‘That’s not bad,’ I said.
‘Right,’ he nodded, ‘I’ll get this tae the papers.’
‘I want both English and Bengali,’ I said, ‘and see if there are any Orissa papers published in town.’
Wilson’s face soured.
‘I’m an artist, remember? You two clowns are meant tae be the detectives. You find out about the Orissa papers. In the meantime, I’ll get this out tae the usual suspects.’
‘Thank you,’ I said and turned for the door.
‘Good luck, Wyndham,’ he said. ‘And Sergeant Banerjee, you really should stop hanging’ around wi’ the likes of the captain here. It’d be a shame tae see a talent like yours wasted on inspecting bullock carts.’
Surrender-not was silent as we sat in the back of a police car on the short journey from Lal Bazar to the Grand Hotel, his face as long as the bar at the Bengal Club. Not that I was much in the mood for conversation myself. Failing to prevent an assassination doesn’t naturally lend itself to pleasant discourse.
‘How well did you know the prince?’ I asked eventually.
‘Well enough,’ replied Surrender-not. ‘He was in my brother’s year at Harrow, a few years senior to me. I caught up with him some time later when we were both up at Cambridge.’
‘Were you close?’
‘Not particularly, though at school all the Indian boys gravitated to one another to some degree. Safety in numbers and all that. Adi may have been a prince, but to the English schoolboys he was just another darkie. I fear that those days made a deep impression on him.’
‘You don’t seem to have been scarred by the experience.’
‘I was a decent bowler,’ he mused. ‘Boys tend to look past the colour of your skin if you can deliver a good off-cutter against Eton.’
‘Any idea why someone might want to kill him?’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, sir.’
The car passed under the colonnaded facade of the Grand Hotel and came to a stop in the courtyard outside the main entrance. A turbaned footman came smartly over and opened the door.
We made our way along an avenue of miniature palms, and into a glittering marble lobby smelling faintly of frangipani and furniture polish. At the far end of the spotless floor stood a mahogany desk manned by a native receptionist in morning coat and moustache. I showed him my warrant card and asked for the prince’s room.
‘The Sambalpore Suite, sir. Third floor.’
And what’s the room number?’
‘It doesn’t have a room number, sir,’ he replied. ‘It’s a suite, sir. The Sambalpore Suite. It is permanently occupied by the State of Sambalpore.’
I couldn’t read his expression, what with his nose being so far in the air, but I got the impression he thought me an idiot. It’s always galling when a native talks down to you, but rather than remonstrate, I bit my tongue, thanked him and passed him a ten-rupee note. It paid to be on good terms with the staff at the best hotels in town. You never knew, one day one of them might feed you some useful information.
With Surrender-not in tow, I headed for the stairs, wondering exactly how much it might cost to permanently rent a suite at the Grand.
The door was opened by a manservant in an emerald and gold uniform.
‘Captain Wyndham and Sergeant Banerjee to see Prime Minister Davé,’ I said.
The servant nodded, then led us towards a sitting room located at the far end of a long hallway.
The Sambalpore Suite was even more opulent than I’d imagined, finished in gold leaf and the white marble that seemed as common in Calcutta as red bricks are in London, its walls decorated with oriental artwork and tapestries. The whole exuded an elegance you didn’t often find in a hotel room, or at least not the type that I frequented.
Half a dozen doors led off the hallway, which suggested that the Sambalpore Suite was significantly larger than my lodgings. The rent was probably steeper too.
Leaving us at the entrance to the sitting room, the manservant retreated and went in search of the Dewan. Surrender-not took a seat on a gilded sofa embroidered in golden silk, one of those French ones, a Louis XIV or whatever, that are better appreciated from a distance than by sitting on them. I walked over to the windows and took in the view across the Maidan to the river beyond. To the south-west, only a few hundred yards from the hotel, I had a clear view of the spot where the crown prince had met his end. Mayo Road had been closed, the area roped off and a couple of native constables posted as sentries. Meanwhile, other officers were on their hands and knees, carrying out the fingertip search I’d ordered earlier, though I doubted there’d be much to add to the two shell casings I already had. I was no expert, but I’d seen my share of shell casings and I’d not come across this type before. They looked old. Probably pre war. Possibly pre twentieth century.
