The Return of
Imray by Rudyard
The doors were wide, the story saith,
Out of the night came the patient wraith,
He might not speak, and he could not stir
A hair of the Baron's minniver—-
Speechless and strengthless, a shadow thin,
He roved the castle to seek his kin.
And oh,'twas a piteous thing to see
The dumb ghost follow his enemy!
Imray achieved the impossible. Without warning, for no conceivable
motive, in his youth, at the threshold of his career he chose to
disappear from the world—-which is to say, the little Indian station
where he lived.
Upon a day he was alive, well, happy, and in great evidence among
the billiard-tables at his Club. Upon a morning, he was not, and no
manner of search could make sure where he might be. He had stepped out
of his place; he had not appeared at his office at the proper time,
and his dogcart was not upon the public roads. For these reasons, and
because he was hampering, in a microscopical degree, the
administration of the Indian Empire, that Empire paused for one
microscopical moment to make inquiry into the fate of Imray. Ponds
were dragged, wells were plumbed, telegrams were despatched down the
lines of railways and to the nearest seaport town-twelve hundred miles
away; but Imray was not at the end of the drag-ropes nor the telegraph
wires. He was gone, and his place knew him no more.
Then the work of the great Indian Empire swept forward, because it
could not be delayed, and Imray from being a man became a
mystery—such a thing as men talk over at their tables in the Club for
a month, and then forget utterly. His guns, horses, and carts were
sold to the highest bidder. His superior officer wrote an altogether
absurd letter to his mother, saying that Imray had unaccountably
disappeared, and his bungalow stood empty.
After three or four months of the scorching hot weather had gone
by, my friend Strickland, of the Police, saw fit to rent the bungalow
from the native landlord. This was before he was engaged to Miss
Youghal—an affair which has been described in another place—and
while he was pursuing his investigations into native life. His own
life was sufficiently peculiar, and men complained of his manners and
customs. There was always food in his house, but there were no regular
times for meals. He ate, standing up and walking about, whatever he
might find at the sideboard, and this is not good for human beings.
His domestic equipment was limited to six rifles, three shot-guns,
five saddles, and a collection of stiff-jointed mahseer-rods, bigger
and stronger than the largest salmon-rods. These occupied one-half of
his bungalow, and the other half was given up to Strickland and his
dog Tietjens—an enormous Rampur slut who devoured daily the rations
of two men. She spoke to Strickland in a language of her own; and
whenever, walking abroad, she saw things calculated to destroy the
peace of Her Majesty the Queen- Empress, she returned to her master
and laid information. Strickland would take steps at once, and the end
of his labours was trouble and fine and imprisonment for other people.
The natives believed that Tietjens was a familiar spirit, and treated
her with the great reverence that is born of hate and fear. One room
in the bungalow was set apart for her special use. She owned a
bedstead, a blanket, and a drinking- trough, and if any one came into
Strickland's room at night her custom was to knock down the invader
and give tongue till some one came with a light. Strickland owed his
life to her, when he was on the Frontier, in search of a local
murderer, who came in the gray dawn to send Strickland much farther
than the Andaman Islands. Tietjens caught the man as he was crawling
into Strickland's tent with a dagger between his teeth; and after his
record of iniquity was established in the eyes of the law he was
hanged. From that date Tietjens wore a collar of rough silver, and
employed a monogram on her night-blanket; and the blanket was of
double woven Kashmir cloth, for she was a delicate dog.
Under no circumstances would she be separated from Strickland; and
once, when he was ill with fever, made great trouble for the doctors,
because she did not know how to help her master and would not allow
another creature to attempt aid. Macarnaght, of the Indian Medical
Service, beat her over her head with a gun-butt before she could
understand that she must give room for those who could give quinine.
A short time after Strickland had taken Imray's bungalow, my
business took me through that Station, and naturally, the Club
quarters being full, I quartered myself upon Strickland. It was a
desirable bungalow, eight-roomed and heavily thatched against any
chance of leakage from rain. Under the pitch of the roof ran a
ceiling-cloth which looked just as neat as a white-washed ceiling. The
landlord had repainted it when Strickland took the bungalow. Unless
you knew how Indian bungalows were built you would never have
suspected that above the cloth lay the dark three-cornered cavern of
the roof, where the beams and the underside of the thatch harboured
all manner of rats, bats, ants, and foul things.
