The Palace Tiger

by Barbara Cleverly

  ‘You’re saying that Madeleine sawed through the elevator cable?’ said Edgar in astonishment. ‘Well, I have to say – nothing that girl did would surprise me but . . . but . . . well, we both saw her reaction when she pulled the flying helmet off the dying pilot and saw it was her husband. Could anyone feign such shock?’

  ‘If anyone could, Madeleine could. She’s rather good at feigning.’ Joe cleared his throat and forced himself to continue. He wasn’t finding his theorizing easy. ‘But I agree with you, Edgar. She didn’t know Prithvi was about to die.’

  In the silence that followed, Lizzie stirred uncomfortably then said, ‘Stuart did. Her brother did. He would have done anything for Madeleine. If he knew that her role in Prithvi’s life was going to be diminished and thereby his own, incidentally, I think he would have taken it upon himself to think and act on her behalf. Cut and run. And after all – who better placed? He could saw through the wires at any time that suited him. Perhaps Ali the fitter became aware and had to be got rid of? And who but Stuart would be able convincingly to send Prithvi up in his stead? We only have Stuart’s assertion that he was supposed to be the pilot – Prithvi could all along have expected to go up.’

  ‘Stuart’s a trained killer. He’s looked pilots in the eye, kids his own age, his mirror image if you like, and calmly pulled the trigger and shot them down in flames. Twenty notches or whatever they are on his fuselage, don’t forget. Another one seems insignificant,’ Edgar added.

  ‘Well, Stuart’s done the cutting,’ said Lizzie, ‘why didn’t they do the running as soon as they got their hands on a million dollars’ worth of bearer bonds? Why did they go out to the tiger hunt with everyone else? They could have stayed behind and taken off in the Jenny when you were all looking the other way.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Good point, Lizzie,’ said Edgar helplessly. ‘Any ideas, Joe?’

  Joe shook his head, thinking furiously.

  To cover his colleague’s embarrassment, Edgar burbled on. ‘So, what comes next? We have no jurisdiction in the state, no power of arrest. Chap’s American, anyway. What a diplomatic tangle! Do we ring Sir George? Ask his advice? Do we drop the word to Ajit and wait for him to make an arrest? That’s two for the dungeons – Claude and Stuart.’

  ‘You’re forgetting Bishan,’ said Lizzie. ‘The first murder from which all this stems, it seems to me. Who arranged his death? Can we expect a third culprit to join them in the cells?’

  ‘No,’ said Joe, finding his voice. ‘The first murderer? Good Lord, it sounds like the cast list of a Shakespearian tragedy! No. There can be no expectation of the first murderer ever being arrested. He is well beyond even Ajit Singh’s reach!’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘I hope you’re not still banging on with the idea that Udai had Bishan killed?’ Edgar’s voice had an edge of menace but he collected himself at once and added shamefacedly, ‘No, of course not. Sorry, Joe. Hardly likely to have whispered his own name into the ear of a chap as he lay dying.’

  ‘It was almost as difficult to give him the name he was seeking. The confirmation (because I’m sure he already knew) that his first son had been murdered by his second son was the last thing a dying prince wants to hear. Prithvi. I think he’d finally decided to behave in all things like a Rajput prince and use his skills for the benefit of the state. And his first task was to clear his own path forward. I think it was Prithvi who talked Bishan into taking the stronger than usual dose of opium and used his authority to order the replacement of the panther. He must have strongly believed in his ability to save the country from the economic disaster that is threatening it.’

  ‘A disaster that has already overtaken one or two princely states,’ said Lizzie. ‘But I don’t think anyone here has the faintest idea how near the brink we might be. What a mess . . .’ She sighed. ‘Suddenly my little tile-hung cottage begins to look very attractive.’

  Her sigh was interrupted by a peremptory knock at the door. When Joe went to open it he was alarmed but not surprised to see the handsome and agitated features of Ajit Singh’s lieutenant, Ram.

  ‘Sahib, I am pleased to have tracked you down!’

  Not the effort he was implying, Joe considered, as he was quite certain that their every move was shadowed.

