Something stirred at the back of Athreya’s mind. Bhaskar’s description had reminded him of something he had heard recently. Very recently.
‘But we kept the description of the intruder a secret. Muthu’s boss—the assistant commissioner of police—had said that there was a known offender of that description who prowled across Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. Once every few months, he said, he was seen in these parts. They would apprehend him the next time they came across him. They wanted to question him on one or two other matters too. It was best not to put him on his guard by letting his description out.’
‘The ACP also said that this offender had a nickname,’ Sebastian added. ‘I don’t remember what it was.’
‘Mongrel,’ Bhaskar filled in. ‘He is known as the mongrel.’
The penny dropped in Athreya’s mind—that was the term Mrs Carvallo had used. She had said that someone had overheard Phillip call someone a mongrel.
Before he could voice his thought, the library door flew open and Inspector Muthu walked in. He seemed pleased with himself, and was bursting to share some news.
‘Guess whom we found at the Misty Valley Resort?’ he asked. ‘The mongrel! He was hanging around with Ismail, one of the resort staff.’ His face split into a wide grin as he regarded Bhaskar and Sebastian. ‘And you know what? His left thigh has a recent bullet wound.’
‘Who is this mongrel, Inspector?’ Athreya asked.
‘He is many things, sir.’ Athreya noticed the change in how the inspector was addressing him. ‘We don’t have proof to nail him, but we know that he is a thief. And, more importantly, he is a blade for hire.’
‘Then,’ Sebastian said his eyes ablaze with fury, ‘anyone could have hired him to kill Mr. Fernandez. Anyone.’
* * *
Meanwhile, as Athreya was talking to Bhaskar, Dora had gone to the service area adjoining the kitchen to carry out the assignment Athreya had given her. This was the time when a lot of the ironing would be done. While the cook and her girls were busy preparing dinner in the kitchen, the boys would be busy ironing clothes in the service area. A perfect time to do a little snooping.
She sauntered into the kitchen as she often did, and began chatting with the staff. She was very well liked by them, and they took the liberty to joke with her in a way they did with none of the other residents.
As she chatted with them, she found her way to the service area where two boys were ironing clothes. They had just begun and were indulging in small talk to lighten their chore. She joined in as they talked about daggers in general and the one they had retrieved from the stream in particular. One of them was talking about how tribals around his village made their own weapons for hunting, including daggers, bows and arrows.
Keeping up the banter, Dora went through the heap of un-ironed clothes, looking for something made of thickish dark-blue cloth. She found three candidates, and picked up each of them in turn and held them up to study the fabric.
Unsure, she dropped them and sauntered away, pushing her hands into her pockets. From her left pocket, she pulled out the scrap of cloth Athreya had given her and studied it. She put it back in her pocket and ambled back to the pile of clothes. Athreya had told her to identify the apparel from which it had been torn, but not why. Nor had he told her where he had found the scrap of cloth.
She then reexamined the three pieces that were dark blue in colour. One of them, a shirt, was made of cloth that was much thinner than the scrap. She discarded it.
The second was a pair of trousers made of a thick material, but seemed to be cotton or linen, and it lacked gloss. The scrap she had in her pocket was clearly synthetic.
The third turned out to be the one closest to what she was looking for. But by this time, Bhuvana was looking at her suspiciously. There was no point in being surreptitious any longer. Boldness was the only way forward.
‘Hey, this is a nice piece,’ she exclaimed and picked up the garment. ‘I haven’t seen one like this in a while.’
It turned out to be a night gown with embroidery at the hem and the lapels. It was indeed a striking gown. As she held it up, she noticed a tear about a foot and a half from the hem. It was an inch-long rip, into which the scrap in her pocket would have fitted well.
‘Whose is it?’ she asked casually.
‘Don’t know,’ one of the ironing boys said. ‘Look at the room number mentioned in the tag. Here, show it to me.’
He straightened the tag attached to one of the buttonholes and peered at it.
‘Room number three,’ he said presently, and began to iron the nightgown.
‘Three?’ Dora repeated. ‘Can’t be. That’s the room Phillip was staying in.’
‘Not upstairs, Dora,’ Bhuvana said, still eyeing her.
‘Room number three in the annex.’
Dora was about to ask who was occupying the room, when she decided against it. That was a piece of information she could easily obtain, and Bhuvana was looking at her more and more doubtfully.
Dora seemed to lose interest in the dark-blue night gown and shifted the conversation to what was being prepared for dinner. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the kitchen.
* * *
Athreya hurried out of the library and into the drawing room, where the other residents were to gather before dinner. There, he buttonholed Ganesh and strolled out through one of the French windows with him and Jilsy.
‘You had an altercation with
