‘What was it?’
‘There was a hump in the rug. Angel was pawing and sniffing at it, wagging his tail in great excitement. I picked him up and gave him to Florence then the servants rolled back the rug. Underneath it was a pouch with the jewellery neatly stored inside. I thought the count would explode he went so red, but there wasn’t much he could say. Everything he claimed had been stolen was there. He tried to make up some story, but it was obvious to everyone that he’d invented the whole thing because he was furious with Miss Lane for running off. Florence was delighted and even Archie made a bit of a fuss of Angel. Angel seemed very pleased with that. Perhaps they’ll even be good friends one day. But it still leaves the letter and those passports. Was there no sign of them?’
‘Not a trace. Either she had them under her clothes or she’d got rid of them.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘Do? I think I’ll have a whisky and soda. Archie Clutterbuck made it abundantly clear that when the matter of the jewellery was settled, my services would no longer be required.’
Jane looked at him sympathetically. ‘It’s not like you to give up, Shanti.’
‘Oh, I don’t see it as giving up; I’ve done my bit. It’s a British problem now.’
‘It is rather fun being proved right about Laetitia Lane and Major Aubrey, don’t you think?’
‘It was a lucky guess.’
‘I prefer to call it an educated one.’
‘Alright, it was very clever of you. Obviously, I’d do far better to stay here and read detective novels than chase about the countryside.’
She tucked her arm in his. ‘You’re cross.’
‘Yes, I suppose I am. This whole thing is a mess and I’ve wasted too much time on the count and his lies.’
She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘My poor dear. Never mind. The count won’t be here much longer, and neither, I suspect, will Laetitia Lane or Major Aubrey.’
‘But there will still be the problem of Helen Wynne-Talbot.’
Jane sighed. ‘I fear so.’
‘I should go and see Archie Clutterbuck,’ he said with a grimace.
‘You do that, then we’ll have dinner.’
**
Fortified by a whisky, he set off a quarter of an hour later. At the Residence, the house lights cast a buttery glow on the gravel and the façade looked a particularly pristine white against the dark sky. He parked the car and went to the door. A servant came swiftly to answer the bell. The sight of de Silva in uniform clearly surprised him.
‘Sahib is not here,’ he said, when de Silva asked for Clutterbuck.
‘Will he be out all evening?’
‘Yes. He and the memsahib attend a dinner at the British club.’
It would cause a stir if he tried to flush the assistant government agent out of a dinner at the club. He pictured the speculation at the card tables and in the smoking room. Clutterbuck wouldn’t thank him for it. No, this would have to wait until tomorrow and damn the consequences. He hoped he was making the right decision and his caution wouldn’t arouse Clutterbuck’s ire once again. He nodded to the servant. ‘Please tell him Inspector de Silva called and will telephone in the morning.’
The man bowed. ‘Yes, sahib.’
De Silva hesitated. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll leave a message for him. I’d better come in. Find me a pen and paper.’
The servant showed him through to a small room to one side of the entrance hall and left to fetch the writing materials. When he returned, de Silva composed a brief message explaining he was aware that the jewellery had been found, but he had detained Aubrey and Miss Lane regardless as he presumed Clutterbuck would still want to question them, both in relation to Helen Wynne-Talbot’s death and to their activities in Nuala.
He read the note over, signed it and put it in the envelope the servant had provided. ‘See to it that your master gets this on his return.’
Passing an uneasy night, he pictured Major Aubrey and Laetitia Lane penned up at the guest house. He hoped he had made the right decision. His prisoners were bound to want someone on whom to vent their displeasure, and unless Clutterbuck took his part, he would be right in the line of fire.
Everything depended on how Clutterbuck approached the situation. He might be very pleased Aubrey and Miss Lane were still in British hands, alternatively he might want to allay Miss Lane’s suspicions by setting her free. If that’s the case, thought de Silva, he’ll probably make a show of censuring me, but I must endure that.
