Barbara Cleverly - The Palace Tiger

‘We expect him to move very soon,’ said Ajit. ‘We require you, Sandilands, to accompany us to the khajina when he goes there and arrest him when you catch him in the act. If he is going to make his move, when better than during the mourning for the ruler? The palace is in upheaval at the moment and he has the sense to profit from the disturbance. But there are constrictions even on crime. It is mid-afternoon. . if he is to allow himself hours of daylight in which to get away he must act soon.’

‘You will stay here with Ajit,’ said Zalim, ‘and hold yourselves ready. I will have tea and refreshments sent to you.’

With a smile and a nod, he left them watching each other warily.

Before the promised tea had arrived there was a tap at the door, which was answered by Ajit. After a brief and whispered conversation he waved them to join him.

‘He’s moving!’

They followed Ajit’s man through the palace and out into the hills to the west. Their path was narrow and led through scrubland offering little cover. Joe was concerned. Either they got up so close to Claude he would be bound to see them or they would have to let him get too far ahead. He confided his worry to Ajit.

‘The door keeper is one of the hill tribe. He has been told to prevaricate and hold up the Angrez as long as possible,’ was the confident reply.

After a mile of scrambling through bleached vegetation, every leaf of which seemed to harbour a thorn, they arrived some thirty yards from a small red sandstone building in the heavy Hindu style. Carved elephant trunks made up the massive lintels which held up the impregnable stone roof. There appeared to be no windows and only one very solid wooden door. On hearing a sharp cry abruptly cut off, they hurried forward, fanning out, guns in hand.

Ajit was first to reach the old man. A dark-skinned man of the hills, dagger drawn, was lying motionless in the middle of the path a yard or two from the door. Ajit leaned over him then looked up and shook his head. His expression was fierce, his voice rasping as he hissed a command to Joe. ‘Sandilands! You know what you have to do!’ He pointed to the door, which stood slightly ajar.

Pistol in hand, Joe and Edgar went silently to stand on either side of the door. They heard no sound. Edgar pushed the door and went in first. Joe slipped in behind him. Instinctively they put some distance between themselves, crouching back to back, each covering a sector of the room. In the darkness they could see nothing save for the small oil lamp that burned at the far side. As Joe’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he saw that the lamp was standing on a carved stone counter which ran around the circumference of the room. The flame reflected off the metal lids of three coffers built into the stone but if they had expected to catch the Resident with his hand in the honey pot up to the armpit, they were disappointed.

They crept further apart, peering and blinking at the shadows.

‘Guns on the floor! Now!’ a voice behind Joe commanded. He felt the cold kiss of a revolver barrel in the nape of his neck.

‘Move together!’

Joe heard the finality with which his Browning and Edgar’s smacked against the stone floor as they fell. As soon as Claude had herded them close together he would kill them with two quick shots. And inside this stone coffin who would hear? Ajit would and he would lay siege but he would not intervene in a shoot-out between Westerners.

Joe’s only weapon was words and a psychological understanding of Claude. He wanted to goad the icily calm killer at his back into responding to him and he thought he knew just the formula to annoy.

‘You do know that they’ll scrub your name from the honour roll at Haileybury?’ he said in an easy, conversational tone. ‘A man like you, Claude? Why would you do this?’

‘Quiet, Sandilands! Move over towards the lamp. Both of you!’

‘Why risk everything? You have power, position, the love of a beautiful woman and a glittering future. Enough for any man, I’d have thought. Why gamble all that for a fistful of baubles? You must be mad!’

But Claude was not to be drawn into a discussion. Before he took a step further from Claude, Joe resolved to throw himself backwards on to the gun. If he absorbed the first bullet it would give Edgar a chance to act. He tensed his muscles. Feet slightly apart, he eased his weight on to the balls of his feet. And then he heard a cynical bark of laughter from behind.

‘Power? Love? For how long? This is a sinking ship we’re all on! Haven’t you worked that out yet, Mr Detective? Have you any idea what the rewards are in this post? An insult! I may earn a little more than they pay a second-eleven character like you for keeping the streets of London clear of filth but not much. Rise as high as you like — it’s hardly worth the effort. And what do we look forward to when the Raj finally packs its bags and slopes off back to the West? A small pension, a modest house overlooking the South Downs? Perhaps I could call it Ranipur Lodge and have an elephant’s foot umbrella stand in the hall next to the Benares brass dinner gong? I would treat my friends to a chota peg before tiffin and bore them rigid with stories that start, “When I was in Poona. .”’ He spoke with bitter emphasis.

‘No. That’s not for me. My horizons are wider, my ambitions deeper. But I see it’s for you, Sandilands, or could be if you had any time left. Edgar — he’s too old a leopard to change his spots so I won’t make the mistake of making him an offer. What would you like? A bangle each to look the other way for an hour? Easier to shoot you both dead and be done with it.’

‘It’s not too late. Give me the gun and I’ll arrange for you to withdraw discreetly,’ said Joe. ‘It’s not as if there was anything in those pots anyway. And when you leave, empty-handed, you’ll run into Ajit Singh who’s waiting outside.’

An impatient sigh greeted this attempt. ‘Clown! Two hours ago when I came to check, there were emeralds and rubies the size of pigeon’s eggs and that’s for starters.’

Now that he had his targets standing close together on the opposite side of the room, Claude, still covering them, moved over to the coffers and tapped the lid of the central one. ‘You can plunge your arm into a king’s ransom. Far more than I need to complete my plans.’

‘Sorry, old man!’ said Edgar, gloating. ‘That was two hours ago. You don’t think Ajit Singh stands still, do you? A good deal can happen in two hours. The whole lot has been carted off. Why do you suppose they only left one elderly guard by the door? It’s a trap to lure you in! And here you are — trapped! Don’t be a bloody fool and give up everything for a not-so-lucky dip into an empty bran-tub!’

Sneering, Claude lifted the lid with his left hand and plunged it into the coffer. They watched, fascinated, as his sneer turned into a grimace of astonishment and then a rictus of horror. He pulled out a hand dripping with precious stones which caught the flickering light and reflected it back in a dazzle of colour. With a shuddering cry, Claude dropped the necklaces on the floor. One item remained hanging from his hand. Not glowing. Not reflecting the light. A wriggling dark shape. About a foot long.

The boom of the small Browning M was ear-shattering in the small space. Eyes riveted on Claude, Joe had barely noticed Edgar’s quick snatch to the back of his belt. The small black gun which he had last seen clutched in Bahadur’s hand was hardly visible in Edgar’s huge fist but its fire power was undeniable.

Claude stood, his body shaking with horror, his eyes unable to leave his left hand which still clutched the remnants of the object shattered by Edgar’s shot. Finally he found his voice. ‘What the hell was that?’