The Inspector de Silva Mysteries Page 23

  Chapter 12

  ‘The letter’s written in German,’ Jane said, studying the words de Silva had copied into his notebook. She was clearly enjoying having a puzzle to work out and had swiftly forgiven him for hiding his plan to search the guest bungalow from her at breakfast.

  ‘I don’t understand much of it,’ she went on. ‘But look.’ She pointed to the first line, ‘Liebling – it means darling – and this word, gefahr, is danger. Then here,’ she indicated another line, ‘I think it says “I have sent money there for you”.’

  She scanned the rest of the letter. ‘That’s all I can make out, except this part at the end. It looks like an address but not one here in Ceylon. As for the passports, the one in the name of Laetitia Lanara is Italian. The other two are French and German.’

  ‘Well, it’s a start.’

  ‘What do you think this is all about, Shanti? Is there more to Laetitia Lane than simply being the count’s mistress? Why else would she need all these identities?’

  ‘She’s up to something, I’m sure, and I’d like to know what, but I may come up against some opposition from Archie Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Why? If Miss Lane is doing something she shouldn’t, won’t he want to know?’

  ‘In theory, yes. He told me that the British are worried about Germany taking an interest in Romania.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘Because Romania has oil and an arms industry, both of which might be very useful to the Germans.’

  Jane shivered. ‘When the Great War came to an end, people said it was the war to end all wars. It’s dreadful to think they might be proved wrong. If you think Laetitia Lane’s spying for the Germans and trying to work her way into Count Ranescu’s confidence, you ought to tell Archie Clutterbuck.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’ He hesitated to admit to Jane how much he would enjoy stealing a march on the assistant government agent, even if it might prove a little tricky explaining why he had searched the guest bungalow in the first place.

  ‘Perhaps she and Major Aubrey are in league,’ Jane mused.

  ‘Both spies? This really is beginning to sound like the plot for a film or a novel.’

  ‘It would make an exciting one, I’m sure. But it is rather far-fetched to assume that either of them had a hand in Helen Wynne-Talbot’s death.’

  ‘I expect you’re right.’ He looked up at the sun. ‘The picnic’s probably finished by now, but I think I’ll leave asking to see Clutterbuck for the moment. I’d like a bit of time to mull over how to present my findings to him.’

  He stood up. ‘I’ll pay a quick visit to the station and see what’s going on down there. In any case, Clutterbuck will want to know how the search for Helen Wynne-Talbot’s body is going. Unfortunately, I doubt I’ll have much news for him. If she really did fall, finding her in the jungle will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  Jane shuddered. ‘That poor husband of hers, one can hardly comprehend how he must be feeling.’

  ‘I sincerely hope I never have to find out first-hand.’

  ‘That’s very unlikely, dear. I prefer to admire the view at World’s End from a safe distance.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be off. I’ll try not to be long. Would you like to go out this evening?’

  ‘There’s nothing on at the Casino, but I believe the Crown Hotel has a trio playing after dinner and there will be dancing.’

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes, I think I would. We haven’t been dancing for a long time.’

  ‘Then let’s do it.’

  He took her hand, pulled her out of her chair and bowed. ‘May I have this dance, ma’am?’

  ‘Certainly, you may, sir.’

  Laughing, they twirled around the room until they had to stop to catch their breath. ‘I’m not as fit as I was,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Nor am I, but never mind.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Now, off you go. I’ll tell Cook to serve dinner a little earlier than usual so we have a nice long evening afterwards. Even if we can’t dance the night away anymore, we can still enjoy the music.’

  **

  Nuala’s streets drowsed in the afternoon heat. Even in the bazaar, activity had slowed to a lethargic pace. A lone bullock pulled at a wilting bundle of coriander on one of the stalls, but the old woman behind the counter just flapped her hands half-heartedly in its direction and retreated to the shade. Even the children had given up playing. Stretched out on the parched ground, dogs twitched in their sleep.

