‘Because your master’s uncle was attacked and killed last night.’
The three men’s eyes widened. ‘We know nothing about it, sahib,’ said the cook unhappily.
‘No one is accusing you. But, if you see your master, you must come to the police station immediately. Do you know where it is?’
‘Yes, sahib.’
Chapter 4
‘I’m flummoxed by how he got down from that window without injuring himself,’ said de Silva. The sun was up now, and it was already hot. He and Jane sat in the dining room at Sunnybank having a late breakfast. He scooped the last of his egg from its shell with a finger of toast, coating it with yellow, and ate it.
‘Shall I ask Cook to send in some more toast for you, dear?’ asked Jane.
De Silva wiped his lips and took a swallow of coffee. ‘No, thank you. I’d better be on my way to the station. Prasanna and Nadar should be in by now. They’d better go and clean up Clarence Rushwell’s study, then I want them to start looking for Robert. They can take their bicycles and search the area immediately around the property. I’ll take the Morris and go further afield. But I fear it will be like looking for a needle in a hayfield, especially as Robert has a few hours start on us.’
‘A needle in a haystack, dear. But I do hope it won’t be that hard.’
At the station, he gave instructions. Prasanna and Nadar fetched their bicycles and rode away. Left alone in his office, he mulled over the case. The next thing he needed to do was report to his boss, Archie Clutterbuck, before he heard the news from anyone else. He put in a call to the Residence, but Clutterbuck wasn’t there. He left a message asking to see him at the earliest opportunity then telephoned the manager at Gopallawa Motors and asked him to recover the Arcantis’ car. Finally, he made a call to the police station at Colombo.
He yawned. His night had been very short on sleep. Perhaps he’d close his eyes for a while. Settling back in his chair, he put his feet on the desk and folded his hands on his stomach.
The shrill of the telephone in the public room woke him. Why the hell didn’t Prasanna or Nadar answer it? Then he remembered he’d sent them out to search. Stiffly, he hauled himself out of his chair. One of Archie Clutterbuck’s staff was on the line. ‘Mr Clutterbuck can see you in half an hour, Inspector,’ she said.
De Silva thanked her and put down the receiver. He felt a flicker of regret for his nap and Prasanna’s and Nadar’s non-appearance. It would have been good to have some progress to report.
Chapter 5
‘I hope this isn’t going to put a dampener on the festivities,’ grumbled Archie Clutterbuck when de Silva had explained the reason for his call. ‘You know what store my dear wife sets by everything being tickety-boo at this time of the year.’
‘Unfortunately, murder has a habit of happening at inconvenient moments, sir.’
Archie’s brow furrowed then he gave a grudging nod.
‘Very true, de Silva. Poor old Clarence Rushwell: I can’t say I knew him well, but I’m sure there’ll be those who mourn his passing.’
He took a puff of his cigarette and blew out a smoke ring. ‘Do I take it you and your men have had no luck with finding his nephew, Robert, yet?’
‘Not yet, sir, but we’ve only been looking since this morning.’
‘You say there was no car at the bungalow. He could have got a long way by now.’
‘I’ve alerted Inspector Singh down at Hatton and notified the Kandy police. They’re keeping a look out for him.’
‘Good.’ Clutterbuck stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Well, keep me informed.’ He scraped back his chair and stood up. As if attached to his master by an invisible thread, Darcy scrambled to his feet, tail wagging.
Back at the station, the public room was empty. Prasanna and Nadar must still be out searching. Better to wait here for them now and see what, if anything, they had unearthed. He went into his office, leaving the door open; an hour later, he heard Nadar’s familiar voice and went out to greet him.
‘Anything to report?’
‘We think we may have found his car, sir. It’s in the lake about a mile from the house.’
‘Was Rushwell inside?’
‘No, sir, but we think he can’t be far away. We thought you’d want to know, so I came back straight away to fetch you.’
