Wallace of the Secret Service (28 page)

Gandhi received him courteously, but for some time he found it difficult to rid himself of a feeling of astonishment that such cultured accents could proceed from the wizened little object seated cross-legged on a mat, looking for all the world like a living gargoyle. He presented his letter of introduction, and was invited to squat near his host, who was engaged in his favourite occupation of spinning. Gandhi very quickly proved that he had an extensive knowledge of Afghanistan, and Wallace felt glad that he had taken the trouble to bring his acquaintance with affairs in the northern kingdom up to date. Afterwards the emaciated-looking Indian spoke earnestly and convincingly about the political problems that beset India, but there was more than a tinge of fanaticism in his observations, and a great deal of quite impossible idealism. One by one his disciples came up and squatted within hearing, hanging upon the Mahatma’s words as though he were a prophet of old with all the assertion and authority which had enabled the numerous soothsayers of biblical times to impress and sway the
impressionable multitude. Indeed, Sir Leonard Wallace had a sensation, as he sat there listening, that he had been conveyed back through the ages. His surroundings gave support to that feeling, for it was such a scene as must have been common enough in the old Israel of the Bible. The only modern note about it was his own Muslim dress, and even that was of the kind that has scarcely changed for centuries.

Gandhi added nothing to what Wallace had learnt since becoming identified with the Congress movement in Lahore. He more or less devoted himself to the painting of a highly imaginative picture of the India of the future, so Utopian in character that a faint smile even curled the lips of Mirabai, who had noiselessly approached and stood a few feet away. Eventually the Indian demagogue came to earth, and looked at the pseudo-Afghan, his eyes twinkling behind his large spectacles, as though he realised himself that he had been talking moonshine. Wallace, who had always felt that Gandhi was an idealist and nothing else, suddenly began to doubt the man’s honesty of purpose. That half-smile on his face said quite plainly: ‘It is wonderful how gullible Indians are. You see how easy it is to sway them with a lot of nonsense!’ Sir Leonard became convinced at that moment that, though there might be a great deal of romanticism in the Mahatma’s nature, he was, after all, a poseur; that his meagre dress, everything he did, everything he said, were merely part of a self-advertising stunt. It was the one thing most likely to impress his superstitious, semi-educated countrymen, and he had been clever enough to see it and act on it.

‘After all,’ he observed in a gentle voice to his visitor, ‘we do not ask for much. The great object of the Congress is to attain for the people of India a system of government similar to that
enjoyed by the self-governing members the British Empire. If you return to Afghanistan, and persuade your country-people that that is the motive behind Congress activities, I am certain that their sympathy will be with us. And if the whole world can be influenced to sympathise in the same manner, the British Government will not refuse to accede to our just demands. It dare not.’

‘How do you think the whole world can be influenced?’ asked Wallace.

‘Ah! That I am not prepared to say – yet.’

He broke into a long Persian proverb, and Sir Leonard wondered if he had quoted it on purpose to test him and thus discover if he were really an Afghan. However Wallace’s knowledge of Persian was as good as that of Urdu, and he replied by politely disputing the aptness of Gandhi’s quotation, and citing another which, in his opinion, he declared, was more appropriate. Gandhi courteously conceded the point. Presently he dismissed Miss Slade and his other disciples. Wallace immediately thought that he was about to hear something of an important and secret nature, but was entirely unprepared for what actually came. Waiting until they were alone, Gandhi leant across and spoke quietly.

‘Now, sir,’ he said in English, ‘perhaps you will be good enough to explain the meaning of this masquerade?’

If ever Wallace was taken by surprise during his career it was at that moment. For some seconds he merely sat and stared at his interlocutor, wondering what had given him away, feeling thoroughly foolish. The half-naked Indian before him gazed at him through his absurd glasses, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the situation. Sir Leonard recovered himself quickly. He saw that it was no use keeping up the
pretence to the astute little man, who had, somehow or other, penetrated his disguise.

‘How did you know?’ he asked calmly.

Gandhi raised his hands in a gesture almost of apology.

‘I knew that you and Lady Wallace were in India and—’

‘Then,’ interrupted Sir Leonard sharply, ‘you also know who I am.’

