Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

The mood and composition of the group on the terrace was subtly changed. The maharaja and his brother had been joined by a selection of courtiers, and a man in dark blue uniform with a good deal of gold frogging had stationed himself behind Udai’s right shoulder. The pop of champagne corks was echoed by a gush of congratulations. The release of tension was evident as all raised their glasses to salute the new heir, the Yuvaraj Bahadur.

All drank except for the uniformed stranger who remained at attention, motionless apart from his dark eyes which constantly moved around the group. Joe was not quite comfortable with the length of time they locked with his own. He was reminded of one of those playground staring games where the first to look away was the loser and he was relieved when the ruler called to him by name, compelling him to break off.

‘Joe. Commander Sandilands. I want you to meet your opposite number in the Ranipur force. This is Major Ajit Singh.’

No hand was extended so Joe returned the formal nod of the head.

‘Ajit is responsible for policing the state, and the very low level of crime we enjoy bears witness to the efficacy of his methods. I’m sure you’ll have much in common and much that you do not have in common. I will leave you to exchange views. Oh, by the way, I understand you visited Surigargh this morning, Commander? Ajit’s home town as well as my own.’

He moved away to speak to Claude, leaving Joe face to face with the Chief of Police.

Ajit Singh’s tall frame was held erect. A dark moustache shot through with silver rose in two smooth wings to tuck under the white turban. Every aspect of his uniform was immaculate and Joe was interested to note the whole impression was of a serious, even — for India — understated military presence. The most pernickety sergeant-major of any crack regiment could have taken lessons in turn-out from this man.

‘We will speak in English,’ said Ajit firmly.

Joe was accustomed to deep and mysterious Indian voices which made the tones of the average Englishman sound insubstantial, superficial, braying at times, but Ajit Singh’s voice was distinctive even for a Rajput. Joe thought he must gargle with a suspension of sharp-sand in honey to achieve these depths — guttural but seductive.

‘I do not speak well but I hear that you do not speak Hindi at all,’ Ajit added blandly.

Joe smiled, conceding the first point in the arm-wrestling contest into which he had been propelled. Ajit crooked a finger and from his place at the door a young officer attired in similar dark blue, though with considerably less gold about him, came respectfully threading his way through the crowd towards them.

‘Ram speaks excellent English, Sandilands, and he will help us to converse,’ Ajit explained. ‘He had his training with the Calcutta Police.’

‘Okay,’ thought Joe. ‘Two points to Ajit Singh.’

The young officer shook his hand and introduced himself briefly in flawless English, and Ajit commented, tapping the man proprietorially on the shoulder, ‘You are looking, Commander, at the next Chief of State Police. At the very least — for Ram could go further. His career, I fear, will call him to the capital where he will do well.’

They plunged into a surprisingly easy conversation. Ram was eager to pick Joe’s brain and questioned him closely on Western developments in policing methods and crime solving. Expressions of interest and astonishment greeted his outlines of the first Flying Squad and the proposals for an international police force. He was intrigued by the new techniques of ballistics which Joe was passionately pushing forward and listened intently to his ideas on the use of dual-microscope examination of cartridges.

Claude, who had approached to the fringes of the group, seemed equally impressed. ‘And you’re saying that these processes are even now available to the Calcutta Police, Sandilands?

‘Not only to the Calcutta Police but to the whole country. Much of what you’ve heard me boasting of, I must admit, is still in the experimental stage but yes — certain analytical ballistic techniques are available to us. We can match a cartridge case to the breech face of the gun that fired it; we can match the rifling marks on a bullet to the barrel down which it came. As clear and as useful as fingerprinting. It’s all early days, but showing reliable results already. Evidence collected, let’s say here in Ranipur, can be sent to police headquarters in Calcutta and in a couple of days you can get your analysis back by telegraph. Crime solving is throwing down barriers everywhere and criminals can no longer hide behind frontiers. They can be pursued across oceans if necessary.’

Joe went on to talk about the use of the Woman Police Force, which amazed and amused Ram, and the improvements in the working conditions and pay amongst the ranks, which puzzled him. ‘Here in Ranipur,’ he confided, ‘we have no need of such a large force. No one patrols the bazaars, the streets that is.’

‘Then how do you control petty crime?’ Joe asked.

‘In each street there is an informer. An unofficial, though well-rewarded, person who acts as eyes and ears for Ajit Singh. If a crime occurs, it is first discovered locally and news comes to us at once. Action is taken. The criminals are usually known in their own street and because they are certain of discovery, you can appreciate, sahib, that the incidence of crime is very low indeed.’

‘All very well for your average petty criminal, I suppose,’ said Joe, ‘but tell me, Ram, how would you deal with a crime committed by — oh, let’s say. .’ He waved an arm around the assembled company. ‘. . one of the noblemen present in this room?’

He instantly wished he could pull back his question but, too late, the young man stammered an unintelligible reply, embarrassed and looking to Ajit Singh for support.

Ajit spoke easily, a slight touch of amusement in his voice: ‘What Ram is trying to say is that there is no crime amongst the nobility, Commander. I’m sure you understand. When did your King George last pick a pocket? Have you arrested Queen Mary yet for poisoning her cook?’

Joe smiled at the attempted humour and was relieved when Ajit himself changed the subject. ‘But I understand, Commander, that we find ourselves working towards the same end, here in Ranipur?’

‘I would be surprised to hear that,’ said Joe carefully, ‘since I am not working and would not be allowed to work, professionally that is. Pleasure only is my reason for being here.’

Ajit’s whiskers twitched slightly. ‘Then I. .’ He referred to Ram for help with a word. ‘. . anticipate the ruler’s command. He has discussed with me the possibility that you might be asked to help me to keep a protective eye on the new heir, the Prince Bahadur. These are unusual times, as I think you appreciate, and this young man may be in need of our aid. He has confided to his father that he likes and trusts you. It will give him confidence to see himself protected on all sides.’

‘Is this protection squad a recent development?’ Joe asked.

‘In fact — no,’ said Ajit. ‘The boy will be unaware of it but he has been watched since he left the safety of the zenana.’

Joe wondered just how safe the zenana might be considered in the light of Bahadur’s information but raised no question.

‘He has chosen to spend his time in some unusual places,’ Ajit smiled. ‘And my staff have complained about the difficulties they have experienced in staying close to him whilst remaining unobserved. But, as you see, the boy is fit and well and no attempt on his life has been uncovered.’

Joe looked away from the magnetic eyes for a moment to hide his own expression. ‘What a pantomime!’ he thought.