Mourning Raga

‘Except,’ said Anjli suddenly, erect and sombre by her father’s side, ‘if he did it all alone, why did Shantik say they’d told him not to hurt me? That’s what she said. Tomorrow you can ask her.’

A curious flutter of uneasiness stirred the air.

‘And if he did it all alone,’ Dominic said slowly, ‘then he must be a genius, to be able to come up with that scheme about lunch at Sawyers’ and a taxi to the sweet shop opposite, the very minute he was faced with having to arrange a way of letting us see Anjli. Now if he’d already been primed by somebody who knew what was going to happen…’

‘And what,’ wondered Tossa, ‘if he did do it all alone, what has he done with the money from the first payment we made at the Birla temple? Because you know what the police said – they haven’t found a trace of it at his house or in his sister-in-law’s quarters at the office.’

‘And if it wasn’t he who took the money from the briefcase,’ supplemented the Swami, warming to the theme, ‘then who was it? And where is it now? It would be so much more satisfactory, would it not, to recover it? Even film stars who do make a great deal of money should not be made the victims of extortion.’

‘They certainly shouldn’t,’ agreed Felder warmly. ‘I’ve still got to justify that to Dorrie, but at least she still has a daughter, thank God. It does seem a pity, but it hardly looks as if we’ll ever see that money again.’

‘Oh, do not lose heart,’ the Swami encouraged him benignly. ‘Perhaps, after all, there is still hope that the police may discover it somewhere.’

‘Well, if they do, presumably there may be some hope of deducing how it got there. Until then I’m afraid we haven’t much chance.’

And indeed it seemed that it was over, and that there was no longer anything to hold them all here together; yet no one made any move to go. It was almost as if they were waiting for something to happen which would release them and let them fly apart again into their proper orbits, Dominic and Tossa, tired, relieved and infinitely grateful, back to England, the Swami to the minute office from which he pulled so many valiant and unexpected strings in the life of unprivileged India, Krishan Malenkar and his Kamala to their well-guarded private life, Anjli wherever her new father led her, deeper and deeper into the complex soul of this sub-continent, Ashok back to the cosmic solitude where the great artists create their own companions, like self-generating gods; and Felder…

Someone rapped at the door, briskly, quietly and with absolute authority.

‘Come in! ’ called Dominic.

Inspector Kulbir Singh came in with aplomb. His black beard was tucked snugly into its retaining net, his moustache was immaculately waxed at the ends, which turned up in military fashion to touch his bold cheek-bones. In his hands – gloved hands – he held a large, fat bank envelope, linen-grained, biscuit-coloured. Every eye in the room fastened on it, and for an instant everyone held his breath.

‘Ladies… Swami… gentlemen, forgive this intrusion. There is a small matter of identification with which you can help me, if you will.’ He came forward with assurance, and laid the envelope upon the coffee table, drawing out delicately wad after wad of notes. ‘No, no, please do not touch. There is the question of finger prints. I would ask you only to look at this packet… you, Mr Felder, Mr Felse and Miss Barber. The total amount, you may take my word, is two hundred thousand rupees, as you see in notes of various values. It is contained in an envelope of the State Bank of India, issued at the branch here in Parliament Street. Their stamp bears last Saturday’s date. I must ask you if you can identify this package.’

They stood staring all three, alike stricken into silence. Dominic was the first to clear his throat. ‘It looks very like the money Mr Felder drew from the bank, in my presence, on Saturday morning. The amount is right.’

‘Miss Barber?’

‘I wasn’t at the bank. I saw the package the next day, when Mr Felder left it at the desk, downstairs. This one looks the same. I feel sure it is. There was a linen thread half an inch too long, projecting out of that left corner of the flap, just like that one. My prints should be on the envelope, if it’s the same one. I collected it from the desk, and Dominic put it into the briefcase.’

‘Thank you, that is very helpful. Mr Felder? Does it appear the same to you?’

‘I can’t be sure. One bank envelope is very like another. It could be the same.’

‘Even to the amount inside it, Mr Felder?’

‘I’ve said, it could be the same.’

‘In that case your prints should also be on the envelope, I take it, since you handled it.’

‘Yes, certainly I did. I kept it safe until I delivered it to this hotel on Sunday morning.’

‘But you would not expect your prints also to be on the notes?’

‘Of course not, why should they be? I took the package from the bank teller intact, and as you know, it was paid over to Miss Kumar’s kidnapper at the Birla temple on Sunday afternoon.’ He raised his head, and stared Inspector Singh stonily in the eyes. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘In a locked suitcase in a room in the Villa Lakshmi at Hauz Khas, Mr Felder – the bedroom occupied by you.’

Felder drew back from him a long pace; all the deep, easy-going lines of his face had sagged into grey pallor.

‘You know what this is, don’t you? A plant to leave me holding the baby. Yes, I drew the money, yes, I handled the parcel, that you know already from all of us, what have I got to deny? We paid that money over at the temple, as we were told to do. There was a parcel of sliced-up newsprint left in its place, and that we’ve told you, too, it isn’t any secret. But if you think I made that exchange, think again. Kumar here was watching me all that afternoon. He knows I never went near the place where the briefcase was.’ He swung on Satyavan, who sat unmoved, his arm round his daughter, his grazed cheek seamed with darkening scars beneath the levelled black eye. ‘Tell him! You were watching me as I was watching the briefcase. You came and started talking to me, and that cost us – how many minutes? Three? Enough for the exchange to be made. I wasn’t watching during those few minutes, and neither were you.’