He reached his and Jane’s compartment and put a hand on the door then froze. Someone was moving about inside. They hadn’t seen an attendant to ask for their beds to be made up early. In any case, an attendant would be unlikely to close the door. Intently, he listened again. There was a snap, as if a lock was being opened, followed by a thud and a muttered curse.
He flung the door open and the figure in the compartment swung round. He was taller than average and dressed in the ubiquitous white tunic and trousers of the sub-continent. A scarf wound around the lower half of his face made it impossible to see clearly what he looked like.
Jane’s suitcase was on the floor, the lock smashed, and her clothes scattered. The intruder dropped the valise he was holding. De Silva noticed a slash in the leather. He stretched out his arms to block the doorway.
‘You’re under arrest. Stay exactly where you are.’
A look of horror came into the intruder’s dark eyes. His attack caught de Silva off guard. He gasped as a fist connected with his solar plexus. Stumbling, he lunged for the man’s collar and felt the material rip. A punch to the jaw sent him reeling. The back of his head slammed into the window opposite the compartment door, and fireworks exploded in front of his eyes. It took him a moment to recover then he staggered after the intruder.
There was shouting now and the sound of pounding feet. A hand gripped his elbow, and someone pushed past him. The intruder was still in front when they reached the Second-Class section of the train, but the man ahead of de Silva was gaining ground. He was dimly aware of a blur of faces as passengers broke off talking or woke from their dozes to eye the commotion with curiosity or indifference.
In the first of the Third-Class carriages, the intruder jumped over a pile of bundles and boxes left in the aisle and kept running. Less agile, his pursuer had to slacken his pace to push past. As he did so, de Silva saw with a jolt of surprise that it was Joseph Edelman. He was amazed that the little Swiss could put on such a turn of speed.
They were in the final carriage now. Loud noises behind de Silva made him glance over his shoulder. Shouting guards and attendants had joined in the chase. A rush of air hit him as he turned the corner at the end of the carriage. The door crashed against the side of the train. The intruder’s fingers clawed at the jamb while blurred shapes unrolled in the darkness behind him like a reel of film. Edelman took a step towards him. He seemed to be reasoning with him, but the words were lost in the roar of the train.
A blast of soot whirled past, shrouding the intruder’s head. A yell that curdled de Silva’s blood came out of the cloud then died, leaving only the rush of wind and the thrum of wheels. Then the screech of the train’s brakes drowned them both.
**
‘Poor fellow. I wish I could have saved him,’ said Edelman mournfully.
He looked down at the mangled corpse laid out beside the line. ‘To lose one’s life for the sake of a few trinkets. It’s a terrible indictment on the state of the world.’
There had been a good deal of shunting once the train ground to a halt. De Silva and Edelman, accompanied by the chief guard and a few of his men, had supervised the grisly process of extracting the intruder’s body from where it was trapped under the train. The head was crushed beyond recognition and one arm torn off. The dead man’s lifeblood soaked his tunic and trousers.
‘Shortly before I saw you fighting with him, Mr de Silva, I discovered that he had already visited my compartment. Fortunately, I wasn’t travelling with anything of value. The jewels I purchased here are all safely locked up in the vaults of a reputable bank in Colombo, awaiting collection before I sail for Europe. I hope you lost nothing of importance, sir?’
De Silva thought quickly. ‘No. My wife was wearing her jewellery, and I hadn’t left any money in the compartment.’
The head guard poked gingerly at the dead man’s clothing. ‘There seems to be nothing concealed about his person, gentlemen. But if you do find anything has been taken, I’ll arrange a search of this section of track when it’s daylight.’
‘I doubt that will be necessary,’ said Edelman. ‘Would you agree, Mr de Silva?’
‘I would.’
He did his best to sound composed, but de Silva’s mind raced. If the man had managed to find any of the artefacts he was taking to the museum, he certainly didn’t want anyone else collecting them up. If anything was missing, he’d have to think of a way round the problem.
