Claybourne’s aim must have been wide of the mark. Randall didn’t stumble or cry out. Metal glinted in the darkness. De Silva braced himself as Randall fired in return, but that bullet also went wide, burying itself in the wall. The noise still reverberated when the third shot rang out. This time, Randall reeled and fell to the ground. De Silva’s bones turned to water and he closed his eyes.
When he opened them, Claybourne knelt by Randall. After a few moments, he hauled himself to his feet. ‘He’s dead,’ he said flatly, as he looked down at the body. He stepped away and the barrel of his gun caught the light.
De Silva held his breath. Did he want to face the bullet that would end his life, or let it come out of darkness? He chose the first; he wouldn’t be a coward at the end. Willing a goodbye to Jane that she would never hear, he held his breath. He thought his heart would explode from his chest as the black circle followed an upward curve. His knees sagged and horror engulfed him. The gun rose higher until it reached Claybourne’s right temple. And there it stopped.
**
Something scrabbled over his body, rousing him from his stupefied state. The kerosene lamp had gone out but the moon was high. By its light, he saw a creature he identified as a langur monkey. It sprang away as he moved and went to perch on Matthew Claybourne’s lifeless body. Its jaws worked as if it was making the angry, high-pitched screeching noise langurs emitted when they were alarmed, but the sound was strangely dim. His ears throbbed.
His inclination was to close his eyes again and slip into unconsciousness but he forced himself not to. Moistening his lips with his tongue, he found that the tape had loosened enough for him to suck it in. With a little more effort, he nipped it between his front teeth; more persistence and he had made a gash in it. He leant forward and gulped a deep breath of pure night air.
The monkey leapt off Claybourne’s body and bounded away into the bungalow. Left alone on the verandah, de Silva spent the next hour working his ankles free. His hands were a harder challenge; the rope had hardly any give in it. Even after another hour of twisting and turning, he had only loosened his bonds a fraction.
Cramp and the pain where the rope abraded his skin were excruciating and the throbbing in his ears had intensified to a burning sensation. He rested for a few minutes then changed his tactics. Bending one knee, he put his foot flat against the wall and pushed hard while throwing his weight forward with all the force he could muster. After three attempts, he moved to the other leg. He had almost given up hope when the bar shifted a little.
It gave him the confidence to redouble his efforts until at last it gave way, catapulting him to the floor. He lay winded for a while, deciding what to do, then he remembered the plate with the remains of Claybourne’s meal. He was sure there had been a knife there. If he could get to it, it might be possible to use it in some way to cut through the rope.
Gritting his teeth, he staggered to his feet and shook the broken bar free of the rope. It clattered to the ground and he froze as he saw a flicker of movement in the darkness beyond the kerosene lamplight. Claybourne still lay motionless but what if he had been wrong and Johnny Randall wasn’t dead? The fellow would be crazy to let a witness live. His heart thudded and he froze then a black shape swooped from the eaves and soared into the darkness. A bat. Gradually, his heartbeat steadied.
Inside the bungalow, it was very dark and it took him several minutes to find the table. Laying his cheek on the surface, he felt around for the plate and knife but they were gone. He cursed then remembered the monkey. It must have come for the food. Maybe it had knocked the plate on the floor.
After another painstaking search he found it. He made a shuffling turn and managed to locate the knife. The floor was made of wooden boards, roughly laid. If he could nudge the knife over to one of the gaps and wedge the blade in, it might hold steady enough to enable him to cut through the rope around his wrists.
It was a slow process and more than once he had to stop to stretch and roll his shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness and pain that by now plagued his bruised and battered body. At last, the section of rope he was working on split. His strength failing, he pulled his wrists free.
The relief was overwhelming. He stumbled to his feet and tottered into the other room then collapsed on the low bed. It smelt of mildew but he didn’t care. At that moment, he wouldn’t have changed it for a room at the Crown Hotel.
His eyes closed, and he slept.
Chapter 30
Hebden unwound the bandages around de Silva’s wrists and carefully inspected the still-angry wounds.