Tietjens met me in the verandah with a bay like the boom of the
bell of St. Paul's, putting her paws on my shoulder to show she was
glad to see me. Strickland had contrived to claw together a sort of
meal which he called lunch, and immediately after it was finished went
out about his business. I was left alone with Tietjens and my own
affairs. The heat of the summer had broken up and turned to the warm
damp of the rains. There was no motion in the heated air, but the rain
fell like ramrods on the earth, and flung up a blue mist when it
splashed back. The bamboos, and the custard-apples, the poinsettias,
and the mango-trees in the garden stood still while the warm water
lashed through them, and the frogs began to sing among the aloe
hedges. A little before the light failed, and when the rain was at its
worst, I sat in the back verandah and heard the water roar from the
eaves, and scratched myself because I was covered with the thing
called prickly-heat. Tietjens came out with me and put her head in my
lap and was very sorrowful; so I gave her biscuits when tea was ready,
and I took tea in the back verandah on account of the little coolness
found there. The rooms of the house were dark behind me. I could smell
Strickland's saddlery and the oil on his guns, and I had no desire to
sit among these things. My own servant came to me in the twilight, the
muslin of his clothes clinging tightly to his drenched body, and told
me that a gentleman had called and wished to see some one. Very much
against my will, but only because of the darkness of the rooms, I went
into the naked drawing-room, telling my man to bring the lights. There
might or might not have been a caller waiting—-it seemed to me that I
saw a figure by one of the windows—-but when the lights came there
was nothing save the spikes of the rain without, and the smell of the
drinking earth in my nostrils. I explained to my servant that he was
no wiser than he ought to be, and went back to the verandah to talk to
Tietjens. She had gone out into the wet, and I could hardly coax her
back to me; even with biscuits with sugar tops. Strickland came home,
dripping wet, just before dinner, and the first thing he said was.
'Has any one called?'
I explained, with apologies, that my servant had summoned me into
the drawing-room on a false alarm; or that some loafer had tried to
call on Strickland, and thinking better of it had fled after giving
his name. Strickiand ordered dinner, without comment, and since it was
a real dinner with a white tablecloth attached, we sat down.
At nine o'clock Strickland wanted to go to bed, and I was tired
too. Tietjens, who had been lying underneath the table, rose up, and
swung into the least exposed verandah as soon as her master moved to
his own room, which was next to the stately chamber set apart for
Tietjens. If a mere wife had wished to sleep out of doors in that
pelting rain it would not have mattered; but Tietjens was a dog, and
therefore the better animal. I looked at Strickland, expecting to see
him flay her with a whip. He smiled queerly, as a man would smile
after telling some unpleasant domestic tragedy. 'She has done this
ever since I moved in here,' said he. 'Let her go.'
The dog was Strickland's dog, so I said nothing, but I felt all
that Strickland felt In being thus made light of. Tietjens encamped
outside my bedroom window, and storm after storm came up, thundered on
the thatch, and died away. The lightning spattered the sky as a thrown
egg spatters a barn-door, but the light was pale blue, not yellow;
and, looking through my split bamboo blinds, I could see the great dog
standing, not sleeping, in the verandah, the hackles alift on her back
and her feet anchored as tensely as the drawn wire-rope of a
suspension bridge. In the very short pauses of the thunder I tried to
sleep, but it seemed that some one wanted me very urgently. He,
whoever he was, was trying to call me by name, but his voice was no
more than a husky whisper. The thunder ceased, and Tietjens went into
the garden and howled at the low moon. Somebody tried to open my door,
walked about and about through the house and stood breathing heavily
in the verandahs, and just when I was falling asleep I fancied that I
heard a wild hammering and clamouring above my head or on the door.
I ran into Strickland's room and asked him whether he was ill, and
had been calling for me. He was lying on his bed half dressed, a pipe
in his mouth. 'I thought you'd come,' he said. 'Have I been walking
round the house recently?'
I explained that he had been tramping in the dining-room and the
smoking-room and two or three other places, and he laughed and told me
to go back to bed. I went back to bed and slept till the morning, but
through all my mixed dreams I was sure I was doing some one an
injustice in not attending to his wants. What those wants were I could
not tell; but a fluttering, whispering, bolt-fumbling, lurking,
loitering Someone was reproaching me for my slackness, and, half
awake, I heard the howling of Tietjens in the garden and the threshing
of the rain.
