The Inspector de Silva Mysteries

by Harriet Steel

  ‘What problem does Prasanna have?’ Jane went back to her seat. ‘You haven’t mentioned anything up until now.’

  ‘How shameful of this man,’ she said when he had explained about Kuveni and her family.

  ‘If there’s truth in it, yes, it’s a serious breach of the trust that has been placed in him. But we mustn’t ignore the possibility that when a pretty girl meets an impressionable young man, she might be tempted to take advantage and exaggerate her family’s plight. Before we can take matters any further, Clutterbuck would need to have the records examined to see how this headman has been discharging his duties. If there are any suspicions of wrongdoing, I was hoping he would agree to make an official inspection.’

  ‘I expect he’ll calm down in a few days.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Oh, of course he will and then you can talk to him. Poor Sergeant Prasanna. We must do whatever we can to help. He’s obviously very fond of this girl, but if she’s from one of the villages, his mother might not think her suitable. That will mean problems that we of all people should sympathise with.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Are you going back to the station this afternoon?’

  ‘I ought to for an hour or so. I’d better send Prasanna out again for another try, although the chances of finding Helen Wynne-Talbot are looking pretty slim. He can take a few extra shikaris with him this time. They might be more help than young Nadar. Then I’ll come home and spend some time in the garden.’

  ‘Excellent, that will cheer you up.’

  ‘It usually does. That and the company of my lovely wife.’ He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up reluctantly. ‘I’ll be on my way.’ He sighed. ‘I think Nadar’s baby is teething again. It’s not ideal leaving him in charge but what else can I do? Calling Prasanna off the search too would amount to admitting defeat.’

  Jane looked sad. ‘But it may be what has to be done.’

  ‘That is for Archie Clutterbuck to decide.’

  Impulsively, she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m glad you see it that way.’

  The Morris waited for him on the drive. The comforting smell of leather met him as he eased into the seat; by the time he arrived, he was in better humour. Far from being asleep, Nadar was busy with the tasks he had been given that morning and seemed to be making a good job of them. He was palpably relieved at the news that he was not required to return to the search for Helen Wynne-Talbot.

  Sergeant Prasanna was less happy. As he went off gloomily to hire more shikaris, de Silva wondered whether it was time to consider taking over the search himself.

  Chapter 14

  Early the following morning, he was sitting at his desk when the telephone rang. To his surprise, he heard a familiar gruff voice at the other end of the line.

  ‘De Silva? Archie Clutterbuck here.’ There was a pause and the clearing of a throat. ‘De Silva? Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He waited. Clearly something was coming that was going to cost the assistant government agent a considerable effort.

  ‘De Silva, it seems I owe you an apology.’ Another pause. ‘I was too hasty yesterday. The thing is, it’s not been an easy week. The Powers that Be have been coming down on Petrie wanting to know what progress we’re making with this Ranescu fellow and that comes back on me. So far, they’re not happy with what we have to tell them. The hunting expedition was a fiasco and then your news about the countess. De Silva, can you hear me?’

  De Silva smiled to himself. Poor old Archie. It can’t have been easy for him to admit he was in the wrong, even if he tempered his admission by putting some of the blame on Petrie and those mysterious powers.

  ‘Yes, sir, and I accept your apology with thanks. Most generous of you.’

  ‘Good man, knew I could rely on you. Now, we have another problem. That damned fellow Ranescu! He’s nothing but a magnet for trouble. The Lane woman, if that’s really her name, told him she wasn’t well and needed to sleep alone. When he woke in the morning, he found she’d done a bunk. He claims she’s taken some very valuable jewellery with her.’

  De Silva’s eyes widened. ‘Is he still claiming she’s his wife?’

  ‘Not anymore. He admits now that they met at the gambling tables in Monaco.’

  De Silva thought quickly. ‘Unless she has access to a car, the train from Nanu Oya is the only way for her to get down to Kandy.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I should have just enough time to get to the station before today’s train leaves.’