‘Hmm.’ He dabbed away some pus with a piece of cotton wool soaked in surgical spirit and de Silva flinched. Hebden looked up. ‘Sorry. I’d like to keep these covered for a few more days. I’ll re-bandage them for you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘The headache has gone.’
‘Still got a bit of ringing in the ears though?’
‘Yes.’
‘That should pass. As you were so close, the impact of the gunshots will have affected your ears. It’s not uncommon to suffer some discomfort and loss of hearing for a while. You were lucky though. It could so easily have been much worse.’
De Silva nodded. He was well aware that his brush with death had been close, and, if he hadn’t been, the dismayed telling-off Jane gave him when she found out about the episode would have left him in no doubt.
‘I’d like to get back to work on Monday,’ he said resolutely when Hebden had brought scissors and lint from his bag and got to work.
‘No doubt, but I don’t advise it. I’ll come again in a couple of days and we’ll talk about it then.’ He neatened the second bandage then replaced the scissors and the remaining lint in his bag. ‘In any event, I don’t think it would be wise to arouse your wife’s ire at the moment.’
De Silva grinned sheepishly. ‘Probably not.’
‘By the way, I thought you might be interested in some information uncovered when Randall’s possessions were searched. Archie Clutterbuck decided he ought to try and find out if there was anyone who should be notified of his death but there was no indication of it.’
‘But?’
‘He did find a stock of pills in Randall’s baggage – Nembutal. The very thing that Randall asked me for and I turned him down. There’s no one else he could have consulted this side of Kandy so I deduce that he brought them with him when he came to Nuala. If he already had his wife taking them, I believe that would have made her fragile state worse. If I’m right, even though he didn’t kill her, he hastened her death.’
‘But why didn’t he dispose of them?’
‘No time? Or he wanted to do it when he was far away from Nuala and there was no danger of anyone spotting them?’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
Hebden closed the clasp of his bag with a snap. ‘Well, I must be on my way. Other patients to see.’ He put a restraining hand on de Silva’s shoulder. ‘No, don’t try to get up. Your balance will have been impaired too, and although I’m confident it will right itself with a few more days’ rest, you must be patient.’
He picked up his bag and went to the top of the verandah steps, stopping there for a moment to survey the garden. ‘Your roses look very fine,’ he remarked. ‘Content yourself with enjoying them. Plenty of time for other things when you’re fully recovered.’
Left alone, de Silva sighed and reached for the copy of Pride and Prejudice on the table beside him. He found his place and did his best to pay attention to the story but his mind wandered. A peacock flew down from a tree, disturbing the stillness that the heat had imposed on the garden. He watched it fan its iridescent tail feathers in the sun then strut and peck for insects in the grass. Such a magnificent bird with its gorgeous plumage, its splendour enhanced by the haughty air of an aloof society beauty.
Jane found him dozing when she returned from a visit an hour later. He roused himself quickly. ‘I wasn’t aslee
p. Only resting my eyes.’
‘Of course you were. Have you had a pleasant morning?’
‘I’ve not done much. Hebden came then I read for a while.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He told me to rest and keep the bandages on for a few more days.’
‘Quite right too. Everyone has been very concerned about you, you know.’
He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure Clutterbuck or William Petrie were too pleased with the turn things took. They might have preferred it if Randall had been a better shot.’
‘Shanti!’
‘Well, he would have removed an inconvenient witness to the truth and no one would have been any the wiser.’
‘I’m sure that’s the last thing they would have wanted.’
‘That’s because it would never occur to you that it might be a good thing, my love.’
Jane clicked her tongue. ‘If you’re going to start feeling sorry for yourself, I refuse to listen to another word.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘Seriously, you mustn’t be disconsolate, dear. You did the right thing. They ought to respect that, even though it may take a little while for them to come round.’
‘It’s not only that. I am unhappy to have been the one to bring sadness into Lady Caroline’s life. She is a lady I admire and to have her joy at being reunited with her nephew shattered in such a cruel way—’
‘But what Randall did wasn’t your fault, dear.’
