An Ensuing Evil and Others (37 page)

He took a small key from his waistcoat pocket and bent forward, turning the tiny lock that secured the box and raising the lid so that the stone sparkled brightly on its pale bed of velvet.

He reached forward and took out the stone with an exaggerated air of carelessness and handed it to the eager Royston.

Royston held the stone up to the light between his thumb and forefinger and whistled appreciatively. “I’ve seen a few stones in my time, but this one is really awe inspiring. A perfect cut, too.”

“You know something about these things, Royston?” inquired Sir Rupert, interested.

Royston shrugged. “I don’t wish to give the impression that I am an expert, but I’ve traded a few stones in my time. My opinion is probably as good as the next mans.”

He passed the ruby to Father Cassian, who was seated next to him. The priest took the stone and held it to the light. His hand trembled slightly, but he assumed a calm voice. “It’s nice,” he conceded. “But the value, as I see it, is in the entire statue of the god. I place no value on solitary stones, but only in an overall work of art, in man’s endeavor to create something of beauty.”

Sir Rupert snorted as an indication of his disagreement with this philosophy and reached out a hand.

Father Cassian hesitated, still staring at the red stone.

At that moment there came the sound of an altercation outside. The abruptness of the noise caused everyone to pause. Lieutenant Tompkins sprang to his feet and strode to the door. As he opened it, Lady Chetwynd Miller, a small but determined woman in her mid-fifties, stood framed in the doorway.

“Forgive me interrupting, gentlemen,” she said with studied calm. Then looking toward her husband, she said quietly, “My dear, Devi Bhadra says the servants have caught a thief attempting to leave your study.”

Lord Chetwynd Miller gave a startled glance toward Inspector Jayram, then rose and made his way to the door. Tompldns stood aside as the Resident laid a reassuring hand on Lady Chetwynd Millers arm.

“Now then, dear, nothing to worry about. You go back to your ladies in the drawing room, and we’ll see to this.”

Lady Chetwynd Miller seemed reluctant but smiled briefly at the company before withdrawing. The Resident said to his ADC: “Ask Devi Bhadra to bring the rascal here into the dining room.”

He turned back with a thin smile toward Inspector Jayram. “It seems as if your intelligence was right. We have a prisoner for you to take away, Inspector.”

Jayram raised his hands in a curiously helpless gesture. “This is technically British soil, Excellency. But if you wish me to take charge?… Let us have a look at this man.”

At that moment, Lieutenant Tompkins returned with Devi Bhadra together with a burly Sepoy from Foran’s Eighth Bombay Infantry. They frog-marched a man into the dining room. The man was thin, wearing a
dhoti
, a dirty loincloth affected by Hindus, an equally dirty turban, and a loose robe open at the front. He wore a cheap jeweled pendant hung on a leather thong around his neck.

The Resident went back to his seat and gazed up with a hardened scowl. “Bring the man into the light and let us see him.”

The man was young, handsome, but his face was disfigured in a sullen expression. His head hung forward. Devi Bhadra prodded the man forward so that the light from the lanterns reflected on his face.

“I have searched him thoroughly, sahib. He has no weapons.”

“Do you speak English?” demanded Lord Chetwynd Miller.

The man did not reply.

The British Resident nodded to Devi Bhadra, who repeated the question in Gujarati, a language of the country. There was no response.

“Forgive me,” Inspector Jayram interrupted. “I believe the man might respond to Hindi.”

Devi Bhadra repeated his question, but there was no reply.

“Looks like your guess was wrong,” observed Royston.

Inspector Jayram rose leisurely and came to stand by the man. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the pendant. Then he broke into a staccato to which the captive jerked up his head and nodded sullenly.

Jayram turned to the Resident with an apologetic smile. “The man speaks a minor dialect called Munda. I have some knowledge of it. He is, therefore, from the Betul district.”

“Betul?” The Residents eyes widened as he caught the significance of the name.

Jayram indicated the pendant. “He wears the symbol of the cult of Vira-bhadra.”

“Does he? The beggar!” breathed Lord Chetwynd Miller.

“Well,” drawled Gregg. “If he were after this little item, he was out of luck. We had it here with us.”

He held up the ruby.

