Adventure Magazine Cover — page 81: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Om Delhi bungalow means that, whatever your occupation, you may view life now and then from the summit, looking down- ward. Viceroys come and go. Mrs. Cor- nock-Campbell usually educates their wives. They say she knows everything—even why the German Crown Prince once cut short a tour of India; and that, of course, means she is no longer in the bloom of youth, and never indiscreet, for you don’t learn State secrets by being young and talk- ative. 3 Ommony is one of her pet cronies, though they rarely meet—which is the way things happen in India. He looks such a blunt, old-fashioned bachelor in a dinner jacket dating from away before the war; the con- trast he creates with modern artificial cynicism is so satisfying; and he so utterly lacks pose or pretense, that he brings out all her vivacity which is apt to be chilled when imitation people assume manners for the sake of meals. The talk, for the hour while dinner lasted, was of anything in the world but ringding lamas and the Abor country. Ommony was probed for epigrams, coined in the depths of his forest, that should make John McGregor wince and laugh—such Statements as that “you can look for faults or virtue. Vultures prefer refuse. Suit yourself. A man sees his own vices and his own virtues reflected in his neighbor —nothing else. Another’s crimes are what you yourself would do under equally strong pressure. His virtues are greater than your own, if only because they’re less obvious. The most indecent exhibition in the world is virtue without her cloak on!”’ Not polite exactly—particularly not to the chief of the Secret Service—but not tainted by circumlocution. And again: ‘“‘They say the fact that people work en- titles them to vote. Horses work harder than men! Soap-box nonsense! The only excuse for work is that you like it, and the only honest objection to loafing is that it’s bad for you.” John McGregor, in the rare hours when he is not feeling the pulse of India’s restless underworld, is an addict of the Wee Free Kirk with convictions regarding the devil. ‘fA personal devil?” said Ommony. “I wish there was one! Hell breeds more dangerous stuff than that! If I thought there was a devil, I’d vote for him. He’d clean up politics.” | 79 John McGregor, ganglion of India’s crime statistics and acquainted with all evil at first hand, was shocked, to Mrs. Cornock- Campbell’s huge delight. “Now, John! What have you to say to that?” McGregor cracked a nut nervously and sipped at his Madeira. “He could find a host of half-baked theorists to praise him for the blasphemy,” he said deliberately, “but the ultimate appalling circumstance of being damned is a high price for applause.”’ Ommony laughed. “T’d rather be thought damned by a man I respect than be praised by —— fools,” he retorted. ‘‘We three will meet beyond the border, Mac. I’m looking forward to it. I can’t see anything unpleasant in death, except the morbid business of dying. ‘“May there be no moaning at the bar_when I put out to sea. “It looks as if I might be the first of the three of us to take that trip.” So by a roundabout route the conversa- tion drifted to its goal. Over her shoulder, at the piano, in the rose and ivory music room, Mrs. Cornock-Campbell tossed the question that brought secrets to the surface. ‘“‘John says you are going to the Abor country.” John McGregor’s eyes glowed with an- ticipation, but he crossed his legs and lit a cigaret, throwing himself back into the shadow of an antique chair to hide the smile from Ommony. “Going to try,” said Ommony. “My sister and Jack Terry disappeared up there twenty years ago. They left no trace.” ‘“‘Are you sure?” She went on playing from Chopin, and Ommony did not notice the inflection of her voice; he was listening to the piano’s over- tones, vaguely displeased when she closed the piano without finishing the nocturne. “T was at Tilgaun seven months ago,” she said. ‘‘Colin—”’ that was her husband —‘‘had to go to Burma, so I went to Dar- jiling. I heard of the Marmaduke Mission and grew curious. I wrote, and Miss Sanburn very kindly invited me to come and stay with her. The most delightful place. Please pass me a cigaret.”’ “Did Hannah mention me?”’ asked Om- mony. “Indeed she did. You seem to be her MICLOOOK (C@ in