P. S. (Like a woman I always write a postscript.) You shall hear again from me as soon as I reach Bombay.
This last promise was religiously kept, though his letter was short and merely announced his safe arrival early that morning. He closed by saying: “I have not yet breakfasted, preferring to do so on land, and I feel that I can do justice to whatever is set before me. I intend, as soon as I have taken the edge off my appetite, to set out immediately for Malabar Hill, as I believe that to be our proper starting-point. I inclose a little sketch I made of Bombay as we came up its harbour, thinking it may interest Miss Darrow. Kindly give it to her with my regards. You will note that there are two tongues of land in the picture. On the eastern side is the suburb of Calaba, and on the western our Malabar Hill. Good-bye until I have something of interest to report.”
I gave the sketch to Gwen, and she seemed greatly pleased with it.
“Are you aware,” she said to me, “that Mr. Maitland draws with rare precision?”
“I am fully persuaded,” I rejoined, “that he does not do anything which he cannot do well.”
“I believe there is nothing,” she continued, “which so conduces to the habit of thoroughness as the experiments of chemistry. When one learns that even a grain of dust will, in some cases, vitiate everything, he acquires a new conception of the term ‘clean’ and is likely to be thorough in washing his apparatus. From this the habit grows upon him and widens its application until it embraces all his actions.”
This remark did not surprise me as it would have a few weeks before, for I had come to learn that Gwen was liable at any time to suddenly evince a very unfeminine depth of observation and firmness of philosophical grasp.
Maitland had been gone just six weeks to a day when we received from him the first news having any particular bearing upon the matter which had taken him abroad. I give this communication in his own words, omitting only a few personal observations which I do not feel justified in disclosing, and which, moreover, are not necessary to the completeness of this narrative:
MY DEAR DOCTOR:
I have at last something to report bearing upon the case that brought me here, and perhaps I can best relate it by simply telling you what my movements have been since my arrival. My first errand was to Malabar Hill. I thought it wise to possess myself, so far as possible, of facts proving the authenticity of Mr. Darrow’s narrative. I found without difficulty the banyan tree which had been the trysting-place, and close by it the little cave with its mysterious well,—everything in fact precisely as related, even to the “Farsees’” garden or cemetery, with its “Tower of Silence,” or “Dakhma,” as it is called by the natives. The cave and the banyan are among the many attractions of what is now Herr Blaschek’s villa. This gentleman, with true German hospitality, asked me to spend a few days with him, and I was only too glad to accept his invitation, as I believed his knowledge of Bombay might be of great service to me. In this I did not mistake. I told him I wished to ascertain the whereabouts of a Rama Ragobah, who had been something between a rishi and a fakir, and he directed me at once to a fakir named Parinama who, he said, would be able to locate my man, if he were still alive and in Bombay.