‘I may as well check my luggage now,’ he said, feigning calm. ‘Then we’ll know the situation. I don’t want to hold up the train unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I’ll do the same,’ Edelman said.
Jane hurried towards them as they walked back along the track. ‘Shanti! Are you alright?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘But your face! It’s swollen and there’s a terrible bruise coming up.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing.’
Jane took his arm. ‘I don’t think so. If there’s a doctor on board, I want him to have a look at you.’
His smile twisted into a grimace of pain. ‘If you insist. But after I’ve made sure nothing was taken.’
‘You’re very wise, Mrs de Silva,’ said Edelman. ‘Your husband took some very nasty blows. I’m glad I was close by to help him chase the intruder. Who knows what might have happened otherwise.’
‘Incidentally, why did you come back, Herr Edelman?’ asked de Silva. ‘I’m most grateful you did, of course,’ he added hastily.
‘Pure fluke, sir. Your wife was asking about my family. I always carry a few photographs of them. She said she would like to see them, so I came to collect the envelope I carry them in while we waited for the dessert to be served. I was just in time to see you fall and this wretched fellow take flight.’
They had reached the First-Class section of the train. De Silva put his hand on the grab rail and pulled himself up the high steps, suddenly aware that more of him than his face was bruised. He limped to his compartment, aware that the ache in his ankle had returned. Glancing over his shoulder to ascertain that no one had followed him, he grabbed the valise where he had stowed the artefacts. The lock was intact but, to make sure, he pulled the key out of his pocket and opened it. Everything was as it should be; he breathed more easily.
Footsteps approached and there was a knock at the door. Quickly, he snapped the lock shut and hoisted the valise back into the overhead locker. The effort made his ribs feel as if they were on fire. It was the chief guard who came in. ‘All in order, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you. I must have disturbed this would-be thief before he had time to get very far.’
‘Clearly the thief broke into my compartment first.’ The sound of Edelman’s heavily-accented voice came from the corridor, followed by the little Swiss in person. ‘I’m confident, however, that nothing valuable was taken. I suggest we proceed on our journey and put this distressing interlude behind us. I propose to return to the dining car. After all the excitement, a glass of cognac would be very welcome. I hope you and your husband will join me, Mrs de Silva.’
‘But what about your compartment?’ asked Jane. ‘Can we help you put it to rights?’
‘Ach, there’s no need. My servant will repack my belongings later.’
‘Shall I send to find him now, sir?’ asked the chief guard.
‘No, not yet; I want to supervise him while he carries out the task. But after I’ve had my cognac.’
He turned to Jane and Shanti and smiled. ‘Shall we go?’
**
‘Poor Mr Edelman,’ Jane said as they got ready for bed later. ‘I think the incident shook him up more than he cared to admit. I wish he had let us help him.’
‘Sometimes it’s best to leave people to do things in their own way.’
‘I suppose so. After all, we are virtually strangers.’ She sat down at the little table by the window, unpinned her hair and started to brush it. ‘You look very preoccupied, Shanti. Wh
at are thinking about?’
‘Wondering if it was purely chance that the thief chose this train.’
‘You mean he had a tip off we were taking things to the museum?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘But who would have let it slip? Apart from ourselves, only Archie, your friend Rudi, and the curator he’s recommended know anything about this. How would it benefit any of them to arrange to have the things stolen?’
‘I agree it seems unlikely.’
‘Anyway, ours wasn’t the only compartment involved.’
‘True.’
‘I think you should stop worrying and try to get some sleep. I hope the arnica’s making your face less painful. I wish we’d found a doctor. It was all I had with me.’
‘It’s doing an excellent job.’
He climbed the ladder to his bunk and settled himself under the sheet. ‘In any case, after the evening I’ve had, and a glass of cognac into the bargain, I shall probably sleep like a baby.’
Closing his eyes, he listened to the muted clickety-clack of the train. The sound was very soothing. Firmly, he banished the spectre of the disfigured corpse by the line. Soon, he was asleep.
