# Benefit of Doubt/Chapter 15
### CHAPTER XV.
#### “That kind of talk is always true.”

The mullah, returning from Podanaram, avoided the temple where he had left King, reasoning that if, as was likely enough, the sirdar should escape, the ex-priest would be blamed for it. For himself, he had troubles enough without any added difficulty of making explanations to Mahommed Babar.
He returned to his own village in doubt about Mahommed Babar. The Khalifate Committee had decided to throw their whole influence against him. Choosing the weaker of two sides was not the mullah's guiding principle, and he would cheerfully have given the amount of a year's stipend for sure, prophetic knowledge as to which of the rival influences would prevail.
As a Moslem and a mullah, he could hardly disapprove a plan to murder a couple of foreign infidels, if the cause of Islam was to be the gainer by it. What did prisoners expect? They would be lucky not to be tortured as well as murdered. Nevertheless, the project scared him. In the long run the British always had been victorious hitherto. It would be unpleasant to be hanged. Vastly safer to have an alibi. If Mahommed Babar were really strong enough to prevail against the Khalifate Committee, undoubtedly the best plan would be to notify Mahommed Babar of the project. He could manage that without the Khalifate Committee learning of his “discretion,” as he described it to himself, because he had promised them to return to his village and spy on Mahommed Babar. But he must have a witness, otherwise the double-play would be no use. He must be able to prove, in the contingency of British victory, that he used his influence against the murder of European prisoners.
It was in that frame of mind that he approached his village near nightfall. The village was almost empty of inhabitants, excepting women and children, who, how- ever, were creating a prodigious disturbance at the foot of the hill, where the one street entered the jungle. He hurried down-hill to investigate, and was met by Ommony on pony-back, who knew him slightly, and whom he knew very well indeed by reputation.
“You step down opportunely out of Allah's lap,” said Ommony by way of greeting. “Save these men's lives, will you! This is a British officer. These are three of his men. The remainder were killed in the jungle, while marching behind me under flag of truce—a bad mistake! Now these idiots of women want to kill the rest of them.”
“Where were you all going?” asked the mullah.
“To Podanaram.”
The mullah thumbed his beads in secret recognition of the wondrous ways of Allah, and launched forth a string of abuse that sent the women homeward. That left some half-dozen old men and cripples, and four or five armed youths who for one reason or another had not accompanied the raiders. The mullah gave Linkinyear and the three men into their charge. Ommony protested. The mullah excused himself, but was as adamant. He said it would cause a bad impression in the village if he acted otherwise, but invited Ommony, as a favored individual, to come to the mosque with him and talk the situation over.
Ommony yielded the point temporarily, knowing from experience how vastly easier it is to conduct an argument without an audience. Linkinyear did his best to look cheerful, and encouraged his three remaining men by sitting down beside them, ignoring rank over their protests.. The mullah took Ommony's stirrup uphill, and the four Moplahs who had been lent by the chiefs for an escort took to their heels incontinently. Ommony tied the pony to a tree outside the mosque, and a jungli whom no one had noticed hitherto, came and sat in the dust beside the animal. The mullah led the way around the mosque and through a gap in the fence into the room whence King had cut his way out with a saber. The door had not been repaired.
“If your honor will be seated, I will find my servant.”
Ommony raised no objection. Unless your host, in those parts, commits himself to some extent by supplying food and drink you have small chance of gaining your point. He sat down on the bed and pulled out a cigar—paused—lighted it—smoked—smoked the whole of it. His host was gone more than half-an-hour, yet it was not politic to arouse suspicion by betraying it.
Meanwhile the mullah went into the mosque and sat there. He wanted time to think. He took off his turban and pressed his temples between both hands. Put on the turban again, and knelt in prayer. Laid his forehead on the mosque floor—then rose and beat his forehead with his fists. Went out and found his servant, but suddenly changed his mind about what he had meant to say. Abused him roundly for looking like a fool, to the shame of his Creator, and then coaxed him, begging him to be discreet. Ordered him into the mosque. Ordered him out again angrily. Called him back. Made him squat down before him. Warned him how Allah is omnipresent—omniscient—knows, hears, sees all things and reads men's hearts. Bound the servant to secrecy by half a score inviolable oaths—and then sent him downhill to tell the whole party who were standing guard over the prisoners to march all four of them away at once to Podanaram, and to bring him an answer.