‘I know, but…’
She bent down and kissed his cheek. ‘I do understand, but I’m sure she’ll recover. And she’s a good woman. I very much doubt she would want Randall to benefit from his crime.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Now, it’s nearly time for lunch. Cook has made all your favourites. That should cheer you up.’
**
‘I forgot to mention that Sergeant Prasanna is coming this afternoon,’ said Jane as they drank coffee on the verandah after their meal. ‘I expect you would like to thank him.’
De Silva nodded. He hadn’t had a chance to speak to Prasanna yet and would be glad to. In his weakened and confused state, his plight at the coffee plantation would have been dire indeed had it not been for his sergeant.
It was Prasanna who had read the note de Silva had taken the precaution of leaving on his desk and who had gone to the guest house early the following morning. He had questioned the owner and, from the information he obtained, traced the guide who had brought Randall to the plantation. The man had taken some persuading, including the exchange of money, but he had eventually agreed to lead Prasanna to the scene of the crime.
‘I assume that he isn’t just coming to enquire after my health?’ he asked with a smile.
Jane chuckled. ‘Yes, he does have another motive.’ She lowered her voice. ‘His mother has asked him to bring Kuveni to tea.’
‘Goodness me, this is progress.’
‘Yes, it certainly is.’
She finished her coffee and put down her cup. ‘I have a few letters to write. Florence asked me to help her on the committee for her next charity event. Will you be alright here for a while?’
‘Of course. I can read some more of my book. Or maybe as Doctor Hebden advises, I should simply admire the roses.’
‘What a sensible idea. I must say, the more I know of Doctor Hebden, the more I like him.’
Jane hadn’t been gone long and he only had a few pages left to read when one of the servants appeared in the doorway. ‘Sergeant Prasanna is here, sahib. Shall I show him in?’
‘Please do.’
Even though it was a Saturday, the sergeant was in uniform. His dark, unruly hair was neatly slicked back and a passing beetle could have seen itself in the toes of his shoes.
‘Good afternoon, sir. I hope you are feeling better?’
‘I am, and I owe you a debt of thanks. You did an excellent job of finding me.’
Prasanna beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
They chatted for a while. De Silva was pleased to hear that nothing had unduly troubled the calm at the police station while he had been away. ‘So,’ he said after a few minutes. ‘I understand from my wife that you and Miss Kuveni have an engagement this afternoon.’
‘Yes, sir.’ A little of the confidence in Prasanna’s voice ebbed then he rallied. ‘My mother has asked me to bring her to our home.’
‘And I’m sure the occasion will go like a ticking clock.’ De Silva smiled encouragingly.
‘I hope you’re right, sir.’
‘Of course I am. Well, you’d better be on your way. Go inside and find one of the servants. They’ll know where Kuveni is. Thank you again for all you did, and for coming to visit me. Doctor Hebden and Mrs de Silva are in league to keep me here for a few more days but I’ll be back at the station as soon as I manage to escape their clutches.’
‘That is good news, sir.’
Ah, thought de Silva with a sigh, as the young man hurried off, how fortunate Prasanna was to be young and fit. Just now, de Silva felt battered and very old. He reached once more for his book. Doubtless, Miss Austen would have shared Jane’s robust views on self-pity, so he had better not indulge in it.
The sound of the book sliding from his lap jerked him awake and, at the same moment, the telephone rang in the hall. His ears must be improving. He probably wouldn’t have heard it a few days ago. Jane must have been close to it for the ringing stopped and he heard her voice speaking to the caller. A few moments later, she came out to the verandah.
‘How nice,’ she said brightly. ‘That was Joan Buscott. They are leaving for England early next week and she wants to come and say goodbye. I’ve invited her to have some tea with us.’
‘I’m not sure—’
‘Oh, won’t you at least say hello to her? I don’t expect she’ll stay long and she’s so kind. She told me she was most concerned about you.’