He rolled over and curled up like a caterpillar but sleep still eluded him. Instead, the image of Florence’s beloved Angel cavorted through his mind, dragging in its teeth a seemingly endless string of diamonds that sparkled as brightly as the little dog’s beady eyes. Floating behind, Helen Wynne-Talbot’s pale, seraphic face accused him with its sorrowful expression.
Eventually, unable to endure any more, he slipped out of bed, moving stealthily so as not to wake Jane. In the bathroom, he took his robe from the hook by the door and put it on then pushed his feet into his slippers. Except for the tick of the clock in the hall, the bungalow was silent. A shaft of moonlight fell like an arrow on the drawing room floor, pointing the way to the verandah. He turned the key in the lock and went outside. In April, the air rarely cooled as much at night as it did earlier in the year and he wasn’t cold.
Moonlight leached the colour from the trees and flowers so that the garden looked like a faded print. Night-time, however, intensified its scents. Drinking them in, he felt at peace. He was so lucky to have this haven from the squabbles and demands of the human race. He had done his best to do the right thing and he would weather any storms that resulted. If Archie Clutterbuck chose not to support him after all, so be it.
Idly, he wondered whether Laetitia Lane really was a traitor to her country. Jane sometimes spoke of the Great War and the terrible loss of life incurred. The loser, Germany, had sunk into an economic depression, but in the last few years, Adolf Hitler’s National Socialists had come to power, promising to restore Germany’s greatness. Many people mistrusted Hitler, but there were some, and they included members of the British aristocracy, who admired the man. Was Laetitia Lane one of them?
He shivered and reminded himself that, although he had to serve the British in Ceylon, their problems in Europe were, fortunately, outside his remit. After a last turn round the garden, he went indoors and returned to bed.
Chapter 19
His head muzzy from his restless night, de Silva drank two cups of strong tea but hardly touched his breakfast. Jane looked at him with dismay. ‘Try not to worry, dear. I’m sure it will all work out for the best.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ he said, trying to infuse his voice with more confidence than he felt. He put down his crumpled napkin and got up from the table. ‘I’d better get off to the station and find out if there’s a message. Not much point seeing Aubrey and Miss Lane until I know how the land lies.’
The station door was still locked for he had left Nadar on guard at the guest house in case Aubrey or Miss Lane took it into their heads to persuade the owner to let them out. One person at least had benefited from the situation, he thought wryly. Last night had probably been the quietest Nadar had enjoyed in a long time.
He had just made himself some tea and taken it to his office when Nadar arrived. De Silva frowned. ‘What are you doing here, Constable? Didn’t I tell you to watch the prisoners?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Mr Clutterbuck came and sent me away. He told me to tell you that you are not needed at the guest house and he will speak with you later.’
De Silva’s spirits sank. This didn’t bode well.
The day was well advanced when Clutterbuck telephoned. Cautiously, de Silva wished him good afternoon.
‘It’s a tolerable one now, I suppose,’ came the gruff reply. ‘In spite of the fact that I’ve spent most of the day smoothing ruffled feathers when I could have been fishing. Didn’t I tell you to back off from
Major Aubrey? Instead I find that you’ve incarcerated him in some flea-bitten guest house!’
De Silva bit his tongue. The guest house hadn’t been of his choosing, and in any case, it had seemed to him to be perfectly clean and respectable.
‘Miss Lane too, even though you were aware she was cleared of theft.’
‘Sir, I explained in my note to you, I didn’t want to release them without your authority.’
‘Why didn’t you call me out of the club last night?’
‘I was concerned it would give rise to unwelcome curiosity.’
Clutterbuck grunted. ‘I suppose you’re not to blame. I didn’t know the truth myself until Colombo filled me in. It seems our Major Aubrey is a hero with a distinguished record of service on the North-West frontier. After several successful missions, he was captured and handled pretty roughly by the Afghans. I understand he was lucky to escape with his life.’