De Silva sighed. He supposed it was praiseworthy that his boys had at least got as far as finding the car.
‘Alright, I’ll come. We’ll take the Morris.’
***
They set off for the lake. It was mid-afternoon. Nadar guided de Silva past the plantation and along the road away from Nuala. After about a mile he indicated that de Silva should turn left down a dirt track leading into the scrub.
‘What made you go down here?’ asked de Silva.
‘Well, sir, Sergeant Prasanna and I thought it more likely that Mr Rushwell would drive away from the town than towards it, so as not to be recognised. A fugitive who had been in a big fight could be injured and need somewhere to hide, at least until he could sort out what to do next. There might be a remote hut he knew about and, sir, we only had our bicycles so couldn’t travel very far. We decided to check each track off the road leading from the plantation that a car could drive down. This was the second one we searched.’
De Silva looked at Nadar with new eyes. ‘Good thinking, Constable, I’m impressed. Let’s crack on.’
Nadar’s chest swelled with pride, even though he would have to admit that the thinking had been mainly that of Sergeant Prasanna.
Fairly soon, the dirt track became too rough for de Silva to be prepared to risk puncturing the Morris’s tyres. He pulled her over to one side and they began to walk. The heat bore down on him, and flies blundered into his face. The surface of the track, though passable, worsened considerably before widening out into a grassy area with a very obvious drop at the far end. There, at the bottom of a steep slope, the lake sparkled in the sunshine. De Silva made out clouds of midges hanging like smoke over the chestnut-coloured water. A fish eagle soared in the cobalt sky. Fringing the nearest part of the lake was a narrow, muddy beach, and to its left, a large expanse of reed beds. Otherwise, as far as the eye could see, the jungle crowded up to the lakeshore.
‘This way, sir,’ said Nadar. ‘It’s over here.’
The car had gone some way into the reeds, but its rear end was still visible through the gap its passage had created. As they reached Prasanna, de Silva saw that he wasn’t wearing his policeman’s boots or his socks, and his uniform trousers were rolled up above his knees. Mud coated his feet and there were splashes of it up his legs.
‘I went out as far as I dared, sir. I don’t think there’s anyone in the car, but if you want me to go further—’
He looked warily at the gently waving reeds, clearly unnerved as to what might be lurking amongst them. A vision of snakes danced before de Silva’s eyes.
The car wasn’t impossibly far from the shoreline, probably halted by a submerged tree trunk or an outcrop of rock. Very likely, it wouldn’t be long before its own weight would drag it below the surface and the reeds close around it for ever. Even as they watched, it shifted and settled deeper into the mud. It had been a stroke of luck Prasanna and Nadar arrived when they did.
A stroke of luck for Rushwell too that he had got out in time. De Silva assumed the car was his. It seemed too much of a coincidence that someone else would have such a recent accident at this god-forsaken spot.
‘No need to go back in, Sergeant,’ he said briskly. ‘I’m happy to rely on your eyesight.’ He didn’t want to be faced with having to rescue Prasanna if the lad came to grief.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Prasanna looked very relieved, but his expression turned to one of comical dismay when he saw de Silva glance once more at his bare, muddy feet and legs.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I know I’m improperly dressed.’
De Silva suppressed a snort of amusement. ‘I’ll excuse you this time, Sergeant, but don’t let i
t happen again.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘In any case, well done, the two of you.’
He looked around. The upturned hull of a boat, painted in peeling blue, lay further back along the beach. Out in the water, several sturdy poles, each with another piece of wood jutting out at an angle, stuck up from the glassy surface of the lake. De Silva was aware that older fishermen often liked to use them, so they could fish in the deeper water without getting their feet wet. The remains of fish guts, stinking in the heat, indicated that a catch had been landed on the beach recently. He peered into the distance and saw the outline of a few huts with smoke rising from their roofs.
