Barbara Cleverly (14 page)

Neatly, Charlie Carter flicked a cigarette end over the verandah railing. Joe watched it sail in a graceful parabola on to the corrugated iron roof below where it exploded in a flash of sparks. ‘Are you thinking, I wonder, what I’m thinking? That we might go and lean a little bit on the charming Mr Troop?’

‘Yes, exactly that. Got anything better to do? Big Red can wait for another day, can he?’

‘No time like the present, I’d say! I’ll detail a couple of officers discreetly to accompany us but I’m not expecting a shoot-out. I’ll just write a note to Meg before we go. Tell her we’re going to Madame Flora’s establishment and she’s not to sit up for us. Should be home for breakfast.’

He bustled about making his arrangements.

‘Perhaps I should write a note for Sir George,’ said Joe. ‘How did it go?

Going to Madame Flora’s

Don’t sit up

Be back for breakfast.’

They set off together to walk down to the town with two silent Sikh policemen padding behind.

Ť ^ ť

I don’t think we can plan this interview,’ said Joe. ‘It so very much depends on the reaction. But you do realize, I’m sure, that we’ve got very little we can hang on Troop. I plan to play it very informally. Agree? Perhaps he’ll be overawed by the police talent?’

‘If I know anything about Edgar Troop he wouldn’t be overawed by a squadron of Household Cavalry,’ said Charlie dubiously.

Joe wondered as they approached Madame Flora’s establishment what to expect. A tinkle of music from a honky-tonk piano? A palm court orchestra discoursing a little Offenbach? A row of black-stockinged legs kicking up an array of multi-layered petticoats?

They turned off the Mall where the street lamps had now clicked on and the brilliantly lit shop windows offered even more temptations than in the daylight. The façade of Madame Flora’s, in comparison, was hardly lit at all, beyond a lamp above the front door. In the dusk Joe observed two massive chaprassis, turbaned, silent and watchful. With Joe and Carter’s appearance they seemed inclined to dispute the way, moving discreetly together across the door.

‘Just explain,’ said Joe, ‘that we’ve only come to buy a bowl of early crocuses.’

But the guardians recognized Charlie and, as discreetly, stood aside and following an unseen signal the door opened from within.

Within the entrance a figure in European dress rose from behind a desk and in heavily accented English gave them a smiling greeting. The accent? French? Joe wondered. Italian perhaps? He wasn’t sure.

‘Good evening, gentlemen. If you’d like to wait here

I’d be very pleased to bring you a drink if you’ll say what would be your preference. We’re not busy tonight. You shouldn’t have to wait at all.’

Charlie Carter cut him short. ‘Would you tell Mr Troop that we’re here? Police Superintendent Carter and Commander Sandilands.’

Before there could be a reply a booming voice was heard from the balcony above. ‘Charlie! An unexpected pleasure! And Commander Sandilands?’

Joe became aware of a large figure in a white suit, a purple cummerbund, a pair of black and white co-respondent shoes, a cigar burning in his hand.

‘Stay where you are – I’ll come down.’

As he descended the stairs he glanced out through a small window, observing the two silent policemen outside. ‘Not entirely a social call, I see? None the less welcome for all that. Come through to the office and we’ll have a small drink. Perhaps we’ll have a large drink?’

He spoke to the receptionist.

The office to which he led them might have been something out of the Arabian Nights Entertainment. A difficult room to sit in with dignity, they both found, since they were offered nothing more formal than divans and cushions. As they entered the room a further door opened and closed, admitting briefly the tinkle of Indian music from the back premises.

Almost before they had sat down, following a discreet knock on the door a bottle of champagne appeared on a tray with three glasses.

‘Now,’ said Edgar Troop, ‘I’d like to know the nature of this visit so I’m hoping you’re going to accept a drink.’ Troop turned confidentially to Joe. ‘I don’t know, Commander, how familiar you are with Indian ways – rather different here from Scotland Yard I dare say. It’s impossible to go anywhere, do anything or call on anybody without being offered a dish of sweets and this establishment, although European, is no exception.’

