“First of all, we spent a lot more time on our planning than you think,” said Wyatt. “As soon as you left India, we received a note from the CID telling us what you had done, why you were coming to England, and asking us to look out for you. When you disappeared in Alexandria, we got a second message telling us about that and about the death of Amir Ali. We realized at once why you had disappeared—that you knew the Thugs were after you—and had decided to come to England in disguise. I was given the job of finding and protecting you and—if possible—catching and nobbling our friends, the Thugs. Unfortunately, your return came at an awkward time for me.”
“Awkward?” said Ross, puzzled. Then his face cleared. “Of course. You were getting married, going away on your honeymoon.”
“Right. I discussed the matter with my chief, and he pointed out that there was no way we could tell when you were going to show up here. It might be in days, but it might not be for weeks or months. He insisted that I go ahead with my plans—after, of course, making any arrangements here that I thought might be useful.”
“That’s what interests me. What arrangements did you make?”
“One was to make sure that Sergeant Tucker knew where I was at all times. He was familiar with the case, knew what was involved, and had instructions to bring me back whenever it seemed necessary. Another very important element was bringing in Inspector Clemson of the Thames Police.”
“I suspected that he was an ally even before he came in here with you and Beasley,” said Ross, smiling at him.
“As I said, a very important one,” said Wyatt. “We knew that if—Heaven forbid!—our Indian friends should accomplish their mission, they would want to leave England quickly and secretly. The best way to do this would be to take a boat downriver and pick up a ship at Gravesend or out in the Channel, avoiding the regular ports. So Inspector Clemson posed as the skipper of a fast launch who was not fastidious about its use, the implication being that he was a smuggler. Word of this was passed to all the boatmen in the area, who were asked to refer any Indians who tried to hire them to him. A few days ago he let the Yard know that he had been approached and hired.”
“That was by Chunder Das and company, I take it.”
“It was.”
“Why didn’t you arrest them right away?” asked Sara.
“Because, while we were fairly sure that they were the Indians we were looking for, we had to be certain of it and we had to catch them doing something criminal. More important, we weren’t sure that the men who had hired Inspector Clemson were all there were. I suspected that their chief, the brains of the group, was not with them.”
“Bannerji.”
“Right. But even with all our planning, I’m not sure things would have worked out as well as they did if it weren’t for several surprising strokes of luck.”
“What were they?” asked Andrew.
“One of them, naturally, was that we were in on things from the beginning,” said Sara, grinning.
“You’re joking,” said Wyatt, “and I shouldn’t admit it because I was ready to have you keelhauled when I saw you in that launch, but … you’re right. When I got back here, you gave me information that it would have taken me quite a while to put together from regular sources. I was able to deduce from what you told me that Whispering Willie was Captain Ross and deduce further that he had helped Beasley escape from your house and was probably hiding him at the dust yard where he himself was living. This was confirmed by a telegram Beasley sent me.”
“That was the telegram you got at the Yard?” said Andrew.
“Yes. Another bit of luck was the fact that our Indian friends had taken a house right on the canal. They had done it to be close to Captain Clemson when they wanted to escape; but it gave me the chance to make use of the device that I did—trolling for them the way a fisherman does when he trails a whiting behind his boat to catch a mackerel.”
“Can I ask one more question?” asked Andrew.
“‘I’ve answered three questions and that is enough,’” said Wyatt with mock ferocity. “Do you know what comes after that?”
“Of course,” said Andrew, who had known his Alice in Wonderland before he knew his multiplication tables. “‘Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off or I’ll kick you downstairs.’ But I’m not asking it of you. I’d like to ask it of Captain Ross.”
“Of course, Andrew,” said the captain.
“What did you say to Bannerji that made him try to strangle you?”
“Well, I was fairly sure he was the man we wanted—the chief Thug—and of course he didn’t know that I was the man he’d been looking for. So I said in Hindustani, ‘Well, friend, either you mistook the signs’—Thugs sacrifice to Bhowani before they do anything in her name and only proceed if the omens are favorable—‘or else she has failed you.’ That told him who I was. What he shouted when he threw his strangling scarf around my neck—Jai Bhowani!—meant Victory to Bhowani.”
“That brings me to my last question,” said Sara. “How is it that he didn’t—couldn’t—strangle you. He certainly tried hard enough.”
“He did. And under ordinary circumstances he would have broken my neck. But that was something I had prepared for from the beginning.” He held up a long and very dirty bandage. “Do you remember this?”
“Yes. You had it around your throat. Because, you said, you had a quinsy.”
“That’s right. You guessed before that I pretended I had a sore throat and talked in a whisper because I wasn’t sure about my Cockney accent. That was true. But there was another reason. Under the bandage, I had this.” He held up a wide strip of leather reinforced with steel. “This leather collar would protect my neck against anything short of the guillotine.”
“The Deceivers,” said Andrew thoughtfully. “Isn’t that what the Thugs were called?”