I lived in that house for two days. Strickland went to his office
daily, leaving me alone for eight or ten hours with Tietjens for my
only companion. As long as the full light lasted I was comfortable,
and so was Tietjens; but in the twilight she and I moved into the back
verandah and cuddled each other for company. We were alone in the
house, but none the less it was much too fully occupied by a tenant
with whom I did not wish to interfere. I never saw him, but I could
see the curtains between the rooms quivering where he had just passed
through; I could hear the chairs creaking as the bamboos sprung under
a weight that had just quitted them; and I could feel when I went to
get a book from the dining-room that somebody was waiting in the
shadows of the front verandah till I should have gone away. Tietjens
made the twilight more interesting by glaring into the darkened rooms
with every hair erect, and following the motions of something that I
could not see. She never entered the rooms, but her eyes moved
interestedly: that was quite sufficient. Only when my servant came to
trim the lamps and make all light and habitable she would come in with
me and spend her time sitting on her haunches, watching an invisible
extra man as he moved about behind my shoulder. Dogs are cheerful
I explained to Strickland, gently as might be, that I would go over
to the Club and find for myself quarters there. I admired his
hospitality, was pleased with his guns and rods, but I did not much
care for his house and its atmosphere. He heard me out to the end, and
then smiled very wearily, but without contempt, for he is a man who
understands things. 'Stay on,' he said, 'and see what this thing
means. All you have talked about I have known since I took the
bungalow. Stay on and wait. Tietjens has left me. Are you going too?'
I had seen him through one little affair, connected with a heathen
idol, that had brought me to the doors of a lunatic asylum, and I had
no desire to help him through further experiences. He was a man to
whom unpleasantnesses arrived as do dinners to ordinary people.
Therefore I explained more clearly than ever that I liked him
immensely, and would be happy to see him in the daytime; but that I
did not care to sleep under his roof. This was after dinner, when
Tietjens had gone out to lie in the verandah.
''Pon my soul, I don't wonder,' said Strickland, with his eyes on
the ceiling-cloth. 'Look at that!'
The tails of two brown snakes were hanging between the cloth and
the cornice of the wall. They threw long shadows in the lamplight.
'If you are afraid of snakes of course—' said Strickland.
I hate and fear snakes, because if you look into the eyes of any
snake you will see that it knows all and more of the mystery of man's
fall, and that it feels all the contempt that the Devil felt when Adam
was evicted from Eden. Besides which its bite is generally fatal, and
it twists up trouser legs.
'You ought to get your thatch overhauled,' I said.
'Give me a mahseer-rod, and we'll poke 'em down.'
'They'll hide among the roof-beams,' said Strickland. 'I can't
stand snakes overhead. I'm going up into the roof. If I shake 'em
down, stand by with a cleaning-rod and break their backs.'
I was not anxious to assist Strickland in his work, but I took the
cleaning-rod and waited in the dining-room, while Strickland brought a
gardener's ladder from the verandah, and set it against the side of
The snake-tails drew themselves up and disappeared. We could hear
the dry rushing scuttle of long bodies running over the baggy
ceiling-cloth. Strickland took a lamp with him, while I tried to make
clear to him the danger of hunting roof-snakes between a ceiling-cloth
and a thatch, apart from the deterioration of property caused by
ripping out ceiling- cloths.
'Nonsense!' said Strickland. 'They're sure to hide near the walls
by the cloth. The bricks are too cold for 'em, and the heat of the
room is just what they like.' He put his hand to the corner of the
stuff and ripped it from the cornice. It gave with a great sound of
tearing, and Strickland put his head through the opening into the dark
of the angle of the roof-beams. I set my teeth and lifted the rod, for
I had not the least knowledge of what might descend.
'H'm!' said Strickland, and his voice rolled and rumbled in the
roof. 'There's room for another set of rooms up here, and, by Jove,
some one is occupying 'em!'
'Snakes?' I said from below.
'No. It's a buffalo. Hand me up the two last joints of a
mahseer-rod, and I'll prod it. It's lying on the main roof-beam.'
I handed up the rod.
