‘You are an observant man, Father,’ Athreya commented. ‘I am hoping you would recognize this too.’
He pulled out his mobile phone and showed the priest the photograph of the dagger they had recovered from the stream. After gazing at it for long moment, Father Tobias shook his head.
‘No ... what an evil thing it is. Is it the murder weapon?’
‘Yes.’ A disappointed Athreya pocketed his mobile phone and closed the shoebox. ‘Thank you, Father.’
‘I will come to the estate after the Sunday morning service tomorrow,’ Father Tobias said, turning to Dora and blinking rapidly. ‘If there is anything I can do to ease the pain, I will be delighted to do it. And we must hold a service for poor Phillip.’
‘If you could let me know when you wish to come, Father,’ Dora said, ‘Manu or I will come and pick you up.’
‘Thank you, my child. Meanwhile, if you need me there at any time, do tell me. I will come immediately. Please ask your uncle when he would like to hold a memorial service.’
Back at Greybrooke Manor, Athreya strolled through the dining room into the kitchen, where dinner was being prepared. He complimented the cook and her helping girls on the previous night’s excellent dinner. Having missed lunch, he sat down and snacked on some of the dishes Bhuvana was preparing for dinner.
As he munched on, he struck up a casual conversation, which Bhuvana and her girls were more than willing to participate in. They had heard about his interviewing the others, and showed an unholy interest in anything he had to say.
It turned out that one of the girls had heard the whir of the wheelchair sometime at night, but was unable to pinpoint the time. Murugan, who was also in the kitchen, dismissed it as a combination of fertile imagination and morbid curiosity.
‘Sebastian tells me that the front door had been kept unlocked last night,’ Athreya said to Murugan. ‘Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir. Those were Mr Fernandez’s instructions. Guests were to be completely free to come and go as they pleased.’
‘I see that you keep the doors in good condition. The bolts of the front door are lubricated with just the right amount of oil. Not too much, not too little.’
‘Yes, sir,’ a pleased Murugan nodded. ‘The house has many old teak doors. They need to be taken care of properly. That’s why I don’t let anyone else attend to them.’
‘I noticed that all the doors here are mostly noiseless. My bedroom door too.’
‘Mr Fernandez is a light sleeper, sir. Creaking doors wake him up, especially after that horrible break-in we had. I make sure that none of the doors or windows in the house make noise.’
‘The chapel too?’
‘No, sir. It doesn’t matter if the chapel doors creak. In fact, you have to struggle with one of the side doors to open it. If I hear a creak, I know that someone is there.’
‘Did you hear a creak last night?’
Murugan was stumped. He stopped what he was doing and stared unseeingly across the kitchen. The girls watched him wide-eyed.
‘No, sir,’ Murugan said at length. ‘I didn’t hear the door creak.’ He swept the kitchen with his imperious gaze and barked in Tamil, ‘Did any one of you hear the chapel door make noise?’
All the staff in the kitchen shook their heads, including Gopal and another boy who was cleaning the grinder.
‘Where do you keep the oil dispenser?’ Athreya asked, studying a piece of cauliflower Manchurian appreciatively.
‘There, sir.’
Murugan pointed to an open cupboard near the back door of the kitchen, where a number of tools were neatly arranged. Athreya ambled over to it and picked up a small plastic oil dispenser with a round body and a long, slender snout. Oil had spilled out, and had made the surface of the dispenser greasy. It had also left a ring of oil on the shelf. He touched the oil with the tip with his finger and smelled it. It smelled the same as the oil on the chapel door’s hinges.
Murugan hissed when he saw that the dispenser was greasy. He strode up with a piece of cloth and offered it to Athreya.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I always wipe it after the work is done. Not everyone does that,’ he said, shooting Gopal a dark look.
‘Not me, sir,’ Gopal yelped. ‘I didn’t use it.’
‘Then who did?’ Murugan demanded when the other boy also shook his head. ‘None of the girls are allowed to touch the tools. And I wiped it the day before yesterday after I oiled the front door.’
‘I don’t know, sir. Honest!’
‘Leave the poor boy alone,’ Bhuvana called from her stove, furiously stirring the contents of a large vessel. ‘He didn’t do anything. That oil dispenser was borrowed yesterday.’
‘Borrowed?’ Murugan asked, turning around. ‘By whom?’
‘Richie.’
From the kitchen, Athreya went in search of Bhaskar and found him in the library, reading a collection of short stories from the nineteenth century. He looked haggard and pale in his unmotorized wheelchair as he looked up from his book.
‘Come, Mr Athreya,’ he said and closed the book after inserting a bookmark into it. ‘I had hoped that we would meet in this library under pleasanter circumstances to chat about this treasure trove I have here.’
He waved his arm, gesturing to the tall bookshelves covering the walls of the library.
‘We still can,’ Athreya replied. ‘After this affair is resolved.’
‘I certainly hope so. But your visit to Greybrooke Manor is already serving another purpose, notwithstanding that oaf of an inspector. I must apologize for his behaviour–’
‘There is no need for you to apologize, Mr Fernandez.’
‘He was pretty nasty the last time around too,’ Bhaskar went on as if Athreya hadn’t spoken. ‘The time when the intruder broke in and tried to kill me.’
‘That was what I wanted to speak to you about,’ Athreya cut in, seizing the chance. ‘Manu tells me that the dagger we found in the stream may