‘That looks like a village. Maybe we’ll find Rushwell there. We’d better get over there and find out. Prasanna, don’t forget those boots and socks of yours. You’ll have to carry them. I’m sure some village maiden will help you to wash and dry your feet.’
As they set off, de Silva saw Nadar grin and nudge Prasanna in the ribs. In return, Prasanna gave him back a more forceful nudge.
‘Stop it, the pair of you,’ de Silva said sternly, hiding a smile.
‘Sorry, sir.’
The heat haze was deceptive, and the walk took longer than he had anticipated. When they finally reached the edge of the village, a pack of mongrel dogs ran out barking. Prasanna picked up a stick in case they needed to fend them off, but the dogs halted a short distance away, and it was unnecessary.
The village was small, comprising only nine or ten huts made of bamboo poles roped together in sections and thatched with palm fronds. The air smelt of woodsmoke and fish. Between the huts, the beaten earth was dun-coloured and dry. Old kerosene drums stood around, presumably to store water. A little way off, a large structure made of poles and palm matting displayed headless fish, their scaly bodies crusted with salt and laid out to dry in the sun.
A child saw them coming and ran off into one of the huts shouting something in a language de Silva didn’t understand. The elderly villager who emerged after a few moments was dignified-looking and so thin he was almost emaciated. His sun-baked skin emphasised the grey of the wiry hair cropped close to his head. He leant on a peeled stick.
De Silva greeted him in Sinhalese and asked if a white man had been seen nearby. The villager was silent at first, then he answered in a deep, rumbling voice. De Silva was relieved to be able to communicate. Many of the fisher folk in Ceylon spoke only their local dialects.
By now, their arrival had gathered a small crowd of villagers. Men, women, and children stared at them, the younger ones giggling behind their hands. Many of the children were naked, but their bony little bodies looked healthy enough, and their black hair gleamed. The benefits of a diet of fish, thought de Silva.
The elderly villager explained that he was the headman.
‘We found a white man by the lake,’ he said. ‘So much mud on him, we didn’t know it was a man until we came near.’ He pantomimed a body with lolling head and outstretched arms. The children giggled again and chattered like a flock of birds settling to roost for the night.
‘Was he alive?’
The headman nodded.
‘So where is he now?’
The headman leant on his stick and was silent. Either he didn’t understand, or he was waiting for a reward. De Silva felt in his pocket and brought out a handful of coins. A spark of interest appeared in the headman’s eyes.
‘These are for you if you tell me where the white man is.’
The headman nodded and led the way to one of the huts.
Once inside, it was a few moments before de Silva’s eyes adjusted to the dimness. He sensed, rather than saw, that there was a man lying on a mattress on the ground.
‘I need more light.’
The headman went to the door of the hut and called out an order. A younger villager came with a burning stick and touched it to the kerosene lamp hanging from a beam. The oily smell made de Silva’s sensitive nostrils wrinkle.
Robert Rushwell’s eyes were closed, and he lay still, but the gentle rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive. De Silva was surprised their arrival hadn’t woken him.
‘How long has he been like this?’
‘Since we found him when we went to fish this morning at dawn.’
‘Did you hear any noises in the night?’
‘Noises every night’, said the headman with a shrug. ‘Elephants come to drink. We do not go and ask them what they do.’ He grinned at his own joke.
‘What about the sound of cars? Or people talking?’
The headman shook his head.
So, it was a mystery why Rushwell had driven into the lake. De Silva went closer to the mattress to take a better look at him. He was naked under the rough blanket. Presumably, his clothes had been wet, and the villagers had removed them. De Silva peeled back the blanket and inspected the pale torso and partially sunburnt limbs. Apart from scratches and bruises, they appeared unharmed.
Rushwell’s head was a different matter. The hair on one side was matted with blood. When de Silva felt the area, he found a lump. He put his ear to Rushwell’s chest. His heartbeat was reassuringly steady; he wasn’t likely to be in any immediate danger, but it was probably unwise to move him.