As he spoke the door opened and a slender figure in a pink sari entered, a silver tray in her hand. A second figure in a green sari followed. Both girls, Joe estimated, were in their late teens, both tinkled with cheap jewellery, but where one had the wheaten pallor of a Eurasian, the other was ebony black. They deposited the tray on a low table and in a pose of theatrical submission, hands folded, eyes downcast, they stood by the door for an embarrassing moment until Edgar Troop with a wide gesture of a large hairy hand waved them away. With repeated salaams they backed away through the door.

‘You’re sure,’ said Edgar Troop, ‘there’s nothing more with which I can provide you?’

He looked from one to the other, very much at ease, his eyes wreathed in smiles and said again, ‘Anything with which I can provide you?’

‘Information,’ said Carter coldly.

Troop looked genially from one to the other. ‘Ask your questions and if I can I’ll supply the answers.’

‘A simple question,’ said Carter. ‘What were you doing yesterday afternoon, let us say between noon and four o’clock in the afternoon?’

Troop appeared to relax. ‘Easy,’ he said. ‘I left here at about twelve and I had tiffin with Johnny Bristow and Jackie Carlisle. Bertie Hearn-Robinson was there too for a while. Oh, and Reggie Sharpe but he had to leave to go to Annandale.’

‘Where do your friends live?’

‘Well, I don’t suppose I have to tell the omniscient police but they – Johnny, Jackie and Bertie – share that large house on Mount Pleasant – the corner house, just past the Cecil Hotel. They’re living in a chummery.’

‘And they would be able to confirm this?’

‘Yes, of course they would.’

‘And you got there just after twelve?’

‘Say ten past.’

‘Was this a long-made arrangement?’

‘No. It wasn’t an arrangement at all. Just went round to see what they were all up to. Planning to have a game of snooker, to tell you the truth.’ And, turning to Joe, ‘Do you play snooker? Have you ever played snooker? It’s all the rage here. Billiard game, you know.’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ said Joe.

‘We should play sometime.’

‘So,’ said Charlie Carter, ‘you were planning to play snooker though you seem to suggest that you didn’t in fact do so?’

‘That’s quite true. When it came to the point, it was such a lovely day we thought we’d go for a drive. Jackie had got a new car and wanted to show it off to us so that’s what we did.’

‘Four of you?’

‘No, as I said, Bertie stayed for tiffin but then had to go and do something else. Working man, you know. Reggie was due up at Annandale to look over some nag on the racecourse so we drove him up there and dropped him off then Johnny and Jackie and I went on up into the hills as far as the road was decent. We took the Mashobra road.’

‘And when did you return?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. About three, I should say.’

‘And then what happened?’

Joe had listened to Carter’s level questions and sat in silence examining the room. The pictures on the wall were in the Mogul erotic tradition of centuries, that is to say bejewelled and moustachioed rajahs expressionlessly penetrated scantily silk-clad and large-eyed maidens whose thoughts, by some trick of the painting, seemed to be miles away. They seemed indifferent to the convolute and anatomically improbable positions in which they found themselves. There were though, Joe noted, some beautiful rugs on the floor, some good Tibetan cushions and a particularly fine brass hanging lamp. ‘Come through to my office,’ Edgar Troop had said. But whatever else this apartment might be it was no office.

Edgar Troop lounged amongst the cushions and Joe surveyed him. He was tall, nearly as tall as Joe himself, and must once have had brutish good looks. Mottled face and vinous nose hinted at the reason for his slide from peak physical perfection, Joe thought. His gaping shirt revealed a hairy chest, the top button of his trousers was undone and his braces strained over his shoulders like straps over a trunk.

Charlie Carter’s insistent questions flowed on. ‘And then what happened?’ he repeated.

