‘Troop,’ said Joe, ‘you may be right, you may be wrong. I suspect you are right but why are you telling me this? What axe have you to grind? I don’t know you well but – forgive me – I have reason to believe that you are in the axe-grinding business much of the time. So, tell me, what’s this all about?’
Edgar Troop suddenly flushed and turned on Joe. Venomous, he hissed, ‘Alice! The mighty director of ICTC! Chosen confidante of Lady Reading! The so pitiably neglected wife of drunken Sharpe! The focus of so much womanly sympathy! Christ Almighty! Bloody woman! “Oh, Captain Troop, very kind of you. Now tell me what do I owe you?” And “Oh, Captain Troop, I have a tiny commission for you. I wonder if you’d be so kind… And I’m so terribly sorry if I can’t know you when we meet in public… I’m sure you understand… You mustn’t mind, if, when you come to see me I have to keep you waiting… I’m so terribly busy.” Treated me like an errand boy! And she nothing but a tart if Flora’s to be believed! I – and several others in Simla, I can tell you – would be delighted to see that one get what I’ll call her just deserts!’
‘So you’re saying they’ve made off on fast horses, but where?’
‘Well, not to Kalka, I’ll bet! I think Carter and his merry men will have gone chasing off down there and it’ll be some hours before they realize they’re following a false trail – and you can bet a false trail will have been laid for him. By the time they double back Alice and Rheza Khan will be miles away into the hills. They’re making for Borendo and the Zalori Pass and thereafter I’d guess on north through Manali. It’s their back door out of this country. That’s where Rheza Khan’s people come from. Up there, every second person you meet is likely to be his cousin.’
‘But, Troop, what’s in it for Alice? What’s she going to be doing empty-handed on a spur of the Himalayas?’
‘Empty-handed? When was Alice ever empty-handed? Where do you suppose the jewellery paid for by ICTC and filtered through Robertson is to be found? Good jewels – I mean good by international standards and Alice wasn’t collecting rubbish – don’t take up much space. You can hide an emperor’s ransom up your knickers! Is it in a safe at ICTC? In Alice’s bottom drawer? No, it’s in a saddlebag on its way up to the Zalori Pass. And remote? Not if you know the country. Come and look at this!’
He moved through into Charlie’s office and pointed to a large map on the wall. ‘There’s Simla. And there to the south is the Kalka railhead and on south to Delhi and the P&O liner at Bombay. But north – look! You pass through these mountains – Rheza Khan’s back yard – and weave your way along to Joginder Nagar. That’s a railhead too and the track leads on to Amritsar, Lahore and eventually to Karachi. And in Karachi you can pick up a steamer on its way from Bombay to the Gulf and from there to London and the rest of the world. Assuming you’re allowed to leave tribal territory of course.’
‘What is Rheza Khan’s stake in this enterprise, do you suppose?’
‘Alice of course. Money and Alice – in that order. That’s his stake. Do I have to spell that out?’
Joe remembered that, passing close to Alice, he had encountered a distant and teasing scent of sandalwood and that the same scent had come to him from Rheza Khan. ‘I believe you, Troop,’ he said heavily. ‘I believe you entirely. Are you saying that Alice is in danger?’
Troop gave him a long and unfathomable look. ‘I can’t tell,’ he said at last. ‘Where she is now going, she’s entirely in the hands of Rheza Khan and you know what they say? “Trust a rat before a snake and a snake before a Pathan.” Alice will know that the game is up as far as Simla’s concerned and Rheza will know the same but the question is – have they both the same objective? Oh, yes! They have the same primary objective, that is to say, leave the country with the swag, the fruit of three years’ careful swindling of ICTC, but what then? Well, I think this is where they diverge. Alice, I believe, intends to get out of the country with her fortune and to get out in the company of Rheza Khan and then – I suppose – settle down somewhere out of British jurisdiction.’
‘She told me she’d like to live in America,’ Joe remembered.
‘Yes, I think that would be Alice’s idea. It’s a country that would suit her. She’d prosper there. But I can’t see Rheza, if I understand him at all, embracing a wider horizon than his native land.’
