Supping With Panthers Read Free Page B

little perplexed as to what I should do next. Suddenly, however, I heard footsteps at my back.
    ‘Perhaps I can be of assistance?’ a voice said in my ear.
    I turned round to see a man standing there, not in uniform but a European all the same. He had a thin, gaunt face, with an aquiline nose and rather the air of a bird of prey. He would not have been more than thirty, I estimated, yet his eyes seemed those of a much older man. I wondered who the devil he could be; and then suddenly – in a flash – it came to me.
    ‘Doctor Eliot?’ I asked.
    The young man nodded. I introduced myself. ‘Yes,’ he said shortly, ‘I was told you might be coming’ He stared down at the priest, who by now was laid out on the ground, clutching his leg and still muttering to himself.
    ‘What’s he saying?’ I asked.
    Eliot didn’t answer me at first. Instead, he knelt down and began to tend to the brahmin’s leg.
    I repeated my question.
    ‘He is accusing you of sacrilege,’ said Eliot without looking up.
    ‘But I didn’t take his gold.’
    ‘You cut down the guts, though, didn’t you?’
    I snorted. ‘Ask him why they do it,’ I ordered brusquely. ‘Ask him why they smear the idol with blood.’
    Eliot spoke something to the priest. The old man’s eyes dilated with fear; I saw him point at the statue and then sweep with his arm at the darkness of the jungle; I heard him mutter words I recognised, ‘Vetala-pancha-Vinshati’ – words I had heard from the Babu back in Simla. Then the old man began to scream violently; I bent down beside him, but Eliot already had him in his arms and he brushed me away. ‘Leave the poor man alone,’ he ordered. ‘He’s in great pain. You’ve already shot him, Captain Moorfield – isn’t that enough good work for now?’
    Well, I was nettled by this comment, I freely admit, but I took the doctor’s point – that there was nothing I could do – and so I rose to my feet. I had been intrigued, however, by the mention of the Babu’s demons; Eliot must have read my thoughts, for he looked up at me and told me he would find me later on. I nodded again, then turned on my heels. His manner may have been a little short, but Eliot struck me as a sound man in the essentials, the sort of chap I was willing to trust. I went off to supervise the pitching of our tents.
    Some time later, with the sentries posted and our camp shipshape, I was sitting alone enjoying a pipe when Eliot joined me. ‘How’s your patient?’ I asked.
    Eliot nodded. ‘He’ll pull through,’ he said as, with a sigh, he slumped down beside me where I sat. For a long while he said nothing at all, just stared into the fire. I offered him a pipe; he took it and filled it up himself. After several minutes’ further silence, he stretched out like a cat and turned to me.
    ‘You should not have tampered with the statue,’ he said at length.
    ‘Fakir still upset then, is he?’
    ‘Naturally,’ my companion replied. ‘He holds himself responsible for appeasing the gods. Hence the golden jewellery, you see, Captain, and the goat guts round the neck…’
    ‘Goat guts?’ I interrupted.
    ‘Why?’ Eliot’s bright eyes gleamed. ‘What did you think they were?’
    ‘Oh, nothing,’ I grunted, tapping out my pipe. ‘Just seems odd, I suppose – kicking up that fuss about some animal’s insides.’
    ‘Not really, Captain,’ Eliot murmured, hooding his eyes again. ‘Because you see, by insulting the goddess you have also insulted her worshippers, the dwellers of Kalikshutra – the very people whose country you are about to invade. The brahmin is afraid for his own folk, who live scattered around here amongst the foothills. He says that now there will be nothing to stop them from being attacked.’
    ‘What, by the fellows higher up the mountainside?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘But I don’t understand. I’ve left them the gold -surely that’s what really matters? Why should anyone care for goat guts and blood? Why would