part0008

Sunlight shimmered on the windshield of the Buick that had turned into the drive leading to the old-fashioned portico of John Greystone's bungalow. Ruth had noticed it first.

Robert Nicholson was the District Superintendent of Police. His headquarters were at Nilambur, 45 miles away. Occasionally he called on them and had proved a pleasant companion, although these visits; were few and far between as his district covered a wide area.

The car came to a halt and Robert stepped out from behind the wheel. He was a rotund man, about five feet eight inches in height, with florid complexion, waxed moustache and piercing brown eyes. He was dressed in khaki shorts and shirt, and removed his solar topee to reveal a closely-cropped shock of brown hair that was turning to grey.

Only then did John and Ruth notice he had a companion who appeared to be hardly over 30 years of age and contrasted with Robert in being much taller and of muscular, but rather thin build. He was also dressed in police uniform that befitted his clean-shaver face and pointed jaw very well. Blue eyes twinkled beneath neatly brushed, flaxen hair, as this stranger also removed his helmet.

"Good morning, Ruth. How are you, John?" Nicholson returned, "I came to tell you that at last I've received orders sanctioning my long-leave pending retirement, and to introduce Teddy Baker, who is to replace me".

"So glad you've come, Robert, and you too, Mr. Baker", remarked Ruth as they shook hands before climbing the steps to the verandah, "I'm bored stiff this loneliness and it's a real treat to see a new face". As she uttered the words, Ruth glanced side-ways at the new police officer.

“No, I can't complain", replied Greystone, "the men are fairly regular nor do they appear to have any grouse the moment, though that confounded man-eating tiger has shown up again, blast him".

Ted Baker had hardly spoken all this while but was sipping his drink and glancing at Ruth now and again. John's narration about the tiger aroused his interest, and he leaned forward to ask, "Is there really a man-eater here, Mr. Greystone?"

Baker accepted the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs. Greystone—I mean, Ruth", he corrected himself. Turning to his host, he went on, "Do tell me all about it. I'm fascinated, having read so much about man-eaters while never coming anywhere close to a tiger—except in a zoo".

Robert guffawed and said jocularly, "Of course you haven't"; adding, "as you must have gathered, Ted's just out from home. He's one of those lucky blighters who sat for an examination, passed out and became a D.S.P. straight away. He didn't have to work his way up the ladder, as I did".

John smiled. He had often enough heard Robert say the same thing, and it seemed a pet subject for him to narrate that he had risen from the ranks. Nor had he concealed the contempt he had for Commissioned Officers sent out from England to the service with no practical experience behind them. Briefly he explained about the man-eater, ending with his fear that the coolies would become demoralised.

"I'd be scared to death myself", admitted Ted, "the very mention of the word man-eater sends creepy shivers down my spine".

"What a pity you failed to shoot the beast", he continued, "that would have ended all your troubles. Besides, it must be awfully disheartening for something like that to happen at the last moment. I do envy you chaps, living in a land where you can experience such thrills, rather than the monotonous existence and everlasting rain back home".

"Don't speak too soon, my lad", chuckled Robert “I'll wager the time will come when you'll long for dear old England in spite of its monotony and cold. Tiger shooting may be very exciting, but there are things in this damned country now-a-days that make me look forward to the day of my sailing. You must thank your lucky stars that you're replacing me in a fairly quiet area. Robberies are comparatively few, an enraged husband may chop up his wife here and there through jealousy, or poison her boy-friend. Dacoities down south are unheard of. But the poor oafs in the police up north are having a hell of a time. Some damned little half naked hermit named Gandhi has set the country aflame, and we hear of riots nearly every day in the big cities. I don't understand why the Government doesn't shoot the blighter and be done with it".

His tone was peeved, for Robert had spent many years in India and deeply resented these insurrections by the natives against the British Raj, which he felt should assert its power. He sipped his drink, scowling morosely at his boots.

"Mahatma Gandhi—you mean that nationalist leader chappie? We were told in England that we might expect trouble from him and his followers. Still, I seem to have a sneaking admiration for the plucky devil. From what I've heard, he's been in and out of jail like nobody's business, and still continues to defy us". Ted spoke the words with a definite tinge of esteem in his voice.

This caused an explosion from the older police officer, who leaned forward in his chair and said, "The Government consists of a lot of half-wits. They don't realise that they are harbouring a very dangerous man who is uniting the millions of India and will yet cause a revolution".

"Oh, do let's stop talking politics. This frightful Gandhi person; he's a beggar of some kind, isn't he, John?" Ruth asked the question testily.

"By no means a beggar, my dear", her husband explained, "but a very influential and clever man. His legal background stands him in good stead, and he's an expert on mob psychology. Robert is certainly right when he says that Gandhi has captured the imagination of millions of his countrymen, and I agree he's a most dangerous man".

Then, turning to them, he continued, "Care for another drink?"

Robert nodded his head absent-mindedly, while Ted said, "Thanks".

John poured another round of whisky and soda into each of their tumblers.

"You must come over often, Ted", invited Ruth. "It's so dull here. Since you're new to India, you'll need someone to show you the ropes".

"Ha, ha, that's a good one", chuckled Robert, "look who's talking! You haven't been out here so very long yourself, Ruth".

"Well, just a few months, but I feel like a veteran. I sometimes think I'm Jungle Jim himself after living in these wilds".

John managed to suppress a cynical smile as he listened to his wife's words and remembered how little she had interested herself in the estate, and particularly the jungle.

The conversation rambled on for another ten minutes before Robert Nicholson climbed to his feet and stretched slightly. "Come along lad, we must be going. I'll drive you around to a couple more of our chowkies (out-posts)".

The four of them walked down the verandah steps to the waiting car, where the two policemen clambered aboard with a final farewell. A few seconds later the car was whining up the gradient that led away from Rob Roy estate, and Ruth and John retraced their steps to their former seats.

"What a delightful boy", she said reminiscently, "he looks so fresh and pink. That's the advantage of an English climate. This sultry weather will soon wear all that away, as it has already done with me".

"Well, the Indian climate has its advantages", stated John, "I prefer it, any day, to the everlasting cold and rain of Europe".

"You would", broke in Ruth sharply, "you've been here so long that you are half-native yourself. You're quite at home with your coolies and don't think that I want some company".

"Nothing like keeping good relations with your workers, my dear" laughed John, "it's claimed that more work can be had from contented labourers than when a planter behaved like a slave-driver. At least I've had no trouble so far".

"Labour, coolies, the estate, cutting and planting. That's all I hear you talk about, night and day. I do wish you would try to speak about something more interesting".

"Really darling, I'm sorry you feel that way about it, but you must remember I'm a planter", Greystone corrected, "and to a planter his estate is all that matters".

"I suppose it is, but I'm getting a bit sick of it". She walked out of the room without another glance at him, and as her shapely figure passed from view, John could not help wondering how long they could go on like this. He got up from his chair, walked down the steps and into the garden where, with hands clasped behind his back, he gazed meditatively at the bright blue sky above, across which a few fleecy clouds were scudding.