Текст книги "The Palace Tiger"

Автор книги: Barbara Cleverly

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Chapter Twenty-Five

They looked helplessly at Sir Hector for guidance. What were they witnessing? Euphoria? Madness? Some mental state of delusion brought on by the drug Udai had consumed? Hector gave a reassuring smile and made a fluttering sign that all was well.

The energy of the dying man was burning itself out rapidly and no one was more aware of it than himself. With shining eyes, he was watching and enjoying their reaction, Joe guessed. A strange piece of deathbed manipulativeness. When he had relished their discomfiture sufficiently, he smiled and spoke breathlessly in a voice beginning to lose its clarity.

‘An hour ago my world was ending,’ he said. ‘Ending in misery. My three dear sons were all dead. The succession come to nothing. And then my beloved Shubhada came to see me. She is not Rajput by birth but she has the spirit of a Rajput ranee! And she came to tell me that she carries a child. A son. My son who will grow under her care to be a prince of Ranipur. I have asked her to name him Bahadur. The prophecy will be fulfilled, you see!’

Joe was the first to collect his wits. While Edgar murmured congratulations and shed another tear, Joe looked hurriedly through the parchment he’d been handed. Not much time. There was no way he could wrap up in courtly phrases what he had to say.

‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘we will be delighted to sign these documents but may I suggest one amendment . . . as I see we have the scribe in attendance, this will be easily done?’

The maharaja looked puzzled and with a wave of the hand invited him to continue.

‘When we come to the clause concerning the appointment of regents for the Prince Bahadur until he attains his majority – you name, of course, his mother Shubhada but also the person of Mr Claude Vyvyan. We are looking at a span of possibly more than seventeen years. Who knows, with the way promotion is going in the Empire at the moment, where Vyvyan will be in so many years’ time? Would it not be more circumspect, sir, to strike out the name of Vyvyan substituting simply “the current Resident of Ranipur” and allow the regency to go along with the office and not the individual?’

Udai looked to Zalim for guidance, his mind beginning to fog, Joe calculated and he held his breath. Zalim was quick to respond. ‘Splendid idea, Sandilands! A piece of diplomacy worthy of Sir George. How very thoughtful.’ Udai nodded his assent to the clerk who made the necessary alterations. These were initialled by Udai with his last strength. Joe and Edgar signed the documents and the ceremonial red silk ribbons were attached. With a sigh, Udai nodded to his footmen who came forward and gently lifted him from the divan and placed him on the straw.

At a sign from the doctor, Joe and Edgar tiptoed from the room.

‘Where are we going?’ said Joe as they walked back down the corridor.

‘No idea, old man. I was just following you,’ said Edgar, and Joe realized that if he were ever to see true emotion in Edgar’s ugly features this was the moment.

‘Poor old Udai!’ said Joe. ‘But at least his last hour was a relatively happy one. Sorry – what a commonplace thing to say! – but he dies with his eyes not on the past but on the future and full of hope. And, surely, that is an unusual and blessed state?’ A sideways glance at Edgar showed that his attempt at consolation had gone wide of its target. He chose another approach. ‘But, come on now, Troop! We still have work to do. There are people about in this place who deserve their comeuppance. By the way, did you hear the click as the last piece of the jigsaw went home?’

‘Click? Deafening report more like! Shubhada pregnant? And how the hell does she know it’s going to be a boy?’

‘She doesn’t, of course. The astrologers do though, and their predictions cut some ice in Ranipur, especially with the ruler who is quite desperate for this piece of news. Extraordinary! That Udai should be succeeded by his third legitimate son!’

‘Well, at least it explains why she’s taken to walking about in full Rajput regalia,’ said Edgar thoughtfully. ‘She’s showing the ruler and the whole court that she’s the new Rajmata. She’s going to be mother of the next maharaja as well as regent for the next eighteen years. And she’s really entering into the role! She has, after all, an unquestionable stake in the kingdom now. And, you know, Joe . . .’ Edgar’s furrowed brow creased a little more as he struggled to order his thoughts and speculations. ‘I begin to wonder whether this new maternal princess might find her interest in the Resident is beginning to wane? Perhaps it already has?’

‘But her news explains why Bahadur had to die. The moment she announced her pregnancy to the ruler, Bahadur’s claim to the throne would disappear like smoke and what could they expect him to do but rush to his father with his story? No more playing around with threats and practical jokes!’