Chapter 18
What was left of the night was uneventful. De Silva woke feeling surprisingly refreshed, then confused. Where was he? Rolling over, he accidentally pressed on his cheek and let out a shout of pain. Immediately, the happenings of the previous night flooded back.
‘Shanti! What’s wrong?’ His shout had woken Jane.
He rubbed his chin with tentative fingers. ‘My face hurts.’
‘I should think it does. You’ll have to take care for a week or two.’
With a groan, he shifted himself to the ladder and climbed down. The mirror above the wash basin revealed a piteous sight.
‘I look as if I’ve gone five rounds with Joe Louis,’ he muttered glumly. He put a forefinger in his mouth and explored his teeth. ‘At least he didn’t loosen any of these.’
Jane looked at him sympathetically. ‘It doesn’t look that bad.’
‘Oh, I think it does. I’ll frighten small children in the street.’
She laughed. ‘We can always buy you a mask to wear and pretend it’s for a festival.’
‘Very humorous.’
‘Would you like me to ask the attendant to serve our breakfast in here?’
‘No, I have to face the world sometime. It may as well be now.’
He tweaked back one corner of the curtain. ‘We’re in a siding. I suppose we’re having to wait for a platform to be free.’ He looked at his watch. ‘The train’s not due in for another hour or so anyway.’
The dining car was quiet which suited de Silva admirably. He was glad not to have to withstand the curiosity of too many other passengers. He was making a cautious attempt to eat a plate of scrambled eggs while moving his jaw as little as possible when a concerned voice addressed them. He didn’t need to look up; he recognised the accent straight away.
‘I fear you bear the scars of battle, Mr de Silva.’
Rather to de Silva’s annoyance, Edelman’s rosy cheeks and bright eyes testified to a full recovery from the previous night’s disturbance.
‘But we’re very glad to see you looking unscathed, Mr Edelman, aren’t we, Shanti?’
De Silva made a sound that could be interpreted either way, then felt churlish. In hindsight, he wished that the Swiss hadn’t got involved. Had he been able to get close to the intruder himself, he might have been able to stop him jumping and had a chance to question him. In the circumstances, however, it wasn’t fair to blame Edelman for acting decisively.
‘I breakfasted early,’ he went on. ‘I slept much better than I expected. Order is restored to my luggage, and I plan to spend a few peaceful days in town before it’s time to board the ship. It’s been a great pleasure making your acquaintance. Perhaps we’ll meet again one day.’
He lifted Jane’s hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I wish you every happiness, my dear Mrs de Silva. If you find yourself in Zurich, it would be an honour to entertain you. My shop is in the Bahnhoffstrasse; anyone will tell you where that is.’
He held out his hand to de Silva. ‘And my good wishes to you too, sir. I hope recovery is swift.’
‘What a delightful man,’ whispered Jane as Edelman walked away. ‘I wonder if we’ll see him again. He didn’t mention where he was staying.’
De Silva forked up the last of his scrambled egg and waved away the steward offering toast. ‘Maybe he has friends in Colombo. We’ll have to catch up with him in Zurich one day. Perhaps we’ll take a cruise like Florence.’
‘Switzerland has no coastline, dear.’
‘I know that. I was testing you.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You must be feeling better.’
A jolt made the tea in de Silva’s cup ebb and flow like the tide. The train moved forward a few feet.
Jane peered out of the window. ‘There’s a man out there waving a green flag. If you’ve eaten enough breakfast, we ought to go and get ready.’
Wistfully, de Silva looked at a passenger on another table who was polishing off a hearty plateful of fried food. Breakfast was one of the few things he found appetising about British cooking.
‘I’m coming,’ he said resignedly.
Chapter 19
The station at Colombo was even more crowded than the one at Kandy and the vendors even more persistent. Once de Silva and Jane had extricated themselves and made sure their luggage was following with a porter, they went out to the concourse and hired a rickshaw to take them to the Galle Face Hotel. Waiting for the luggage to be loaded, de Silva noticed a sleek black car where a uniformed chauffeur held open the door for Joseph Edelman to climb in. The door closed, and the chauffeur hurried round to the driver’s side. The car drew away, weaving through the throng of pedestrians, rickshaws and luggage carts.