The captive saw it and gave a sharp intake of breath, moving as if to lunge forward but was held back by the powerful grip of Devi Bhadra and the Sepoy.

“So that’s it?” snapped Major Foran. “The beggar was coming to steal the stone?”

“Or return it to its rightful owners,” interposed Father Cassian calmly. “It depends on how you look at it.”

“How did you catch him, Devi Bhadra?” asked Foran, ignoring the priest.

“One of the maids heard a noise in your study, sahib,” said the man. “She called me, and I went to see if anything was amiss. The safe was open, and this man was climbing out of the window. I caught hold of him and yelled until a Sepoy outside came to help me.”

“Was anything missing from the safe?”

“The man had nothing on him, sahib.”

“So it was the stone that he was after?” concluded Gregg in some satisfaction. “Quite an evenings entertainment that you’ve provided, Your Excellency.”

The captive burst into a torrent of words, with Jayram nodding from time to time as he tried to follow.

“The man says that the Eye of Shiva was stolen and should be returned to the temple of Vira-bhadra. He is no thief but the right hand of his god seeking the return of his property.”

The Resident sniffed. “That’s as may be! To me he is a thief, who will be handed over to the Baroda authorities and punished. As Gregg said, it was lucky we were examining the stone while he was trying to open the safe.”

Major Foran had been inspecting the stone, which he had taken from Gregg, and he now turned to the prisoner. “Would you like to examine the prize that you missed?” he jeered.

They were unprepared for what happened next. Both the Sepoy and Devi Bhadra were momentarily distracted by the bright, shining object that Foran held out. Not so their prisoner. In the excitement of the moment, they had slackened their grip to the extent that the muscular young man seized his chance. With a great wrench, he had shaken free of his captors, grabbed the stone from the hand of the astonished major, and bounded across the room as agilely as a mountain lion. Before anyone could recover from their surprise, he had flung himself against the shuttered windows.

The wood splintered open as the man crashed through onto the veranda outside.

The dinner company was momentarily immobile in surprise at the unexpected abruptness of the man’s action.

A second passed. On the verandah outside, the Betulese jumped to his feet and began to run into the evening blackness and the driving rain.

It was the ADC, Lieutenant Tompkins, who first recovered from his surprise. He turned and seized the Sepoy’s Lee Enfield rifle. Then he raised it to his shoulder. There was a crack of an explosion which brought the company to life.

Foran was through the door onto the veranda in a minute. Lord Chetwynd Miller was only a split second behind, but he slipped and collided with Sir Rupert, who was just getting to his feet. The impact was so hard that Sir Rupert was knocked to the floor. The Resident went down on his knees beside him. Father Cassian was the first to spring from his chair, with an expression of concern, to help them up. The Resident was holding on to Cassians arm when he slipped again and, with a muttered expression of apology, climbed unsteadily to his feet. By then it was all over.

The young man in the
dhoti
was lying sprawled facedown. There was a red, telltale stain on his white dirty robe that not even the torrent of rain was dispersing. Foran had reached his side and bent down, feeling for a pulse and then, with a sigh, he stood up and shook his head.

He came back into the dining room, his dress uniform soaked by the monsoon skies. As he did so, the dining room door burst open, and Lady Chetwynd Miller stood on the threshold again, the other ladies of her party crowding behind her.

The Resident turned and hurried to the door, using his body to prevent the ladies spilling into the room.

“My dear, take your guests back into the drawing room. Immediately!” he snapped, as his wife began to open her mouth in protest. “Please!” His unusually harsh voice caused her to blink and stare at him in astonishment. He forced a smile and modulated his tone. “Please,” he said again. “We won’t be long. Don’t worry, none of us have come to any harm.” He closed the door behind them and turned back, his face ashen.

“Well,” drawled Foran, holding his hand palm outward and letting the others see the bright glistening red stone that nestled there, “the young beggar nearly got away with it.”

The Resident smiled grimly and turned to his majordomo.

“Devi Bhadra, you and the Sepoy remove the body. I expect Inspector Jayram will want to take charge now. Is that all right with you, Foran?”

Major Foran, nominally in charge of the security of the Residency, indicated his agreement, and Devi Bhadra motioned the Sepoy to follow him in the execution of their unpleasant task.