His decision made, he stood up. ‘I’m going back to Nuala. Prasanna, you and Nadar stay here and keep guard. If Rushwell wakes, send one of the villagers to me with a message. And on no account let Rushwell leave. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back later, though given the time of day you may well have to stay here for the night.’
Chapter 6
‘Have you had any luck?’ asked Jane when he returned to Sunnybank.
‘We found him, but he’s in no condition to answer questions.’
‘Where was he?’
‘At a fishing village by that lake a mile or so past his uncle’s property, going towards Hatton. His car was in the water, stuck in reeds, but he must have got out somehow. The villagers found him unconscious on the beach and took him back to their village. They don’t know when the car crashed; they found it when they came down to the lake to fish just after dawn. They say he’s not regained consciousness since they found him.’
‘Should we call Doctor Hebden?’
‘Rushwell’s heartbeat and pulse were steady. He’s had a knock on the head, but I don’t think he’s in immediate danger, more likely just exhausted. I’ve left Prasanna and Nadar there with instructions to send a message if he comes to.’
‘What do you plan to do next?’
‘I won’t make my report to Archie yet. He’d probably insist on my bringing Rushwell up to the station, but he won’t be going anywhere with Prasanna and Nadar on guard. I’d like another look at the uncle’s house, so I’d better get one of the servants to tell their families not to expect them home tonight. There’s something odd about this. Rushwell knows his way around the area. If he wanted to make himself scarce, why would he head for the lake? It’s a dead end, unless he was making for a boat, and I doubt that very much. Nadar’s theory is that he wanted somewhere to hole up for a while, but the way down is treacherous. Surely, Rushwell could have found better places, and further away too. I had to leave the Morris a good way off from the shore and walk to save her tyres.’
‘Could he have lost his sense of direction? After the scene the countess described, what with him drinking and the fight, he must have been in a terrible state.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
Jane stood up. ‘Well, if you’re going to the Rushwells’ place, I’m coming with you.’
De Silva frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘Two heads are better than one, dear. Anyway, I can’t see why there’s any danger now. If Robert Rushwell is the killer, he’s safely under guard.’
‘Alright,’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘Do you think Rushwell is?’ she asked. ‘The killer, I mean.’
‘I’m not sure who else it can be, but something about this business smells fishy, and it’
s not just the lake village.’
‘I’ll go and get ready.’
‘And I’ll fetch a torch to take with us. Apparently, old Clarence refused to have electricity installed. It’ll be hard to find our way around without one.’ He went off to instruct the servants.
***
Piloting the Morris up the Rushwells’ drive, de Silva noticed there were no lights in the bungalow. The servants were probably idling in their quarters again. The main house was also in darkness, but the moon was rising over the line of trees that bordered the overgrown garden. When it was fully up, its light should make it easier to see, but for the moment, he switched on his torch.
As they walked towards the Gothic archway, a cloud of bats rose from the roof of the empty tower on their left. Jane shivered as they flapped and squeaked before settling again. She had always found there was something eerie about bats.
Inside the tower, they climbed the stairs to the study. The furniture was no longer in disarray and the bloodstains had been cleaned up. Prasanna and Nadar hadn’t done a bad job.
Now that he and Jane had the study to themselves, de Silva let his torch beam range across the walls, illuminating shelves filled with dusty, leather-bound books. He noticed that the moveable furniture in the room was shabby but included some interesting items along with Clarence’s desk and unremarkable tables and chairs. There was an almost life-sized, standing figure of the Buddha, made of close-grained wood polished to a glossy light brown; a terrestrial globe, and a floor-length mirror with a gilded frame propped against one wall. Higher up, the embossed brown wallpaper was torn in several places, revealing holes in the plaster behind. Presumably, the fastenings hadn’t been strong enough to support the mirror’s weight. Its frame was chipped along the base, perhaps when it had fallen. De Silva also noticed a tear in the rug that poked out from under it.
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