‘He wasn’t impressed with what I showed him. He pretty much confirmed what Coryat said. None of the things are valuable.’
‘Oh dear, were you very disappointed?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t want Fonseka to know I was.’
‘Why not?’
He tilted his head and sighed. ‘Professional pride, I suppose. It makes me look a fool if I give the impression I’ve pinned all my hopes on one line of inquiry.’
‘You’re being far too sensitive. Lots of people must have found themselves in that position.’
‘Yes, but they might have had a better idea than I do about how they were going to get out of it.’
**
Sluicing rain continued for the rest of the evening and was still falling when they retired to their room. In the night, a thunderclap woke de Silva.
As a boy, he’d loved watching tropical storms sweep over the ocean. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he went to the doors to the balcony and quietly opened them. Another clap of thunder boomed, then phosphorescent blue lightning zigzagged down the sky and stabbed into the waves, highlighting the white curls of foam on the dark surface. Exhilarated, he leant on the balcony rail and watched.
‘How exciting.’ Jane had woken too and come to join him.
‘As long as one doesn’t have to be out in it.’
She shuddered. ‘I hope no fishing boats have sailed.’
‘I doubt it. Fishermen usually know when a storm’s coming. I’m not sure how. My mother always said that when the frogs croaked more loudly than usual, you could be sure of rain. Her other theory was that when ants built their nests with steeper sides, rain was coming.’
Jane laughed. ‘I don’t think we need ants and frogs to predict the weather in the monsoon season.’ She pulled her shawl round her. ‘I’m a bit chilly; I think I’ll go back to bed. It’s still the middle of the night.’
‘I’ll come in a minute.’
‘You will be careful to fasten the door properly, won’t you? The wind’s getting up.’
‘I will.’
Alone on the balcony, he gazed into the darkness, counting the seconds between the thunderclaps and the lightning. The storm was gradually moving further out into the ocean. What was that expression the British had about inspiration coming in a flash of lightning? He wished it would apply now. Going over everything that had happened since Velu’s body had been found, he searched for connections. Clues, anomalies, inconsistencies: anything at all that would provide the key to the puzzle.
Then just as he was ready to give up, the germ of an idea planted itself in his mind. Maybe he didn’t need to give up hope after all.
Chapter 22
When he went onto the balcony in the morning, he saw a small army of gardeners clearing up the damage the storm had done in the night. Debris littered the lawns, forgotten loungers had been tossed about like rags, and a palm tree lay uprooted on the ground.
‘Is there anything you’d like to do now we have the time to ourselves?’ asked Jane.
‘What would you like to do?’
She put down her coffee cup. ‘It would be nice to visit the church I belonged to when I lived here. Apart from that, I’m happy with whatever you want.’
De Silva wasn’t sure what that was. The idea that had come to him in the storm was still buzzing about in his head: not quite convincing but refusing to go away entirely. But it was going to be a delicate matter reporting to Archie Clutterbuck that this visit to Colombo had produced nothing. Presenting him with the hunch that had come to him in last night’s flash of inspiration – a hunch that hadn’t the tiniest shred of evidence to back it up – was unlikely to improve matters.
‘Shanti?’
He jerked back to the present.
‘Do be honest. Would you rather go home today? I’m sure we could change our tickets if there’s room on the sleeper.’
‘But I promised you a holiday.’
‘I’m happy to go home. According to the forecast in the lobby, there’ll be more rain today and it will go on all week. We could go to the museum, but it might be rubbing salt in the wound.’
‘That’s very considerate of you, my love.’
‘I visited it enough times when I lived here. Let’s ask reception if they’ll call to change our tickets.’
**
‘One good thing has come out of our journey,’ said Jane.
‘What’s that?’
‘Your cold seems to have completely gone.’
He’d forgotten all about it, so she must be right.
‘Shall we eat early all the same?’ she went on. ‘I prefer it when the dining car’s quiet.’
‘Fine.’