Lord Chetwynd Miller turned to his ADC and clapped him on the shoulder. The young man had laid aside the Lee Enfield and was now sitting on his chair, his face white, his hand shaking.

“Good shooting, Tompkins. Never saw better.”

Foran was pouring the young officer a stiff brandy. “Get that down you, lad,” he ordered gruffly.

The young lieutenant stared up. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Never shot anyone before. Sorry.” He took a large gulp of his brandy and coughed.

“Did the right thing,” confirmed the Resident. “Otherwise the beggar would have got clean away—” He turned to Jayram and then frowned.

Inspector Jayram was gazing in fascination at the stone that Foran had set back in its box. He took it up with a frown passing over his brow. “Excuse me, Excellency,” he muttered.

They watched him astounded as he reached for a knife on the table and, placing the stone on the top of the table, he drew the knife across it. It left a tiny white mark.

White-faced, Major Foran was the first to realize the meaning of the mark. “A fake stone! It is not the Eye of Shiva!”

Jayram nodded calmly. He was watching their faces carefully.

Sir Rupert was saying, “Was the stone genuine in the first place? I mean, did Savaji Rao give you the genuine article?”

“We have no reason to doubt it,” Major Foran replied, but his tone was aghast.

Royston, who had taken the stone from where Jayram had left it on the table, was peering at it in disbelief. “The stone was genuine when we started to examine it,” he said quietly.

The Resident was frowning at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Royston stared around thoughtfully. “I mean that this is not the stone that I held in my hand a few minutes ago.”

“How can you be so sure?” demanded Gregg. “It looks exactly the same to me.”

Royston held up the defaced stone to the light. “See here… there is a shadow in this stone, a tiny black mark that indicates its flaw. The stone I held a few moments ago did not have such a mark. That I can swear to.”

“Then where is the real stone?” demanded Father Cassian. “This stone is a clever imitation. It is worthless.”

Major Foran was on his feet, taking the stone and peering at it with a red, almost apoplectic stare. “An imitation, by George!”

The Resident was stunned.

“I bet that Hindu chappie had this fake to leave behind when he robbed the safe. The real one must still be on his body,” Lieutenant Tompkins gasped.

“On his body or in the garden,” grunted Foran. “By your leave, sir, I’ll go and get Devi Bhadra to make a search.”

“Yes, do that, Bill,” instructed the Resident quietly. He was obviously shocked. Foran disappeared to give the orders.

There was a moments silence, and then Jayram spoke. “Begging your pardon, Excellency, you will not find the stone on the body of the dead priest.”

Lord Chetwynd Miller’s eyes widened as they sought the placid dark brown eyes of Jayram. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly.

Jayram smiled patiently. “The Betul priest did not steal the real ruby, Your Excellency. Only the fake. In fact, the real ruby has not left this room.”

“You’d better explain that,” Father Cassian suggested. “The ruby has been stolen. According to Lord Miller, the genuine stone was given into his custody. And according to Royston there, he was holding the genuine stone just before we heard Devi Bhadra capture that beggar. Then the Hindu priest was brought here into this room. He grabbed the stone from Foran, and the real stone disappears. Only he could have had both fake and real stone.”

Foran had come back through the shattered window of the dining room. Beyond they could see Devi Bhadra conducting a search of the lawn where the man had fallen.

“There is nothing on the dead man,” Foran said in annoyance. “Devi Bhadra is examining the lawn now.”

“According to Inspector Jayram here,” interposed Gregg heavily, “it’ll be a waste of time.”

Foran raised an eyebrow.

“Jayram thinks the ruby never left this room,” explained Father Cassian. “I think he believes the Hindu priest grabbed the fake when he tried to escape.”

Jayram nodded smilingly. “That is absolutely so,” he confirmed.

The Resident’s face was pinched. “How did you know?” he demanded.

“Simple common sense, Excellency,” replied the Bengali policeman. “We have the stone here, the genuine stone. Then we hear the noise of the Betulese being captured as he makes an abortive attempt to steal the stone from your study—abortive because the stone is here with us. He is brought to this room, and there he stands with his arms held between Devi Bhadra and the Sepoy. He makes a grab at what he thinks is the ruby and attempts to escape. He believes the stone genuine.”