Barbara Cleverly (36 page)

‘Ajit, may I ask you,’ said Edgar tentatively, ‘to share with us your thoughts on the death of Bahadur?’

‘The prince was killed in a manner I have yet to establish, by the Resident,’ said Ajit firmly.

‘Well, here we can trade information for information,’ said Edgar. ‘Tell us why you suspected Vyvyan and we’ll tell you how he managed it.’

‘For some weeks my men had been following Bahadur around the palace, as a means of protecting him. We were determined not to lose a third Yuvaraj. I think it was Ram who noticed

Bahadur was observed to be observing! He spent many hours tracking Vyvyan around the palace, watching his bungalow when he worked late into the night. It was not long before Ram realized what his interest was and of course he brought his problem to me.’ For a moment, Ajit’s confidence seemed to glow less brightly. ‘A delicate situation,’ he said.

Zalim took up the tale. ‘Delicate is an understatement! Diplomatic dynamite! Policing Westerners with Vyvyan’s power and position is difficult and there was always the necessity to keep hidden the nature of his offence which even now I will not name. What could I do when Ajit came to me? Well, what would you have done?’ he asked with a disarming smile. ‘I telephoned Sir George.’

‘Sir George?’ The surprise was all Joe’s. Edgar was silent.

‘We discussed the matter and he said he would send someone to clear up the mess. I was advised to take no direct action which would sour relations between our countries.’ He looked at Joe and beamed again. ‘So, Sandilands, I fear the time has come for you to live up to your reputation. You must arrest Vyvyan and take him away and dispose of him as you will.’

‘Right now?’ Joe asked.

‘Yes. Time is, as you would say, of the essence. He is on the move. We had been expecting him to enjoy his new position of power, grow into his role, line his pockets, but his movements suggest this is not what he intends.’

‘Tell me what you have observed,’ said Joe.

‘His household stewards report that discreet preparations are under way. Nothing too obvious. It’s my theory he intends to go quickly and travel lightly. We have the motor cars and the stables under guard. He will not get away.’

‘But why now and why so hurriedly?’

‘He has already acquired the key of the khajina. He exercised his right to claim one immediately on the death of Udai Singh. It is my suspicion that he intends to remove treasure from the strong house and attempt an escape.’

‘Ah. Now look here

I’m not sure how far I should reveal my knowledge of Ranipur’s economic affairs but, well, how certain can we be that it will avail him anything to attempt to ransack the coffers? Will he find anything of interest to him? Bit of an empty gesture perhaps, waving the key around?’

Again Zalim and Ajit exchanged a look which Joe was gratified to see.

‘Not quite empty,’ Zalim replied. ‘A significant amount of Ranipur’s resources have been traded for more portable modern representations of wealth but some remains. The state jewellery is still in the khajina. The people call these pieces “hamara” - “ours” - and they do indeed belong to the state and not to the ruler. Udai would never have contemplated disposing of the regalia that graces state weddings and durbars. Would your King George sell the Crown Jewels? I think not! They are still locked away and Claude is aware of this.’

‘We expect him to move very soon,’ said Ajit. ‘We require you, Sandilands, to accompany us to the khajina when he goes there and arrest him when you catch him in the act. If he is going to make his move, when better than during the mourning for the ruler? The palace is in upheaval at the moment and he has the sense to profit from the disturbance. But there are constrictions even on crime. It is mid-afternoon

if he is to allow himself hours of daylight in which to get away he must act soon.’

‘You will stay here with Ajit,’ said Zalim, ‘and hold yourselves ready. I will have tea and refreshments sent to you.’

With a smile and a nod, he left them watching each other warily.

Before the promised tea had arrived there was a tap at the door, which was answered by Ajit. After a brief and whispered conversation he waved them to join him.

‘He’s moving!’

They followed Ajit’s man through the palace and out into the hills to the west. Their path was narrow and led through scrubland offering little cover. Joe was concerned. Either they got up so close to Claude he would be bound to see them or they would have to let him get too far ahead. He confided his worry to Ajit.

‘The door keeper is one of the hill tribe. He has been told to prevaricate and hold up the Angrez as long as possible,’ was the confident reply.

After a mile of scrambling through bleached vegetation, every leaf of which seemed to harbour a thorn, they arrived some thirty yards from a small red sandstone building in the heavy Hindu style. Carved elephant trunks made up the massive lintels which held up the impregnable stone roof. There appeared to be no windows and only one very solid wooden door. On hearing a sharp cry abruptly cut off, they hurried forward, fanning out, guns in hand.

