The Resident went back to his seat and gazed up with a hardened scowl. “Bring the man into the light and let us see him.”
The man was young, handsome, but his face was disfigured in a sullen expression. His head hung forward. Devi Bhadra prodded the man forward so that the light from the lanterns reflected on his face.
“I have searched him thoroughly, sahib. He has no weapons.”
“Do you speak English?” demanded Lord Chetwynd Miller.
The man did not reply.
The British Resident nodded to Devi Bhadra, who repeated the question in Gujarati, a language of the country. There was no response.
“Forgive me,” Inspector Jayram interrupted. “I believe the man might respond to Hindi.”
Devi Bhadra repeated his question, but there was no reply.
“Looks like your guess was wrong,” observed Royston.
Inspector Jayram rose leisurely and came to stand by the man. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the pendant. Then he broke into a staccato to which the captive jerked up his head and nodded sullenly.
Jayram turned to the Resident with an apologetic smile. “The man speaks a minor dialect called Munda. I have some knowledge of it. He is, therefore, from the Betul district.”
“Betul?” The Residents eyes widened as he caught the significance of the name.
Jayram indicated the pendant. “He wears the symbol of the cult of Vira-bhadra.”
“Does he? The beggar!” breathed Lord Chetwynd Miller.
“Well,” drawled Gregg. “If he were after this little item, he was out of luck. We had it here with us.”
He held up the ruby.
The captive saw it and gave a sharp intake of breath, moving as if to lunge forward but was held back by the powerful grip of Devi Bhadra and the Sepoy.
“So that’s it?” snapped Major Foran. “The beggar was coming to steal the stone?”
“Or return it to its rightful owners,” interposed Father Cassian calmly. “It depends on how you look at it.”
“How did you catch him, Devi Bhadra?” asked Foran, ignoring the priest.
“One of the maids heard a noise in your study, sahib,” said the man. “She called me, and I went to see if anything was amiss. The safe was open, and this man was climbing out of the window. I caught hold of him and yelled until a Sepoy outside came to help me.”
“Was anything missing from the safe?”
“The man had nothing on him, sahib.”
“So it was the stone that he was after?” concluded Gregg in some satisfaction. “Quite an evenings entertainment that you’ve provided, Your Excellency.”
The captive burst into a torrent of words, with Jayram nodding from time to time as he tried to follow.
“The man says that the Eye of Shiva was stolen and should be returned to the temple of Vira-bhadra. He is no thief but the right hand of his god seeking the return of his property.”
The Resident sniffed. “That’s as may be! To me he is a thief, who will be handed over to the Baroda authorities and punished. As Gregg said, it was lucky we were examining the stone while he was trying to open the safe.”
Major Foran had been inspecting the stone, which he had taken from Gregg, and he now turned to the prisoner. “Would you like to examine the prize that you missed?” he jeered.
They were unprepared for what happened next. Both the Sepoy and Devi Bhadra were momentarily distracted by the bright, shining object that Foran held out. Not so their prisoner. In the excitement of the moment, they had slackened their grip to the extent that the muscular young man seized his chance. With a great wrench, he had shaken free of his captors, grabbed the stone from the hand of the astonished major, and bounded across the room as agilely as a mountain lion. Before anyone could recover from their surprise, he had flung himself against the shuttered windows.
The wood splintered open as the man crashed through onto the veranda outside.
The dinner company was momentarily immobile in surprise at the unexpected abruptness of the man’s action.
A second passed. On the verandah outside, the Betulese jumped to his feet and began to run into the evening blackness and the driving rain.
It was the ADC, Lieutenant Tompkins, who first recovered from his surprise. He turned and seized the Sepoy’s Lee Enfield rifle. Then he raised it to his shoulder. There was a crack of an explosion which brought the company to life.
Foran was through the door onto the veranda in a minute. Lord Chetwynd Miller was only a split second behind, but he slipped and collided with Sir Rupert, who was just getting to his feet. The impact was so hard that Sir Rupert was knocked to the floor. The Resident went down on his knees beside him. Father Cassian was the first to spring from his chair, with an expression of concern, to help them up. The Resident was holding on to Cassians arm when he slipped again and, with a muttered expression of apology, climbed unsteadily to his feet. By then it was all over.
The young man in the dhoti was lying sprawled facedown. There was a red, telltale stain on his white dirty robe that not even the torrent of rain was dispersing. Foran had reached his side and bent down, feeling for a pulse and then, with a sigh, he stood up and shook his head.
He came back into the dining room, his dress uniform soaked by the monsoon skies. As he did so, the dining room door burst open, and Lady Chetwynd Miller stood on the threshold again, the other ladies of her party crowding behind her.
The Resident turned and hurried to the door, using his body to prevent the ladies spilling into the room.
“My dear, take your guests back into the drawing room. Immediately!” he snapped, as his wife began to open her mouth in protest. “Please!” His unusually harsh voice caused her to blink and stare at him in astonishment. He forced a smile and modulated his tone. “Please,” he said again. “We won’t be long. Don’t worry, none of us have come to any harm.” He closed the door behind them and turned back, his face ashen.
“Well,” drawled Foran, holding his hand palm outward and letting the others see the bright glistening red stone that nestled there, “the young beggar nearly got away with it.”
The Resident smiled grimly and turned to his majordomo.
“Devi Bhadra, you and the Sepoy remove the body. I expect Inspector Jayram will want to take charge now. Is that all right with you, Foran?”
Major Foran, nominally in charge of the security of the Residency, indicated his agreement, and Devi Bhadra motioned the Sepoy to follow him in the execution of their unpleasant task.
Lord Chetwynd Miller turned to his ADC and clapped him on the shoulder. The young man had laid aside the Lee Enfield and was now sitting on his chair, his face white, his hand shaking.
“Good shooting, Tompkins. Never saw better.”
Foran was pouring the young officer a stiff brandy. “Get that down you, lad,” he ordered gruffly.
The young lieutenant stared up. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Never shot anyone before. Sorry.” He took a large gulp of his brandy and coughed.
“Did the right thing,” confirmed the Resident. “Otherwise the beggar would have got clean away-” He turned to Jayram and then frowned.
Inspector Jayram was gazing in fascination at the stone that Foran had set back in its box. He took it up with a frown passing over his brow. “Excuse me, Excellency,” he muttered.
They watched him astounded as he reached for a knife on the table and, placing the stone on the top of the table, he drew the knife across it. It left a tiny white mark.
White-faced, Major Foran was the first to realize the meaning of the mark. “A fake stone! It is not the Eye of Shiva!”