A Passage to India - E. M. Forster [69]
“I don’t want to hear his private letters.”
“It’ll have to be quoted in Court, as bearing on his morals. He was fixing up to see women at Calcutta.”
“Oh, that’ll do, that’ll do.”
McBryde stopped, naively puzzled. It was obvious to him that any two sahibs ought to pool all they knew about any Indian, and he could not think where the objection came in.
“I dare say you have the right to throw stones at a young man for doing that, but I haven’t. I did the same at his age.”
So had the Superintendent of Police, but he considered that the conversation had taken a turn that was undesirable. He did not like Fielding’s next remark either.
“Miss Quested really cannot be seen? You do know that for a certainty?”
“You have never explained to me what’s in your mind here. Why on earth do you want to see her?”
“On the off chance of her recanting before you send in that report and he’s committed for trial, and the whole thing goes to blazes. Old man, don’t argue about this, but do of your goodness just ring up your wife or Miss Derek and enquire. It’ll cost you nothing.”
“It’s no use ringing up them,” he replied, stretching out for the telephone. “Callendar settles a question like that, of course. You haven’t grasped that she’s seriously ill.”
“He’s sure to refuse, it’s all he exists for,” said the other desperately.
The expected answer came back: the Major would not hear of the patient being troubled.
“I only wanted to ask her whether she is certain, dead certain, that it was Aziz who followed her into the cave.”
“Possibly my wife might ask her that much.”
“But I wanted to ask her. I want someone who believes in him to ask her.”
“What difference does that make?”
“She is among people who disbelieve in Indians.”
“Well, she tells her own story, doesn’t she?”
“I know, but she tells it to you.”
McBryde raised his eyebrows, murmuring: “A bit too finespun. Anyhow, Callendar won’t hear of you seeing her. I’m sorry to say he gave a bad account just now. He says that she is by no means out of danger.”
They were silent. Another card was brought into the office—Hamidullah’s. The opposite army was gathering.
“I must put this report through now, Fielding.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“How can I not?”
“I feel that things are rather unsatisfactory as well as most disastrous. We are heading for a most awful smash. I can see your prisoner, I suppose.”
He hesitated. “His own people seem in touch with him all right.”
“Well, when he’s done with them.”
“I wouldn’t keep you waiting; good heavens, you take precedence of any Indian visitor, of course. I meant what’s the good. Why mix yourself up with pitch?”
“I say he’s innocent——”
“Innocence or guilt, why mix yourself up? What’s the good?”
“Oh, good, good,” he cried, feeling that every earth was being stopped. “One’s got to breathe occasionally, at least I have. I mayn’t see her, and now I mayn’t see him. I promised him to come up here with him to you, but Turton called me off before I could get two steps.”
“Sort of all-white thing the Burra Sahib would do,” he muttered sentimentally. And trying not to sound patronizing, he stretched his hand over the table, and said: “We shall all have to hang together, old man, I’m afraid. I’m your junior in years, I know, but very much your senior in service; you don’t happen to know this poisonous country as well as I do, and you must take it from me that the general situation is going to be nasty at Chandrapore during the next few weeks, very nasty indeed.”
“So