Barbara Cleverly - The Damascened Blade

‘You’re the detective, you tell me!’

‘Fine. Then this is what we’ll do. We’d better sort this out ourselves, Lily, and we must be circumspect. I think Iskander has been alerted to some sort of underhand shenanigans and since he’s not challenged James openly, I think he’s gone away to work it out for himself and plan his next action. It looks bad, I’m afraid. If he concludes that there’s been a lapse in the protection offered by the fort, if Zeman’s death should prove to have been intentional, then it will be incumbent on him to seek revenge. I think he will try to avoid this if he can but once he’s certain that an injustice has been done he’ll act. He’ll act swiftly, what’s more. He’s never likely to be offered such an opportunity again after all. – He’s a welcome guest, the subject of much sympathy, free to go wherever he likes in the fort… the Trojan Horse who could let in thirty Afghan warriors screaming for badal. Oh, I can tell you, Lily, I don’t like to hear what I’m saying!’

‘We can’t do a thing until we find out what really happened. Come on, Joe, you say you’re from Scotland Yard – would you have been happy with the combined investigation and coroner’s court we’ve just been through?’

‘Good Lord, no! I know we haven’t got any of the facilities I would normally be able to call on but all the same there’s quite a bit more we could do.’

‘Where do we start?’ asked Lily eagerly.

‘I would have said with the body but they’ll have taken it off for burial by now. Even if they haven’t, a policeman poking about in the orifices wouldn’t exactly calm any Afghan suspicions.’ He considered for a moment and then asked, ‘Do you think we could find our way into the hospital without being observed?’

‘Sure. If we work around the wall instead of going straight down the main path we could do it. Together or separately?’

‘I’m supposed to be riding herd on you so on the whole I think less suspicious if we’re together.’

‘Fine. If anyone sees us, you’re bored out of your brains helping me look for that silver bracelet I dropped somewhere in the grounds this morning.’

A few minutes later they had slipped into the room where Zeman’s body had been laid out. The table on which it had lain was empty but Joe was looking for something else. He found it in a neat pile set by the door awaiting collection by the orderly. Locking the door, he picked up Zeman’s clothing and put it on the table.

‘And this is a bit odd, don’t you think so, Joe? He was wearing his uniform. When I saw him in the garden he was still wearing his evening dress – you know – the waistcoat, the blue turban, the whole outfit. Now why would he have put his uniform on to go to bed? Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me! Don’t these fellers wear pyjamas?’

‘Well,’ said Joe, trying to make sense of it, ‘he might have changed from his evening dress into pyjamas and then back into his uniform if he wanted to make himself respectable to consult the lady doctor in the middle of the night.’

‘Sheesh! That’s more changes than one of Mademoiselle Chanel’s mannequins could perform! But look, Joe – he’s feeling so ill he thinks he may be dying and he takes time to pull on his top boots? Would he have bothered struggling into those?’ Lily shook her head derisively. ‘Such a lot we don’t know about Pathans. Kinda hard to figure!’

‘Well, file it away. It doesn’t make sense now but if we dig a bit further something else may explain it later. Now, let’s have a look at those… Right. Now, there may be nothing to see but if I were doing this properly this is where I’d start. I hope you’re not squeamish. This may be rather disconcerting for someone untrained.’

‘I don’t faint easy. Carry on.’

Methodically Joe spread each garment out and inspected every inch. He gave a commentary as he went, becoming less sensitive to Lily’s presence as she remained quiet and helpful. ‘Waistcoat. Dried vomit, ponding around the right side of the neck. Pity we can’t analyse this.’

Lily wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Aw, jiminy! That smell!’ she commented. ‘Takes me back to children’s parties!’

‘Children’s parties! Takes me back to closing time on any Saturday night in Seven Dials!’ Joe broke off in sudden puzzlement. ‘Or does it?’

‘Urgh! There’s bits in it!’ said Lily.

‘And you’d expect that if he did indeed die at the time Grace suggests,’ said Joe in deeper puzzlement. ‘You are perfectly sure of your timing, Lily?’

‘Sure! Look, I’ve told you the exact truth with the exact timing and that’s your base. That’s where you start and everything else is hogwash!’

‘Mm… Very well. Trousers… perfectly clean. And that’s odd.’

‘Odd? Why odd?’

‘Arsenical poisoning is normally accompanied by diarrhoea. I’ve only encountered one case of arsenical poisoning.’ Joe frowned. ‘A wife had polished off her violent husband but it had taken her six months to do it. I’m afraid I just can’t believe that anyone would die from eating a pheasant that’s swallowed the stuff. But then, out here in the wilderness, how would we find out? Have to try other methods. I’m rather surprised Grace went along with the arsenic theory… And what was that other theory she had? The andro-what’s-it poison? Does that sound likely? Anyway, let’s have a look at his shirt. Same vomit staining though less copious.’

‘Joe, look at this,’ said Lily.

Gingerly she held up the cuff of the wide-sleeved cotton shirt that hung over the table on her side. The right sleeve. Joe took hold of it and looked. He slipped a magnifying glass from his pocket and looked again, then passed it to Lily.

‘Rose thorns? This is what he was wearing when he went for his swim. Could he have torn it on the bushes?’

‘I don’t think these are the tears of rose thorns,’ he went on. ‘The holes are too big. And look at the shape. There are two of them and they’re sort of… rounded at the puncture point and torn downwards. Look, if he held his arm like this,’ Joe held the sleeve at an angle horizontal to the ground, ‘then the tearing, the drag, would be vertical.’

‘The holes are very small,’ said Lily, ‘and very close together. Puncture holes? Oh, my God!’ She shuddered and dropped the cuff she had been holding. ‘A snake! You’re not going to tell me he’s been attacked by a snake? Oh, why didn’t anyone think of that? Cobras are always slithering in through the holes in the bathroom wall. He could have got back to his room, entered the bathroom and… I can’t bear to think of it! Poor, poor Zeman! How long does it take you to die of a cobra bite?’

‘Anything from fifteen minutes upwards, depending on the constitution of the victim. But, no, this wasn’t a snake,’ said Joe.

Lily looked again thoughtfully at the shirt, folded it carefully and replaced it on the pile. ‘Were there any scratches on his arm? Did you get a close enough look at the body, Joe?’

‘Yes, I did. There were no wounds of any kind except for the blow to the head he received when he fell against the stairs.’ He explained the findings of the autopsy.

The remainder of the items including the turban were examined and produced nothing further of interest. Joe looked carefully at the dagger that Zeman had carried always in his belt. He held it in his hand for a moment, admiring the restrained jewelled decoration on the sheath, and then delicately slid out the blade. Lily could not hold back a shudder at the sight of the purposeful weapon revealed. Sumptuous and valuable, certainly, but this was no toy, no ornament. The stubby hilt was of carved black jade, encircled with rows of rubies which gleamed like drops of blood, the curved blade appeared black also, of damascened steel and decorated with a filigree pattern of gold in the shape of a tear drop. Joe took out his handkerchief and gently ran it along the midrib of the blade. He examined it carefully. There was no trace of blood, no residue of any kind. The revolver also was innocent of recent use.