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Authors: Daniel Easterman
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. ah, abducted?”
“At home, in England.”
“And you say this happened two weeks ago.”
“On the Sunday before Christmas. We had just left Mass.”
A look of sectarian distaste flickered over the missionary’s
face.
“You expect me to believe this?” he said. Christopher noticed that he had started playing nervously with a small ivory paperknife on the desk.
“It is not humanly possible for anyone to have been in England two weeks ago and to be in this room talking to me today. You know that as well as I do, unless you are completely insane. Goodbye, Mr. Wylam. You have wasted enough of my time.”
“Sit down. Please sit down and listen. I was in England until nine days ago, if you want me to be precise. There’s no mystery about how I got here. Certain friends in England arranged for me to be flown here in a biplane. The world is changing, Mr. Carpenter. Before long, everyone will fly to India.”
“And your son. The one you say was kidnapped. Where is he? Is he in India as well?”
Christopher shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“But, yes, I think he may be in
India. Or, more possibly, already on his way to Tibet.”
“Mr. Wylam, you may be telling the truth about how you got here. Modern science is truly miraculous: the good Lord has given us the means to spread His Gospel in the remotest regions of the globe. But the rest of your story makes no sense to me. I am truly sorry to hear about the kidnapping of your son. My wife and I shall pray for his return to you. But I do not see how I can be of any further help to you. The man who died here brought no messages. He said nothing coherent. He had no visitors. And now, forgive me, but there are urgent matters awaiting my attention.”
Carpenter stood up again and reached a hand across the desk.
Christopher followed suit. The missionary’s fingers felt dry and brittle.
“I’ll ask Jennie to show you out.” He reached for a small brass bell and rang it vigorously. An uneasy silence followed. Christopher could see that Carpenter was eager to be rid of him. What was he hiding? And who was he frightened of? Abruptly, the missionary broke into his thoughts.
“Mr. Wylam,” he said.
“You must excuse me. I have been very short with you. I am under a great deal of pressure at the moment.
The Lord’s work makes demands on us. And no doubt you yourself are feeling great anxiety on behalf of your son. You must be very concerned for him.
“Would it help to make amends if I were to invite you to dine with us this evening? Just my wife and myself. A simple meal, I fear: this is a house of charity, not the palace of Dives. But we have ample for a guest. And perhaps a little sympathetic company will help to ease your troubled heart.”
Ordinarily, Christopher would have declined. The thought of sitting through a meal of charitable frugality with the black gowned Mrs. Carpenter and her desiccated spouse did not fill him with eager thoughts. But the very fact of the invitation both unnecessary and, thought Christopher, out of character- added to his conviction that Carpenter was uneasy about something.
“I’d be pleased to accept. Thank you.”
“Good. I’m glad. We dine at seven. There are no formalities.
Come a little earlier and I will show you something of our work before you eat.”
There was a knock, then the Indian girl who had opened the front door to Christopher entered.
“Jennie,” Carpenter said.
“Mr. Wylam is leaving now. He will be dining with us this evening. When you have shown him to the door, will you please ask Mrs. Carpenter to join me in my study?”
The girl curtsied but said nothing. Christopher shook hands with Carpenter again, then followed the girl out of the study.
John Carpenter remained standing at his desk, his hands resting on
“At home, in England.”
“And you say this happened two weeks ago.”
“On the Sunday before Christmas. We had just left Mass.”
A look of sectarian distaste flickered over the missionary’s
face.
“You expect me to believe this?” he said. Christopher noticed that he had started playing nervously with a small ivory paperknife on the desk.
“It is not humanly possible for anyone to have been in England two weeks ago and to be in this room talking to me today. You know that as well as I do, unless you are completely insane. Goodbye, Mr. Wylam. You have wasted enough of my time.”
“Sit down. Please sit down and listen. I was in England until nine days ago, if you want me to be precise. There’s no mystery about how I got here. Certain friends in England arranged for me to be flown here in a biplane. The world is changing, Mr. Carpenter. Before long, everyone will fly to India.”
“And your son. The one you say was kidnapped. Where is he? Is he in India as well?”
Christopher shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“But, yes, I think he may be in
India. Or, more possibly, already on his way to Tibet.”
“Mr. Wylam, you may be telling the truth about how you got here. Modern science is truly miraculous: the good Lord has given us the means to spread His Gospel in the remotest regions of the globe. But the rest of your story makes no sense to me. I am truly sorry to hear about the kidnapping of your son. My wife and I shall pray for his return to you. But I do not see how I can be of any further help to you. The man who died here brought no messages. He said nothing coherent. He had no visitors. And now, forgive me, but there are urgent matters awaiting my attention.”
Carpenter stood up again and reached a hand across the desk.
Christopher followed suit. The missionary’s fingers felt dry and brittle.
“I’ll ask Jennie to show you out.” He reached for a small brass bell and rang it vigorously. An uneasy silence followed. Christopher could see that Carpenter was eager to be rid of him. What was he hiding? And who was he frightened of? Abruptly, the missionary broke into his thoughts.
“Mr. Wylam,” he said.
“You must excuse me. I have been very short with you. I am under a great deal of pressure at the moment.
The Lord’s work makes demands on us. And no doubt you yourself are feeling great anxiety on behalf of your son. You must be very concerned for him.
“Would it help to make amends if I were to invite you to dine with us this evening? Just my wife and myself. A simple meal, I fear: this is a house of charity, not the palace of Dives. But we have ample for a guest. And perhaps a little sympathetic company will help to ease your troubled heart.”
Ordinarily, Christopher would have declined. The thought of sitting through a meal of charitable frugality with the black gowned Mrs. Carpenter and her desiccated spouse did not fill him with eager thoughts. But the very fact of the invitation both unnecessary and, thought Christopher, out of character- added to his conviction that Carpenter was uneasy about something.
“I’d be pleased to accept. Thank you.”
“Good. I’m glad. We dine at seven. There are no formalities.
Come a little earlier and I will show you something of our work before you eat.”
There was a knock, then the Indian girl who had opened the front door to Christopher entered.
“Jennie,” Carpenter said.
“Mr. Wylam is leaving now. He will be dining with us this evening. When you have shown him to the door, will you please ask Mrs. Carpenter to join me in my study?”
The girl curtsied but said nothing. Christopher shook hands with Carpenter again, then followed the girl out of the study.
John Carpenter remained standing at his desk, his hands resting on
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