‘What’s he saying?’ Lily spoke for them all.
‘He’s telling us that the pheasant was poisoned. Arsenic. He’s saying it was arsenic.’
Chapter Seven
The Afghanis, who had followed every word, became even more alert at the mention of poison and began to exchange looks. Arsenic was well known to the Afghani aristocracy. ‘Inheritance powder’ was how they referred to it colloquially and its regular use kept a phalanx of food tasters in constant employ at the palace.
‘Go on, Achmed, finish your story,’ said James and the man, not at all overcome to find himself the centre of such concentrated attention, launched into the next part of his account. A dramatic raconteur, as with all his countrymen, he made the most of his evidence. James heard him all the way through to the end before translating.
‘Well, that would seem to put the tin hat on it!’ he said. ‘Achmed and his assistant have been troubled for some weeks now by these blasted pheasants who have been attacking our prize Leghorns. There’s a ban on shooting within the precincts of the fort and they came up with the idea of laying out doses of poison hidden in kitchen scraps. The poison comes in the form of rat poison: government supplies, control of rodents for the purpose of. Apparently their schemes have been unrewarded – plenty of dead rats but the pheasants appeared to flourish. Two days ago, determined to get the better of the pests, his assistant put out ten times the usual dose.’
Again there was silence as all took in the new information.
‘I would guess that Lily got him minutes before the poison did.’
‘If this has been going on for weeks without killing the bird (or birds),’ said Grace, ‘there will have been a buildup of arsenic in the bird’s tissues, culminating in a massive last dose. Oh, dear! Andromedotoxin? Arsenic? Which one? Without the necessary laboratory facilities we may never be able to establish which poison killed him. But the effect would have been the same.’
The Afghanis were nodding their heads in understanding and acceptance of this last piece of evidence delivered with such emotion and regret by Achmed. Lily also was looking utterly distraught, turning her eyes constantly to Iskander who avoided her gaze.
‘It’s not Achmed’s fault! Please don’t blame anyone but me. I think I should apologize to everyone,’ she said finally, unable to contain her grief and guilt a moment longer. ‘If only I hadn’t shot the wretched thing! Oh, why did I have to show off!’
Iskander was the only one in a position to offer any consolation and he hurried to do this, his voice grave and gentle. ‘Never forget, Miss Coblenz,’ he said, ‘that it was Zeman himself who encouraged, indeed who challenged, you to make the shot. It is the will of Allah and that is all there is to be said.’
‘And, indeed,’ said Grace kindly, ‘Zeman helped himself to the dish. As did Betty. He ate a larger portion than she did and this accounts for the faster onset of the attack and its greater severity, amounting to fatality.’
‘You were about to tell us before we came to the durbar hall,’ Iskander reminded her, ‘at what time you estimate Zeman died.’
‘Ah, yes, I was saying . . . the state of digestion of the food matter, the advance of bodily rigor, and the temperature of the corpse all point to the same time. I would say about one o’clock in the morning.’
Betty looked up sharply. ‘Oh, no! You’re saying that when you were attending me at three o’clock poor Zeman was lying there on the stairs? Dead or dying? It’s too horrible to think of!’
‘Already dead,’ said Grace. ‘Whatever else, we all saw that he did not linger for long once he embarked on the stairs.’
Iskander was looking at Grace keenly. ‘At one o’clock?’ he said. ‘Are you quite certain of that, Dr Holbrook?’
Grace hesitated for a moment. She always weighed her statements carefully and was for a moment put out by having her decision questioned. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At about one o’clock.’ She added reluctantly, ‘It could have been earlier, I suppose, but not much. Between half-past twelve and one. Why do you ask, Iskander? Is there perhaps something you want us to know? Any further evidence you can supply to throw light on this tragedy?’
Iskander shook his head and remained silent. Collecting himself, he gracefully thanked her for all she had done, made further kind comments to Betty and Lily and announced that he would now withdraw with his men to make arrangements for the burial of Zeman.