De Silva felt guilty. From what he knew of Joan Buscott, she was a very pleasant and kindly lady. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just rather sudden.’
‘If you get tired and want to rest, I’m sure she won’t be offended.’
An hour later, just as the clock on the drawing room mantelpiece struck half past four, they heard the sound of a car crunching over the gravel. The front doorbell shrilled, followed shortly afterwards by the murmur of voices. Jane got up to go and greet the visitor.
When she returned, de Silva lurched forward in his chair in surprise. He had expected to see Joan Buscott’s homely, smiling face under its tidy pleat of grey hair, but not the elegant woman dressed in a pale-grey ensemble who accompanied her. Unsteadily, he hauled himself to his feet.
‘Lady Caroline!’
‘Oh, please sit down, Inspector. There’s really no need for ceremony.’
‘I am honoured,’ he said lamely. If only there had been more notice of her visit, he might have felt more composed.
‘Joan and I are old friends,’ said Lady Caroline briskly when they had all sat down. ‘So when I told her I wished to see you, she suggested I accompany her today. Inspector, I’ll get to the point. I want to assure you that you did the right thing. It was a terrible shock to me at first but that has now passed.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘My family didn’t always obtain their lands and privileges by praiseworthy means but they have always been of the blood and I believe that should not change. The death of my poor nephew was tragic but it must be accepted. The prospect of a rogue like Randall taking his place is abhorrent.’
A wistful expression came over her face. ‘It’s a small consolation to me that my father never found out about any of this. The title and estate will go to a cousin of mine who is the next heir. As a boy, he often stayed at Axford and my father was fond of him. He’ll be a worthy successor.’
De Silva’s mind reeled. It seemed that providence had decided to favour him. He felt his shoulders go down.
‘My husband has been obliged to return to Kandy,’ Lady Caroline went on, ‘but he asked me to send his good wishes fo
r your speedy recovery. He also asked me to tell you that he is recommending you for a commendation for your bravery.’
‘Please thank him, my lady. His kindness is more than I deserve.’
Lady Caroline smiled. ‘There I have to disagree with you, Inspector.’
The rest of the conversation flowed easily over the clink of teacups. De Silva found that his appetite for the savouries and butter cake Cook had managed to produce at such short notice had improved remarkably. On further thought, he wondered if the visit was not as impromptu as Jane had liked to make out.
When the visitors had left, he leant back in his chair, relief lightening his heart. Jane’s instincts were usually reliable. If William Petrie was on his side, Archie Clutterbuck would surely come round. But best of all, Lady Caroline forgave him.
Dusk softened the outlines of the garden; the humid air throbbed with cicadas as the sun sank with the swiftness of the tropics. He smiled to himself. This teatime diplomacy was clearly an excellent thing. Perhaps if there was more of it, the world would be a better place.
The dark shapes of a flock of egrets going to their roost arrowed across the sky. Soon, Jane would come to call him inside, but he wanted to watch a little longer. Peace had returned to Sunnybank.
Chapter 31
Two months later.
Jane looked up from the new film magazine she was glancing at over breakfast. ‘Gracious, how interesting.’
‘What’s that?’ De Silva put down the Colombo Times he had been reading.
‘Laetitia Lane and Major Aubrey.’
‘Oh?’
‘They’re in Hollywood.’
De Silva’s forehead wrinkled. ‘In America?’
‘Is there another place called Hollywood?’
‘Probably not. What does it say about them?’
‘I’ll read it to you. This week Hollywood welcomes Miss Laetitia Lane, star of London’s West End stage. Miss Lane arrived in style on the Queen Mary. She is contracted to Mammoth Productions to make three motion pictures. Her manager, Mr Aubrey St James – but it’s definitely Major Aubrey; there’s a photograph of them both – who accompanies her said Miss Lane was delighted to be in America. It’s been her lifelong ambition to see our great country. More pictures on page... etcetera, etcetera. Well! I always thought Laetitia Lane wouldn’t be kept down for long. I wonder what the two of them are really up to in America.’
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