  ‘Then get on with it and catch up with her, de Silva. If she gets to Kandy before we find her, she may give us the slip entirely. If we fall at this fence, and Ranescu loses money, it may be the final straw that sets him against us once and for all, and I don’t want to take the blame.’

  ‘Understood, sir. I’m on my way.’

  Rummaging in one of his desk drawers, he found the photograph of the hunting party then went to the cupboard where he kept a spare set of civilian clothes. Swiftly, he changed his uniform for a sarong and a loose cotton tunic, putting his police badge in the breast pocket. If he caught up with Laetitia Lane on her way to Kandy, rather than apprehending her straight away, it would be interesting to follow to see where she went.

  At the door, he looked back. Who knew how this would end? He returned to his desk, buckled his holster on under the tunic and tucked his Webley into it.

  **

  Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic on the road to Nanu Oya and he reached the station shortly before the train was due to depart. He hurried to the ticket office and showed the photograph to the clerk.

  ‘Have any of these people bought a ticket for the train to Kandy this morning?’

  The man peered at the faces in the photograph for a few moments then shook his head. ‘No, no one of that appearance has been here today.’

  ‘And you’re the only one selling tickets?’

  ‘Yes, but it is possible that some of the passengers send servants from their houses or hotels to purchase tickets for them. When I am busy here, I do not see everyone who boards the train.’

  De Silva heard ominous hooting coming from the platform. Dismayed, he realised that in his haste he had brought very little money with him. He dug into his breast pocket and produced his badge. ‘Give me a ticket to Kandy. First Class. You’ll be paid later.’

  A look of alarm came over the clerk’s face. ‘Sir, I cannot—’

  ‘Inspector,’ de Silva said firmly. ‘I am Inspector de Silva of the Nuala police and if you don’t issue that ticket in the next ten seconds, the government agent will want to know why.’

  The clerk’s hand shook as he wrote out the ticket. With mounting irritation, de Silva watched the slow, looping writing cross the paper. Another burst of hooting came from the platform and he snatched the ticket from the counter and dashed to the gate, ignoring the guard who tried to stop him. A moment later, he wrenched open the nearest door and jumped aboard. With a final blast, the train jolted forward and started to rumble down the line.

  He stood at the entrance to the carriage’s corridor and waited for his laboured breathing to subside. His heart thumped and flecks of red and green danced before his eyes. Jane would tell him he was getting too old for this kind of escapade. She might be right.

  When he recovered, he walked back to the head of the train and started to comb the carriages one by one. Third Class was the hardest to search, the carriages were so full of people, baskets, bags, boxes, even goats and squawking cages of hens. He moved on to Second Class and drew a similar blank. Initially, he had guessed that if Laetitia Lane was trying to escape on the train, she would choose one of the more crowded carriages to hide in, but perhaps he was wrong. Maybe a woman like her would simply travel First Class and defy anyone to see through whatever she decided to adopt.

  Cautiously, he entered that part of the train and stopped at the first door he came to. The compartment’s occupants were an elderly couple in weste
rn dress. Neither of them bothered to look up from their books as he passed. The next four compartments were similarly unfruitful but at the sixth, he paused, hanging back a little so as not to attract the attention of the woman inside. Dressed in the white habit of a nun, she was sitting in one of the window seats, her eyes downcast as she studied the book in her lap. As she read, her long, slim fingers counted the beads of a rosary.

  His heartbeat quickened. There was something suspiciously serene about this woman. He very much suspected she was his quarry. It was worth checking the final compartments, however; there was plenty of time before the first stop. Even if she decided to get off then, he would be back in time to see her go.

  He waited until the train entered a tunnel then crept past the door while the corridor was in semi-darkness. When the train emerged into the open air once more, he continued his search, but none of the remaining compartments had anyone in them who could by any stretch of the imagination be Laetitia Lane. He returned to the carriage next to the nun’s and sat down to wait for their arrival in Kandy.

