“It’s most urgent,” Brady assured her. She still appeared to be hesitating and he hastily took out two ten shilling notes and dropped them into the collecting bag. “The service was an inspiration.”
“Wasn’t it?” she said simply. “I’ll see if the Swami can spare you a little time. Wait here, please.”
She half-closed the office door, but Brady heard her pick up the telephone. There was a murmur of conversation and then she returned.
“The Swami is very tired, but he can spare you five minutes,” she said. “Come this way, please.”
A long, covered way connected the temple with what had once been the minister’s house in the old days. When the woman opened the door at the far end, Brady was again conscious of that overpowering smell of incense.
They crossed a hall, the walls of which were hung with rich tapestries, and the woman knocked gently on a door and entered.
Brady moved in after her and stood there, hat in hand. The walls were draped in hand-embroidered Chinese dragon tapestries, and the floor was covered with a superb black carpet.
At one end of the room in an alcove, a small Buddha stood on an altar, incense burning in a bowl before it and Das knelt there, head bowed.
“Wait here until he is ready for you,” the woman whispered and went out, quietly closing the door behind her.
In the centre of the room stood a beautiful handcarved desk with a polished ebony top and round the walls on every side, was ranged a superb collection of Chinese pottery on specially constructed shelves.
Brady moved forward and examined a delicate porcelain vase. Behind him, there was a slight movement and Das said, “I see you are admiring my little collection. Are you an artist, by any chance?”
Brady shook his head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m an engineer, but I happen to admire anything that’s beautifully constructed.”
“Even a bridge can be a work of art,” Das conceded. “If you are interested, the vase you were admiring is of the Ming Dynasty and worth well over a thousand pounds. It is the gem of my collection.”
He caressed it lovingly with one slender hand then moved across to the desk and sat down. He pointed to a chair opposite. “Mahroon tells me that you have a problem, my friend. That you require guidance.”
“You could put it that way,” Brady said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. He sat down in the chair and dropped his hat to the floor. “My name’s Matthew Brady. Does that mean anything to you?”
Das looked faintly surprised. “Should it do?”
“I should have thought so,” Brady told him. “Considering the fact that you offered a fair price to see me dead this week.”
Deep pain showed in the Hindu’s fine liquid eyes. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about, Mr. Brady. Here we are concerned only with the conquest of self, we desire only to discover the truth which is to be found for each man in his own soul. The destruction of a fellow human being would be anathema to us.”
“You can keep that kind of talk for the paying customers,” Brady said.
Das sighed and pressed a buzzer on his desk. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask Mahroon to show you out.”
“I should have thought you could have done rather better in the temple virgin line,” Brady said. “She looks as if the sap’s dried in her a long time ago. What was she when you roped her in — a schoolmistress?”
“You know you’re really very insulting, Mr. Brady,” Das said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about you. Something unpleasant.”
There was a slight movement behind Brady, a brawny forearm slid round his neck, forcing back his chin, and he was jerked to his feet
He was held as in a vice, unable even to turn round to see his assailant and Das leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I think the river, Mr. Brady. Yes, that will do very nicely. You slipped and fell crossing one of the wharves and the floodwaters carried you away. I’m really performing a public service.”
“You’ll never get away with it,” Brady said desperately.
“Oh, but I will,” Das assured him. “Sorry I can’t hear how you managed to get out of Manningham, but we’re rather short on time.”
The chair was kicked out of the way and Brady was dragged backwards towards the door. He tried to struggle, but found himself helpless in that vice-like grip. In desperation he raised his right foot and ran it down the man’s shin, crunching it into the instep with all his force.
His assailant gave a shriek of agony and released him. Brady turned quickly and looked up into the face of one of the biggest men he had ever seen in his life. Tiny pig-like eyes sparkled with rage in the flat, moronic face and a fist flailed out, catching Brady on the shoulder, sending him staggering across the room.
“Finish him, Shaun! Finish him!” Das cried, and Shaun lurched towards Brady, great broken-nailed hands swinging almost to his knees. Brady grabbed for a small lacquered table which stood near by and threw it at his legs, and Shaun tripped over it and fell to the floor.
Brady had no illusions about his chances in a fair fight. He moved in quickly, aiming a kick at Shaun’s head, but there was nothing wrong with the big man’s reflexes. He grabbed Brady’s foot, twisted it, and brought him down.
They rolled wildly from side to side, limbs threshing, as Brady tried to pull free, but it was no use. Great hands wrapped themselves around his throat as Shaun rolled on top, and Brady started to choke.
The room suddenly seemed to go darker and Brady, struggling desperately, remembered an old Judo trick and spat in Shaun’s face. The big man jerked his head back in a reflex action and Brady rammed his stiffened fingers into the bare throat just above the Adam’s apple.
Shaun’s mouth opened in a soundless scream and he fell backwards to roll on the floor in agony, hands tearing at his collar.
As Brady got to his feet, feeling his throat tenderly, Das moved round the desk on his way to the door. Brady got hold of the yellow robe, swung the Hindu round in a circle and pushed him back into his chair.
Das glared up at him. “You won’t get away with this, Brady.”
The fine face was twisted with rage and Brady grinned. “I wondered what you were really like under that phoney mask of yours. Now I know.”
“I’ll see you back inside if it’s the last thing I do,” Das said venomously.
“No you won’t,” Brady said. “If the law gets its paws on me again, I’ll pull you down with me. I’ll tell them you arranged my escape and turned nasty because I couldn’t pay you what I’d promised.”
“They’d never believe you,” Das said contemptuously.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. They’ve probably got a file on you a foot thick at least. I bet they’re just waiting for you to make one false move.”
“Get out of here!” Das screamed.
“Not until you’ve told me what I want to know,” Brady said. “You asked Wilma Sutton to arrange for me to have a fatal accident, preferably by tonight. I’d like to know why.”
“Go to hell!” Das said sullenly.
Brady shrugged and stood up. He walked across the room to the shelves on which the Hindu’s collection was displayed, picked up a beautiful alabaster jar and hurled it at the wall.
It smashed into a score of pieces and Das jumped to his feet with a cry of dismay. “That’s just to show you I mean business,” Brady said. “My next trick’s even better.”
He picked up the Ming vase and raised it slowly above his head and Das cried out in horror. “For God’s sake, no, Brady! I beg of you.”
“Then start talking,” Brady said. “I haven’t got much time.”
“A man came to see me last week,” Das said hurriedly. “He was from London — a Hungarian called Anton Haras. He told me that it was necessary that you should die, that he was willing to pay well if I could arrange this.”