  ‘Ram. Good to see you again though the circumstances are hardly auspicious,’ said Joe. ‘Won’t you join us?’ he added vaguely, doubtful that inviting him into the room of a memsahib was the right thing to do.

  Ram shook his head. ‘Forgive me. I must ask you and Captain Troop to accompany me at once to the office of the Dewan where he and Major Ajit Singh await you. The memsahib’s presence is not required,’ he added with a polite nod to Lizzie who had appeared by Joe’s side.

  The guard at the door of the Dewan’s office when they reached it appeared to have doubled, Joe noticed, but at the sight of them no challenges were rapped out. The doors were opened instantly and they were ushered inside.

  No clerks on duty this time; the room was occupied only by the Dewan and Ajit Singh. With a gesture and polite formulae they were invited to take seats at a low table opposite the two Rajputs, and Ajit Singh began in what seemed to Joe to be the middle of the story. He spoke fast and bluntly. Time, apparently, was of some importance.

  ‘Were you tempted to lie, Sandilands, when the ruler asked you for names?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Joe without hesitation. ‘But it would have been impossible to get away with it. He would have known. He did know . . . I’d swear even before you gave him your opinion. He’d worked it out.’

  ‘And here we are in possession of the identities of two killers. One is outside our jurisdiction but the second, Captain Mercer, remains on our list so to speak.’

  ‘What have you done with him?’ asked Joe alarmed. ‘The chap’s American, you know, not English.’

  ‘I am aware of the man’s nationality but the legal aspects of this case are interesting. What are we to do if a foreign national commits a capital crime on Rajput soil? What would you do if this were London? Of course you would arrest the man and he would stand trial at the Old Bailey. If I can lay hands on this man he will spend some time in my dungeons before he is taken to Delhi to be held to account.’

  ‘What do you mean – if you can lay hands on him? Surely you have him in custody by now, Ajit?’ said Edgar.

  Ajit stirred uncomfortably and the Dewan spoke up. ‘Unfortunately that is not the case. Devastated as he was by the death of the Yuvaraj, Ajit, on the return journey, failed to notice that one of the cars, the Hispano Suiza, had been taken by Captain Mercer and his sister. They had packed it with their effects and, unbeknown to us, several spare cans of petrol. At a bend in the road they veered off into the forest and the rest of the cavalcade continued without them.’

  Joe fought down a quite reprehensible stab of exultation and managed to ask, ‘But where on earth . . .?’

  ‘They had planned well. This car had been toughened for use on hunting trips. Nevertheless it will prove to have been an amazing vehicle if it does what they require of it.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Edgar exclaimed. ‘They’re making for the Grand Trunk Road. But over that country . . . no roads, not even tracks out there. They’ll never make it!’

  ‘I confidently expect to hear from our foresters within the next month that vulture-picked remains have been discovered in a little-known corner of the kingdom,’ Zalim said with relish.

  ‘Then you don’t know Madeleine Mercer,’ said Joe but only to himself. Out loud he asked, ‘But why did the pair go along with the rest of us on the tiger hunt? I can’t understand why they didn’t just sail off in the Jenny. Why spend a few miserable days with people they didn’t like on an activity they despised when they could have been getting away to Delhi or Bombay while our attention was otherwise engaged?’

  Zalim and Ajit shared a conspiratorial glance and Zalim waved a negligent hand to encourage Ajit to speak.

  ‘It took less effort for me to get to th
e truth of Prithvi’s death than you, Sandilands. I simply took Ahmed into custody. No notebooks, no fingerprints, no slanted questions were necessary.’ He smiled pityingly and paused.

  ‘I’m not going to ask what was necessary,’ Joe decided. ‘Not going to give him the satisfaction.’