  A girl in a yellow sari who seemed livelier than the rest attracted his attention. He slowed and waved her across the road. As he did so, he glimpsed a pair of beautiful eyes above the veil she had drawn across her face to keep out the dust.

  The sight of her reminded him yet again that Prasanna was still waiting for help with – what was the girl’s name? Kuveni – that was it. A shame that developments meant that, once again, tomorrow probably wasn’t going to be a good time to raise the issue. The girl reached the other side of the road and disappeared into a narrow alley. How gracefully she walked, yet her sari looked old and shabby. He wondered who she was.

  The clock on the post office’s tower struck four as he parked the Morris along the side wall of the police station where there was some shade. Speculating as to whether Nadar would be asleep or awake, he went inside, letting the front door bang as he closed it. His constable jumped to his feet, quickly fastening the top button of his tunic. De Silva suppressed a smile as the young man drew himself up like a ramrod and assumed an expression of the utmost gravity.

  ‘Good afternoon, Inspector.’

  De Silva nodded. ‘On your own, I see. Where’s Prasanna?’

  ‘He’s just gone out for a while, sir.’

  ‘Anything to report?’

  ‘There was a telephone call at ten o’clock from a gentleman who wanted to speak to you, but he wouldn’t give his name.’

  ‘So how am I supposed to ring him back?’

  ‘He said he would call again, sir, but he has not yet done so.’

  ‘Did he say what he wanted, this mystery man?’

  ‘He said he needed to speak to you on a very important matter concerning Mrs Wynne-Talbot.’

  De Silva’s brow puckered. When he had worked in the police force in Colombo, it had been a not-infrequent occurrence to find people coming into the station claiming that they had vital information about one of the crimes the police were trying to solve. Most of them had been cranks, particularly the ones who would not give their names. He’d soon learnt to season their “vital information” with a generous pinch of salt.

  ‘If he calls again, Nadar, tell him I want his name, and details of how to contact him before anything else.’

  Nadar looked a little crestfallen. ‘Yes, Inspector.’

  ‘Never mind, Nadar, I’m not blaming you. How is the baby by the way? Sleeping better, I hope?’

  The constable’s plump countenance brightened. ‘He is, thank you, sir. Two teeth have arrived and he is much happier than he was. My wife and I also.’

  ‘That’s excellent news. I hope it lasts.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  No more dormouse then, at least for the moment, de Silva thought. He made a telephone call to the Residence and after a short wait, was told Clutterbuck would be free to see him at eleven the next morning. He hesitated; it was sooner than expected and he had planned to take a little longer composing his speech; on the other hand, it would be a load off his mind. He was also aware that he owed it to Prasanna to try to make some progress with his lady friend’s problem.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Tell him I will be there.’

  He stood up and went to the small mirror over the washbasin in the corner of his office. His reflection stared back at him resolutely. He straightened his badge and stood there for a few moments, then, humming the tune from 42nd Street, he went out to the Morris and drove home in the sunshine.

  Chapter 13

  While he shave
d, he whistled one of the tunes he and Jane had danced to the previous night.

  ‘It’s good to see you so cheerful,’ she remarked, coming into the room. ‘Wasn’t it a lovely evening? That pianist played beautifully and the singer and the bass player did very well too. I hope the Crown make a regular feature of having them perform.’

  ‘Yes, it would be nice if they did. If I may say so, my wife was the best dancer there.’

  Jane laughed. ‘Oh, what nonsense. There were lots of women who danced far better than I ever could.’

  He scraped away the last of the shaving foam and patted his cheeks dry. ‘I disagree entirely.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, dear.’ She looked wistful. ‘But it was so nice to hear some music. I’ve missed that.’

  ‘But what about Florence’s musical soirées? I thought you enjoyed those.’

  ‘Oh I do, but I love to hear modern music too, the kind one dances to.’

  He hung up his towel. ‘I enjoyed it as well. If there’s a chance, we’ll go again.’

