THE CRIME AT TANGALORE

Dominion, Volume 25, Issue 69, 15 December 1931, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE CRIME AT TANGALORE

AN AMUSING TALE OF INDIA

By

J. Denis Coyne.

This clever story, by a Nczv Zealand zvritcr, shozvs the danger of jumping at conclusions. Although the incident has a humorous ending, the reader zvill readily agree that-it might have been otherzvisc.

To look at my Uncle Joseph you would never have believed that he had spent the greater part of his life as an oilicial in India. Most men who have borne “the burden of the race” in the East are thin and sallow. Uncle Joseph was fat and ruddy. In fact he was the proper “John Bull” type. I lay back in my armchair listening eagerly to the stories that flowed from him in an endless series. There was a short silence as he pondered over his last ta.le, then his face was wreathed in smiles. You never knew Tobin, • he was saying, Jack Tobin, the police wallah. He had one fault and two outstanding virtues. He talked shop, was extremely unconventional, and was always ready to make a sporting bet. If you are a moralist you can choose any one of those characteristics ami call it his fault. I was stationed at Tangalore near Amritsar and Jack was on one of his periodic visits. As usual we were arguing on crime and criminals. Lombroso was one of his pet authorities. ‘“The thief.” said Jack, "is always

recognisable by his features. Lombroso in my opinion does not go far enough. He admits that physical characteristics are sometimes misleading. “A sensible reservation,” I assented. “No!” he cried violently. “I maintain that the physical characteristics are always and invariably an accurate guide to a man’s character." “That’s rather sweeping, isn’t it?” “Wait till you hear all. If a person,’ he continued slowly and impressively, “bears any of the recognised signs of a thief on his face he will be able to thieve successfully, even though he may never have the inclination to do so. The less marked the signs, the more, mhrked will be his success as a thief, for the most easily recognisable signs are those which show mental deficiency.” “Let’s adjourn this discussion and have a peg.” The boy brought us the pegs and I noticed Jack was studying his features with interest. “See anything wrong in his face?” 1 queried jestingly, for the boy was one of (hose honest likeable boys.

“Yes,” he said after a moment’s thought. “Nonsense, I've had him for years, and he’s as honest as I am.” “Bribe him to steal Colonel Bangor’s watch and see. I'll bet you five rupees he’ll succeed.” “Done.” We recalled the boy. I looked again -,at his honest face and felt sure he would fail. “Boy,” I said, “if you steal the Colonel Sahib's watch between now and to-morrow evening, you'll get five rupees. He looked at us with twinkling eyes and exclaimed “and huzoor will get another dimple.” A coupfe of hours la tor as we were enjoying the cool of the evening we heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs. The rider stopped by our bungalow and Colonel Bangor’s rich baritone voice rang out. “Hullo, Tobin,” he called, “How’s crime? I've just been after game but my shikari pulled a long face when I explained I wanted to spend the night at the dak bungalow at Tippurmore. Said he wanted to get back here because his father was dying. The rascal's father is always dying, but I let him go, so I came back earlier than I intended. Drop in and have some bridge to-night.” With these final words he cantered oil.

That night the Colonel was obviously worried. Twice, much to the dismay of Mrs. Bangor, he revoked. When the rubber was finished he seemed even more troubled. He spoke disconnectedly and answered at random. As we were leaving he spoke to Jack. “I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said, “I’ve a small matter to discuss with you—it’s about —er —er —nothing of importance, but —well —-Goodnight.” Next morning we discussed the Colonel’s strange behaviour. Jack, corrupted by much psychology, was inclined to explain it as a mild attack of periodic insanity. When I demurred and said that if it was periodic why had I never seen him in that state before, lie explained that the intervals between the attacks were probably years or that it was the first of such a series of attacks. .When I said I didn’t think the Colonel was that kind of man he asked if the Colonel ever had dreams. Unfortunately for the Colonel’s reputation I remembered his having related,a vivid dream to me one morning. “There,” said Jack with an air of finality, “I thought as much.” Against the sweeping theories of Freud and his disciples, I was helpless. So I conceded that perhaps Jack was right after all. But this led to a more serious problem. The Colonel was to -have tiffin with us. If he was a lunatic how were we to deal with him? Jack’s position was clear. As His Majesty's representative of law and order he should call in one of his native policemen and arrest the Colonel. Mine was a more delicate position. I could hardly allow one of my guests to be hauled off to an asylum by another of my guests. After I had explained this. Jack was quite willing to defer the arrest for a couple of hours. The time, he explained, would give him a better opportunity for studying “the patient,” as lie now called the unfortunate Colonel.