Distinctly subdued, the company dispersed to the officers’ mess. As they trailed away, Fred Moore-Simpson was heard to say, ‘Damn sad. And damn mysterious too! But I think I speak for all and would say – I need my breakfast!’
Joe, who was bringing up the rear, found himself face to face with Lily who shut the door quietly behind the last to leave and rounded on him.
‘Commander,’ she said, ‘I have to talk to you where we may not be overheard by anyone. Anyone. I will come to your room in ten minutes’ time. Can you be there?’
She entered silently in her soft riding boots, took a quick look around his room and settled down on the only chair. Joe sat on the bed close to her but not so close as to intimidate her. Perhaps she had come, needing a shoulder to cry on; perhaps she was to reiterate her guilt but he didn’t think that was what she had in mind. There was something apprehensive and even furtive in her behaviour. It disturbed him.
She sat quietly for a few moments, chewing her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and closed it again. She tried to meet his eye and could not. Her gaze constantly slid away from his and focused on her hands knotted with tension in her lap.
‘Oh, Lord!’ thought Joe. ‘I recognize these signs! She’s about to make a confession! We’ve got it all wrong and she’s come to tell me she killed him! But how? Poison? In so short a time? Not possible. Not her style either – she’d have put a bullet in him perhaps or climbed on a stool and hit him in the nose, but I really can’t see Lily – didn’t see Lily salting his sherbet with a mysterious white powder. No, calm down, Sandilands! Too much imagination! She’s decided that life on the frontier is a little too raw and she’s come to ask you to take her back to the safety of Simla. That’s it!’
‘I have the most terrible confession to make, Commander,’ she finally managed to say. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going to think of me!’
‘Is this to do with Zeman’s death?’ he asked.
‘Well, of course it is! What else would it have to do with?’
‘Well, you could be owning up to putting that dead mouse in my bed yesterday,’ said Joe, determined to keep the exchange light.
An unwilling smile broke out and she began to relax a little. ‘Wish I’d thought of that. I say – did someone? Oh, no. Sorry. Just teasing, I suppose. No. It is about Zeman.’
Joe just smiled and listened and let her take her time.
‘There’s only you in the whole fort I can trust and I mean that – only you. Promise you won’t reveal a word of what I’m going to tell you to anyone – not James, not Betty, not Grace, really not anyone.’
Joe nodded his agreement.
‘It didn’t happen like that at all,’ she said rapidly. ‘I mean Zeman’s death. It couldn’t have. You see, at that time – between half-past twelve and one o’clock – Zeman was alive and well and having a, oh, what shall I say? – a riotous time in the swimming pool in the officers’ garden.’
‘Can’t have been a very riotous time!’ said Joe gently. ‘I heard no sounds from downstairs and I’m a champion light sleeper. A riotous time down there would have woken me up. Are you sure about this? And what do you mean by “riotous”?’
‘You don’t make it easy for a girl, do you? No, you’re right. Bad choice of word because it wasn’t noisy at all. Not at all. It was rather subdued but energetic, um, sexual congress.’ She finished with a rush, blushing hotly.
Taken completely by surprise, Joe looked at her in horror and then said carefully, ‘I think it might be better if you took me through this step by
step from the ending of the dinner party, Lily.’
‘Yes, it would. It’ll be a lot easier to talk about now I’ve said those words. From now on I shall refer to the activity as s.c. Is that all right?’
‘Quite all right,’ said Joe.
‘You saw the appalling Rathmore bundle me out of the room, lest I should fall victim to silken oriental seduction?’
Joe nodded and remained silent. ‘Prescient old Rathmore!’ he was thinking. ‘More sense than the rest of us apparently!’
‘Well, it was clearly his idea that I should fall victim to his own Western style of courtship. Not subtle! Oh, don’t look concerned – I can handle unsubtle! He’s suffering this morning from a dented ego and a bruised foot! Did you notice he was limping this morning?’ she said, a flash of good humour returning. ‘He marched me round the garden and pointed out that a nightingale was singing and the moon was shining. He reminded me that he was a lord, twirled his moustache and fell on me. Well, on where I would have been were I not such a fast mover! I escaped and went to my room and he hobbled off back to his room, cursing me no doubt. Must have been at about half-past ten.’
