The Pointing Man Read online

  XX

  CRAVEN JOICEY, THE BANKER, IS FACED BY A MAN WITH A WHIP IN HIS HAND,AND CORYNDON FINDS A CLUE

  It is a matter of universal belief that a woman's most alluring qualityis her mystery, and Coryndon, no lover of women, was absorbed in thestudy of mystery without a woman.

  He had eliminated the woman.

  In his mind he cast Mrs. Wilder upon one side, as March throws Februaryto the fag end of winter, and rushes on to meet the primrose girlbringing spring in her wake. He had dealt simultaneously with Mrs.Wilder's little part in the drama and the part of Francis Heath, Priestin Holy Orders. How they had both stood the test of detection he did nottrouble to analyse. "Detection" is a nasty word, with a nasty sound init, and no one likes it well enough to brood over all it exactly means.

  Coryndon was sufficiently an observer of men and life to feel gratefulto Heath, because he had seen something for a short moment as he studiedthe clergyman that dwells afterwards in the mind, like a stream ofmoonlight lying over a tranquil sea. Hidden things, in his experience,were seldom things of beauty, and yet he had come upon one fair placein the whole puzzling and tangled story collected round thedisappearance of the Christian boy Absalom.

  Mrs. Wilder and Heath were both accounted for and deleted from the listof names indelibly inscribed in his mental book; but one fact that wassufficiently weighty had been added to what was still involved in doubt:the fact that Heath had seen the boy in company with Leh Shin'sassistant.

  Coryndon was subject to the ordinary prejudices of any man who makeshuman personality a study, and he was more than half disposed to go backto the Bazaar and hear whatever evidence Shiraz had been able to collectduring his absence. Two reasons prevented his doing this. One was thathe would have to wait until it was dark enough to leave Hartley'sbungalow without being watched, and possibly followed, and the otherthat there was still one name on the list that required attention, andhe began to feel that it required immediate attention. A toss of a coinlay between which course he should adopt first, and he sat very still toconsider the thing carefully.

  In the service of which he was a member, he had learnt that much dependsupon getting facts in their chronological order, and that if there isthe least disunion in the fusing of events, deduction may hammer itshead eternally against a stone wall. He did not know positively that LehShin had decoyed the boy away by means of his assistant, but he wasinclined to believe that such was the case. The blood-stained rag lookedlike a piece of impudent bravado more than likely to have emanated fromthe brain of the young Chinaman. His mental fingers opened to catch LehShin and lay hold on him, but they unclosed again, and Coryndon feltabout him in the darkness that separates mind from mind. He knew thepitfall that a too evident chain of circumstances digs for the unwary,and he fell back from his own conviction, testing each link of thechain, still uncertain and still doubtful of what course he shouldpursue.

  He had another object in view, an object that entailed a troublesomeinterview, and he turned his thoughts towards its possible issue.Information might be at hand in the safe keeping of his servant Shiraz,but he considered that he must argue his own conclusions apart fromanything Shiraz had discovered. Narrowing his eyes and sitting forwardon the edge of his bed, he thought out the whole progress of his scheme.Coryndon was an essentially quiet man, but as he thought he struck hishands together and came to a sudden decision.

  If life offers a few exciting moments, the man who refuses them is noadventurer, and Coryndon saw a chance for personal skill and definiteaction. He felt the call of excitement, the call that pits will againstwill and subtlety against force, and that is irresistible to the man ofaction. Probably it was just that human touch that decided him. Onecourse was easy; a mere matter of reassuming a disguise and slippingback into the life of the people, which was as natural to him as his ownlife. A tame ending, rounded off by hearing a story from Shiraz, andlaying the whole matter in the hands of Hartley. The proof against theassistant was almost conclusive, and if Shiraz had burrowed into theheart of the motive, it gave sufficient evidence to deliver over thecase almost entire to the man who added the last word to the whole dramabefore the curtain fell.

  Coryndon knew the full value of working from point to point, but besidethis method he placed his own instinct, and his instinct pointed along adifferent road, a road that might lead nowhere, and yet it called to himas he sat on the side of his bed, as roads with indefinite endings havecalled men since the beginning of time.

  Against his own trained judgment, he wavered and yielded, and at lengthtook his white _topi_ from a peg on the wall and walked out slowly upthe garden. It was three in the afternoon. Just the hour when Shiraz waslying on his mat asleep, and when Leh Shin slept, and Mhtoon Pah drowsedagainst his cushion from Balsorah, each dreaming after his own fashion;and it was an hour when white men were sure to be in their bungalows.Hartley was lying in a chair in the veranda, and all through Mangadonemen rested from toil and relaxed their brains after the morning's work.