'What a nest for owls and serpents! No wonder the snakes live
here,' said Strickland, climbing farther into the roof. I could see
his elbow thrusting with the rod. 'Come out of that, whoever you are!
Heads below there! It's falling.'
I saw the ceiling-cloth nearly in the centre of the room bag with a
shape that was pressing it downwards and downwards towards the lighted
lamp on the table. I snatched the lamp out of danger and stood back.
Then the cloth ripped out from the walls, tore, split, swayed, and
shot down upon the table something that I dared not look at, till
Strickland had slid down the ladder and was standing by my side.
He did not say much, being a man of few words; but he picked up the
loose end of the tablecloth and threw it over the remnants on the
'It strikes me,' said he, putting down the lamp, 'our friend Imray
has come back. Oh! you would, would you?'
There was a movement under the cloth, and a little snake wriggled
out, to be back-broken by the butt of the mahseer-rod. I was
sufficiently sick to make no remarks worth recording.
Strickland meditated, and helped himself to drinks. The arrangement
under the cloth made no more signs of life.
'Is it Imray?' I said.
Strickland turned back the cloth for a moment, and looked.
'It is Imray,' he said; 'and his throat is cut from ear to ear.'
Then we spoke, both together and to ourselves: 'That's why he
whispered about the house.'
Tietjens, in the garden, began to bay furiously. A little later her
great nose heaved open the dining-room door.
She sniffed and was still. The tattered ceiling-cloth hung down
almost to the level of the table, and there was hardly room to move
away from the discovery.
Tietjens came in and sat down; her teeth bared under her lip and
her forepaws planted. She looked at Strickland.
'It's a bad business, old lady,' said he. 'Men don't climb up into
the roofs of their bungalows to die, and they don't fasten up the
ceiling cloth behind 'em. Let's think it out.'
'Let's think it out somewhere else,' I said.
'Excellent idea! Turn the lamps out. We'll get into my room.'
I did not turn the lamps out. I went into Strickland's room first,
and allowed him to make the darkness. Then he followed me, and we lit
tobacco and thought. Strickland thought. I smoked furiously, because I
'Imray is back,' said Strickland. 'The question is—-who killed
Imray? Don't talk, I've a notion of my own. When I took this bungalow
I took over most of Imray's servants. Imray was guileless and
inoffensive, wasn't he?'
I agreed; though the heap under the cloth had looked neither one
thing nor the other.
'If I call in all the servants they will stand fast in a crowd and
lie like Aryans. What do you suggest?'
'Call 'em in one by one,' I said.
'They'll run away and give the news to all their fellows,' said
Strickland. 'We must segregate 'em. Do you suppose your servant knows
anything about it?'
'He may, for aught I know; but I don't think it's likely. He has
only been here two or three days,' I answered. 'What's your notion?'
'I can't quite tell. How the dickens did the man get the wrong side
of the ceiling-cloth?'
There was a heavy coughing outside Strickland's bedroom door. This
showed that Bahadur Khan, his body-servant, had waked from sleep and
wished to put Strickland to bed.
'Come in,' said Strickland. 'It's a very warm night, isn't it?'
Bahadur Khan, a great, green-turbaned, six-foot Mahomedan, said
that it was a very warm night; but that there was more rain pending,
which, by his Honour's favour, would bring relief to the country.
'It will be so, if God pleases,' said Strickland, tugging off his
boots. 'It is in my mind, Bahadur Khan, that I have worked thee
remorselessly for many days—-ever since that time when thou first
earnest into my service. What time was that?'
'Has the Heaven-born forgotten? It was when Imray Sahib went
secretly to Europe without warning given; and I-even I-came into the
honoured service of the protector of the poor.'
'And Imray Sahib went to Europe?'
'It is so said among those who were his servants.'
'And thou wilt take service with him when he returns?'
'Assuredly, Sahib. He was a good master, and cherished his
'That is true. I am very tired, but I go buck-shooting to-morrow.
Give me the little sharp rifle that I use for black-buck; it is in the
The man stooped over the case; handed barrels, stock, and fore-end
to Strickland, who fitted all together, yawning dolefully. Then he
reached down to the gun-case, took a solid-drawn cartridge, and
slipped it into the breech of the '360 Express.
'And Imray Sahib has gone to Europe secretly! That is very strange,
Bahadur Khan, is it not?'