‘I do,’ returned Gandhi. ‘As I was saying, I knew you were in India, and being aware of your position as head of the British Intelligence Service, I naturally suspected your reasons for coming to this country. I have heard a lot about you, and some of your exploits have been related to me. In addition I have seen a photograph of you. When you came here today I must confess I was deceived, and really believed that I was entertaining an Afghan gentleman. It was only when I noticed the glove on your left hand that suspicions were roused – I knew of your artificial arm, you see. After that it was not very difficult to penetrate your very excellent disguise.’

‘I see,’ nodded Wallace. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

The Mahatma raised his hands in another expressive gesture.

‘What can I do about it?’ he asked. ‘You are here, and you will depart again. I have no wish to detain you. Even if I had, I don’t suppose I could, as no doubt you possess a strong argument in favour of your being allowed to go unmolested in the shape of a pistol.’

‘No,’ returned Sir Leonard. ‘I have no weapon of any sort on me.’

‘Ah!’ Gandhi smiled. ‘That either shows that you had confidence in me, or in your disguise.’

‘A little of both, I expect,’ conceded Wallace. ‘Then I take it you will make no attempt to hinder me?’

‘None at all. Why should I? You have learnt absolutely nothing
by coming here in this manner. I would have spoken to you as I have spoken, if you had come as your real self.’

‘Perhaps you would have opened out a little bit, if you had not penetrated my disguise,’ suggested Sir Leonard.

‘There is nothing to open out about,’ was the reply. ‘You Britishers nowadays are full of suspicion. Believe me, the Congress has no ulterior motives. I will admit that there is an extreme left-wing, which is rather fond of making a noise, but really means no harm. Our object, as I said just now, is the attainment of a system of government similar to that of other dominions. Surely there is nothing harmful in such an ambition?’

Wallace smiled.

‘I wonder if you really think I believe that?’ he said. ‘Personally I am convinced that it is a mere smoke-screen raised by you and your colleagues to conceal your real intentions.’

Gandhi shrugged his shoulders.

‘You will, of course, think what you choose,’ he murmured. ‘I doubt if you have learnt any more in your spying expedition through India.’

Sir Leonard rose from his uncomfortable position on the floor.

‘It seems that there is nothing more to be said,’ he remarked.

‘Nothing, except that I would have respected Sir Leonard Wallace more had he come to me undisguised. There was no necessity to come as a spy.’

‘That is a matter of opinion,’ returned the other calmly. ‘The word spy has an unpleasant sound I admit but, at times, it can have a very noble meaning.’

‘Not in my language,’ retorted Gandhi.

He clapped his hands, and Miss Slade made her appearance. Continuing to speak in English he addressed her.

‘Please see that this gentleman – Sir Leonard Wallace of the British Intelligence Service – is allowed to leave the premises without hindrance; then return to me.’

She gave a start of surprise, but made no further sign, and led Wallace to the gate, where she spoke for the first time.

‘You came like this,’ she stated rather than asked, ‘to pry into his secrets? It was an incredibly mean thing to do.’

‘I’m sorry you feel like that about it,’ he replied gently. ‘I do not agree with you, Miss Slade.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ she cried almost angrily.

‘Very well; Mirabai then.’

He bowed, and, turning, walked swiftly to the conveyance that awaited him. She stood looking after him for some moments; then returned slowly to Mr Gandhi.

Sir Leonard decided that he had come very badly out of his attempt to pry into the secrets of the Indian National Congress. He felt rather like a small boy who had been found out in some mischievous prank; nevertheless he had no intention of leaving the neighbourhood until he had discovered what he had come for, or proved that it was impossible to learn anything further. His mind was very busy during the ride to the small native hotel in which he had taken a room in Ahmedabad and, as he descended from the tonga, there was such a purposeful look on his face that it would have caused Mr Gandhi to ponder deeply could he have seen it.

That evening Wallace made several purchases in the bazaar, which he carried to his inn, afterwards going to the European hotel where Carter impatiently waited for word from him. Behind closed doors the young man was apprised of the disastrous ending to Sir Leonard’s interview with Gandhi.

‘By Jove, sir!’ he commented. ‘It was pretty cute of the old boy.’

‘It was,’ agreed Wallace, ‘but his very cuteness in recognising that I had an artificial arm will possibly help to lead him into a little trap I am preparing for him. Tomorrow I am returning to the Ashram. He and his followers will probably be expecting me to make another attempt, and I will be on the look out. But when a sadhu turns up showing quite brazenly the naked stump of an arm, if I am not mistaken, they will be completely deceived. The last thing they would expect me to do would be to flaunt the very disability that gave me away. And I don’t think they would ever dream that a fastidious Englishman would disguise himself as a sadhu.’