‘And what would be Udai’s reaction? Could this story about Shubhada possibly be true? Was there a sinister reason for her sudden pregnancy? The proof of the pudding, of course . . . only time would tell . . . nine months to be precise before anyone would see who the child favoured. I’d bet my last shilling that it’s Udai’s child but, the seed of suspicion once sown . . . And Udai was under pressure – he had only days not months to come to a decision. There was a strong chance that he’d play safe and denounce Shubhada, send Claude away, his career in ruins, or simply feed the pair of them to the crocodiles . . . I don’t know.’

‘Could be arranged,’ agreed Edgar. ‘Ghastly accident while out fishing one evening, brave Resident hears screams, dives in to lend assistance. Snip! Snap! Gone to Delhi.’

‘And the fear of this retribution signed Bahadur’s death warrant.’

‘Yes . . . The boy was damn dangerous and no longer of any use to them. They didn’t need an unruly little Yuvaraj with a dubious claim to the throne when Shubhada was about to produce a legitimate heir. I think you’re right, Joe.’

‘And that’s a bad sign, Edgar! You’ve stopped arguing with me. We could be talking ourselves into a most embarrassing piece of jumping to conclusions. You may not know where you’re going but I’m heading for Lizzie Macarthur’s rooms. No, don’t groan! We need . . . I need a spot of Scottish scepticism and good sense. I also want to offer her my sympathy for her bereavement. She loved Bahadur, you know. Very much.’

Lizzie looked surprised and not at all pleased to see them. She invited them to come in and take a seat in a voice that was only just polite. Her hair was dishevelled, her face pale and her eyes still swimming with tears.

They sat down awkwardly side by side on the battered sofa. Lizzie didn’t make the customary offer of a drink which, for once, Joe would have been glad to hear, but eyed them balefully, settling down on a lab stool opposite. Joe had felt similarly intimidated in his housemaster’s study twenty years ago.

‘Don’t blame us, Lizzie!’ he plunged straight in. ‘Hear what we have to say, will you? You must be thinking that we’re the most incompetent pair of bodyguards to have let Bahadur die. That’s not what happened. The child was murdered. His killing was arranged in the most cold-blooded way.’

She listened in chilly silence but without interruption to the tale which Joe and Edgar between them hacked out, correcting and reminding each other as they went.

Finally, she looked at Joe directly. ‘You are telling me that Bahadur was killed by Claude and Shubhada, working together?’

He nodded.

‘What a clever chap you are, Sandilands! You gallantly shoot dead a pair of man-eating tigers but a pair of hunting humans is too much for your capabilities? You sent the boy out . . . no, you staked him out like a goat and they tore him to pieces almost under your nose!’

‘That’s unfair, Lizzie!’ said Edgar. ‘Calm down, for goodness’ sake!’

She made a visible effort to rein in her anger and, with a return to her usual cool tone, commented, ‘And Lois? What are we to think of her? She too a victim of two selfish people’s unthinking rush towards power? Poor, poor Lois! And tell me now what you propose to do with your information?’

‘I shall, of course, make Sir George aware of our suspicions and he will no doubt deal with Vyvyan in a discreet way. As for Shubhada, she is the mother of the future Prince of Ranipur and, as you know, the treaty we have –’

‘Shut up, Joe!’ said Lizzie. ‘Edgar, pour us a whisky and let’s think about this.’

‘In all this excitement, I hope you haven’t lost sight of the two previous deaths of heirs to the throne?’ said Lizzie. ‘Are we to suppose that Claude with or without the help of 3HH has been cutting a swathe through the royal family to achieve his ends? Three killings? Each one exposing him a little further? How dangerous! How mad! It’s hard to believe. And he’s such a charming man.’

‘No, as a matter of fact, I don’t believe Claude had anything to do with the first two murders. I think he and Shubhada saw the advantage they created for them, reducing the obstacles between them and the regency to one vulnerable but threatening young boy. They seriously thought they could pass the murder off as a further arranged misadventure, one of a series. I’m sure we were all meant to think that Zalim Singh was behind the clearing away of contenders for the throne, using his agent, Ajit Singh. If anyone enquired, he would discount any involvement by Claude because he truly was remote from the first two. It’s always misleading to assume that killings that occur in the same place or within a framework of time have necessarily been committed by the same man. No, I think Claude used the opportunity offered by the first and second deaths and hoped that if anything went wrong everyone would jump to the conclusion that another domino had fallen over – pushed by the same finger.’