  On the way to the station, an idea crossed his mind. He’d have to give it some thought, but for now, he must concentrate on the interview with Archie Clutterbuck.

  At the station, Nadar looked rather more rumpled than he had the previous day. Presumably another baby tooth loomed: dormouse time again. More in hope than anticipation, he left instructions for tasks to be done that day and set off.

  The road leading to the Residence was busy with traffic coming in from the countryside: bullock carts laden with boxes of vegetables, bananas, mangoes and other fruits, as well as great leafy bundles of herbs. Rickshaws and bicycles jostled for space too.

  As the gates came into sight, de Silva suffered a momentary pang of doubt. He hoped he wasn’t going to stir up a hornets’ nest without good cause. His foot eased off the accelerator but then he pulled himself together again. What he had found at the guest bungalow could be important. If it was, it ought to improve his standing with the British rather than diminish it. As for Prasanna, he was a reliable young man and his information must be given due weight. If there was any truth in the allegations against the headman, the British, with their much-vaunted sense of fair play, could hardly complain. And if there wasn’t, it was still fair that the matter was looked into.

  To the right-hand side of the drive, the Residence’s gardeners were trimming the edges of the lawns and hoeing already immaculate flowerbeds filled with roses, marigolds and geraniums. The style was very formal, de Silva reflected. In his own garden, he preferred a touch of natural wildness. According to Jane, however, the Residence garden was a prime example of British taste.

  He met Florence on the front steps, the little black and white household mop cavorting at her heels.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  ‘Inspector de Silva! Good morning to you too. Angel and I are about to go for a walk around the grounds.’

  The little dog puffed out his chest and emitted a high-pitched bark then stopped to sniff at de Silva’s trouser leg.

  Florence beamed. ‘Ah look, he likes you. He’s such a dear little chap.’

  ‘He certainly is, ma’am,’ said de Silva, relieved not to have his ankles nipped or worse.

  ‘I do hope your wife is well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘Unfortunately, with our guests here, there hasn’t been much time for my usual activities, so I’ve not seen my friends as often as I would like.’

  ‘I’m sure you are greatly missed, ma’am.’

  ‘One hopes so. Well, I mustn’t keep you, Inspector. Come along, Angel.’

  ‘Enjoy your walk, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, I’m sure we shall.’

  Perhaps, she wasn’t such a bad sort after all, thought de Silva as Florence trotted away with her shaggy companion. There must be times when her position in life wasn’t easy. From what Jane had told him, the present was one of those times, obliged to entertain a guest whom she found extremely uncongenial.

  He straightened his collar and put his hand on the bell pull beside the front door. There was a jangling sound inside the house and a moment later, a servant appeared. Ushered into the study, he found Clutterbuck at his desk with Darcy snoozing at his feet.

  The assistant government agent put the cap back on his pen and closed the ledger in which he had been writing. ‘Ah, de Silva! Another fine morning, eh? We shall miss this spell when the monsoon comes next month. At least the rain is warmer than it is at home.’

  ‘So my wife tells me, sir.’

  Darcy hauled himself up from the rug and ambled round the desk to have his ears scratched. ‘The poor old chap’s glad to have a bit of peace,’ said Clutterbuck. ‘My wife and her little blighter have gone for a walk.’

  ‘Yes, I met them on the way out.’

  ‘Do you have news about the whereabouts of the late Mrs Wynne-Talbot?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. I wanted to speak to you on another matter.’

  Clutterbuck leant back in his chair. ‘Something I’ll want to hear, I hope.’

  De Silva paused. The exact wording of the speech he had rehearsed so carefully after he’d woken at dawn deserted him; he would have to improvise.

  ‘I have some information about the Ranescus.’

  Clutterbuck looked irritable. ‘I told you matters are sensitive where the count’s concerned,’ he growled. ‘I thought you could be trusted to use your common sense.’ A low rumble broke from Darcy’s throat. He rolled over and raised his head. De Silva ignored his owner’s implicit slur and ploughed on.