  Ajit went on, ‘As one Rajput to another, he confided that his brother had taken a large sum of money from Captain Mercer before the fatal flight and had made off in line with Mercer’s suggestion, to set himself up in business as a driver of taxi-cab vehicles in . . . Delhi.’ He gave a rumbling laugh. ‘He really had gone to Delhi, you see! Not difficult to establish that the dashing air ace had set up the plane to crash with the heir apparent at the controls. A matter of honour, we are to assume. Revenge and loss of career prospects also come into the story along with the disappearance of a substantial amount of wealth in bearer bonds from the possession of the ruler. But the mystery is – why did he not simply kill Ali?’

  Joe was angered by the look of genuine puzzlement on Ajit’s face. ‘You mentioned the word “honour”. Captain Mercer may be a killer but he is not an indiscriminate killer. Ali was his rigger and Mercer entrusted his life to him every time he took off. There is no way he would have broken that trust. Perhaps Ali saw something he shouldn’t have seen, perhaps Mercer needed a distraction, a bit of hocus-pocus to confuse anyone who might become suspicious. He planned meticulously, which makes it all the more odd that he should –’

  ‘Ah, yes. You are right when you say they should have instantly taken flight but . . . ah, me!’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘This had been rendered impossible.’

  Joe and Edgar looked at him in surprise and he enjoyed this for a moment before going on, ‘With the assistance of Ahmed, I had all the planes drained of fuel and the reserves carried away. Captain Mercer is nothing if not careful. He constantly checked the planes and it did not escape his attention that all was not well with them. He and his sister had little alternative but, like antelopes, to seek the safety of the herd when danger threatened. By mingling with the other Europeans they felt themselves more secure than they would have been if they had remained behind at the palace. They were not wrong,’ he finished baldly.

  ‘Ajit, may I ask you,’ said Edgar tentatively, ‘to share with us your thoughts on the death of Bahadur?’

  ‘The prince was killed in a manner I have yet to establish, by the Resident,’ said Ajit firmly.

  ‘Well, here we can trade information for information,’ said Edgar. ‘Tell us why you suspected Vyvyan and we’ll tell you how he managed it.’

  ‘For some weeks my men had been following Bahadur around the palace, as a means of protecting him. We were determined not to lose a third Yuvaraj. I think it was Ram who noticed . . . Bahadur was observed to be observing! He spent many hours tracking Vyvyan around the palace, watching his bungalow when he worked late into the night. It was not long before Ram realized what his interest was and of course he brought his problem to me.’ For a moment, Ajit’s confidence seemed to glow less brightly. ‘A delicate situation,’ he said.

  Zalim took up the tale. ‘Delicate is an understatement! Diplomatic dynamite! Policing Westerners with Vyvyan’s power and position is difficult and there was always the necessity to keep hidden the nature of his offence which even now I will not name. What could I do when Ajit came to me? Well, what would you have done?’ he asked with a disarming smile. ‘I telephoned Sir George.’

  ‘Sir George?’ The surprise was all Joe’s. Edgar was silent.

  ‘We discussed the matter and he said he would send someone to clear up the mess. I was advised to take no direct action which would sour relations between our countries.’ He looked at Joe and beamed again. ‘So, Sandilands, I fear the time has come for you to live up to your reputation. You must arrest Vyvyan and take him away and dispose of him as you will.’

  ‘Right now?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Yes. Time is, as you would say, of the essence. He is on the move. We had been expecting him to enjoy his new position of power, grow into his role, line his pockets, but his movements suggest this is not what he intends.’

  ‘Tell me what you have observed,’ said Joe.

  ‘His household stewards report that discreet preparations are under way. Nothing too obvious. It’s my theory he intends to go quickly and travel lightly. We have the motor cars and the stables under guard. He will not get away.’

  ‘But why now and why so hurriedly?’

  ‘He has already acquired the key of the khajina. He exercised his right to claim one immediately on the death of Udai Singh. It is my suspicion that he intends to remove treasure from the strong house and attempt an escape.’

  ‘Ah. Now look here . . . I’m not sure how far I should reveal my knowledge of Ranipur’s economic affairs but, well, how certain can we be that it will avail him anything to attempt to ransack the coffers? Will he find anything of interest to him? Bit of an empty gesture perhaps, waving the key around?’