The Colonel arrived in good time for tiffin. He seemed sane but still rather flurried. If I had not known what I did I should have said he was as other men. but I realised that at any minute his attack might take a turn for the worse. It was the beginning, and even Jack was not sure how bad he might become. Would he foam at the mouth? Would he throw himself on the floor and chew the mat? Would he attack us with the table knife'.' Or would be merely declare he was a poached egg or a missionary? With these fearful visions in my mind I watched him carefully. Every time he raised his knife I prepared to seize his wrist or dive under the table. I was not sure which course would be the safer. If it was true madmen had the strength of ten, perhaps the latter would be better. The meal was rather silent. Whenever Hie Colonel spoke Jack and I

agreed with him. We dared not cross him. He became more incoherent than ever, and finally lapsed into complete silence.

Suddenly, with an abruptness which set our nerves on edge, he broke the silence.

“Some villain ” he began, violently, at the same time raising his knife fiercely. He did not finish, I dived under the table and discovered that Jack had beaten me to cover by a split second. There was another moment’s silence, then the Colonel gasped, and rising so hastily that he overturned the chair rushed from the room. We cautiously and rather shamefacedly crept out from under tfie table and went to the verandah. The Colonel, still clutching the table knife, was hurrying homeward. “That settles it,” said Jack, “I’ll send some policemen round at once and a man to the barracks to warn the troops. There’s no time to lose.” He hurried off leaving me to my mis- ■ givings. What if the Colonel should murder Mrs. Bangor before the police should arrive? Or would he attack the excellent padre who was his neighbour? I toofl a stiff peg to steady my nerves. Five minutes later a detachment of soldiers under command of a sergeant marched down the road. Their fixed bayonets glinted in the sun and I idly wondered why they were out and where they were going. To my horror I saw they were entering my compound. The sergeant posted them at various strategic positions. I went out, but the sergeant met me, saluted politely and advised me not to leave the house. "Colonel’s orders,” he replied to my expostulations. “But the Colonel’s mad, stark, staring mad,” I explained. “I dunno, sir,” he said firmly, “but orders is orders.” I retired defeated, wondering whether Jack had been arrested also, and whether the Colonel in his madness, after murdering his wife and the padre, would shoot us at leisure or whether ho would drag us before a courtmartial. I prayed for a court-martial for it did not seem possible that all his officers would also be suffering from attacks of periodic insanity. The entrance of the padre nnd the sergeant interrupted my thoughts. "Feeling better,” asked the padre, nervously. “An hour ago I never felt better in my life.” “God sends us trials to strengthen us for His work.” “But the Colonel .” “We cannot explain His ways,” he continued. “He's quite mad.” “My dear fellow, don’t blaspheme!” “How?” “His ways are wrapped in an Impenetrable mystery. His blows are blessings in disguise.” “Does he often .” “Times without number he has afflicted His servants.” “How terrible!” “But his mercy—— “He is merciful then?” I asked, thinking of the Colonel. “Poor lad, your education has been neglected,” he said pityingly. “I don’t see what education has to i do with the question,” I retorted an- i grily. “But the Colonel “Calm yourself my dear follow ” : "I am calm.” ;

“What you need,” said the padre, “is a good, long holiday.” Then I realised what had happened. The Colonel was not mad, but he thought we were. I explained the whole position to the clergyman. He laughed. “.Yes, that’s it.” he said, “the Colonel came to me saying you and Mr. Tobin were mad. I was startled and wanted to know the whole story. It appears that last evening when he came home he found your boy in his dressing-room turning out his drawers. Knowing how you prized him the Colonel was dismayed at finding he was a thief. To add to his bewilderment the boy told an incredible story of your offering him five rupees for the Colonel’s watch. When the Colonel was about to tell you the story he was startled by your behaviour. lie .” “One moment.” I interrupted, “what has happened to Jack Tobin?” “Why? Isn’t he here?” “No. he hurried to the police station to have the Colonel arrested. You had better go and stop the arrest.” The padre hurried off again so quickly that the sergeant looked even more suspiciously than ever at me. Then the humorous side of the affair struck me and T began to laugh immoderately, but observing the sergeant’s fear 1 went inside and threw myself into a rattan chair. Half an hour later, Jack returned. He was looking even more shamefaced than when lie had emerged from under tlie table. The padre had arrived just as he was entering the Colonel’s house at the head of his police. Apologies were made on both sides and our guards were removed. The Colonel was rather indignant when lie heard of tlie bet. but the Freudian psychology chfirmed him. I’oor Jack never hoard the end of it. The mess nicknamed him “Freud,” but as ? said before he was a good sport. As for the boy. he was with me until I left India. And that, concluded Uncle Joseph, is what is known in the country around Amritsar as the crime of Tangalore.