The answer came back in the shape of a protesting Moplah, who accompanied the servant and demanded to know whether they were to march through the jungle by night. Was the whole world crazy all at once? The mullah told the servant to say yes. The other refused indignantly, because of the danger. The mullah cursed him; then cursed and coaxed alternately; then coaxed—through the mosque door. They compromised. The prisoners were to be taken out of the village immediately, sleep wherever there was shelter. Hurry on to Podanaram at dawn. Praise Allah! The mullah had | not compromised himself. He could claim afterwards that he had sent the prisoners along, or that he had not. None had seen him talking through the mosque door, except the servant; he could beat him.
He returned to Ommony, who was pacing the room restlessly—had to go out again, however, because he had forgotten in the excitement to tell his servant to bring food. Came back again and sat down rather humbly on the floor in front of Ommony.
“And now, O Father of the Forest, let us seek to oblige each other,” he suggested.
“Have you ordered food for that officer and his men?” Ommony demanded.
“That is what took this long while. It was necessary to see the food was suitable. It has been done.”
He described in considerable detail the ingredients and condiments that had gone into the imaginary stew, whereat Ommony professed himself satisfied. Ommony began to explain the situation in detail, dwelling on the baseness of murdering unarmed men who came carrying white flags. He told why they were coming. He, Ommony, had consented to the expedition for no reason whatever except to save the Moplahs from consequences that inevitably must ensue if they should murder those two prisoners at Podanaram.
The mullah grew nervous again. He suggested that the consequences might not be so serious. Ommony disabused his mind. After the British victory, which must come sooner or later, the defeated Moplahs would be falling over one another to denounce the authors of every outrage, and nothing would be easier than for the British to identify culprits, who would be hanged after trial and conviction.
The mullah became very nervous indeed. Ommony pointed out that foreigners from other parts of India, who might look just at present like responsible people, would undoubtedly try to run away before the end came, leaving the Moplahs to shoulder the consequences.
The mullah, more nervous than ever, excused himself to go and see why the food was so long coming—actually to find his servant and countermand the order about taking those prisoners to Podanaram. But he could not find the servant. He had to get another man to make tea for his guest, and by the time that came at last it was after sunset.
“Where are my friends going to sleep?” demanded Ommony.
The mullah professed not to know. By that time he was too jumpy to invent a workable lie on the spur of a moment. Ommony insisted on finding out where they were to sleep; invited the mullah to accompany him, but threatened to go alone and investigate otherwise. Not knowing exactly what excuse to make, but hoping for something to turn up, the mullah took a lantern and followed him out, taking the lead as they passed through the gap in the fence and drew abreast of the mosque portico.
There a man ran into them—cannoned off the mullah in the dark and nearly upset Ommony. He was heaving—sweating—did not smell like a native of Madras—and Ommony's nose was jungle keen. The man had collapsed on the portico, gasping for breath. Ommony took the lantern from the mullah and, stooping to see who had come in all that haste, looked into the face of Athelstan King!
“Oh, hello!” he said.
“'Lo Cot?”
Ommony and the mullah picked him up between them, and supported him into the mosque, where Ommony kicked his boots off as a concession to the mullah's prejudices.
“Thought you were dead,” he said, smiling at King in the dancing, dim lantern light.
“That was guesswork, Cot, not thinking! Is it true——” He lay down a minute, still panting for breath, then sat up again. “Sorry. Ran uphill. Is it true you had an officer and three men with you? Women said so. Why d'you let 'em take 'em to P'danaram?”'
Ommony's lower jaw dropped a trifle as he turned on the mullah, that was all. The mullah recognized a crisis and proceeded to use his natural weapon.
“This person is an English spy, for he speaks English!” he announced. “You—you had our confidence! I will denounce you both!”
“Man without brains or hope of life eternal!” exclaimed King in the vernacular. “I come from Mahommed Babar, who now has four hundred followers. He cares nothing for mullahs—all for his friends! He is within a march of here.”
The mullah chewed the cud on that a minute, then nodded and got up to leave the mosque.
“Sit down there!” commanded Ommony, who, however, had no weapon.
The mullah reached into the folds of his clothes for his own rusty Mauser, but heard a low whistle and turned his head—to find himself looking straight down the barrel of King's little automatic. King said nothing.
“Give me your weapon, and sit down!” ordered Ommony.
The mullah obeyed in both particulars.
“I was scratching myself,” he explained. “I wasn't going to use that.”