Ajit was first to reach the old man. A dark-skinned man of the hills, dagger drawn, was lying motionless in the middle of the path a yard or two from the door. Ajit leaned over him then looked up and shook his head. His expression was fierce, his voice rasping as he hissed a command to Joe. ‘Sandilands! You know what you have to do!’ He pointed to the door, which stood slightly ajar.

Ť ^ ť

Pistol in hand, Joe and Edgar went silently to stand on either side of the door. They heard no sound. Edgar pushed the door and went in first. Joe slipped in behind him. Instinctively they put some distance between themselves, crouching back to back, each covering a sector of the room. In the darkness they could see nothing save for the small oil lamp that burned at the far side. As Joe’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he saw that the lamp was standing on a carved stone counter which ran around the circumference of the room. The flame reflected off the metal lids of three coffers built into the stone but if they had expected to catch the Resident with his hand in the honey pot up to the armpit, they were disappointed.

They crept further apart, peering and blinking at the shadows.

‘Guns on the floor! Now!’ a voice behind Joe commanded. He felt the cold kiss of a revolver barrel in the nape of his neck.

‘Move together!’

Joe heard the finality with which his Browning and Edgar’s smacked against the stone floor as they fell. As soon as Claude had herded them close together he would kill them with two quick shots. And inside this stone coffin who would hear? Ajit would and he would lay siege but he would not intervene in a shoot-out between Westerners.

Joe’s only weapon was words and a psychological understanding of Claude. He wanted to goad the icily calm killer at his back into responding to him and he thought he knew just the formula to annoy.

‘You do know that they’ll scrub your name from the honour roll at Haileybury?’ he said in an easy, conversational tone. ‘A man like you, Claude? Why would you do this?’

‘Quiet, Sandilands! Move over towards the lamp. Both of you!’

‘Why risk everything? You have power, position, the love of a beautiful woman and a glittering future. Enough for any man, I’d have thought. Why gamble all that for a fistful of baubles? You must be mad!’

But Claude was not to be drawn into a discussion. Before he took a step further from Claude, Joe resolved to throw himself backwards on to the gun. If he absorbed the first bullet it would give Edgar a chance to act. He tensed his muscles. Feet slightly apart, he eased his weight on to the balls of his feet. And then he heard a cynical bark of laughter from behind.

‘Power? Love? For how long? This is a sinking ship we’re all on! Haven’t you worked that out yet, Mr Detective? Have you any idea what the rewards are in this post? An insult! I may earn a little more than they pay a second-eleven character like you for keeping the streets of London clear of filth but not much. Rise as high as you like - it’s hardly worth the effort. And what do we look forward to when the Raj finally packs its bags and slopes off back to the West? A small pension, a modest house overlooking the South Downs? Perhaps I could call it Ranipur Lodge and have an elephant’s foot umbrella stand in the hall next to the Benares brass dinner gong? I would treat my friends to a chota peg before tiffin and bore them rigid with stories that start, “When I was in Poona

” ’ He spoke with bitter emphasis.

‘No. That’s not for me. My horizons are wider, my ambitions deeper. But I see it’s for you, Sandilands, or could be if you had any time left. Edgar - he’s too old a leopard to change his spots so I won’t make the mistake of making him an offer. What would you like? A bangle each to look the other way for an hour? Easier to shoot you both dead and be done with it.’

‘It’s not too late. Give me the gun and I’ll arrange for you to withdraw discreetly,’ said Joe. ‘It’s not as if there was anything in those pots anyway. And when you leave, empty-handed, you’ll run into Ajit Singh who’s waiting outside.’

An impatient sigh greeted this attempt. ‘Clown! Two hours ago when I came to check, there were emeralds and rubies the size of pigeon’s eggs and that’s for starters.’

Now that he had his targets standing close together on the opposite side of the room, Claude, still covering them, moved over to the coffers and tapped the lid of the central one. ‘You can plunge your arm into a king’s ransom. Far more than I need to complete my plans.’

‘Sorry, old man!’ said Edgar, gloating. ‘That was two hours ago. You don’t think Ajit Singh stands still, do you? A good deal can happen in two hours. The whole lot has been carted off. Why do you suppose they only left one elderly guard by the door? It’s a trap to lure you in! And here you are - trapped! Don’t be a bloody fool and give up everything for a not-so-lucky dip into an empty bran-tub!’