De Silva remembered the scars he’d noticed on Aubrey’s chest and everything became clear. For as long as he could remember, the British had been wrangling with Russia over Afghanistan, the gateway to India. The author they were so fond of, Rudyard Kipling, had called it the Great Game. How was he supposed to know Aubrey had been involved in it?
‘Laetitia Lane turns out to be one of ours too. She was tasked with finding out more about the count and his German connections and Aubrey was helping her. She was using her Italian identity for the count’s benefit. I’ve not been vouchsafed an answer to the question of the relevance of the other papers you found. Suffice to say, the lady seems to live a complicated life. Anyway, the business with Ranescu was all going well until she suspected someone had searched her room. That must have been you, of course, but she had no way of knowing it at the time. It was only when you interviewed her later that she suspected the truth. Initially, she was afraid she’d been unmasked by some unfriendly agent, so between her and Aubrey, they’d decided it was time to get out.’
Clutterbuck’s voice tailed off and there was a considerable pause before he spoke again.
‘De Silva?’
‘Yes, sir?’
The rumble of a throat being cleared came down the line. ‘I’ve decided we’ll say no more about it. By now they will have left Nuala and hopefully the whole sorry mess is behind us.’
De Silva felt a mixture of relief and frustration.
‘Getting back to the Wynne-Talbot woman. Have you found her body yet?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Try to hurry it up, de Silva. It would be good to show William Petrie that we can get something right up here.’
There was a click at the end of the line. De Silva replaced the receiver and the teacup rattled in its saucer. He picked up a pencil and flexed it; the lead snapped.
He spent the remainder of the afternoon dealing irritably with minor matters until Nadar put his head round the door.
‘Sergeant Prasanna’s back, sir.’
‘What news?’
‘He’s found the lady’s body, sir.’
‘Send him in.’
‘He has two people with him, sir.’
‘Oh? They’d better come in too.’
Prasanna was first into the room. His uniform shorts and shirt were somewhat grimy and dust dulled the shine on his boots. He acknowledged de Silva’s glance at them with an apologetic expression. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I came straight here. I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.’
‘You were right; the assistant government agent has been pressing me. Where did you find the body?’
‘In one of the places where we looked first, sir. I had almost given up when one of the villagers saw her. I think her fall must have been broken by trees growing out of the rock. The body was very badly injured.’ He shook his head sadly.
De Silva had feared as much.
‘Where is she now?’
‘She has been taken to the hospital, sir. Doctor Hebden sent this for you.’
Prasanna handed over a piece of paper and de Silva ran his eye down the doctor’s scrawled acknowledgement and recommendation that a funeral be arranged as soon as possible.
‘I’ll notify the assistant government agent and he can deal with the family. Well done, Prasanna. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy or a pleasant job.’
‘No, sir. Thank you, sir.’
De Silva glanced at the doorway where a young man and a girl in a yellow sari waited quietly. ‘Who’s this you’ve brought with you?’
Prasanna led the girl forward. De Silva racked his brains; he was sure he recognised her. Ah yes, the yellow sari. On the day he and Jane had gone dancing, he’d noticed this girl and her beautiful eyes as he drove through the bazaar.
‘Sir, this is my friend Kuveni,’ said Prasanna tentatively. ‘And this is Vijay, her brother.’
Chapter 20
‘Bring up a chair for the lady.’ De Silva smiled at the girl and she gave him a shy smile in return.
Prasanna fetched a chair and held it out for her solicitously.
‘Shall we speak in Tamil or Sinhalese?’ de Silva asked when she had sat down. Prasanna and Vijay remained standing on either side of her.
‘Sinhalese, sir,’ said Prasanna.
‘Your friends are Sinhalese?’
‘No, we are Vedda,’ the girl said in a soft voice.