‘Very well,’ said Edgar, ‘but have you stopped to think why he bothered? Risking his career, his reputation, his neck, for goodness’ sake . . .’

‘For what?’ said Joe crisply. ‘For the key to a fortune? For the inside of the bend to high office? For the love of a beautiful and powerful woman? No, hardly worth the effort, you’d say.’

‘Just doing what colonial powers have always done,’ said Lizzie thoughtfully. ‘Every provincial Roman governor expected to make three fortunes out of his stint abroad: one for Rome, one for himself in retirement and one to pay off the judges back home when he was charged with malpractice. I wonder how soon Claude was contemplating retiring? Tell me, Joe, is he still free to come and go about the palace? Or is he under restraint?’

Edgar and Joe exchanged a look. ‘Free as the breeze for all we know,’ said Edgar. ‘Apart from ourselves, you’re the only one who’s aware, Lizzie. Even Udai has not been told. He thinks Bahadur was killed by a tiger.’

‘And if, as you say, Claude has nothing more on his conscience than the death of Bahadur, who did kill Bishan and Prithvi then? Are you just showing off or have you really worked it out?’

‘I’ve worked something out,’ said Joe. ‘Something in which Ajit Singh appears to concur if the ruler is to be believed. But I have yet to push the murderer into revealing himself . . . or herself. I may be wrong. I’ve been wrong once already. It had occurred to me that . . . sorry, Edgar, this will offend you, I know . . . I had thought that the sons had been removed to make way for Bahadur. Removed for the well-being and security of the princedom by their father.’

When Edgar’s explosions of dismay and disgust had rolled away, Joe patiently explained his reasoning. Lizzie nodded several times.

‘Edgar, do be quiet!’ she said, finally. ‘Joe, are you sure you’re not right? It sounds very convincing to me. We all know – even Edgar knows – that the good of the state was Udai’s main concern. He would have put it first every time. And to be honest, I wasn’t in the least bit sorry when Bishan died. We all heaved a sigh of relief.’

‘But Prithvi was different. He would have been acceptable had not one vital flaw ruled him out as far as Udai was concerned, and that was his obdurate refusal to marry a second wife,’ said Joe. ‘But then Sir George tore the most almighty hole in my neat theory this morning when he told us that the British Government had been given news of the forthcoming marriage between Prithvi and a Rajput princess. Very hush-hush and before it was made public Prithvi had died.’

Lizzie’s eyes were growing rounder by the second. ‘How extraordinary! No one here knew of that!’

‘I think at least one other person must have known. The main player so to speak. Madeleine. And if she knew, she’d have told Stuart. They would both have seen it as a betrayal. I think everything changed for Madeleine when the older son died. Her husband was certainly in line to be named Yuvaraj. He was growing ever closer to his father and they saw the economic future of Ranipur with the same eyes. You yourself wondered, Lizzie, why the ruler was delaying naming his heir. Could it have been that he was very prepared to ink in the name of Prithvi but with the proviso that he agreed to marry a princess of Mewar?’

‘Yes, I think so. And if your account of the dealings on the stock market is accurate, it would have made better sense for Prithvi to have succeeded. Bahadur was talented . . .’ Her voice wavered for a moment then she recovered her balance and went on, ‘but he would not have understood those dealings. Like his mother, he placed great store by wealth you can hold in your hand. He had, in fact, a very traditional approach to life. All those years in the zenana . . .There would have been a period of turmoil at the worst possible moment for the state. Zalim Singh would have been hard pressed to keep the ship of state on an even keel, I think. Poor Madeleine! She was battling the family, the court, the whole Ranipur way of life.’

‘And she was fighting for her own chosen style of life. She had anticipated glittering tours of European capitals on the arm of her rich and handsome young prince but had discovered that she could expect no more than a life in a city she hated, the unwanted foreigner who was proving an obstacle to his succession. And if she learned that a second, royal Indian princess was to become his wife she saw a bleak future living with people who resented her and a husband whose affections she must have begun to doubt.’

‘You’re saying that Madeleine sawed through the elevator cable?’ said Edgar in astonishment. ‘Well, I have to say – nothing that girl did would surprise me but . . . but . . . well, we both saw her reaction when she pulled the flying helmet off the dying pilot and saw it was her husband. Could anyone feign such shock?’

‘If anyone could, Madeleine could. She’s rather good at feigning.’ Joe cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. He wasn’t finding his theorizing easy. ‘But I agree with you, Edgar. She didn’t know Prithvi was about to die.’

