Nemesis, however, began to dog his steps with appalling swiftness. The very next afternoon at the High Court, when he was engaged in conducting a case on the success of which he was eagerly reckoning, it came with rapid strides. Adorned with his wig and gown, he was holding forth, unusually pungent and successful in his arguments, when who should he see standing by the door watching him with a sardonic smile but Zynool Sahib! The beady eyes flashed fire, and the amber face had the look of a beast of prey. From the moment that Alfred Rayner's eye lighted on the man whom he had wronged, he had not a shadow of doubt that the Mahomedan was aware of the fraud so lightly perpetrated on him; and he knew also that he could expect no mercy at his hands. There was a malignant triumph in Zynool's eyes which told that he had trapped his victim. "Trapped"—the word echoed in the barrister's head as he made a violent effort to continue his speech; but he, who had been so glib in his arguments a moment before, now stammered and looked so faint that even the Judge did not fail to notice his threatening collapse, and more than one pair of eyes were fixed on him with a questioning stare. Nor did the torture of his spirit lessen when he observed that a Mussulman attendant had crept up to Zynool and whispered something which caused the Mahomedan to leave the court-room quickly.
"There's a warrant waiting for me outside," he groaned inwardly.
When the Court broke up Rayner quite expected to find his declared foe waiting at the door, surrounded by emissaries of the law, but he was nowhere to be seen. Presently, however, he was approached by a peon from the Bank, who politely handed him a letter from the manager.
"Ha, the fat's in the fire, sure enough! I'm as good as hauled off to prison," he muttered. Then an inspiration seized him. Glancing at the phlegmatic peon he told him to wait for his reply. He went in search of the Mahomedan official whom he had observed talking to Zynool before he left the Court. The man being of a lower rank, Rayner decided that Zynool would probably have made no communication to him concerning the forgery.
"Is Zynool still in town?" he asked.
"He is not," was the reply. "He intended to remain in town, for he said he had important business, but his son-in-law came with news—veree grave news from Puranapore."
There was a threatening of a riot in Puranapore, it seemed, and it was feared that Zynool's house might be attacked, so he had hastened back by the earliest train.
"Just as I supposed," said Rayner to himself, having recognised the youth who brought the news, and thought it must be some urgent message. "So the fat's in the fire there too! Well, it's an ill wind that blows no one good," he muttered, going into the writing-room where he set himself to write to the manager of the Bank, acknowledging his letter and explaining that he was detained by important legal business till after the closing hour of the Bank, but that he would call early next morning, and added:
"... If your note refers to the misunderstanding about my friend Zynool Sahib's cheque, I have just seen him and it is completely cleared up. I need hardly say it was his own blunder."
Handing his letter to the waiting peon with an easy air, he turned away with a very different expression on his face. After standing hesitating for a moment what his next move should be, he hurried out at a side-door which opened on a back street. He saw a little country carriage, like a box on wheels, which the natives call a jatka, standing near. Hailing it, he jumped in with alacrity, telling the driver to go out the Mount Road. He found no difficulty in concealing himself in the windowless little box, though he cowered in a corner with a throbbing heart as the pony ambled along. He was indifferent as to where he went, but on he must go till darkness should throw its concealing mantle over him. At length he reached the Thousand Lights Bazaar, and calling on the jatka-wallah to stop, he alighted and paid his fare. After wandering about among the stalls he explained to a bazaar-vendor in Tamil, which he spoke with ease, that he wished to purchase a turban. Buying the number of yards of muslin which the merchant assured him were indispensable, he asked that it should be twisted into shape. The request seemed to astonish the dealer not a little, that process being generally accomplished by the customer himself on his head. However, with a good-natured laugh he deftly adjusted the folds and handed it to him. After paying for his purchase and the additional sum demanded for the making up of the headpiece, Rayner hurried away, walking rapidly on till he came to a patch of jungle which skirted the road. Plunging into it, he caught sight of a small tank in its centre which reflected the yellow moon. He dropped his sun-topee into the water, watching the ripples that appeared on the smooth surface as it sank, for he had attached a stone to it.