  Coryndon went out softly and slowly, and he walked under the hot burningsun that stared down at Mangadone as though trying to stare it steadilyinto flame. White, mosque-like houses ached in the heat, chalk-whiteagainst the sky, and the flower-laden balconies, massed withbougainvillaea, caught the stare and cracked wherever there was sapenough left in the pillars and dry woodwork to respond to the fierceheat of a break in the rains.

  It was a long, hot walk to the bungalow where Joicey lived, over theBanking House itself, and the vast compound was arid and bare from threedays of scorching drought. Coryndon's feet sounded gritting on the red,hard drive that led to the cool of the porch. No one called at such anhour; it was unheard of in Mangadone, where the day from two to five wassacred from interruption.

  A Chaprassie stopped him on the avenue, and a Bearer on the steps of thehouse itself. There were subordinates awake and alive in the Bank, readyto answer questions on any subject, but Coryndon held to his purpose. Hedid not want to see any of the lesser satellites; his business was withthe Manager, and he said that he must see him, if the Manager was to beseen, or even if he was not, as his business would not keep.

  A young man with a smooth, affable manner appeared from within, and saidhe would give any message that Coryndon had to leave with his principal,but Coryndon shook his head and politely declined to explain himself orhis business, beyond the fact that it was private and important. Theyoung man shook his head doubtfully.

  "It doesn't happen to be a very good hour. We never disturb Mr. Joiceyin the afternoons."

  "May I send in my card?" asked Coryndon.

  "Certainly, if you wish to do so."

  Coryndon took a pencil out of his pocket, and, scribbling on the cornerof his card, enclosed it in an envelope, and waited in the dark hall,where electric fans flew round like huge bats, the smooth-mannered youngman keeping him courteous company.

  "Mr. Joicey rests at this time of day," he explained. "I hope you quiteunderstand the difficulty."

  "I quite understand," replied Coryndon, "but I think he will see me."

  There was a pause. The young man did not wish to contradict him, but hefelt that he knew the ways and hours of the Head of the Firm very muchbetter than a mere stranger arriving on foot just as the Bank was due toclose for the day. He wondered who Coryndon was, and what his verypressing business could possibly be, but even in his wildest flights offancy, and, with the thermometer at 112 deg., flights of fancy do not carryfar, he never even dimly guessed at anything the least degree connectedwith the truth.

  The Bearer came down the wide scenic stairway and said that his masterwould see Mr. Coryndon at once. The young man with the smooth mannerfaded off into dark shadows with an accentuation of impersonal civility,and Coryndon walked up the echoing staircase by the front of the hall,down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and into the privatesuite of rooms sacred to the use of the head of the banking firm, andused only in part by the celibate Joicey.

  Joicey was standing by a tabl
e, looking at Coryndon's card and twistingit between his fingers. He recognized his visitor when he glanced athim, and showed some surprise. The room was in twilight, as all theoutside chicks were down, and there was a lingering faint perfume ofsomething sweet and cloying in the air. Joicey looked sulky andirritated, and he motioned Coryndon to a chair without seating himself.

  "Well," he said brusquely, "what's this about Rydal?" He pointed with ablunt finger to the card that he had thrown on to the table.

  "That," said Coryndon, also indicating the card, "is merely a meanstowards an end. I have the good fortune to find you not only in yourhouse, but able to receive me."

  The colour mounted to Joicey's heavy face, and his temper rose with it.

  "Then you mean to tell me--" He broke off and stared at Coryndon, andgave a rough laugh. "You're Hartley's globe-trotting acquaintance,aren't you? Well, Hartley happens to be a friend of mine, and it is justas well for you that he is. Tell me your business, and I will overlookyour intrusion on his account."

  Something inside Coryndon's brain tightened like a string of a violintuned up to concert-pitch.

  "In one respect you are wrong," he said amiably, and without thesmallest show of heat. "I am, as you say, Hartley's friend, but I mustdisown any connection with globe-trotting, as you call it. I am in theSecret Service of the Indian Government."

  "Oh, are you?" Joicey tore up the card and threw it into a basket besidethe writing-table.

  "It may interest you to know," went on Coryndon easily, "that my visitto you is not altogether prompted by idle curiosity." He smiledreflectively. "No, I feel sure that you will not call it that."

