a lingering hope that the informant was mistaken. The missy sahib had much knowledge of the man, and it seemed incredible to Ahmed, with his experience of the loyalty of his comrades in the Guides to their salt, that a man who had served the sahib faithfully for years should be so utterly perverted as the chaprasi had reported. Had he not heard stories in camp of the heroic devotion shown by native servants in rescuing and giving asylum to the families whose salt they had eaten? Had he not, indeed, seen with his own eyes in the camp on the Ridge Metcalfe Sahib, who had been saved, not even by a servant, but by a police officer, one Mainudin Hassan Khan, who at the risk of his life had conveyed the sahib to Jajjar? If a police officer would do this, might not a khansaman or some other servant, bound to his master by personal ties far closer, have done as much for Craddock Sahib?

From his experiences on the previous day, he guessed that in all probability Minghal Khan would leave his house early to attend the usual morning darbar at the palace. His absence would furnish a good opportunity of calling without risk. Accordingly, he summoned his coolie, and, while the man was preparing a bale of goods, he inquired of the innkeeper the way to the great man's house. It was not far off, being on the opposite side of the Chandni Chauk towards the Delhi Bank. He set off with his goods, found the house without difficulty, and rang the bell.

"Salaam, darwan," he said to the servant who opened the door. "You behold a trader from Afghanistan, who comes with some beautiful fabrics of exquisite workmanship to lay before the great subahdar, Minghal Khan."

"Away, banijara!" replied the man. "The great one is not at home; he is gone to the king's palace. And even were he within, dost think he would deign to look at the filthy rags a man like thee would bring? Away, and take thy shadow from his door."

Ahmed, who knew very well what this meant, slipped a few annas into the darwan's hand.

"I know I am unworthy that the light of the great man's countenance should fall upon my goods," he said. "Yet in his merciful kindness he may deign to purchase some small thing, and then, O darwan, there will assuredly be dasturi for hands that so well deserve it."