'What do I know of the ways of the white man. Heaven-born?'
'Very little, truly. But thou shalt know more anon. It has reached
me that Imray Sahib has returned from his so long journeyings, and
that even now he lies in the next room, waiting his servant.'
The lamplight slid along the barrels of the rifle as they levelled
themselves at Bahadur Khan's broad breast.
'Go and look!'said Strickland. 'Take a lamp. Thy master is tired,
and he waits thee. Go!'
The man picked up a lamp, and went into the dining-room, Strickland
following, and almost pushing him with the muzzle of the rifle. He
looked for a moment at the black depths behind the ceiling-cloth; at
the writhing snake under foot; and last, a gray glaze settling on his
face, at the thing under the tablecloth.
'Hast thou seen?' said Strickland after a pause.
'I have seen. I am clay in the white man's hands. What does the
'Hang thee within the month. What else?'
'For killing him? Nay, Sahib, consider. Walking among us, his
servants, he cast his eyes upon my child, who was four years old. Him
he bewitched, and in ten days he died of the fever—my child!'
'What said Imray Sahib?'
'He said he was a handsome child, and patted him on the head;
wherefore my child died. Wherefore I killed Imray Sahib in the
twilight, when he had come back from office, and was sleeping.
Wherefore I dragged him up into the roof-beams and made all fast
behind him. The Heaven-born knows all things. I am the servant of the
Strickland looked at me above the rifle, and said, in the
vernacular, 'Thou art witness to this saying? He has killed.'
Bahadur Khan stood ashen gray in the light of the one lamp. The
need for justification came upon him very swiftly. 'I am trapped,' he
said, 'but the offence was that man's. He cast an evil eye upon my
child, and I killed and hid him. Only such as are served by devils,'
he glared at Tietjens, couched stolidly before him, 'only such could
know what I did.'
'It was clever. But thou shouldst have lashed him to the beam with
a rope. Now, thou thyself wilt hang by a rope. Orderly!'
A drowsy policeman answered Strickland's call. He was followed by
another, and Tietjens sat wondrous still.
'Take him to the police-station,' said Strickland. 'There is a case
'Do I hang, then?' said Bahadur Khan, making no attempt to escape,
and keeping his eyes on the ground.
'If the sun shines or the water runs-yes!' said Strickland.
Bahadur Khan stepped back one long pace, quivered, and stood still.
The two policemen waited further orders.
'Nay; but I go very swiftly,' said Bahadur Khan. 'Look! I am even
now a dead man.'
He lifted his foot, and to the little toe there clung the head of
the half-killed snake, firm fixed in the agony of death.
'I come of land-holding stock,' said Bahadur Khan, rocking where he
stood. 'It were a disgrace to me to go to the public scaffold:
therefore I take this way. Be it remembered that the Sahib's shirts
are correctly enumerated, and that there is an extra piece of soap in
his washbasin. My child was bewitched, and I slew the wizard. Why
should you seek to slay me with the rope? My honour is saved,
At the end of an hour he died, as they die who are bitten by the
little brown karait, and the policemen bore him and the thing under
the tablecloth to their appointed places. All were needed to make
clear the disappearance of Imray.
'This,' said Strickland, very calmly, as he climbed into bed, 'is
called the nineteenth century. Did you hear what that man said?'
'I heard,' I answered. 'Imray made a mistake.'
'Simply and solely through not knowing the nature of the Oriental,
and the coincidence of a little seasonal fever. Bahadur Khan had been
with him for four years.'
I shuddered. My own servant had been with me for exactly that
length of time. When I went over to my own room I found my man
waiting, impassive as the copper head on a penny, to pull off my
'What has befallen Bahadur Khan?' said I.
'He was bitten by a snake and died. The rest the Sahib knows,' was
'And how much of this matter hast thou known?'
'As much as might be gathered from One coming in in the twilight to
seek satisfaction. Gently, Sahib. Let me pull off those boots.'
I had just settled to the sleep of exhaustion when I heard
Strickland shouting from his side of the house—
'Tietjens has come back to her place!'
And so she had. The great deerhound was couched statelily on her
own bedstead on her own blanket, while, in the next room, the idle,
empty, ceiling-cloth waggled as it trailed on the table.