Surrender-not was mute on the sofa behind me. He was never exactly talkative – that was one of the things I liked about him – but there are various sorts of silence, and when you know someone well enough, you learn to discern the differences between them. He was still young, and though he’d killed a few people himself, some of them in order to save my own hide, he’d not yet experienced the trauma of seeing a friend gunned down before his eyes; of having to look on impotently as their lifeblood slowly drains away.
I, however, had experienced it far too many times and as a consequence, felt nothing.
‘Are you all right, Sergeant?’ I asked.
‘Sir?’
‘Would you like a cigarette?’
‘No. Thank you, sir.’
From the corridor came the sound of raised voices. They grew louder then stopped abruptly. Moments later the door opened and the Dewan, his face ashen, walked into the room. Surrender-not stood to meet him.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you don’t mind if we dispense with the pleasantries. As you can imagine, today’s events have been most . . . trying. I would be grateful for any assistance you could offer in terms of the repatriation of His Highness Prince Adhir’s remains.’
Surrender-not and I exchanged glances.
‘I’m afraid that’s not something we’ll be able to help with,’ I said. ‘Though I’m sure the prince’s body will be released to you as soon as is practicable.’
That didn’t seem to go down well with the Dewan, though it did bring some of the colour back to his cheeks.
‘His Highness the Maharaja has been informed of the tragic news and his orders are that his son’s remains be repatriated to Sambalpore without delay. There is to be no post-mortem and on no account should his body be further desecrated. The request has already been forwarded to the Viceroy and is non-negotiable.’
He seemed a different man from the lackey who’d been introduced to us at Government House earlier. Somewhere between then and now, he’d found time to grow a spine.
‘Naturally,’ he continued, ‘His Highness is anxious that the perpetrator or perpetrators of this heinous act are apprehended and punished with the utmost haste, and, in the interests of Anglo-Sambalpori relations, we ask to be kept fully informed of the progress of your investigation. A note to this effect has already been dispatched to the Viceroy and will no doubt be communicated to your superiors.’
‘With regard to the investigation,’ I interrupted, ‘there are some matters on which we would appreciate your help.’
The Dewan directed us to the sofa, while he took a nearby chair.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘carry on.’
‘Your disagreement with the crown prince this afternoon. What was it about?’
A shadow passed across his features, then vanished in an instant.
‘I had no disagreement with the Yuvraj.’
‘The Yuvraj?’ I asked.
‘It’s the Hindi term for crown prince, sir,’ volunteered Surrender-not. ‘Technically he was the Yuvraj Adhir Singh Sai of Sambalpore.’
‘With respect, Prime Minister,’ I continued, ‘both the sergeant and I witnessed the
altercation. There was clearly a disagreement over some aspect of the negotiations with the Viceroy.’
‘He was the Yuvraj,’ the Dewan sighed, ‘and I am a mere functionary, employed to enact the wishes of the royal family.’
‘But in your capacity as Prime Minister, surely you are also an adviser to the royal family? It appeared that your advice was at odds with the prince’s views.’
He smiled awkwardly. ‘The Yuvraj was a young man, Captain. And young men are often headstrong – a prince more than most. He was opposed to Sambalpore acceding to the Viceroy’s request to join the Chamber of Princes.’
‘And you disagreed with him?’
‘If age affords us one gift,’ he continued, ‘it is a degree of wisdom. Sambalpore is a small state, blessed by the gods with a certain natural bounty, which means it has often been the subject of covetous glances from others. Let us not forget our history. Your own East India Company tried, on more than one occasion, to annex our kingdom. A state such as Sambalpore needs friends, and a voice at the top table. A seat in the Chamber of Princes would afford us such a voice.’