‘You’re not really answering my question which was – is Alice in danger?’
Troop answered immediately with the air of one who had thought this out with care. ‘I don’t think she’s in danger until they reach journey’s end. But when they do, she will, as far as Rheza is concerned, have fulfilled her purpose. I don’t think Alice, clever though she be, will get out of there alive. I think she’ll stay alive, as I say, just long enough to ensure a safe passage back to Rheza Khan’s homeland. Women – especially faithless wives – aren’t much respected up there, you know. I don’t think she’s going on a picnic in the foothills of the Himalayas with a couple of decent chaps like Troop and Sandilands!’
The tone was light, the tone was cynical, but Edgar Troop’s face was tormented.
‘Bloody girl!’ he said, exasperated.
‘But what now?’
‘Well, Charlie is by now miles down the Kalka road. I don’t know how far he’ll get before he realizes he’s been double-crossed and comes spurring back to Simla to pick up the trail at this end. They’ll be too late. They’ve got to be cut off before they get to the Zalori Pass. The tribe will be waiting for them beyond that. I think we only have a serious chance of stopping them if we can get them before they make it through the pass.’
‘We? Troop, you must know I have no authority.’
Troop crossed the room and pulled a rifle from the rack. He tossed it to Joe. ‘That’s all the authority they recognize in the hill country. I took the precaution of borrowing Reggie’s best mount from the stables at the chummery. He’s a bit of a handful but you look like a chap who can keep his seat. And if you’re coming with me you’ll need to borrow a coat of Carter’s – it can get cold up there, this time of year. Here – take this poshteen. Charlie won’t mind.’
He took a ragged and hairy sheepskin coat from a peg behind the door and handed it to Joe. Joe looked at it dubiously. ‘Are you quite sure it’s dead?’
‘Would smell even worse if it weren’t. Now that’s enough buggering about. They’re riding already and they’ve got about twenty minutes on us. Are you on or not?’
Joe was already banging his way through the door.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-five
« ^ »
Wouldn’t quite do,’ said Troop, indicating the pair of horses in the hands of a patient syce, ‘for the distinguished police commander at the King’s Birthday Parade on the Horseguards. Probably not quite what you’re used to.’
Strong and sturdy, the two horses kicked and fretted, shaking their heads to rid themselves of flies. Joe thought they looked likely enough.
‘I feel like the Colonel’s son,’ said Joe swinging himself into the saddle. ‘Do you remember?
‘The Colonel’s son has taken a horse and a raw, rough dun
was he,
A heart like hell and a mouth like a bell and a head like a
gallows tree.’
‘Can’t get away from Kipling,’ said Troop as they clattered out of the yard on to the Naldera road. ‘We’re twenty minutes astray,’ he continued as they trotted on together. ‘But that won’t be the end of the world. We won’t go by the road. I very much doubt if Rheza knows this bit of country as well as I do. I’ve shot and hunted over all this stretch of land, taken picnic parties, sightseeing parties, shikari parties – this is Edgar Troop’s back garden, you know. We’ve got to intercept them before they can get to the Zalori Pass – and taking a very large number of short cuts we ought to be able to do just that.’
Edgar Troop had roused himself. Depressions and doubts seemed to be at an end. Looking at his companion’s suddenly alert eye and flushed
face Joe was aware of a further reason for Troop’s eagerness to lead the pursuit. Perhaps the prime reason.
‘This man,’ thought Joe, ‘is a hunter! What’s that awful phrase? – “the thrill of the chase”. He’s in its grip.’ And much more arousing to him than any tiger or leopard hunt was the challenge of tracking a clever and dangerous human being through the wilderness. A manhunt. And just for once, Edgar Troop could appear on the side of the angels.
‘Tell me, Troop, why is the Zalori Pass so important?’
