The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [385]
‘He will not be pleased,’ said Gul Baz.
‘Maybe not. But it is necessary. Do not let us quarrel, Gul Baz. This is something that I must do. It is laid upon me.’
Gul Baz sighed and said half to himself: ‘What is written, is written,’ and did not argue any more. He went off to tell Kulu Ram that the Sahib required saddle-bags, and to bring Dagobaz round to the porch in a quarter of an hour's time; and having done that, fetched fresh tea – the original mug by now being cold. But when he would have brought the sporting rifle, Ash shook his head and said that he did not need it – ‘For I do not think a hakim would own such a weapon.’
‘Then why take the bullets?’
‘Because these I shall need. They are of the same calibre as those that the pultons use; and over the years many Government rifles have found their way into other hands, so I can safely take the other.’ He had taken the cavalry carbine, and, as an after-thought, his shot-gun and fifty cartridges.
Gul Baz dismantled the shot-gun and stowed it in the bistra, and when all was ready, carried the heavy canvas roll out to the porch. And as he watched Ash mount Dagobaz and ride away in the crystal-clear light of dawn, he wondered what Mahdoo would have done if he had been there.
Would Mahdoo perhaps have been able to turn the Sahib from his course? Gul Baz thought it highly unlikely. Yet for the first time he was glad that the old man was no longer alive so that he, Gul Baz, was spared from having to explain how it had come about that he had stood by and seen Pelham-Sahib riding away to certain death: and been unable to do anything to prevent it.
39
Ash's first call had been at the house of the District Superintendent of Police, whom he had found lightly clad in a dressing-gown and slippers, eating chota-hazri on his verandah. The sun was still below the horizon, but Mr Pettigrew, a hospitable soul, did not seem to mind receiving a caller at such an early hour. He waved aside Ash's apologies and sent for another cup and plate and more coffee.
‘Nonsense, my dear chap. Of course you can stay for a few minutes. What's the hurry? Have a slice of papaya – or what about a mango? No, I'm afraid I still haven't had a word from old Tim. Can't think what he's playing at. I thought I was bound to get an answer to that telegram. But I expect he's too busy. However, you needn't worry, he's not the sort of chap who'd stick it in a drawer and forget it. In fact, he probably went off to Bhithor to see that there's no hanky-panky. Have some more coffee?’
‘No thanks,’ said Ash, rising. ‘I must go. There are one or two things I have to do.’ He hesitated for a moment, and then added: ‘I'm going off into the country for a few days' shooting.’
‘Lucky beggar,’ said Mr Pettigrew enviously. ‘Wish I was. But then I don't get my leave until August. Well, good hunting.’
Ash had no better luck at the Telegraph Office. The clerk on duty said that there were no telegrams for him, and assured him yet again that if any had been received they would have been sent immediately to his bungalow. ‘This I am telling you before, Mister Pelham. We are never losing or mislaying such things. That I can promise. If your correspondents have unfortunately not sent reply, can I help it? Should they do so you shall receive same within a flash.’
The clerk was obviously ruffled, and Ash apologized and left. He was not particularly worried by the absence of any replies. He realized that as there was not much that could be safely said, the most he could expect would be a bare acknowledgement. But he had hoped for that, if only because experience had taught him that even urgent messages can, on occasion, be pigeon-holed through error or idleness – it being a matter of history that the frantic telegram from