  The journey down to the city seemed interminable. At each halt, he went to the door of his compartment and listened intently, but the nun stayed where she was. All he could hear was the faint click of the rosary beads. Breakfast seemed a long time ago, but he bought sparingly from the food vendors who came past. At Kandy, the nun would probably take a rickshaw to her destination and he needed to have the means to follow her. An argument with a rickshaw driver was likely to attract attention and he’d seen crowds set on people who tried to avoid the fare.

  At last the train arrived into Kandy station and halted with a great belch of steam. Guards walked along the platform banging open the doors, and porters hurried to take passengers’ luggage. De Silva disembarked and concealed himself near a group of them until he saw the nun climb down from the train. He studied her intently; her wimple and the cowl of the travelling cloak she wore made it hard to see much of her face, but the height and build seemed right for Laetitia Lane. Surely there was a good chance this was her? If it wasn’t and the real Laetitia Lane had escaped, he would feel the failure keenly, even if others excused it.

  She summoned a porter and pointed to the compartment where she had been sitting. The man bounded up the steps and returned a moment later with a leather suitcase and a small travelling bag. De Silva wondered if either of them contained the jewellery. Or would Laetitia Lane take the precaution of concealing it about her person? If it was her, she had discarded the distinctive crocodile-skin dressing case.

  Her small amount of luggage assembled, the nun followed the porter out of the station and de Silva followed them. Dozens of rickshaws waited in the forecourt beyond the station’s curved, modern façade, their drivers competing for trade with the hawkers trying to sell the arrivals food and offerings of flowers for Kandy’s famous temple.

  At one point, he was afraid he would lose sight of his quarry, then, to his relief, he saw her stop beside a rickshaw and speak to the driver. As the porter loaded her luggage and she stepped into the cab, de Silva beckoned to the driver of another rickshaw that waited nearby and told him to tail them. The man looked uncertain, but the flash of a few rupee coins brought a smile to his face. De Silva only hoped the journey wouldn’t be longer than he could pay for.

  The rickshaw set off in the direction of the Kiri Muhuda, Kandy’s great lake. Its other name was the Sea of Milk and under different circumstances, de Silva would have enjoyed revisiting its sparking waters and the beautiful balustrades and shady promenades that surrounded them, but for the present, his attention was focused on the shrouded figure jolting along in the rickshaw ahead of him. His stomach tightened.

  The rickshaw turned onto the road along the north shore and the dazzling golden bulk of the Temple of the Tooth reared up in front of him. Tangerine-robed monks and worshippers bearing offerings of flowers passed up and down the broad steps to the great entrance, insignificant as worker ants in the face of the temple’s magnificence. He wiped his brow, wishing he could go inside that vast, cool space and let it calm the jangling in his brain, but of course that was impossible.

  Ahead of him, the rickshaw left the lakeshore and threaded its way into the streets behind the temple. At last it halted at a whitewashed house next to a small chapel. The knot in de Silva’s stomach pinched tighter; in a few moments, he would know whether he was right or wrong.

  He rapped on the partition separating him from his driver and told the man to pass the house then stop around the corner. There, climbing down, he parted with some of his small supply of money and returned to the chapel end of the street. He was just in time to see the door of the house open and the nun step inside.

  The street was deserted now except for a small black cat curled up asleep in a patch of shade by the chapel wall. Someone had planted yellow and orange marigolds in a terracotta pot by the door to the house; the scene was a picture of drowsy peace. Doubt crept into his mind, but he must go on. It was better to look a fool than allow his quarry to escape. His hand felt for the reassurance of his gun, although, in the circumstances, he felt sacrilegious having it.

  As he walked towards the house, the door opened again and a different nun emerged carrying a small tin bowl. He stopped and watched her stoop to put it down in the shade.

