The record-union., 1896-08-09
THE MYSTERY At MAMMA.

1t was in March, 1886, and the ther-
mometer marked 1O3 degrees in the
| shade. I was quartered with two fell
low officers in charge of the outpost at
Mamma, where our duty consisted in
keeping the roads open and looking
after the Dacoits who infested the coun-
try for miles round. Lower Burmah
was quiet enough. Prendergast had
done MS work, and done it well. Thee
baw was prisoner, and the country
quiet; but acts of secret reprisal, rob-
pery and murder were of daily occur
renee and it was to check these that l
mad been sent up-country with hand
full of loyal Sikhs
| our little camp was dull enough; our
| sole recreation occasional shooting ex-
petitions and more frequent whist.
| Sometimes we received visits from
| WrOttesley, the Resident, whose bunga-
low was at the foot of the hill we oc-
cupied. AT others, we descended and
| Played with him. But on these occa-
sions we were driven to dummy whist,
as we could not all three leave camp
| together
One night about the middle of March,
Martingale and l had gone down to the
1esidency, leaving Valley in command,
and we had received the customary well
come from Wrottesley. He was good
specimen of the type of man who builds
UP our empire in the East Herculean
III figure, full of character, possessing
an lndomitable will, and absolutely
fearless, he was ready to face any peril
and went through life with smile upon
his face. He was, in short, a typical
Englishman, living example of the
triumph of mind and matter.
Il wonder you aren't dead" exclaimed
Martingale, as our host mixed gin and
soda. This country is perfect hell -
Use, my dear chap. Use is second
nature. This place is positively healthy
compared with Kuema where 1 used to
| be. That's matter of 400 miles west of
! this, and there it was almost a waste of
time to order dinner; before you had
eaten tiffin you might be buried before
it was cooked
THAT sounds rather nice" l said;
its consoling to know that we might
be worse off than we are. But / agree
with Freddy that this place is pretty
beastly. 1t isn't the heat only-though
that's bad enough-but it's the awful
gloom of it. One day like another;
nothing to do. The hideously serene,
| eXpressionless faces round about; the
lack of companionship; and then the
eternal being on the qui vive for some
thing to happen that never does. It's
enough to make one go mad"
1t is if you take on like that" replied
the Resident. But why do you? Take
a lesson from me. never exert myself.
I do my routine as it occurs; read my
mail when it comes write my dis
patches when they are due; and then
reap my reward when the round is
done, and go home on furlough."
But how about when you come
back?"
I'm not coming back; I've done my
twelve months; and next year l shall
have berth down river, somewhere out
Promeway, where the temperature
never goes over 80 degrees. And I'll tell
you chaps a secret"-he smiled as he
said this, and read our looks of inquiry
TIN not coming back alone, either."
Martingale whistled.
This is real news" he said. when
is it to be?"
"Well, go home in October, and shall
probably be married in February, re-
| turning at the end of the year. The
Commissioner minuted my appoint
ment last week.
We congratulated him, and resumed
our game in better spirits.
We stayed at Wrottesley's till quite
late, and had many an awkward COLI
| sion with brush and bush on our home
ward climb through the darkness. But
we reached our tents before midnight
| and found Valley fast asleep and all
serene.
Shortly after breakfast the next
morning we were surprised by the ap-
pearance of Martingale's servant, Tom
my, who was evidently the bearer of
some bad news.
| IF you please, sir here's that chap
with the awful name from the Resident
| He's talking a lot of rubbish as l can't
make out, and I think there's some
thing wrong with Mr.. Wrottesley."
! We both sprang up and, regarless of
the heat, went out to where the mes
senger stood.
We found the sirdar-bearer and con-
fidential servant who had waited on us
| overnight who was evidently in per-
turbed state. His usually copper-col-
o,ed complexion had become ashen; his
sarang, till now always carefully
swathed and falling in faultless folds,
| was awry. His story was soon told.
Something was wrong with his master.
He was i'll, very i'll; perhaps dead.
| Would we come?
Martingale and I glanced at one an
other.
DO you stay here, Cranstone," he
said, land I will take Valley with me.
He has had more medical experience
than you have"
And then he called Tommy and bade
him fetch quinine and opium, the small
| case Of Instruments and some mustard
| leaves from the chest. In five minutes
they were off and / was left alone with
my thoughts.
The incident had thrown gloom
around What should be ailing with
| Wrottes1ey? He was not the man to
sicken easily; he was young, strong.
and seasoned. I had parted from him
but seven hours ago, leaving him fit and
we'll as could be. Then it struck me
that there had been foul play. I had
often thought that it was, to say the
least, rash of Wrottesley to live alone
with only five or six natives for a reti-
nue. and guard. He had laughed, and
replied that the headmen of the village
| were responsible for him. but | pointed
out to him at the time that this was but
| an imaginary security. And now, as
likely as not, he was dead-murdered,
of course. ! felt an irrepressible long
ing for the return of my companions.
They came sooner than / expected