“Yes. Why?”
“They talk of fighting fire with fire, and it seems to me that that’s what you did. That the way you came through everything you were faced with was by deceiving the deceivers.”
“A practice which, while generally frowned on, we might be forced to practice ourselves,” said Wyatt. “What are you planning to tell your mother about all this when you get home, Andrew?”
“I don’t see any need to tell her anything.”
“You don’t? What do you say when she asks where you’ve been all day?”
“Why,” said Sara cheerfully, “we were on a boat trip on the canal. It was very interesting and instructive. We learned something about dustmen and dust yards and about Indian religions. But, best of all, we met a police officer from India who turned out to be a good friend of Beasley’s as well as the inspector’s and whom he’ll almost certainly invite to dinner.”
“Isn’t there a folk saying about teaching one’s grandmother to suck eggs?” said Captain Ross with a smile.
“There is,” said Wyatt. “And the interesting part of it is that every word of what she said is true.”
Turn the page to continue reading from the Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt series
1
An Official Request
“Ah, there you are,” said the headmaster as Andrew opened the door of his study. “Come in, my boy, and sit down.” He studied Andrew through his gold-rimmed spectacles as he sat down on the other side of the large desk. “Surprised that I sent for you?”
“A bit, sir.”
“But it didn’t worry you?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. I commended you on that the last time I asked you to come see me, said it was proof of a clear conscience. And I’m delighted that your conscience remains as limpid as ever. The fact is that I asked you to come here because I wanted to ask you if you would do me—and the school—a service.”
“If I can, sir, I’ll be happy to.”
“Oh, you can—there’s no question about that. Whether you’ll want to is something else again. But the only way we can determine that is fo
r me to tell you what I want. Do you know Markham? Christopher Markham?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Well, he’s a little younger than I am—about a year. And he’s not in my house, so I don’t know him as well as I do many other chaps, but he’s a fairly good cricketer, a very good tennis player, and on the whole, quite well liked. But with it all, he’s something of a solitary.”
“Yes, he is. Do you know anything about his family?”
“No, sir. I heard he’s an orphan.”
“Not quite. His mother’s dead, died shortly after he was born. But his father’s alive, attached to our embassy in Peking at the moment. He has no close relatives, so he stays with Mrs. Bartram and me during holidays. That gives me a rather special responsibility as far as he’s concerned.”
“Yes, I can see that, sir.”
“Mr. Slyke, his housemaster, was here to see me last night. He’s a little worried about Markham, and he got me worried.” He paused. “What did you mean when you said he was something of a solitary?”
“Well, he does like to walk alone, sir. I don’t mean that as a figure of speech. He seems to have some fairly good friends. But he also does like to go off alone, walk the Downs, collect mineral specimens, and watch birds.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve met him out on the Downs.”
“In other words, you like to walk alone, too.”
“Sometimes. Yes, sir.”
“Of course I knew that. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. The reason Mr. Slyke is worried about Markham is not because he’s been going off alone almost every afternoon recently—but because he suspects he’s been slipping off at night and coming back just before dawn.”
“I see, sir.”
“That’s why I called you in. To ask you whether you’d be willing to look into the matter for me.” Andrew glanced at him, then down. “Well?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather not.”
“Why not?”
“Because its seems to me it’s a kind of sneaking.”
“When you say sneaking you mean spying, informing. Or, in the vernacular, peaching, snitching, or squealing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In one respect, that’s the sort of answer I’d expect from you. In another, it not only saddens me—it shocks me. How long have you been here at Medford?”
“Three years, sir.”
“In all that time have I ever done or said anything that would suggest that I would—not just encourage or approve—but even tolerate sneaking?”
“No, sir.”
“Have any of the masters?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how could you imply that that was what I was asking you to do?”
“Sir, I apologize. But the truth is that there are schools where it is encouraged.”
“So I’ve heard. But I wouldn’t have anyone here—boy or master—who would be capable of such a thing. When I asked if you would look into this matter of Markham’s behavior, I meant just that. I don’t want you to tell me what he’s been up to. Since he’s alone here and I’m acting in loco parentis, I would merely like to know if he’s involved in anything I should be concerned about.”
“I see, sir. One more question. Why are you asking me to do this?”
“An interesting question. You happen to be one of the best-liked boys in school. Not just because you play a good game of cricket or because you’re pleasant, honest and—I understand—intelligent and amusing. But because of what is believed about you.”
“Believed?”
“Yes. Your mother is a well-known actress. You never talk about her. Your stepfather is with Scotland Yard. You never talk about him either. But the fact that you haven’t has encouraged the boys here to imagine a very rich life for you in which—during holidays—you meet many of England’s famous actresses who are friends of your mother’s. And even more interesting and exciting, you help your stepfather solve his most difficult cases.”
