The Case of the Missing Servant

of being able to watch Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki now seemed remote. But Puri assured them he was only planning to watch the headlines and that afterward, the TV was all theirs.

Shyly, the two servant girls filed into the room and sat down on the floor at the foot of the couch, gazing up at the set in silence.

Five minutes later, the channel appeared to change (in fact Puri had pressed play on the VCR remote control) and a Hindi news report began about the Ajay Kasliwal case in Jaipur.

The pictures showed the High Court lawyer being led into court and Inspector Shekhawat telling the reporters that he could prove conclusively that the accused was guilty of killing his maidservant. The report, which was actually a number of reports Flush had edited together, cut to shots of the front of Raj Kasliwal Bhavan, then to a reporter saying that the maidservant, Mary, had been taken away in Kasliwal's Sumo and dumped on the Ajmer Road. There followed more scenes from outside the court taken on the first day of the trial, including a few shots of Mrs. Kasliwal. The report ended with a clip of Bobby addressing the cameras, insisting on his father's innocence.

Mary watched in wide-eyed disbelief, with her hand over her mouth as if she was suppressing a scream. When Bobby appeared, she pointed at the TV and let out a startled cry. Then her head flopped forward onto her chest and she fainted.

Mary awoke to find herself lying on the blue leather couch with a cold hand towel on her forehead. Rumpi was sitting next to her; Mummy was nearby in an armchair doing some knitting.

'Are you all right, child?' asked Rumpi in a gentle, caring voice. 'Try to rest; you've had a fright.'

Mary stared up at her with dozy eyes and then took a sharp, frightened breath and sat bolt upright.

'Madam!' she exclaimed. 'I saw him!'

'You saw who?' asked Mummy.

'Him!' she said, turning away from her and burying her face in one of the purple silk cushions.

Rumpi put a gentle hand on her shoulder, saying, 'Please don't cry. Nothing is going to happen. Ask Mummy- ji, she will tell you.'

'Yes, nothing bad will happen to you now,' Puri's mother assured her, putting aside her knitting and joining Mary on the couch. 'We will look after you. Now stop your crying and sit up and have some tea. It is freshly made. Come. Sit up now.'

Mary did as she was told, rubbing her tear-stained face with the tissues that Mummy gave her.

'That's better, child,' said Rumpi, handing her a cup of tea. 'You are quite safe here. There's nothing to fear.'

After Mary had drunk half her tea, Mummy asked her again what it was that had caused her to faint.

'If you tell us, then we can help you,' said Rumpi.

'Madam, I cannot say,' whispered Mary, looking frightened.

'Did it have something to do with what you were watching on television?' asked Mummy.

Mary bowed her head, staring down into her teacup. A few more tears fell into the brown milky liquid. Rumpi started stroking the back of the girl's head.

'Child, if you know anything about the case you saw on the TV, then you must tell us,' she said. 'It is very import ant. The man you saw, Shri Ajay Kasliwal, is accused of murdering a young maid who used to work in his house. She was called Mary-just like you. It is a serious charge. If he is convicted, Shri Kasliwal will spend the rest of his life in prison. There is even a possibility he will face the death penalty.'

But Mary continued to stare down into her teacup.

'Dear me, child, this will not do,' said Mummy, firmly. 'Now you must finish your tea and tell us whether you worked for these people.'

Dutifully, Mary drained the cup and Rumpi took it from her.

'Now, look at me, child,' said Mummy.

Mary's brimming eyes met those of the older lady.

'Tell me. Did you work for this family?'

The maidservant's lower lip started to tremble. 'Yes, I worked for them,' she admitted, and burst into another fit of sobbing.

When it had passed, Mummy said, 'If you are the same servant girl called Mary who worked for this family and you are alive, then Shri Kasliwal is innocent. You will have to go to Jaipur and help clear his name.'

The suggestion engendered a terrified reaction. 'No, madam, I cannot go!'

Rumpi took Mary's hand in her own.

'Would you want Shri Kasliwal to go to prison for a murder he didn't commit? He is innocent.'

Mary hung her head again. 'Madam, I cannot go,' she repeated.

'You must,' said Mummy. 'It is your duty. You have no choice in the matter. The destiny of this man and his family is in your hands. But you will not have to face this alone. I will be with you.'

Twenty-Six

Before driving Mary and Mummy to Jaipur, Puri went to the Gymkhana Club to meet Brigadier Kapoor's granddaughter, Tisca.

Their meeting was set for eleven o'clock in the morning, but the detective arrived a few minutes early to peruse the noticeboard in reception. The lunch menu promised Toad in a Hole and Pinky Pudding. Three more names had been added to the list of membership applicants. And there was a new notification signed by Col. P. V. S. Gill (Ret.), pointing out that hard shoes were to be worn in the building at all times. RUBBER SOULS CAUSE SQUEEKING AND ANNOYANCE, it stated.

Wearing his nonsqueaking shoes, which he'd changed into before entering the club, Puri made his way to the front lawn. There he ordered tea and cucumber sandwiches and sat down at the most secluded table he could find-a good twelve feet from a gaggle of aunties talking in loud voices about how much money they'd made on the stock market.

At the far end of the lawn, a mali was cutting the grass with a manual mower drawn by a buffalo.

'Uncle, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have that much of time,' said Tisca Kapoor when she arrived, lowering herself into one of the cane chairs, which was barely wide enough to accommodate her wide girth. 'Pappu Uncle asked me to meet you, but he wasn't at all clear about what it's about.'

'Actually, my dear, I have come as a friend to discuss your proposed marriage,' said Puri.

Tisca Kapoor rolled her eyes. 'That's what I was afraid of,' she said. 'You've been asked by Brigadier dada-ji to talk some sense into me, no? Well you might as well save your breath, Uncle. Quite a number of aunties and uncles have tried before you. I love my grandpa very much and he's a national hero and all, but I've made my choice and I have my parents' blessing. That should be enough. Buss .'

'I'm asking for a few minutes of your time only,' said the detective. 'You are quite correct. Your grandfather asked me to look into this matter and, during my investigation, I've come across certain information. This information is of a most highly delicate nature, to say the least. I'm in no doubt-no doubt at all, actually-that if your grandfather came to know what I'm now knowing, the wedding would be most certainly getting over in a jiffy. That is why I have come to you first. So, please do me the courtesy of answering a few questions. I have your best interests at heart, actually.'

'You're a private detective, is it-a kind of Indian Sherlock Holmes?' asked Tisca Kapoor.

'Sherlock Holmes was fictitious, but I am very much real,' answered Puri. 'Yes, I am a private detective. The best in India, actually, as many important personages will attest. They'll also tell you I am a man of great discretion.'

He poured them both some tea.

'Now, tell me how came you to know Mr. Mahinder Gupta?'

Tisca Kapoor hesitated and then said with a sigh, 'We studied together-him and me.'

'At Delhi University, correct?'

'I see you've done your homework, Uncle.'