“Allah's own truth!” agreed Ommony. “It wouldn't have gone off. Here, take it.”
The mullah stored the Mauser away again with an air of drawing comfort from. it nevertheless.
“We've got to do something quick!” said King. He tapped the mullah's knee with an arresting finger. “It is not too late for you to put yourself right! We are men worth making friends of, Ommony and I. Can you bring that officer and his men back here at once?”
“I don't know where they are,” said the mullah impotently.
Ommony gave King a brief account of how they had come, King interjecting short, quick questions, which Ommony answered in the same laconic code. Then:
“Every prisoner in Podanaram, including Judge Wilmshurst and his wife, is going to be tortured and murdered!” King announced. “Some talk of making it a public exhibition. The majority favors doing it in secret and showing the bodies afterward from village to village—commit 'em as accessories—encourage further outrage—offset the influence of Mahommed Babar, who preaches decency and enforces it.”
“Better get word to him,” Ommony suggested.
“I've just come from him. Strange fellow. Had a long talk. Seems it was*we who drove him to rebellion. Yes, you and I, Cot! Member when we shot Shere Ali? *Member how he flinched, or seemed to? Swears he didn't. Swears he stepped back to tempt the brute, and had perfect confidence in us. When he saw the look on our faces he knew he wasn't one of us and never would be! That's his version of it. Says we thought him a coward, and he didn't care to argue.”
“That kind of talk is always true,” said Ommony. “A liar would have invented something plausible.”
“I tried to get him interested in Mr. and Mrs. Wilmshurst—heard all about them in a temple where this mullah left me. Mahommed Babar said he was sorry for Mrs. Wilmshurst, hardly interested in the judge, and busy in any event. True, too. Really is busy. They're flocking to his standard in scores every hour. Then there came a rumor about you and a party of British soldiers surrounded and cut up in the jungle. Mahommed Babar. didn't believe a word of it—gave me leave to live—said he will always consider himself my friend—and hinted that the interview was over. I came hurrying here to investigate the rumor about you and soldiers. It's bad, Cot. Rotten. What are we going to do?”
“I can go to Podanaram,” suggested Ommony.
“Worse and worse! They'd kill you out of hand, and impale your head to prove all ——'s loose! No. Think of something else. This mullah. What about him? He cooked the goose. Can:he uncook it?”
Ommony considered the mullah for a moment.
“He has points. He has points,” he answered. “I wouldn't trust him out of my sight.”
“D'you know where Mahommed Babar is?” asked King, and the mullah nodded.
Both King and Ommony considered in silence for several minutes. Each kept looking at the other. The same idea was dawning in both minds and the mullah recognized the birth of a force that would sweep him he knew not whither.
“I have been a friend to both of you—to both of you!” he muttered.
“Do you understand that the murder of those prisoners must be stopped?” King demanded at last.
The mullah nodded. He would have agreed to almost anything, but he seemed convinced of that.
“If we promise to report to the authorities that you did so, are you willing to use your influence to prevent those people from being tortured and killed?”
“Tn the name of the Lord of Mercies, yes.”
“You realize that Mahommed Babar has forbidden outrage from the first? Good. As a mullah you have influence with his men? Good. If you go and argue with his men that this outrage at Podanaram must be prevented, he can not accuse you of being in opposition to him, can he? Better and better. Goand do that. Go with Ommony sahib. If you do your work cleverly, when Mahommed Babar tells his men that this crime at Podanaram must be prevented, they will have been convinced already. They will obey with alacrity. Small time will be wasted. Will you do that?”
“Better let me go alone,” the mullah answered, ever on the alert for a chance to switch plans undetected. Then suddenly he recalled an earlier thought that he must have a witness if his alibi was to be the least use. “No. No. It is good. I will go with Ommon-ee.”
King shut both fists in a characteristic gesture.
“As you suggested, keep him in sight, Cot. I'm off to Podanaram—now—tonight—no argument. Arrive as soon after dawn as I can make it. Will you lend me your pony? Have to take a chance on leopards.”
“Take the pony certainly. But what when you get there?” asked Ommony.
“Surrender, of course—tell 'em I'm an Englishman. They'll add me to the list for the auto da fe. You tell Mahommed Babar where I am. Say I sent you. Don't say anything about his father and mine, but say that as regards that tiger incident I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt.”
“You think——”
“I know! Has the pony been fed?”
“He has. And there's a jungli, who can get you by the leopards,” answered Ommony.