  "Fire ahead, then," said Joicey, whose very evident resentment was by nomeans abated. "Ask your question, if it is a question."

  "I am coming to that presently. Before I do I want you to understand,Mr. Joicey, that, like you, I am a servant of the public, and I am atpresent employed in gathering together evidence that throws any lightupon the doings of three people on the night of July the twenty-ninth."

  "Then you are wasting valuable time," said Joicey defiantly. "I was awayfrom Mangadone on that night."

  "I am quite aware that you told Hartley so."

  Coryndon's voice was perfectly even and level, but hot anger flamed upin the bloodshot eyes of Craven Joicey.

  "I put it to you that you made a mistake," went on Coryndon, "and thatin the interests of justice you will now be able to tell me that youremember where you were and what you were doing on that night."

  Joicey thrust his hands deep into his pockets, his heavy shoulders bent,and his face dogged.

  "I am prepared to swear on oath that I was not in Mangadone on the nightof July the twenty-ninth."

  "Not in Mangadone, Mr. Joicey. Mangadone proper ends at the tram lines;the district beyond is known as Bhononie."

  Coryndon could see that his shot told. There were yellow patches aroundJoicey's eyes, and a purple shadow passed across his face, leaving itleaden.

  "Unless I can complete my case by other means, you will be called as awitness to prove certain facts in connection with the disappearance ofthe boy Absalom on the night of July the twenty-ninth."

  "Who is going to call me?"

  The question was curt, and Joicey's defiance was still strong, but therewas a certain huskiness in his voice that betrayed a very definite fear.

  "Leh Shin, the Chinaman, will call you. His neck will be inside a noose,Mr. Joicey, and he will need your evidence to save his life."

  "Leh Shin? That man would swear anything. His word is worthless againstmine," said the Banker, raising his voice noisily. "If that is anotherspecimen of Secret Service bluff, it won't do. Won't do, d'you hear?"

  Coryndon tapped his fingers on the writing-table.

  "I can't agree with you in your conclusion that it 'won't do.' Takenalone his statement may be worthless, but taken in connection with thefact that you are in the habit of visiting his opium den by the river,it would be difficult to persuade any judge that he was lying. I myselfhave seen you going in there and coming out."

  He watched Joicey stare at him with blind rage; he watched him staggerand reach out groping hands for a chair, and he saw the huge defianceevaporate, leaving Joicey a trembling mass of nerves.

  "It's a lie," he said, mumbling the words as though they were dry bread."It's a damned, infernal lie!"

  A long silence followed upon his words, and Joicey mopped his face withhis handkerchief, breathing hard through his nose, his hands shaking asthough he was caught by an ague fit.

  "I'm in a corner," he said at last; "you've got the whip-hand of me,Coryndon, but when I said I was not in Mangadone that night, I wasspeaking the truth."

  "You were splitting a hair," suggested Coryndon.

  Joicey drew his heavy eyebrows together in an angry frown.

  "Let that question rest," he said, conquering his desire to break loosein a passion of rage.

  "You went down Paradise Street some time after sunset. Will you tell meexactly whom you saw on your way to the river house?"

  Craven Joicey steadied his voice and thought carefully.

  "I passed Heath, the Parson, he was coming from the direction of thelower wharves, and was going towards Rydal's bungalow. I remember that,because Rydal was in, my mind at the time; I had heard that his wife wasill, probably dying, and just after I saw Absalom."

  He paused for a moment and moistened his lips.

  "Was he with anyone when you saw him?"

  "No, he was alone, and he was carrying a parcel. Anyhow, that is all Ican tell you about him that night."

  Joicey looked up as though he considered that he had said enough.

  "And from there you went to the opium den," said Coryndon relentlessly.

  The perspiration dripped from Joicey's hair, and he took up the threadsof the story once more.

  "I went there," he said, biting the words savagely. "I was sick at thetime. I'd had a go of malaria and was as weak as a kitten. The place wasempty, and only Leh Shin was in the house, and whether he gave me astronger dose, or whether I was too seedy to stand my usual quantity, Ican't tell you, but I overslept my time."

  He passed his hand over his face with a sideways look that was horriblein its shamefacedness. Coryndon avoided looking at him in return, andwaited patiently until he went on.