Several Ceylonese dishes were on the menu as well as British food. Glad to see it, de Silva enjoyed his meal then they went back to their compartment to read for a while. De Silva had finished King Solomon’s Mines before he left Nuala and forgotten to bring a new book, so he settled down with the copy of The Colombo Times he’d bought on the station. Skimming the headlines, something about Hatton caught his eye. He turned to the inside page referred to and found the article.
‘It sounds like they’ve got their work cut out down at Hatton,’ he remarked to Jane.
She looked up from her book ‘Oh?’
‘A double murder.’
‘Could there be a connection to our murder?’
‘It seems unlikely as it’s only just happened. In any case, I can do without having to solve any more murders. It says here there are dozens of people who need to be interviewed.’
‘Poor Inspector Singh. I think he likes a quiet life.’
‘I sympathise, but we can’t always have what we want. I suppose I’d better telephone him in a day or two and ask if he needs my help, unless he calls me first.’
The rest of the evening and the night passed uneventfully, but they arrived late into Kandy due to a fallen tree on the line. They hurried off the train, not wanting to miss the connection to Nanu Oya.
‘Oh dear!’ exclaimed Jane as they reached the end of the platform. ‘In the rush, I think I left my reading spectacles in the compartment. Shanti, would you mind? I think they’ll be on the shelf by the window.’
He walked briskly back to the carriage where their compartment had been and swung himself up into the train. The spectacles were where Jane had said they would be. As he snatched them up, a ray of the morning sun came through the window and caught the wire frame. There was a flash of gold. Again, in his mind’s eye, de Silva saw that monkey in the tree, playing with something that flashed in the sunlight in the very same way.
When he’d woken up that morning, he’d dismissed the idea that had come to him when he watched the lightning flash the previous night. There wasn’t enough to go on, particularly if the good name of one of the British community was at stake. But now the thought returned with greater force. When he’d visited Coryat, the archaeologist had been complaining about his glasses. He’d said he was using old ones because his new ones were lost. What if he’d lost them in the jungle? What if the monkey had been playing with a broken piece of them? Could it be that his hunch wasn’t foolish after all?
He jumped down onto the platform and ran to catch up with Jane. ‘Your glasses,’ he puffed. ‘Where did you buy them?’
‘The pharmacy. There’s nowhere else in Nuala.’ She looked puzzled. ‘Is it important?’
‘It might be. Come on, I’ll tell you on the way.’
**
‘Now, tell me what’s so interesting about my glasses,’ said Jane as the hill train pulled out of the station. ‘They’re just ordinary reading glasses that hundreds of people have. I don’t think the pharmacy keeps any other kind.’
‘That’s the point. Do you remember we saw that monkey playing with something that glinted in the sun when we were at the building we found in the jungle?’
She laughed. ‘Monkeys don’t wear glasses.’
‘But they might steal them. Henry Coryat tol
d me he’d lost a pair of glasses.’
‘You think he might have lost them in the jungle?’
‘Is it too far-fetched? And if he did, it might mean he’s involved in this business somehow. Why would he be out there in the middle of nowhere otherwise? When I took the artefacts to show him, maybe he was covering something up.’
‘But Professor Jayakody confirmed his opinion. Doesn’t that prove Coryat didn’t lie to you about their value?’
‘Jayakody backed Coryat’s opinion on the items I took to Colombo, but what if Coryat’s hiding other things? Things found in the jungle that really are valuable?’
‘If you’re right, he might know who murdered Velu.’
‘Exactly.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Speak to Archie Clutterbuck when we get back. I want to have a look round Coryat’s house without him there. I need Archie to agree, and to help me with getting Coryat out of the way for a few hours.’
Jane gave him a wry smile. ‘You haven’t always been too bothered about Archie’s permission.’
He grinned. ‘That was when I wasn’t so sure he’d see things my way.’
Chapter 23
‘Welcome back,’ said Archie Clutterbuck as de Silva was shown into the study at the Residence. ‘I’m sorry your holiday was cut short. I take it that something important has come up.’
