The Pointing Man | Page 4

babel, and round-hatted sailors
from the Royal Indian Marine ships mingled with them.
All up and down the Mangadone River lights came out. Clear lights
along the land, and wavering torch-lights in the water. Ships' port-holes
cleared themselves in the darkness, ships' lights gleamed green and red
in high stars up in the crows'-nests, or at the shapeless bulk of dark
bows, and white sheets of strong electric clearness lay over one or two
landing-stages where craft was moored alongside and overtime work
still continued. Little sampans glided in and out like whispers, and
small boats with crossed oars, rowed by one man, ferried to and fro, but
it was late, and, gradually, all commercial traffic ceased.
It was quite late now, an hour when European life had withdrawn to the
Cantonment. It was not an hour for Sahibs on foot to be about, and yet
it seemed that there was one who found the night air of July 29th hot
and close, and desired to go towards the river for the sake of the breeze
and the fresh air. He, too, like all the others, passed along Paradise
Street, passing quickly, as the others had passed, his head bent and his
eyes averted from the faces that looked up at him from easy chairs,
from crowded doorsteps, or that leaned over balconies. He, also,
whoever he was, had not Mhtoon Pah's leisure to regard the street, and
he went on with a steady, quick walk which took him out on to the
wharf, and from the wharf along a waste place where the tram lines
ceased, and away from there towards a cluster of lights in a house close
over the dark river itself.
The stars came out overhead, and the Southern Cross leaned down;
seen from the river over the twin towers of the cathedral, seen from the
cathedral brooding over the native quarter, seen in Paradise Street not
at all, and not in any way missed by the inhabitants, whose eyes were
not upon the stars; seen again in the Cantonment, over the massed trees

of the park, and seen remarkably well from the wide veranda of Mrs.
Wilder's bungalow, where the guests sat after a long dinner, remarking
upon the heat and oppressiveness of the tropic night. The fire-flies
danced over the trees like iridescent sparks hung on invisible gauze,
and even came into the lighted drawing-room, to sparkle with less
radiance against the plain white walls. Fans whirred round and round
like large tee-totums set near the ceiling, and even the electric light
appeared to give out heat; no breeze stirred from the far-away river, no
coolness came with the dark, no relief from the brooding, sultry heat. It
was no hotter than many nights in any break in the rains, but the guests
invited by Mrs. Wilder felt the languor of the air, and felt it more
profoundly because their hostess herself was affected by it.
Mrs. Wilder was a dark, handsome woman of thirty-five, usually full of
life and animation, and her dinners were known to be entertainments in
the real sense of the word. Draycott Wilder was no mate for her in
appearance or manner, but Draycott Wilder was marked by the Powers
as a successful man. He took very little part in the social side of their
married life, and sat in the shadow near the lighted door, listening while
his guests talked. The party was in no way different to many others,
and it would have ended and been forgotten by all concerned if it had
not been for the fact that an unusual occurrence broke it up in dismay.
Mrs. Wilder complained of the heat during dinner, and she had been
pale, looking doubly so in her vivid green dress; her usual animation
had vanished, and she talked with evident effort and seemed glad of the
darkness of the veranda.
Suddenly one of those strange silences fell over everyone, silences that
may be of a few seconds' duration, but that appear like hours. What
they are connected with, no one can guess. The silence lasted for a
second, and it was broken with sudden violence.
"My God," said the voice of Hartley, the Head of the Police, speaking
in tones of alarm. "Mrs. Wilder has fainted!" She had fallen forward in
her chair, and he had caught her as she fell.
Very soon the guests dispersed and the bungalow was still for the night.
One or two waited to hear what the doctor had to say, and went away

satisfied in the knowledge that the heat had been too much for Mrs.
Wilder, and, but for that event, the dinner-party would have been
forgotten after two days. Hartley was the last to leave, and the sound of
trotting hoofs grew faint