And what will happen now?’
The Dewan pondered the question. ‘Obviously we will withdraw temporarily from the talks. Then, after a suitable period of mourning, I will discuss the matter once more with the Maharaja and,’ there was an almost imperceptible pause, ‘his other advisers.’
‘Have you any idea who might want to assassinate the Yuvraj?’
‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘Those leftist radicals: troublemakers in league with the Congress Party. They would do anything to undermine the royal family’s hold on Sambalpore. The chief of the Sambalpore militia has been ordered to arrest the ringleaders.’
‘Did the prince mention to you that he had received certain letters recently?’
The Dewan’s brow creased. ‘What sort of letters?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Surrender-not, ‘but they seem to have unnerved him.’
‘He never mentioned any letters to me.’
‘He mentioned them to Colonel Arora,’ I said.
‘In that case,’ replied the Dewan, ‘it is a matter for the colonel to explain.’
He pressed a brass button on the wall beside him. A bell sounded and the manservant returned.
‘Arora sahib ko bulaane,’ said the Dewan.
The servant nodded and left the room.
Moments later, the door opened and in strode the ADC. He wore a fresh turban and sported a purple bruise the size of a hand grenade on the side of his head. He looked less formidable than before, as though the assassination of his master had physically knocked a couple of inches off him.
‘Sir,’ he said.
‘How’s the head?’ I asked.
He raised a large hand to his swollen face. ‘The doctors do not believe there has been any fracturing of the skull,’ he said in a measured tone.
‘That’s something to be thankful for,’ said Surrender-not.
The Sikh glowered at him, before regaining his composure. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’
‘We need to ask you some questions about the attack,’ I said, directing him to a sofa.
It seemed, though, that the colonel preferred to stand. ‘You were there,’ he replied. ‘You saw everything I did.’
‘Still. We need your version of events.’
‘For the record,’ added Surrender-not by way of explanation, pulling out a yellow notebook and pencil from his breast pocket.
‘What would you like to know?’
‘Let’s start from the beginning,’ I said. ‘When we left Government House, why did you choose that particular route back to the hotel? It was hardly the most direct.’
The ADC paused and licked his thin lips before answering. ‘The direct roads were all closed for the Rath Yatra. You saw as much.’
‘But why go through the Maidan?’
‘It was a route I am familiar with. The Yuvraj and I have driven it many times before. He liked to drive through the park.’
‘And what happened as you reached the end of Mayo Road and the turning onto Chowringhee? When did you first notice the assassin?’
The colonel tensed. ‘I only saw him as he stepped onto the road in front of the car. He must have been hiding behind one of the trees. Naturally, I braked as quickly as I could. I didn’t think the car had struck the fellow but he went down so I assumed we had hit him. Now I only wish I had accelerated and run the swine over.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘As you saw, I got out of the car to check if he was hurt. He was lying prone beneath the car’s radiator. I bent down to see if he was all right. That’s when he turned and struck me. The next thing I remember is hearing the shots.’
‘Did you see what he hit you with?’
He shook his head. ‘It was something solid, at any rate.’
‘We didn’t find any object left at the scene,’ I said.
The colonel fixed me with a stare. ‘I assume he took it with him.’
‘Did you recognise the attacker?’
‘I had never seen him before,’ he growled. ‘Rest assured, though, I shall never forget that face. I will take his image to my funeral pyre.’
His face coloured. I felt some sympathy for him. The shame of what had transpired would live with him for the rest of his life, and possibly into his next one.
‘Now, Arora,’ said the Dewan, ‘the captain mentioned some letters that the Yuvraj claimed to have received recently. Do you know anything about them?’
‘Sorry?’ He looked distracted. Maybe he was still reliving the events of earlier in the day.
‘The notes he mentioned in the car,’ I clarified.