  Again Zalim and Ajit exchanged a look which Joe was gratified to see.

  ‘Not quite empty,’ Zalim replied. ‘A significant amount of Ranipur’s resources have been traded for more portable modern representations of wealth but some remains. The state jewellery is still in the khajina. The people call these pieces “hamara” – “ours” – and they do indeed belong to the state and not to the ruler. Udai would never have contemplated disposing of the regalia that graces state weddings and durbars. Would your King George sell the Crown Jewels? I think not! They are still locked away and Claude is aware of this.’

  ‘We expect him to move very soon,’ said Ajit. ‘We require you, Sandilands, to accompany us to the khajina when he goes there and arrest him when you catch him in the act. If he is going to make his move, when better than during the mourning for the ruler? The palace is in upheaval at the moment and he has the sense to profit from the disturbance. But there are constrictions even on crime. It is mid-afternoon . . . if he is to allow himself hours of daylight in which to get away he must act soon.’

  ‘You will stay here with Ajit,’ said Zalim, ‘and hold yourselves ready. I will have tea and refreshments sent to you.’

  With a smile and a nod, he left them watching each other warily.

  Before the promised tea had arrived there was a tap at the door, which was answered by Ajit. After a brief and whispered conversation he waved them to join him.

  ‘He’s moving!’

  They followed Ajit’s man through the palace and out into the hills to the west. Their path was narrow and led through scrubland offering little cover. Joe was concerned. Either they got up so close to Claude he would be bound to see them or they would have to let him get too far ahead. He confided his worry to Ajit.

  ‘The door keeper is one of the hill tribe. He has been told to prevaricate and hold up the Angrez as long as possible,’ was the confident reply.

  After a mile of scrambling through bleached vegetation, every leaf of which seemed to harbour a thorn, they arrived some thirty yards from a small red sandstone building in the heavy Hindu style. Carved elephant trunks made up the massive lintels which held up the impregnable stone roof. There appeared to be no windows and only one very solid wooden door. On hearing a sharp cry abruptly cut off, they hurried forward, fanning out, guns in hand.

  Ajit was first to reach the old man. A dark-skinned man of the hills, dagger drawn, was lying motionless in the middle of the path a yard or two from the door. Ajit leaned over him then looked up and shook his head. His expression was fierce, his voice rasping as he hissed a command to Joe. ‘Sandilands! You know what you have to do!’ He pointed to the door, which stood slightly ajar.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Pistol in hand, Joe and Edgar went silently to stand on either side of the door. They heard no sound. Edgar pushed the door and went in first. Joe slipped in behind him. Instinctively they put some distance between themselves, crouching back to back, each covering a sector of the room. In the darkness they could
see nothing save for the small oil lamp that burned at the far side. As Joe’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he saw that the lamp was standing on a carved stone counter which ran around the circumference of the room. The flame reflected off the metal lids of three coffers built into the stone but if they had expected to catch the Resident with his hand in the honey pot up to the armpit, they were disappointed.

  They crept further apart, peering and blinking at the shadows.

  ‘Guns on the floor! Now!’ a voice behind Joe commanded. He felt the cold kiss of a revolver barrel in the nape of his neck.

  ‘Move together!’

  Joe heard the finality with which his Browning and Edgar’s smacked against the stone floor as they fell. As soon as Claude had herded them close together he would kill them with two quick shots. And inside this stone coffin who would hear? Ajit would and he would lay siege but he would not intervene in a shoot-out between Westerners.

  Joe’s only weapon was words and a psychological understanding of Claude. He wanted to goad the icily calm killer at his back into responding to him and he thought he knew just the formula to annoy.

  ‘You do know that they’ll scrub your name from the honour roll at Haileybury?’ he said in an easy, conversational tone. ‘A man like you, Claude? Why would you do this?’

  ‘Quiet, Sandilands! Move over towards the lamp. Both of you!’

  ‘Why risk everything? You have power, position, the love of a beautiful woman and a glittering future. Enough for any man, I’d have thought. Why gamble all that for a fistful of baubles? You must be mad!’