‘I brought the samples back here and tested them and — sure enough — there was a difference. The new box contained pills incorporating a dose that would have almost paralysed anyone who consumed them.’ He paused for a moment and added, ‘If Bishan took one of those horse pills he would have entered the panther cage flying! He would have been so high he wouldn’t have noticed the beast until it tore his throat out and probably didn’t feel much even then. Yes, my answer to the maharaja’s question was — “No, sire, your son did not suffer.”’
‘But we’re left wondering why the presumed heir to the throne changed his formula?’
‘Exactly. On paper this is a clear case of death by misadventure. . but who supplied him with the opium that dulled his senses to a point where he would walk into that cage? The panther killed him all right. But who murdered him, Sandilands?’
Chapter Sixteen
A name was on the tip of Joe’s tongue.
The urge to answer the doctor’s question and indulge with him in a little fervid speculation was almost overwhelming. He sensed that Sir Hector would have been a lively co-conspirator, perfectly willing to listen to his outrageous suggestion and talk through it with him. A vision of Charlie Carter back in Simla came to Joe and he found he was missing the superintendent’s salty common sense and his local knowledge, missing his companionship and support. But silence, for the moment, was his only recourse. He fought back his own excitement at the laying of a further brick in the foundation of his theory. If he reasoned rightly, the enormity of his revelation would be such that it could only be allowed to reach the ear of one man: the man who held the invisible reins of power in India, the éminence grise behind the Viceroy — Sir George Jardine. But Joe was not yet so certain of the identity of the killer of the ruler’s sons that he could alert Sir George.
He was aware of the danger of building on one idea to the exclusion of all others and was determined that the seductive completeness and simplicity of his theory would not cut him off from other avenues of enquiry. He was frustrated by his powerlessness to conduct an investigation by the book. His brief restricted him to cruising around this alien crime scene, picking up bits of information from whoever was willing to divulge them. And he was not deceived — some of the facts and impressions confided to him might well have been as misdirecting and distracting as the swift brown hands of the child conjuror in Surigargh.
He sighed and thanked Sir Hector for his evidence and for sharing his concerns with him. He reassured him once more that his actions had been exactly what Scotland Yard would have approved and begged his continued discretion. As he prepared to leave, he was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Sir Hector, can you tell me. . not sure how intimate you are with the royal family. . can you tell me whether Bishan was married? What his family circumstances were?’
The old physician looked puzzled for a moment then replied slowly, ‘Yes, of course, I can see why you’d want to know that and perhaps it takes a fresh eye to look at the situation from that angle. I believe he had a wife but I don’t remember hearing of any offspring.’ He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable then added, ‘Doesn’t have the reputation of being a terribly uxorious fellow, if you take my meaning. But you’d need to ask someone closer to the family than I, Sandilands. Being a medic — you know, you get out of the habit of gossiping. Sorry, old man. . I’d like to help.’ Thoughtfully he said, ‘And this means that now Udai will never see a grandchild. Pity, that. He’s quite a patriarch at heart. . they all are.’
As Joe nodded goodbye, Sir Hector, on impulse, seized him by the hand.
‘Now look here, Sandilands — you will keep in mind the fact that the ruler has a third son to lose, won’t you? It would be unbearable if anything were to happen to that bright young chap.’
Joe considered for a moment and then replied, ‘Don’t concern yourself, sir. I have a feeling that young Bahadur is safe enough. Now.’
Govind was already waiting by the door to take Joe on to his next meeting. A quick visit to his own quarters enabled him to shower and rub himself down and exchange his sweat-stained shirt and trousers for the fresh ones which had been laid out on his bed. Linen trousers, white shirt, a club tie that he could not instantly identify and a discreet blazer borrowed and adapted from Sir George’s stock, he noted. This seemed to be a formal enough occasion and in England he would have arrived on Lois’s doorstep clutching a bunch of flowers, but here? He wondered what was the custom.
‘Govind? Should I take a small gift for my hostess? What do you think?’
‘Sahib, I think Mrs Vyvyan would welcome, would even expect a small token. Not flowers perhaps as she has surrounded herself with them. .’ He thought for a moment while Joe waited expectantly for the elusive word. ‘Bounteously!’ he added, pleased with his adverb. ‘You will see! But madam does enjoy reading. And anything that comes from Home is always eagerly accepted.’ He smiled, looked calculatingly at Joe and decided to go further. ‘I believe that the sahib has amongst his luggage one or two copies of books, recent ones, by her favourite author. She would be delighted to find herself the recipient of, shall we say, Jill the Reckless by P.G. Wodehouse.’
Joe grinned. ‘Well, luckily I’ve just finished reading it. Good thought, Govind! And perhaps it should be accompanied by The Indiscretions of Archie for Mr Vyvyan?’
Privately, he wondered how many of this author’s books Govind had himself devoured.
While Joe put the finishing touches to his outfit, Govind located the books and carefully tied them up with a ribbon by which they might be carried since the dark blue dye of the covers would undoubtedly smudge if they came into contact with a hot hand, he explained. Not for the first time, Joe wondered at the courtesy and high efficiency he encountered everywhere in India and asked himself how on earth he was going to manage his affairs back home in his flat overlooking the Thames. He contrasted the stately, all-knowing Govind and his impeccable arrangements with portly Mrs Jago who twice a week rolled up her sleeves, adjusted her pinny and did battle with the smuts deposited on his rooms by the neighbouring Lots Road power station.
Catching Govind’s surreptitious glance at his watch, Joe hurried to present himself, noting that as they were a good fifteen minutes ahead of the lunch appointment, the Vyvyans’ quarters must be at some distance from his own.
‘Far to go, Govind?’ Joe asked, walking smartly down the corridor of the New Palace alongside his escort.
‘Quite far, sahib. But a pleasant walk. To the north of the Old Palace, between the palace and the lake is a house which was built many, many years ago as a retreat for the rajmata, the queen mother. It is now used as the Residency.’
They arrived at last in front of a fifteen foot high wall covered in cascades of pink and white pelargoniums, and Govind led the way through an archway into a garden which took Joe’s breath away. He grinned. ‘You said it, Govind! “Bounteous”. That’s the only word for this show! Eat your heart out, Wisley!’
A profusion of foliage and flowers, many recognizably English ones, clustered around a small but gracious Moghul-inspired dower house. A flight of marble steps led to a pillared portico and an open door at which stood Lois Vyvyan. Looking for all the world like a Staffordshire figurine, was Joe’s impression, as he took in the light afternoon dress of lilac, the trug spilling over with marguerites and dahlias that she held on her arm. Catching sight of them, she handed the trug to a servant standing by, dusted off her hands and came forward to greet Joe.
She aimed a smile at a spot a fraction over Joe’s right shoulder. ‘Welcome to the Residency, Commander.’
She dismissed Govind with a nod and indicated that Joe should install himself in one of the rattan planter’s chairs which stood on the verandah. ‘May I get you a drink? We have sherry, champagne, hock. . ‘ she said vaguely.