‘What is it, dear?’ asked Jane.
‘Oh, nothing. I just saw your friend, Mr Edelman, getting into a very expensive chauffeured Daimler. I must say, he seems to have life well organised. There must be plenty of money in the jewellery trade.’
He hauled himself awkwardly into the back seat of the rickshaw.
‘Still painful?’ asked Jane with a frown. ‘Perhaps we can find a doctor here in Colombo.’
‘Nonsense. It’s only a bit of bruising, and I have work to do.’
They were soon in sight of their destination. As the rickshaw jolted down The Strand, to their right the vast expanse of the palm-fringed Indian Ocean stretched away to the horizon. The hotel’s white walls gleamed in the sunshine. The building could have been a maharajah’s palace, its imposing façade bookended by projecting wings, with a huge porte cochère in the middle section where cars and rickshaws bringing in hotel guests were drawing up.
De Silva paid off the rickshaw man, and a doorman dressed in a white suit with gold buttons and white gloves greeted them. They were shown to their room on the first floor.
Jane clapped her hands. ‘Oh, it’s lovely! Look at the view, Shanti! Isn’t it wonderful to be able to see the ocean?’
Lightly, she stroked the curtains. The material rippled like water. ‘And look at these – made of this beautiful golden silk, and the same for the bedspread. And these flowers’ – she touched one of the petals of an arrangement of cream lilies and roses that filled the room with their perfume. ‘Are you sure Archie won’t complain about the cost?’
‘He’d better not; he told me to spoil you.’
‘How sweet of him.’
He looked at his watch. ‘We have a few hours until lunchtime. I suppose I should go to the police station and let Rudi know I’ve arrived. Do you mind?’
‘You go. I’ll be perfectly happy here. Do you want to change into your uniform?’
‘Not for the moment; I’d rather be anonymous.’ He patted his pocket. ‘But I have my badge in case I need it. I’ll come back as soon as possible. We’ll have a spot of lunch and then a stroll
beside the ocean. Apparently, this man Jayakody won’t be free until late afternoon, so we should have plenty of time.’
Leaving Jane to unpack and explore the hotel, de Silva went down to the lobby and ordered a rickshaw. Memories of his Colombo days flooded back as he travelled through the familiar city.
He’d always thought Colombo owed much of its charm to the contrast between the elegance of the colonial buildings and the colourful variety of daily life going on in the streets. Every kind of conveyance was there: motor cars, rickshaws, bicycles, bullock carts, and even a few elephants. Horns hooted; bells rang; whips cracked; dogs barked, and cart wheels rumbled. Men sat astride the water carts that trundled along spraying water from hoses fitted at the back to keep down the dust.
Children darted about, narrowly avoiding being run over. Here and there, men lounged in the shade of the trees, smoking or playing dice or cards. Others trudged along, burdened by the goods balanced on their heads. The vivid colours of women’s saris flashed through the crowds like tropical fish in a reef. Buddhist monks in orange robes walked with heads bowed as if oblivious to the cacophony surrounding them.
By the time he reached the police station, de Silva felt exhilarated by the liveliness of his old city. He showed his badge to the guard on the door and went in. At the public counter, he gave his name and asked to see Rudi Chockalingham.
The sergeant in charge gave him a strange look. ‘What’s your business with Inspector Chockalingham?’
‘Confidential.’ De Silva flashed his badge again. ‘Now just tell him I’m here, will you?’
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I can’t do that.’
De Silva frowned. Why did he always have to get the idiot?
‘Why not?’
‘Because he’s not at the station today.’
‘I’ll leave a message then. When will he be back?’
The sergeant’s brow furrowed; he seemed to be thinking deeply. ‘Hard to say,’ he volunteered at last.
Fatal Finds in Nuala (The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Book 4) Page 11