In the silence that followed, Lizzie stirred uncomfortably then said, ‘Stuart did. Her brother did. He would have done anything for Madeleine. If he knew that her role in Prithvi’s life was going to be diminished and thereby his own, incidentally, I think he would have taken it upon himself to think and act on her behalf. Cut and run. And after all – who better placed? He could saw through the wires at any time that suited him. Perhaps Ali the fitter became aware and had to be got rid of? And who but Stuart would be able convincingly to send Prithvi up in his stead? We only have Stuart’s assertion that he was supposed to be the pilot – Prithvi could all along have expected to go up.’

‘Stuart’s a trained killer. He’s looked pilots in the eye, kids his own age, his mirror image if you like, and calmly pulled the trigger and shot them down in flames. Twenty notches or whatever they are on his fuselage, don’t forget. Another one seems insignificant,’ Edgar added.

‘Well, Stuart’s done the cutting,’ said Lizzie, ‘why didn’t they do the running as soon as they got their hands on a million dollars’ worth of bearer bonds? Why did they go out to the tiger hunt with everyone else? They could have stayed behind and taken off in the Jenny when you were all looking the other way.’

‘Ah. Yes. Good point, Lizzie,’ said Edgar helplessly. ‘Any ideas, Joe?’

Joe shook his head, thinking furiously.

To cover his colleague’s embarrassment, Edgar burbled on. ‘So, what comes next? We have no jurisdiction in the state, no power of arrest. Chap’s American, anyway. What a diplomatic tangle! Do we ring Sir George? Ask his advice? Do we drop the word to Ajit and wait for him to make an arrest? That’s two for the dungeons – Claude and Stuart.’

‘You’re forgetting Bishan,’ said Lizzie. ‘The first murder from which all this stems, it seems to me. Who arranged his death? Can we expect a third culprit to join them in the cells?’

‘No,’ said Joe, finding his voice. ‘The first murderer? Good Lord, it sounds like the cast list of a Shakespearian tragedy! No. There can be no expectation of the first murderer ever being arrested. He is well beyond even Ajit Singh’s reach!’

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘I hope you’re not still banging on with the idea that Udai had Bishan killed?’ Edgar’s voice had an edge of menace but he collected himself at once and added shamefacedly, ‘No, of course not. Sorry, Joe. Hardly likely to have whispered his own name into the ear of a chap as he lay dying.’

‘It was almost as difficult to give him the name he was seeking. The confirmation (because I’m sure he already knew) that his first son had been murdered by his second son was the last thing a dying prince wants to hear. Prithvi. I think he’d finally decided to behave in all things like a Rajput prince and use his skills for the benefit of the state. And his first task was to clear his own path forward. I think it was Prithvi who talked Bishan into taking the stronger than usual dose of opium and used his authority to order the replacement of the panther. He must have strongly believed in his ability to save the country from the economic disaster that is threatening it.’

‘A disaster that has already overtaken one or two princely states,’ said Lizzie. ‘But I don’t think anyone here has the faintest idea how near the brink we might be. What a mess . . .’ She sighed. ‘Suddenly my little tile-hung cottage begins to look very attractive.’

Her sigh was interrupted by a peremptory knock at the door. When Joe went to open it he was alarmed but not surprised to see the handsome and agitated features of Ajit Singh’s lieutenant, Ram.

‘Sahib, I am pleased to have tracked you down!’

Not the effort he was implying, Joe considered, as he was quite certain that their every move was shadowed.

‘Ram. Good to see you again though the circumstances are hardly auspicious,’ said Joe. ‘Won’t you join us?’ he added vaguely, doubtful that inviting him into the room of a memsahib was the right thing to do.

Ram shook his head. ‘Forgive me. I must ask you and Captain Troop to accompany me at once to the office of the Dewan where he and Major Ajit Singh await you. The memsahib’s presence is not required,’ he added with a polite nod to Lizzie who had appeared by Joe’s side.

The guard at the door of the Dewan’s office when they reached it appeared to have doubled, Joe noticed, but at the sight of them no challenges were rapped out. The doors were opened instantly and they were ushered inside.

No clerks on duty this time; the room was occupied only by the Dewan and Ajit Singh. With a gesture and polite formulae they were invited to take seats at a low table opposite the two Rajputs, and Ajit Singh began in what seemed to Joe to be the middle of the story. He spoke fast and bluntly. Time, apparently, was of some importance.

‘Were you tempted to lie, Sandilands, when the ruler asked you for names?’