‘What is a sadhu?’ asked Carter curiously.

‘One who follows a certain Hindu principle of asceticism. Tomorrow you will see what a member of the cult looks like. And as it won’t do for you to be seen with one, I want you take careful note of what I am going to say. I think my plan to get into the Ashram will work all right, but in order to make certain, I want your help. About seven I shall make my way to Sabarmati, and you must hire a car and follow somewhere about ten. You will be the bearer of a message from me to Gandhi asking him for another interview in my proper capacity as Chief of the Intelligence Department. He may make an appointment; he may not – it doesn’t matter one way or the other. But one thing does matter: you will be bothered by a horrible-looking fakir, naked except for a loin-cloth, bells round his neck and ankles, streaks of pigment on his body and face, hair matted with mud, and merely a stump instead of a left arm. Have you followed?’

‘Yes, sir,’ grinned Carter. ‘Will that be you?’

‘That will be me,’ nodded Wallace. ‘I’ll solicit alms from you so
earnestly and insistently that you’ll lose your temper, and push me roughly aside. I’ll fall, and be hurt and, I hope, will be carried into the Ashram. Do you get the idea?’

‘Rather, sir. What do I do then?’

‘Return to Ahmedabad. You’ll probably be chased off the premises anyhow for daring to treat a holy man in such a manner.’

Carter looked disappointed.

‘Pity you can’t find me something else to do as well, sir,’ he grumbled. ‘My job seems tame.’

‘It’s very important,’ returned Wallace. ‘It will certainly help to establish my bona fides, and will probably be the only possible way of enabling me to get into the Ashram. But when you push me, push hard. It would look absurd and highly suspicious if I fell over for no apparent reason.’

Early next morning a figure was seen on the road to Sabarmati, which pedestrians and others regarded with reverence or disgust, according to their religious persuasions. His dark brown, almost black, skin was coated with dust, his only garment being a loin-cloth. His hair was matted with dried mud; his face and chest streaked with white paint. Round his neck and ankles were fastened bells, and he carried in his right hand a beggar’s bowl, into which every now and again a pious passer-by would drop a coin. His left arm had been amputated between shoulder and elbow, and the stump, covered with dirt like the rest of his body, hung pathetically to his side. He took a considerable time to traverse the short distance between Ahmedabad and Sabarmati, as he walked very slowly most of the way, and visited every shrine he came to, but occasionally he would trot in order to make the bells ring, particularly when approaching people whom he thought charitably minded.

Sir Leonard Wallace had worn many disguises in his time, but nothing to equal this. In every way he looked the religious mendicant, one of the unclean, grotesque brotherhood so common in India. It was the only disguise that, in his opinion, would be effective in the Ashram of Mahatma Gandhi, after the detection of the previous day. But he hated the filth and indecency of it, loathed the necessity which compelled him to walk barefooted, abominated the unclean scent which, with many a shudder, he had sprinkled on his body in order to complete the effectiveness of the masquerade. A master of disguise, Sir Leonard always took care to assure himself that, in every particular, his make-up was perfect. The only amusement, however, his impersonation of a fakir afforded him was contained in the reflection that he would like his wife to see him and study her face when she knew it was he.

At last he arrived at the Ashram and found it a hive of industry. It no longer wore the placid appearance it had possessed when he made his first visit. Everybody moved about as though great events were about to take place, and he was surprised at the number of people assembled in the compound until he remembered that the two Nehrus were expected, and that the gathering was there to bid them welcome. He squatted at the gate, and watched. Several men approached, dropped coins in his bowl, and spoke reverently to him. Eventually Gandhi was apparently notified of his arrival, for he emerged from the building surrounded by a crowd of his disciples, and walked to the ‘holy’ visitor. Wallace prepared for the interview quite confidently. He had studied the religious mendicant business thoroughly, and felt no qualms that he would make a slip and give himself away. For several minutes the Mahatma spoke to him, asking questions
and receiving appropriate replies, and it was obvious that despite his enlightenment, he possessed almost the same superstitious reverence for the ascetic squatting before him as his untutored companions. One of the first things he noticed was the stump of Wallace’s left arm. It seemed to fascinate him and he asked questions concerning it, to receive a highly coloured recital of the imaginary accident which had led to the amputation.