‘Ah, I forget you know so little about local politics! It marks the southern extreme of Rheza Khan’s tribal territory. His princedom – I suppose you could call it that – has never been an easy neighbour for the British. Rheza’s father, the rajah, is ambitious. Oh, he pays lip-service to the Raj, he enters into treaties, plays polo with the military top brass, his wives have entertained the Vicereine and all that. His son gives every appearance of being Westernized – Rugby-educated, suits from Savile Row, all the charm in the world – but underneath all this surface gloss they’re on the boil! The old rajah broke out a few years ago and it looked for a moment as if he had it in mind to try conclusions with the army. Just after Amritsar, so everybody put it down to an upsurge of righteous indignation and merely banned him and his men from making an appearance – other than on a courtesy call, of course – south of the Zalori Pass. Very generous reaction when you think about it. Some might have thought a more punitive riposte was called for, considering what he owes the British.’
‘Any particular reason for owing them special allegiance?’
‘No doubt about it. This part of the world was in considerable uproar when the British decided to settle in Simla. Gurkha Wars, you’ve heard of that? When this pushy tribe edged its way down from the north-west, aiming to fill a vacuum it found hereabouts, the British went along with it. Signed treaties and all the usual stuff.’
‘And what was in it for us?’ asked Joe.
‘ “Divide and Rule” of course. The other tribes around here are mainly Hindu. Rheza’s mob are Muslim. The theory is they’ll be so busy watching each other it won’t occur to them ever to join forces against the British. Seems to work. And so long as they do as they’ve been told and stay north of Zalori, no problems.’
‘So we pick them up before they’ve a chance of acquiring an escort?’
‘Right. And, Sandilands, if we fail to do that we must abandon the chase altogether. Any welcoming party, and I’ve no doubt that’s what they’ve got arranged, will be well-armed and hostile.’
‘Well-armed?’ Joe’s suspicions were beginning to crystallize. Drip by drip the information was filtering from Troop and none of it was pleasant.
‘Up to the minute service rifles. Best Europe has to offer. In huge quantities.’
‘And are you going to tell me how they get their hands on this armament?’
Troop snorted. ‘If you are running the country’s largest trading company with access to all its logistical arrangements there’s no problem. ICTC convoys are on the roads everywhere. Most of them are carrying legitimate goods, carpets, brassware, spices, Western imports, but a percentage of them going north are carrying arms. .303 rifles mainly.’
‘But how do they get their hands on them in the first place?’
‘I tracked them down to source. Chap called Murphy. Armourer-sergeant and quartermaster. Crooked as they come! Condemns a batch of rifles as faulty and sends them away to be disposed of. Paperwork looks good. Only thing is – the rifles aren’t faulty. And they find their way on to an ICTC mule train before they can be destroyed. One or two Murphies about, I should imagine.’
‘He’s been using Alice as a front for all this. Was she aware, I wonder?’
Troop shrugged. ‘How can you ever tell with Alice?’
‘It must have been a shock for Rheza Khan when Lionel Conyers turned up on his way to Simla to take over the business,’ said Joe slowly. ‘I assume he wasn’t quite ready to move aside. Half-way through his operation – no time to be welcoming a new boss who might start looking into the accounts. Lionel was an older man, an ex-soldier, experienced and not (for all Rheza Khan knew) prepared to take what he found at face value. No. Rheza had every reason to stop him getting to Simla.’
‘Right,’ said Troop and added mildly, ‘Feller smokes Black Cat cigarettes, you know. Heard you were enquiring.’
While they had been speaking, with unerring and steady speed Troop had begun to wind his way through the thickening forest, now following the course of a roaring mountain stream, now turning aside to follow a forest track over a spur of the advancing hills, now pausing on the saddle to look back at Simla and forward into the mountains.
‘The road’s over to our right,’ said Troop after they’d ridden for about an hour, ‘behind that hill. It sets off in quite a loop there. We can make up a bit of ground. They say in these parts, “Follow the bowstring, don’t follow the bow,” and that’s just what we’re doing. And we can afford to spare the horses, indeed, we must spare the horses. We’d look an impressive pair if we ended up with a lame horse on our hands.’