‘I believe it has, sir.’
‘Sit yourself down and fire away.’
While de Silva recounted what had gone on in Colombo, Clutterbuck listened in silence, his elbow on the arm of the red-leather armchair, his chin resting on one brawny hand.
De Silva paused before he reached the incident of the flashing spectacles on the Colombo-Kandy sleeper. Doubts entered his mind. Sitting here in Clutterbuck’s very masculine study, a potent reminder that the British way was to value facts and figures over intuition, he was suddenly afraid that Clutterbuck would be unimpressed by the moment of revelation. He cast about for more concrete evidence, found none and decided to remain silent.
Clutterbuck too didn’t speak for a few moments. It was a bright morning outside, a welcome change from rain. A shaft of sunlight penetrating the study showed up a light fuzz on Clutterbuck’s cheek. De Silva speculated whether a laxer regime of personal grooming than was customary had slipped in while Florence was away. Alternatively, his boss had decided to grow a beard, a brave, one might say foolhardy, choice without his wife’s sanction.
‘You said something important has come up, de Silva,’ he said finally. ‘Are you going to tell me what it is? So far, I’m in the dark.’
De Silva took a deep breath. ‘It’s only a hunch, sir, I can’t dignify it with the word proof, but…’ He explained about the spectacles and the monkey.
Clutterbuck rubbed his chin; there was a faint rasping sound. ‘When my wife tells me the plots of those detective novels she likes so much,’ he said pensively, ‘I’ve noticed it’s often when the detective observes a tiny detail that he solves the crime. You may have something here. Now, what are we going to do about it?’
De Silva’s spirits rose.
‘I want a good look round Coryat’s house to see if I can find anything to back up my theory.’
‘That means you’ll need him out of the way. Not easy when he’s such a hermit.’
He stood up. ‘A whisky and soda usually helps the old creative process. Will you have one?’
‘Thank you.’
Ruminatively, they both sat back, glasses in hand. ‘No use ringing to say I need him up here on official business,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘After all the years he’s been retired, what official business could there possibly be? It’s a pity my wife isn’t here; she’s so much better that I am at thinking up social occasions. Unfortunately for us, she’s currently sailing along the coast of India.’
They lapsed into silence again until there was a knock at the door. Clutterbuck frowned at the interruption. ‘Come in.’
A fair, curly head appeared round the door. De Silva recognised Charlie Frobisher.
‘Ah, Frobisher. What can I do for you?’ Clutterbuck’s tone was affable.
‘I’ve a few papers for you to sign, sir, but I’ll come back later if it’s inconvenient.’
‘Leave them with me but stay a moment. You may be able to help us. Fill him in, de Silva.’
When de Silva had finished, the young man frowned. ‘It’s an interesting theory.’ He turned to Clutterbuck. ‘Do you think it’s worth pursuing, sir?’
‘I do. Any ideas how we might get Coryat away from the house, so de Silva can have a good scout round?’
‘There’s a lunch at the Archaeological Society early next week. It’s a special occasion as the current president’s retiring.’
‘Hmm, so it is,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘I’d forgotten it was coming up. I believe I’m expected to attend.’
‘Do you mean try and get Coryat along to it?’ asked de Silva.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s bound to wonder why he’s been asked so late; or at all,’ said Clutterbuck gloomily.
‘They must have known each other pretty well in the past,’ Frobisher went on. ‘There was a time when Coryat was very active in Ceylon’s archaeological affairs. We’d have to cook up a story about a lost invitation to explain away why he’s been asked so late, but that’s not impossible.’ He grinned. ‘The committee of the Nuala Archaeological Society has never been renowned for its organisational skills on anything after about 500AD.’
‘Good: we have a plan.’ Clutterbuck rubbed his hands. ‘Put it into action, would you, Frobisher?’
**
‘You don’t need to tell me it went well,’ said Jane with a smile. ‘I see that from your face.’
‘It certainly did, and that young Frobisher came up with a plan that should work.’