‘Of course,’ said Joe without hesitation. ‘But it would have been impossible to get away with it. He would have known. He did know . . . I’d swear even before you gave him your opinion. He’d worked it out.’

‘And here we are in possession of the identities of two killers. One is outside our jurisdiction but the second, Captain Mercer, remains on our list so to speak.’

‘What have you done with him?’ asked Joe alarmed. ‘The chap’s American, you know, not English.’

‘I am aware of the man’s nationality but the legal aspects of this case are interesting. What are we to do if a foreign national commits a capital crime on Rajput soil? What would you do if this were London? Of course you would arrest the man and he would stand trial at the Old Bailey. If I can lay hands on this man he will spend some time in my dungeons before he is taken to Delhi to be held to account.’

‘What do you mean – if you can lay hands on him? Surely you have him in custody by now, Ajit?’ said Edgar.

Ajit stirred uncomfortably and the Dewan spoke up. ‘Unfortunately that is not the case. Devastated as he was by the death of the Yuvaraj, Ajit, on the return journey, failed to notice that one of the cars, the Hispano Suiza, had been taken by Captain Mercer and his sister. They had packed it with their effects and, unbeknown to us, several spare cans of petrol. At a bend in the road they veered off into the forest and the rest of the cavalcade continued without them.’

Joe fought down a quite reprehensible stab of exultation and managed to ask, ‘But where on earth . . .?’

‘They had planned well. This car had been toughened for use on hunting trips. Nevertheless it will prove to have been an amazing vehicle if it does what they require of it.’

‘Bloody hell!’ Edgar exclaimed. ‘They’re making for the Grand Trunk Road. But over that country . . . no roads, not even tracks out there. They’ll never make it!’

‘I confidently expect to hear from our foresters within the next month that vulture-picked remains have been discovered in a little-known corner of the kingdom,’ Zalim said with relish.

‘Then you don’t know Madeleine Mercer,’ said Joe but only to himself. Out loud he asked, ‘But why did the pair go along with the rest of us on the tiger hunt? I can’t understand why they didn’t just sail off in the Jenny. Why spend a few miserable days with people they didn’t like on an activity they despised when they could have been getting away to Delhi or Bombay while our attention was otherwise engaged?’

Zalim and Ajit shared a conspiratorial glance and Zalim waved a negligent hand to encourage Ajit to speak.

‘It took less effort for me to get to the truth of Prithvi’s death than you, Sandilands. I simply took Ahmed into custody. No notebooks, no fingerprints, no slanted questions were necessary.’ He smiled pityingly and paused.

‘I’m not going to ask what was necessary,’ Joe decided. ‘Not going to give him the satisfaction.’

Ajit went on, ‘As one Rajput to another, he confided that his brother had taken a large sum of money from Captain Mercer before the fatal flight and had made off in line with Mercer’s suggestion, to set himself up in business as a driver of taxi-cab vehicles in . . . Delhi.’ He gave a rumbling laugh. ‘He really had gone to Delhi, you see! Not difficult to establish that the dashing air ace had set up the plane to crash with the heir apparent at the controls. A matter of honour, we are to assume. Revenge and loss of career prospects also come into the story along with the disappearance of a substantial amount of wealth in bearer bonds from the possession of the ruler. But the mystery is – why did he not simply kill Ali?’

Joe was angered by the look of genuine puzzlement on Ajit’s face. ‘You mentioned the word “honour”. Captain Mercer may be a killer but he is not an indiscriminate killer. Ali was his rigger and Mercer entrusted his life to him every time he took off. There is no way he would have broken that trust. Perhaps Ali saw something he shouldn’t have seen, perhaps Mercer needed a distraction, a bit of hocus-pocus to confuse anyone who might become suspicious. He planned meticulously, which makes it all the more odd that he should –’

‘Ah, yes. You are right when you say they should have instantly taken flight but . . . ah, me!’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘This had been rendered impossible.’

Joe and Edgar looked at him in surprise and he enjoyed this for a moment before going on, ‘With the assistance of Ahmed, I had all the planes drained of fuel and the reserves carried away. Captain Mercer is nothing if not careful. He constantly checked the planes and it did not escape his attention that all was not well with them. He and his sister had little alternative but, like antelopes, to seek the safety of the herd when danger threatened. By mingling with the other Europeans they felt themselves more secure than they would have been if they had remained behind at the palace. They were not wrong,’ he finished baldly.

‘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.