  "Leh Shin remained with me. He never leaves the house whilst I aminside," continued Joicey. "I was there the night of the twenty-ninthand the day of the thirtieth. Luckily it was a Sunday and there was nofear of questions cropping up, and I only got out at nightfall when itwas dark enough for me to go back without risk. Since then," he said,rising to his feet and striking the writing-table with a clenched fist,"I have been driven close to madness. Hartley was put on to the track ofLeh Shin by the lying old Burman, Mhtoon Pah, and Leh Shin's shop waswatched and he himself threatened. God! What I've gone through."

  "Thank you," said Coryndon, pushing back his chair. "You have been ofthe very greatest assistance to me."

  Joicey sat down again, a mere torment-racked mass, deprived of the helpof his pretence, defenceless and helpless because his sin had found himout in the person of a slim, dark-faced man, who looked at him withburning pity in his eyes.

  The world jests at the abstract presentment of vice. From pulpits itappears clothed in attractive words and is spoken of as alluring; and,supported by the laughter of the idle and the stern belief of therighteous in its charms, man sees something gallant and forbidden infollowing its secret paths. The abstract view has the charm andattraction of an impressionist picture, but once the curtain is down,and the witness stands out with a terrible pointing finger, the laughterof the world dies into silence, and the testimony of the preacher thatvice is provided with unearthly beauty becomes a false statement, andman is conscious only of the degradation of his own soul.

  Coryndon left the room noiselessly and returned up the steps, along thecorridor and down the stone flight that led into the subsiding heat ofthe late afternoon
. The young man with the smooth, affable mannerwheeled a bicycle out of a far corner, and smiled pleasantly atCoryndon.

  "You saw the Manager, and got what you wanted?"

  "I saw him, and got even more than I wanted," said Coryndon, withconviction.

  Things like this puzzled the dream side of his nature and left himexhausted. The gathering passion of rage in Joicey's eyes had nottouched him, but the memory of the big, bull-dog, defiant man huddled onthe low chair, his arm over his face, was a memory that spoke of otherthings than what he had come there to discover; the terrible things thatare behind life and that have power over it. He had to collect himselfwith definite force, as a child's attention is recalled to alesson-book.

  "He has cleared Leh Shin," he said to himself, and at first exactly allthat the words meant was not clear to his mind. Joicey had cleared theChinaman of complicity, and had knocked the whole structure of carefullyselected evidence away with a few words.

  Coryndon was back in Hartley's bungalow with this to consider; and itleft him in a strange place, miles from any conclusion. He had sightedthe end of his labours, seen the reward of his long secret watchfulness,and now they had withdrawn again beyond his grasp. Heath had seenAbsalom with the Chinaman's assistant. Joicey, whose evidence marked alater hour than that of Heath, had seen him alone, and the solitaryfigure of the small boy hurrying into the dark was the last record thatindicated the way he had gone.

  Nothing connected itself with the picture as Coryndon sat brooding overit, and then gradually his mind cleared and the confusion of thedestruction of his carefully worked-out plan departed from his brainlike a wind-blown cloud. There was a link, and his sensitive finefingers caught it suddenly, the very shock of contact sending the bloodinto his cheeks.

  The picture was clear now. Absalom, a little white-clad figure, slim,eager and dutiful, hurried into the shadows of night, but Coryndon wasat his heels this time. The clue was so tiny, so infinitesimal, that ittook the eye of a man trained to the last inch in the habit of seeingeverything to notice it, but it did not escape Coryndon.

  He joined Hartley at tea in the sitting-room, with its semi-official airof being used for serious work, and Hartley fulfilled his avocation bybringing Coryndon back from strange places into the heart of sanehumdrum existence. Surely if some men are pillars, and others rockets,and more poets, professors and preachers, some are hand-rails, and onlythe man who has just been standing on a dizzy height looking sheer intothe bottomless pit where nothing is safe and where life crumbles andfear is too close to the consciousness, knows the value and even thebeauty of a hand-rail, and knows that there is no need to mock at itslimitations. For a few minutes Coryndon leant upon the moral support ofHartley's cheery personality, and then he told him that he was goingback to the Bazaar that night, as circumstances led him to believe thathe might find what he wanted there and there only.

  "That means that you have cleared Heath?"

  Hartley's voice was relieved.

  "Heath is entirely exonerated."

  Coryndon wandered to the piano, and he played the twilight into thegarden, the bats out of the eaves, and he played the shadow of Joicey'sshame off his own soul until he was refreshed and renewed, and it wastime for him to return to his disguise and slip out of the house.