Ah, that wouldn’t make life any easier for them, thought de Silva. The Veddas were an ancient race, but often looked down on by the other occupants of Ceylon who considered them a backward people. Historically, they had lived by hunting and were nomads, but now some of them had settled and grew crops on small patches of jungle that they cleared with axes and fire. They weren’t welcome in many villages and were rarely seen in the towns. He wasn’t surprised to hear that the headman was making trouble for Kuveni and her family.
‘What do you want to see me about?’ he asked, looking at the girl.
‘It is about their troubles with the headman of their village, as I told you, sir,’ Prasanna intervened.
De Silva held up his hand. ‘Let her speak for herself.’
There was an expression of quiet determination on Kuveni’s face as she began.
‘My family used to live in a village in the jungle. It is a day’s walk from Nuala. We did not have very much, but my brother and my father cleared a piece of land each year so that we could grow millet or maize and some vegetables. I helped with the digging and planting and occasionally we had a little meat from hunting.’
Neither the brother nor the sister appeared to have suffered from their simple diet. Both looked healthier than many of the poor Tamils and Sinhalese de Silva saw in town. The girl wasn’t only blessed with a pretty face, she had thick, glossy hair and clear skin. The brother, Vijay, looked strong and supple. His black hair stood out like a bush around his narrow, finely featured face.
‘From the earliest I remember, the headman made life difficult for my father. When it was time for getting the government permits, we were always the last in line. He also demanded a larger share of what we grew than he made the rest of the village give.’
De Silva frowned. He knew it was common practice for village headmen to take a proportion of their villagers’ produce as payment for carrying out their duties. These included applying to the British for the permits without which it was illegal to clear and cultivate land, but the amount taken was supposed to be reasonable and not harder on one family than another.
‘Eventually, my father went to him and asked why he was treating us like this. We had never made any trouble for him.’
‘What was the headman’s answer?’
‘He said my father was making his complaints up. It was foolish of him because we are Veddas and the villagers did not want us there anyway. It was only because of his goodness to us that we were not driven out.’
She grimaced. ‘His goodness to us! There is no goodness in that man.’
Her brother had been listening intently, but de Silva wasn’t sure how well he understood the conv
ersation. The girl’s command of Sinhalese was impressive.
‘How did you learn to speak the language?’ he asked her.
‘From the women in the village. They love to talk when they are together making food or collecting water. I listened.’
‘I interrupted you. Go on.’
‘Then the headman’s wife died.’ She looked down. ‘He said that I pleased him. If I would go and live with him, he would see to it that the other villagers treated us well. By which he meant he would treat us well.’
‘But you didn’t accept him?’
The girl shook her head and he saw tears on her cheeks. ‘I asked my father what I must do, but he wouldn’t speak about it. I decided to say no, and then the headman was very angry. He made life even harder for us and I was afraid I would have to agree after all, but while I was still unsure, he accused my father of stealing from him and had us chased from the village.’
‘Where is your father now?’
‘Here in Nuala, but he would not come with us to see you. He does nothing but sit all day. Everything is hard for him and he says he cannot breathe with buildings and people everywhere. At night he has bad dreams. We are very worried about him.’
‘Kuveni is afraid he will harm himself,’ said Prasanna.
‘Why do you think that?’ asked de Silva gently.
‘His spirit has been broken by all the troubles. What the headman said was a lie, but some people, the ones who do not like us because we are Veddas, were ready to believe it. My father had already stopped laughing and telling us the old stories and songs. Now he says we would be better off without him.’
She fell silent. With a sigh, de Silva turned to her brother. ‘Do you understand what your sister’s told me?’
The young man nodded.
‘And is it the truth?’
Another nod.
He addressed Kuveni once more. ‘How are you making money to live?’
‘One of the sari makers in the bazaar gives me work. It’s harder for Vijay because, although he understands some Sinhalese and Tamil, he does not speak any language but our own. He gets work delivering vegetables.’
The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Page 26