He ran through the conversation.
‘How marvellous if this turns out to be your breakthrough.’
‘A breakthrough, but who knows to what? The tendrils of this case may stretch a long way. We have Velu’s murder; the village headman’s grandson missing; Rudi severely injured after what may, or may not, have been an accident, and, on second thoughts, those two murders at Hatton may be connected somehow. The timing’s suspicious.’
‘Well, let’s hope that Coryat’s house will provide an answer.’
‘If lunch is nearly ready, I’ll eat here. After that, I’d better go down to the police station. See what Prasanna and Nadar have been up to in my absence.’
**
The weather seemed bent on reinforcing Jane’s optimistic mood. The sunny morning had turned into a glorious afternoon. Only a few gauzy clouds, that reminded de Silva of fish scales, interrupted the blue of the sky. The colours in the bazaar looked so much more vivid than they did when it was raining; there were smiles on people’s faces.
He pulled up in front of the police station and went in. The public room was empty. For a moment, he wondered if Prasanna and Nadar had been called down to Hatton to help with the double murder investigation, but if they had, why hadn’t they locked up?
There was a more likely explanation. He padded past the public desk and out to the backyard beyond the kitchen area. Sure enough, Nadar was defending a makeshift wicket and Prasanna bowling.
‘I hoped to find you working on police business, not practising your cricket.’
The two young men looked sheepish. ‘Only in our lunch hour, sir,’ said Prasanna.
De Silva looked at his watch. ‘Well, I want to see you at work in fifteen minutes. Has there been any news from Hatton?’
‘About the murders? No, sir.’
‘Right.’
He debated whether to tell them what had transpired in Colombo then decided against it. Time enough to fill them in when he’d paid his visit to Coryat’s house. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Prasanna and Nadar, but the fewer people who knew about the plan the better. ‘Carry on, gentlemen.’
In his office, he
opened the few letters on his desk. None of them were urgent. He swung his chair round and gazed out of the window. It was going to be hard to wait until the day of this lunch. He wondered if he ought to telephone Inspector Singh at Hatton to see if he needed a hand, then decided against it. When he got the call from Clutterbuck, it would be inconvenient being down at Hatton. He would also have to explain away why he suddenly needed to desert the investigation. Best to hold back for the moment. If Singh called, he’d have to make some excuse or send Prasanna or Nadar down.
The telephone rang, and he lifted the receiver. ‘It’s Mr Clutterbuck for you, sir,’ said Nadar.
‘Put him through.’
‘De Silva? Frobisher’s laid the bait. Cross your fingers Coryat takes it.’
Chapter 24
He set off just before dawn on the day of the Archaeological Society’s lunch. In the darkness, the road to Coryat’s house was hair-raising. One wrong move and the Morris would be over the precipice and into the abyss. Mud, washed down by weeks of monsoon rain, slicked the surface, making it even more treacherous. It seemed like an eternity passed by the time the ground levelled out and the road continued over the forested plateau he remembered from the last time.
He took a deep breath and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. He had estimated that Coryat wouldn’t need to leave for Nuala until around ten. A glance at the clock on the dashboard told him he still had about two hours to get into position and see the archaeologist go. He would turn off the Morris’s headlights for the last bit of the journey to make his presence less obvious. Thankfully, there had been no rain since he set out from Sunnybank – the journey had been quite alarming enough without it – but now the darkness was receding, he saw that the sky was peppered with ominous clouds. More rain wouldn’t be long coming.
A mile or so from the bungalow, he pulled over and parked the Morris out of sight of the road. Shrugging on his raincoat, he started to walk. Eventually, the bungalow loomed ahead, looking even more desolate in the poor light than the first time he’d seen it. Cautiously, he worked his way round, staying in the shelter of the trees that bordered the garden, until he had a good view of the driveway. Once he left the belt of trees, he would have very little cover, just a few bushes to hide behind. He thought of Coryat’s servants; he’d have to take his chance that they were less than vigilant.
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