  ‘I believe that what I found will be of interest to you.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  De Silva drew a deep breath. ‘I found an opportunity to search the guest bungalow here when the count and countess were at the elephant hunt and picnic.’

  A thunderous expression came over Clutterbuck’s face; he struck the desk with a clenched fist. ‘You did what? Goddammit man, do you want to ruin what little’s left of our good relations with the count? What on earth possessed you?’

  ‘Hear me out, sir. I think you will be interested in what I discovered.’

  ‘It had better be good!’

  ‘I showed my wife the photograph you gave me of your hunting party up at the Plains. Jane was sure she recognised the countess. She was convinced the lady is English and a former actress who used to appear on the London stage.’

  ‘What of it? We’d already reached the conclusion she may be the count’s mistress, not his wife. Is her history relevant? In any case, with great respect to Mrs de Silva, she may be wrong.’

  ‘I think not, sir. The countess possesses a passport that shows her to be Italian as she claims to be, but I found others with the same photograph, one of them a British passport in the name of Laetitia Lane – the name my wife recalled.’

  He pulled his notebook from his breast pocket and pushed it across the desk. ‘This is the text of a letter I also found hidden in a piece of Miss Lane’s luggage.’

  Frowning, the assistant government agent scanned the words de Silva had copied out.

  ‘You mentioned Germany’s interest in Romania,’ ventured de Silva. ‘My wife believes this letter is written in German, and in addition to that, one of the passports is for a German national.’

  Clutterbuck’s frown deepened. ‘An Englishwoman working against her country’s interests?’ He opened his top drawer and dropped de Silva’s notebook on top of the papers it contained. ‘You’ll say no more about this, de Silva. It’s way out of your league. If there’s any truth in the allegation, William Petrie and I will take charge. Is that understood?’

  De Silva felt nettled. Clutterbuck wouldn’t even have the information if it wasn’t for him.

  ‘I said, is that understood?’

  ‘Understood.’ De Silva left a barely perceptible pause before adding, ‘sir.’

  ‘You’re sure no one saw you go in or out of the guest bungalow?’

 
‘Yes.’

  ‘At least that’s something to be grateful for.’ He closed the top drawer firmly. ‘Well, you can get off now, but remember, where this Wynne-Talbot business is concerned, no more snooping around. Just find the body so the husband can bury her.’

  **

  The Morris protested as he slammed the gearstick into second and pressed down hard on the accelerator to turn out of the Residence’s drive. Snooping around indeed. It was the same old story with the British; it had happened more than once when he was with the Colombo force. They were happy to use his services when it suited them but the moment it didn’t, they treated him like some seedy private detective.

  At home, lunch waited for him, but he was too preoccupied to take much notice of what he ate.

  Jane looked at him worriedly. ‘Did it go badly with Archie Clutterbuck?’

  He grunted and pushed his plate away unfinished. ‘You could say that.’

  ‘So you don’t think he’ll investigate Laetitia Lane?’

  ‘I’ve no idea what he’ll do,’ de Silva snapped. ‘I’ve been warned off the whole matter.’

  ‘Oh, Shanti, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard sometimes and you’re upset.’

  ‘Upset? I’m not upset. That fool Clutterbuck can do as he likes. I wash my hands of it!’

  Jane raised a quizzical eyebrow. Contrition overcame de Silva.

  ‘Well, perhaps I am just a bit upset. But more than that, I’m angry.’

  She came round to his side of the table and kissed his cheek. ‘I understand. Really I do.’

  He sighed. ‘It’s at times like these that I have to remind myself that if the British were not in Ceylon, we might never have met.’

  ‘I hope that’s comfort enough.’

  He took her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘You know it is.’ He paused then groaned. ‘Poor Prasanna, I didn’t even get as far as talking to Clutterbuck about this headman again and goodness knows when I will. Not while Clutterbuck and I are at odds anyway.’