“I see. It’s true that I don’t talk about my mother or stepfather—any more than Chadwick talks about his father, who is in the Foreign Office, or Dunwoodie, whose father is a general—but that’s the only part of what you’ve said that’s true.”
“Is that so? I’ve heard rumors that lead me to believe there’s a modicum of truth in what they believe. But that’s beside the point. The boys will continue to believe what they want to believe and you must suffer the consequences. This is one of them. I trust you and I believe that Markham does, too. That’s why I made the request of you that I did. The question is, will you do what I’ve asked you to do? Will you—being as open as you like—cast a friendly eye on Markham?”
Again Andrew hesitated a moment. Then he nodded.
“Yes, sir. I will.”
2
The Watcher on the Tor
It was by sheer good luck that Andrew found Markham as soon as he did. After Latin, his last class of the day, he walked over to St. Edmund’s, Markham’s house. There was no sign of him in the quad, at the fives court, or on the playing field where two house cricket teams were practicing. That meant he was probably out on the Downs, but where? After all, they extended in every direction for miles around the school. The last time Andrew had met him on the Downs it had been near the foot of Bodmin’s Tor, which lay northwest of the school.
He looked toward the tor, about three-quarters of a mile from the school, and there, at the top of it, he saw a sudden flash as something bright reflected the westering sun. Was it Markham? It might be. Even if it wasn’t, the tor was a good place to look over the Downs, see if he was elsewhere.
It took about a half hour to walk to the tor and climb the steep, rocky southern face. When Andrew got to the top, he saw that his guess had been a good one. There was Markham, stretched out with a pair of field glasses beside him.
“Hello,” he said quietly and without surprise. He had apparently been watching Andrew approach through the glasses, and it had been the sun reflected in their lenses that had originally caught Andrew’s eye.
“Hello. New glasses?”
“What? Yes, fairly new.”
Andrew picked them up and examined them.
“They look like good ones.”
“They’re quite good. Useful anyway. I’ve been watching a pair of peregrines.”
“Yes, there’s a pair that has a nest on the far side of the tor. Where are they?”
“They were over there a while ago,” said Markham, pointing to the northeast. Andrew raised the glasses and looked that way but couldn’t see them. He lowered the glasses and suddenly realized that the way Markham had been lying, he couldn’t have been looking to the northeast. If he had been looking anywhere, it had been to the northwest. He raised the glasses again, looking in that direction, and found himself looking down at a house with a high stone wall around it that was just off the road that led to Bath.
“I always forget about that house there,” he said. “It’s down in that combe and you can’t really see it from the Downs, just from up here.”
“I know,” said Markham.
“Look,” said Andrew, lowering the glasses. “We’d better talk.”
“About what?”
“About why I’m here.” Putting down the glasses, Andrew sat down cross-legged next to Markham and told him about the headmaster’s summons and what he had had to say to him.
“I had a feeling that old Slyke had his eye on me,” said Markham.
“It’s clear he has,” said Andrew. “Do you feel like telling me what you’ve been up to?”
Markham turned and looked at him. He was quite fair, had a very open face, and blue eyes. It was only when you looked at them closely that you realized they had shadowy, troubled depths.
“You told the headmaster you weren’t going to tell him what I told you—if I did tell you anything—no matter what it was.”
“That
’s right.”
“I don’t have to ask you whether I can trust you. I know I can.” He looked off toward the school. “It’s strange. There’s something I’ve got to decide. And I felt from the beginning that if I could talk to one person about it, it would be you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I suppose partly because I know I can trust you and partly because of some of the things you’ve done. I mean … well, your stepfather is an inspector with Scotland Yard, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is. But what do you mean by things I’ve done?”
“I know you never talk about it, but I’ve heard that you’ve been involved in several of his cases. That you had been, as a matter of fact, even before he and your mother got married.”
“It’s true I’ve known him for some time. And my mother has too, but.…”
“I said I know you don’t like to talk about it, and you don’t have to. The truth is, I’d like to tell you what’s been happening, and I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say about it.”
“Go ahead.”
“It began a little over a week ago. I was on my way across the Downs to the old Roman camp. You know where that is.”
“Yes.”
“I was just going past the tor here when I met this woman.”
“What kind of woman?”
“I don’t know how to describe her. I mean, I don’t know how you would, but … she was about average height, dark hair and dark eyes, and very pretty.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know. I’m no judge of women’s ages, but she looked about the same age as the mothers of the youngest first-formers at school.”
“Middle to late twenties, then. Was she from around here?”
“Oh, no. She was from London.”
“How do you know?”
“She said so later on. But even if she hadn’t, I’d have known it from the way she was dressed—in something light gray and gauzy and ruffly—and the way she talked. She was very much a lady.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes and no. She was alone near the tor, but she had come in a carriage and the coachman was waiting with the horses on the road about two or three hundred yards away.”
The Case of the Indian Curse (Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt Book 8) Page 12