‘Yes. He showed them to me.’
‘Do you have them?’
He shook his head. ‘His Highness kept them.’
‘What did they say, exactly?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t read them. They were written in Oriya. Neither the Yuvraj nor I speak Oriya. Few people at court do. Business is conducted in English or sometimes in Hindi, but Oriya? Never.’
‘But it’s the language of the local area, is it not?’ asked Surrender-not.
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but it’s not the language of court.’
‘Didn’t the prince ask you to have them translated?’ I asked.
The colonel shook his head. ‘He did not, and I had forgotten about them until he mentioned them in the car earlier today.’
‘He seems to have obtained a translation from someone,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ agreed the ADC, ‘but not through me.’
‘Could it have been someone at the palace?’ I asked.
He smiled thinly and looked to the Dewan before turning his gaze back to me. ‘Discretion is a quality in short supply at the palace.’
‘Have you any idea who might want the Yuvraj dead?’ I asked.
The ADC stroked his neatly trimmed beard. ‘I would not wish to speculate. That may be a question more suitable for the Dewan to answer.’
‘Mr Davé has already given us his thoughts,’ I said. ‘I asked you.’
He shook his head. ‘I cannot think of anyone.’
‘I take it you’ll be returning to Sambalpore?’
The Sikh looked out of the window and nodded slowly. ‘I have been so ordered.’ He turned to me. ‘I must answer for failing in my duty to the Yuvraj.’
‘Captain Wyndham, you will appreciate that we both have urgent matters to attend to,’ interjected the Dewan. ‘If there’s nothing further . . .’
‘I’d like to search the prince’s rooms, if I may.’
The Dewan looked at me as though I was mad. ‘That is out of the question,’ he said firmly.
It isn’t often that an Indian has the nerve to decline the request of a British police officer, and I didn’t have time for such games.
‘If you prefer, Mr Davé, I can be back here in an hour with two warrants,’ I said. ‘One granting permission to
turn this whole suite upside down, and the other for your arrest on a charge of obstruction.’
The Dewan looked down and shook his head. ‘Feel free to do your damnedest, Captain,’ he replied in measured tones. ‘For one thing, you will find that this suite is officially recognised as the sovereign territory of Sambalpore. And as for arresting me, may I suggest you speak to the Viceroy before you take actions that may result in a premature and regrettable conclusion to your career.’
FOUR
It was just before nine in the evening and I was sitting on a chair on the veranda, contemplating the day’s events with the assistance of a bottle of Glenfarclas. Surrender-not sat beside me, staring out at the darkened street and doing a passable impression of a Carmelite nun.
Some considered it a bad show – a sahib sharing lodgings with a native. Others put it down to eccentricity. Either way, it wasn’t something that bothered me. Surrender-not viewed the world with an optimism I’d lost, and with an eastern sensibility that challenged my often preconceived English notions. I found his presence refreshing, and those that didn’t like it could frankly go to hell.
‘What’s on your mind?’ I asked him.
‘I was thinking about Adi Sai,’ he replied, ‘and how one cannot cheat one’s destiny.’
‘You think it was his destiny to be murdered today?’
‘If it was written in his stars that it was his fate, then there was nothing he or anyone else could have done about it.’
It was a quintessentially Hindu view of the world.
‘Maybe you should have mentioned that to Lord Taggart,’ I said. ‘You might have saved us a grilling.’
‘I’m serious,’ he replied. ‘And it looks like his fate followed him from Sambalpore to Calcutta.’
I didn’t know about fate, but I agreed there was a chance his attacker had followed him here. I sipped slowly at my whisky. ‘How do you think the assassin knew where to strike?’ I asked.
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘How did he know that we were going to take the route through the Maidan ? I mean, we didn’t even know we were going to take that route. We only took it because the direct route to Chowringhee was closed. How did the assassin know to wait at the bottom of Mayo Road?’
A Necessary Evil Page 3