  The cat looked up at the clink of metal on stone. It stretched, then stood up and arched its back before going to rub up against the nun’s knees. She bent to stroke its head and it started to lap at the milk. She waited until it was all gone then picked up the bowl. After a last fondle for the cat, she turned to go back inside then stopped. Glancing at de Silva, she smiled. ‘May I help you?’ she asked in English.

  He drew a deep breath. ‘The lady who just returned from Nanu Oya, does she live here?’

  The nun looked surprised. ‘Sister Honoria? Why yes. She’s lived here for many years, but she has spent the last few days at our sister mission in the hill country. Would you like to speak to her? Do you wish me to call her?’

  De Silva hesitated. It was dawning on him that the nun he had followed wasn’t Laetitia Lane. In his eagerness, he had been too ready to assume she would take the first available train out of Nanu Oya. Instead, she might be anywhere by now.

  The door opened and a face appeared. ‘Sister Barbara? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Ah, here she is,’ said the first nun. ‘Sister Honoria, this gentleman is asking for you.’

  De Silva took in the gentle expression in the grey eyes; the slightly crooked teeth revealed by a sweet smile and the retroussé nose. This was not Laetitia Lane. He flushed. ‘Forgive me, ma’am. A mistake. I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘It’s very warm today,’ Sister Honoria said kindly. ‘May we offer you something cool to drink?’

  Stammering his excuses, de Silva bowed and hurried away. He didn’t want to have to answer any questions. The knot in his stomach was replaced by a dull ache. The journey had been a waste of time. Now he had to get home with almost no money and he was hot and hungry into the bargain. Part of him wished he had accepted the nun’s offer after all.

  When he’d counted his remaining coins, he decided to save them for food and drink and walk to the station. The train back to Nanu Oya would have departed anyway. He would have to sleep at the station that night. Hopefully there would be a spare bench in the waiting room where he could stretch out.

  He felt a pang of guilt; Jane would worry and he didn’t want that. After a few moments’ thought, the best solution he came up with was to go to the Kandy police and enlist their help. They must have a telephone he could call Jane from. No doubt they would enjoy a few jokes at the expense of a stranded provincial policeman, but he would have to put up with that.

  Chapter 15

  ‘It’s a relief to have you back safely,’ said Jane when he arrived home late the following day. The Sunday train up from Kandy was a slow one in any case and there had been several delays for everything from goats to fallen branches on
the line. ‘But I wish you’d told me where you were a bit sooner,’ she added.

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. After Archie Clutterbuck told me Miss Lane had made a run for it, I didn’t want to risk delaying, however briefly.’

  ‘I suppose I forgive you.’ Jane smiled. ‘Anyway, I’m very glad you’ve made things up with Archie.’

  ‘He made things up with me. He has given me an apology.’

  ‘So he bloody well should. Now, if you had so little money left to buy food, you must be ravenous.’

  ‘I am rather hungry.’

  ‘I’ll tell Cook to have dinner ready in half an hour.’

  ‘Good, that will give me time to wash and change my clothes.’

  **

  ‘So, I am out of ideas,’ he said, as he tucked into a large bowl of rice with dahl and curry. ‘Laetitia Lane may be any of a hundred places. My journey to Kandy was a wild duck hunt.’

  ‘A wild goose chase, dear.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He understood that the governess in his wife found it hard to shake off the habit, but there were times when he found her linguistic policing somewhat trying.

  She pondered for a few moments. ‘If she wasn’t on the train,’ she resumed, ‘isn’t it possible that she’s still in Nuala? Often the best hiding place is the one people least expect. We tend to think that someone who’s trying to escape will get as far away as possible but it isn’t necessarily the case.’

  He nodded reluctantly, wishing he had thought of that himself. ‘You have a point. I suppose Nadar and I could search the town for a day, but I’d be surprised if she doesn’t leave eventually. Why would she stay, except perhaps with the idea of letting the fuss die down? After all, she can hardly sell all the jewels in Nuala. If they are of the high quality and value that Ranescu claims, it would cause a great deal of comment.’