‘I made my rounds at eleven and everyone was in their own room. You locked your door when I asked you to.’
Lily gave him a scathing look. ‘You were taken in by that old girls’ boarding school trick? I locked and unlocked it again straight away.’
‘But why didn’t you complain about Rathmore’s behaviour to you? I would have dealt with him. It would have given me quite a lot of pleasure in fact!’
She said what he knew she’d say. ‘I can take care of myself. No need to involve anyone else. Everything went very quiet, Joe, when you finished padding about and I sat and waited.’
‘Waited? Waited for what?’
‘Do you remember the Persian poem Zeman said to me towards the end of dinner? About the moonlight on the pool and “I wait to see your shadow fall on the garden’s midnight wall” – all that? I sort of, well, took it literally. I took it as an invitation to meet him by the pool at midnight.’ She blushed but looked at Joe defiantly. ‘Ridiculous, I know and I’m ashamed of myself but it was so romantic! Oh, I was imagining telling my friends! I thought at the very least he would try to kiss me and I’d decided that at the very least I would let him. No one I know has kissed a Pathan before! And this guy could out-smoulder Rudolph Valentino! If you know who he is?’
‘I am aware of the gentleman and have even seen some of his moving pictures,’ said Joe. ‘And, yes, Lily, I can see what the attraction was! But, tell me – what time did you go out to the garden?’
‘Just before midnight. I put on a dark dress and a pair of sandals and I crept out. I didn’t disturb anyone. I got into the garden and decided to hide in the almond trees. Well, I didn’t want to appear to be the first to get there – you mustn’t seem to be overkeen, you know.’ Lily fell silent again.
‘And?’ Joe prompted gently.
‘He didn’t turn up. I thought I must have misunderstood the meaning of the poem at first and then I thought he might be praying or giving orders to his men or doing something military so I hung on. I mean, how would I know how these guys pass their time? I guess I waited until, oh, it must have been half-past midnight at the earliest. And then I heard quiet laughter. Someone was coming into the garden. Someone who didn’t want to be heard. I stayed where I was just in case it wasn’t Zeman. But it was. It was Zeman but he was hand in hand with someone else. They went to the pool and they took their clothes off and slid into the water and then they, they, oh!’
‘S.c. occurred?’ Joe finished for her.
She nodded miserably and Joe felt desperately sorry for her. He felt a stab of anger too with Zeman for playing with the girl’s fantasies. ‘Good Lord! A scene like this could twist an impressionable girl’s views of men for evermore,’ he thought.
‘Well, what was I to do?’ she went on. ‘Look, I was never taught to handle anything like this! I came through Miss Dana’s Academy with flying colours. I can parse a sentence, I can quote the Lakeland poets, I know algebra, astronomy, and chemistry. I know how to flirt. I can pick up a handkerchief without showing my underwear. I thought I knew everything but – do you know? – if it hadn’t been for Dr Holbrook explaining what went on in the military . . .’
‘Who was with Zeman, Lily?’ Joe asked.
It was no surprise to him when she replied, ‘Iskander. It was Iskander.’
‘Did you, er, watch the event unfold?’ he asked carefully.
‘Well, no! I should just think not! I shut my eyes of course. But I could hear. They were laughing and sort of . . . horsing around, you know? Grace was right. It does go on.’
‘Look, Lily, I know I must be the thousandth person to tell you that the ways of the frontier are different from our own but in this case they really are,’ said Joe, who had decided on the line he was going to take. ‘It’s easy when two good-looking young men like Zeman and Iskander speak our language fluently and have spent many years of their lives living in our society to think that they are of our culture. They are not. Their formative years were spent here in these hills living the life of their clan. And I believe that they are very dual. They know how we live and think, they find themselves reacting in Western ways to much of what goes on and I think they themselves are sometimes torn between the two demands on them. Pathan men do form close friendships. So do Englishmen. We express our friendship in different ways, that’s all. Pathans often walk around hand in hand. It signifies nothing other than friendship. They probably think James and I are rather strange in that we never hold hands.’