As he spoke the track took a dizzying plunge down into a jungle-clad rift in the hills. The ravine stretched straight as a die for over five hundred yards and Joe followed Troop as he made his way along a forest path formed by the tramp of herds of chital deer which made a glancing appearance as they passed. Joe thought he caught sight of a band of langur monkeys and the tall trees were alive with the spring songs of birds. The hidden valley as they descended had a climate all its own. On a southern slope of the foothills, it retained the day’s heat and Joe breathed gratefully the wafting sharp scent of the white star-shaped flowers of the box bushes. At the end of the valley he heard the plashing sound of a waterfall. His horse pricked up its ears and danced a few steps sideways.
Troop’s eyes were alternately scanning the ground and looking on ahead. With a gesture to Joe he called a halt and silently leaned low in the saddle, examining fresh pug marks in the mud along the edge of the track. Still without a word he slipped the sling of his rifle over his head and cradled it in his arms. ‘Leopard,’ he said. ‘It’s his lucky day! We have bigger fish to fry’
A chital hind appeared on the path ahead of them and turned in their direction calling urgently. The cry was taken up by many others; jungle fowl joined in the chorus. ‘We’ve been spotted!’ said Joe.
‘No,’ said Troop. ‘That’s a warning for us! They’re telling us that there’s a leopard ahead. Listen again!’
The chital began to call again on a different note. Troop smiled with satisfaction. ‘And that’s their “beware man” call so now the leopard knows we’re here. Good! Wouldn’t want to take the old bugger by surprise. Not much danger from him – leopard prefer to do their hunting at night and lie up during the day.’
They walked on, the horses not quite at ease with the scents they were picking up. At last they arrived at the waterfall. A stream burst from the cliff above and cascaded down into a rocky basin from where it overflowed into a large and steel-blue pool at their feet. As clear as gin and constantly renewed by the torrent fresh from the mountain, Joe thought he had never seen water so inviting. As he bent to drink and immerse his hot forehead he caught the reflection of Edgar Troop’s red face looming over his left shoulder. At once he straightened to face him and wave him towards the water. He was for a moment shocked that he could so far have let his guard slip as to offer his unprotected neck to a man who might yet prove to be his enemy. One blow, two strong hands holding his head under water and that red face would have been the last thing he ever saw.
Troop grinned, understanding his swift movement, and bent to drink.
The insecurity of the moment impelled Joe to reflect on his situation. He was miles from civilization in the company of a self-confessed ‘gun for hire’, a man who was in his own element and who knew the terrain and the dangers it presented. Joe began to work out the number of different ways in which Troop c
ould kill him off and dispose of his body. And perhaps the only thing restraining Troop from doing just that was the note Joe had hurriedly written out and handed to one of Carter’s sowars before leaving. And the fact that Troop needed his back-up when they eventually caught up with Alice and her escort. Joe calculated that he was probably in little danger until they embarked on the return journey with Alice and her jewellery.
With refreshed horses they pressed on, going always, it seemed to Joe, against the grain of the country. He began to appreciate the sturdy, tireless legs of the two horses as they alternately climbed up and slithered down slopes, steadily gaining altitude. Joe looked anxiously at the height of the sun. The valleys behind them were already in darkness but ahead on the uplift of land towards which they were headed he calculated they had roughly three more hours of full sunlight. Whatever the outcome of this insane dash into the mountains they would be spending the night outdoors.
A deep valley opened before them, the ground beyond it rising to a rocky outcrop.
‘That,’ said Edgar Troop, ‘is where our routes converge. We follow this track down into the valley and up to the rocks and you see the road coming in on our right. I should think they’re planning to break their journey here, spend the night and make a push for the Zalori at first light. Now, the question is – who got there first, Sandilands and Troop or Rheza and Alice? Further question – Rheza and Alice, are they alone?’
Joe strained his eyes to sweep the ground ahead, saying at last, ‘Is that a building, there amongst the rocks?’
‘Was,’ said Troop. ‘Was. Long abandoned. There’s the remains of a fort there. It hasn’t got a name as far as I know. We just call it the Red Fort. It’s a useful landmark and overnight shelter. Used a fair bit by hunters and merchants but it’s not much more than that.’
Ragtime in Simla Page 26