Sneering, Claude lifted the lid with his left hand and plunged it into the coffer. They watched, fascinated, as his sneer turned into a grimace of astonishment and then a rictus of horror. He pulled out a hand dripping with precious stones which caught the flickering light and reflected it back in a dazzle of colour. With a shuddering cry, Claude dropped the necklaces on the floor. One item remained hanging from his hand. Not glowing. Not reflecting the light. A wriggling dark shape. About a foot long.

The boom of the small Browning M was ear-shattering in the small space. Eyes riveted on Claude, Joe had barely noticed Edgar’s quick snatch to the back of his belt. The small black gun which he had last seen clutched in Bahadur’s hand was hardly visible in Edgar’s huge fist but its fire power was undeniable.

Claude stood, his body shaking with horror, his eyes unable to leave his left hand which still clutched the remnants of the object shattered by Edgar’s shot. Finally he found his voice. ‘What the hell was that?’

‘A krait,’ said Edgar calmly. ‘Looked like a krait to me. Young one. But just as lethal.’

‘Help me, for God’s sake!’

‘No one could help you. You know that,’ said Edgar without expression. ‘Ten times as venomous as a cobra. You’ve landed right in the mulligatawny, old man.’

‘How long have I got?’

‘Ten minutes? A quarter of an hour?’

Claude staggered to the door. Raising his revolver he fired three shots into the air, paused and then two more. He came back into the room and faced them, waving his gun carelessly. He smiled his lopsided boyish smile. ‘One shot left. Whose shall it be?’ he asked. The barrel wavered over Joe and then over Edgar and finally he raised it to his own forehead. ‘Fifteen more minutes of your company, gentlemen? I think not.’

With an agility Joe had no idea he possessed, Edgar leapt on to Claude and knocked the gun from his hand.

‘Edgar! What the hell!’ said Joe. ‘For God’s sake, let him go cleanly!’

‘Sorry, Joe. I’d much rather he didn’t have any bullet holes in him when we haul his carcase back to Delhi. Death by natural causes, misadventure, whatever you like to call it. Anyone can get themselves killed by a krait out here. No explanation necessary. Just stay put for a few minutes. We’ll wait for him to die.’

Seeing his implacable face Joe understood Sir George’s game. Send in Sandilands to sniff out the troublemakers and leave it to Edgar to make sure they are not left lying around in an untidy state to embarrass the Raj. Udai Singh had suggested as much before he died. ‘We plan our last hunt, Edgar.’

‘No. You can wait for him to die! Those shots he fired were a signal. I’m going to find out who was listening for them.’

Joe ran with Ajit back towards the palace, panting out an explanation as they ran, ashamed that although he had twenty years of youth on his side, he could barely keep up with the Rajput’s loping stride. With lungs that threatened to implode at any second, Joe was relieved to be called to a halt by Ajit.

‘Listen!’ He pointed to the airfield.

‘A plane? Starting up? But who the hell?’

‘So that is how he was planning to leave!’ said Ajit triumphantly.

‘But Ajit

didn’t you say you’d drained all the fuel out of the planes?’

‘That is true. But

’ He paused and looked consideringly at Joe then with a narrow smile went on, ‘I left enough in the two-seater, if anyone were careless enough not to check, or in too great a hurry, to allow the pilot to take off and fly

’ He hesitated again and then finished, ‘

for a mile or two.’

Anger and despair sent Joe running on again, screaming uselessly to the pilot to stop. Of course he could not be heard above the din of the engine and the whirring of the propellers but he went on, shouting and waving his arms. As he neared the airfield, the plane gathered itself to make its dash down the runway and he looked on hopelessly as the figure in the rear seat caught sight of him and gave back a laconic wave. A black stocking mask covered the head, the obscene pigtail streaming out behind as the plane gathered speed.

Ajit had been joined by Ram and a squad of men who ran about quietly and purposefully. In no time saddled horses appeared and Ajit invited Joe to ride with him into the desert stretching ahead of the plane. Dry-mouthed and exhausted, Joe hung on, for the first time in his life unable to enjoy riding a horse. After one mile at a gallop the horses were still going strong but the plane was getting well ahead of them. Joe found he was praying that by some magic it would stay in the sky. Perhaps a store of spare fuel had been found? There was no change of engine note, no sound of distress from the plane. Joe would have liked to call a halt to this mad dash into the desert but Ajit rode on, firm as a rock in the saddle, the gleam of the hunter in his eye.