Lily began to smile at the picture he was drawing.
‘And they are young men. What would you say? – twenty-two? three? Not much older than you, Lily, but a good deal younger than me in age and experience. And boys horse about. Especially in swimming pools at midnight when they’ve both had a brandy or two they shouldn’t have had! I think it all sounded much more sinister to you than it should have done because they were trying to splash about without drawing attention.’
Lily was looking at him with a good deal more brightness in her expression. ‘I guess you could be right, Joe. But, well, whatever the truth of that, Zeman still broke his date with me!’
‘And now you’ll never kiss a Pathan!’ Joe teased gently. ‘But look, realistically, you were never going to. He would never seriously have expected you to meet him in the garden, Lily. In his world women go about veiled or even wearing a burkha. Their faces are seen only by other women or the men in their immediate family and their marriages are arranged for them by their parents. Zeman knows that things are done differently in the West but he would never have thought that you would agree to a clandestine meeting with him unchaperoned in the garden.’
‘I suppose you’re right, Joe.’
‘But, shocking though it was, I’m thinking your midnight encounter has an even more sinister significance.’
‘Too right! You see it, don’t you? Thought you would! If Zeman was alive – and he was – at the time Dr Holbrook says he was dead or dying, then she’s either an incompetent doctor or she’s telling a deliberate lie. Dr Holbrook? I can’t believe it! And is James aware of this? And Betty? What’s going on here?’
‘You were aware of this inconsistency all the time we were deliberating and enquiring and you said nothing? Lily, that was a very, what shall I say? . . . mature decision.’
‘Aw, thanks! You people keep telling me not to rock the boat, light any fuses and ruffle any feathers – “this is a delicate situation we have here on the frontier.” I thought I’d better keep my mouth shut and go with what James and Grace were stitching up between them. I figure they must have a good reason. And anyway, I’d rather no one knew about my experience in the garden. But you do see the significance, don’t you?’
Joe nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s not only you who knows that the timing is all wrong . . .’
‘Iskander! He knows! I had to wait
in the trees until they’d finished whatever they were doing in the pool sometime between half-past twelve and one o’clock. But it wasn’t over then. They sat on the marble bench drying off and talking for . . . it seemed ages but I guess it must have been about ten minutes – no more than a quarter of an hour.’
‘Talking? What sort of talking were they doing?’
‘Pushtu talking . . . couldn’t figure out a word . . . but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t understand some things.’
Joe waited and she went on, ‘It wasn’t exactly a lovers’ tiff but things did seem to turn a bit sour as they talked.’ Lily frowned in an effort to remember clearly her impressions. ‘Zeman sounded kind of light-hearted whereas Iskander was threatening him . . . telling him off? He was certainly hissing at him a bit. I’d say they’d started off their evening adventure in high spirits but finished off not too happy with each other. No idea why. But anyway, by the time they drifted off to their rooms it must have been gone one o’clock.
‘Iskander knows that his friend went to bed in perfectly good health just when the medical expert is saying that he died. He’s going to draw conclusions, has already drawn conclusions and I’m not happy when I think about them.’
The gravity of the implications had been creeping up on Joe as she had revealed her story. ‘Iskander seemed very prepared to accept Grace’s version of events, even to the extent of smoothing her path and having all verified as above board by his officers. I thought he was as concerned as we were that there should be no charge of foul play.’
‘He was,’ Lily confirmed. ‘I was watching him. He was happy with the decision and relieved, I think. But then, right at the end, he asked about the time of death and Grace’s reply blew the top off the jam jar. He gave her a chance to change her mind or adjust her finding but she stuck to what she’d said and that’s when his attitude changed.’
‘You seem to have been keeping a close eye on him?’
‘I spend a lot of time watching Iskander,’ said Lily.
The Damascened Blade (Joe Sandilands Murder Mystery) Page 10