Before replying, Edgar Troop refilled his glass. ‘Have another bottle, shall we?’ he asked, looking from Joe to Charlie and back again. Both shook their heads. ‘I get so dry,’ said Troop apologetically. ‘My doctor’s always telling me to keep up the fluids and I do my best. But you were asking

?’

‘What happened then?’

‘Well, Johnny and I settled down to our belated game of snooker while Jackie stayed to play with his car. We had three frames – if I thought a bit I might even be able to tell you the score. Johnny won the first two and I won the third. I think. That’s just about our average form. I think I got back here at about five o’clock.’

‘So during the afternoon from midday until about five there was no time when you were not in the presence of others?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And all will be prepared to bear you out?’

‘I see no reason why not. But now – I’ve been very patient. I’m not accustomed to being grilled in my own office and more or less in the presence of my staff. I think I’m entitled to ask what the hell is all this about? Presumably you’re investigating the death of the unfortunate Russkie? Now what on earth motive could I have? Just answer me that because I’m getting rather fed up with this.’

Charlie Carter ignored the question. ‘Tell me, Mr Troop,’ he said, ‘do you own a .303 rifle?’

The question seemed briefly to disconcert Edgar Troop but he rallied smoothly. ‘As a matter of fact I own two .303 rifles. One is a German sporting rifle and one a British Army Short Lee-Enfield, mark three.’

‘Would you lend them to us?’

‘Lend them? To you? Well, I suppose so,’ said Troop. ‘But I can’t imagine why you’d want to borrow them. I do hire out sporting equipment, you know, to tourists – would-be shikari. Be glad to hire them out to you for the afternoon. If you really want them.’

‘If we were truly investigating the death of Feodor Korsovsky,’ said Charlie placidly, ‘and if we were seriously wondering whether it could have been any concern of yours, the first thing I would do (and I have made arrangements to do so) would be to extract the bullet from wherever it lodged, fire a practice round from each of your muskets and forensically examine the bullet. It can be as useful as a fingerprint.’

‘Well, let me know when you’d like to do that. And in the meantime, I hope you’ll excuse me but at this time of night I’m usually as they say in the theatre “front of house”.’

Subconsciously Joe had become aware of noises drifting through from the entrance, roars of hearty and European laughter, the angry, chiding voice of an Indian woman, a drift of drunken song and the scamper of light feet up and down the stairs and round the balcony.

Edgar Troop rose to his feet. ‘You must excuse me,’ he said. ‘Now come out this way. You really don’t want to go back through the entrance. Never know who you might meet! Senior officers sometimes feel the urge to buy a bunch of flowers at this time of night and we pride ourselves on the discretion of our service. Go with Claudio – he’ll let you out the back. And I’ll bid you both farewell. Let me know when you want to pop off a few guns.’

He clapped his hands and the elegant European youth appeared at once. Troop gave a mocking salute and made towards the door. He was halted by Claudio who murmured, ‘Excuse me, sir, I have a message for these gentlemen.’

‘A message? For these gentlemen?’ said Troop in surprise. ‘Who from? Does anyone know you were coming here?’

Claudio smiled a discreet smile. ‘The message is from madame. From Madame Flora, that is.’

Troop looked resentfully up. ‘Now what on earth

? But what was the message?’

‘Only to ask if the gentlemen would favour her with a visit before they left.’

Charlie Carter looked a question.

‘Certainly,’ said Joe. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world! Probably all in the night’s work for you but I’m mesmerized by the veiled hints of oriental promise.’

‘Well,’ said Troop, ‘if you’re going, you’d better go. We’ve got out of the habit of keeping Flora waiting. Claudio will show you the way.’

He hurried off.

Another woman whose will will be done, thought Joe with vivid memories of the skill with which Alice had kept him at arm’s length.

Claudio indicated that they should follow him. As Joe scrambled to his feet he gave a small exclamation of surprise. He leaned forward and picked something up from the floor. Handing the object to Claudio he said casually, ‘Captain Troop dropped this, would you hand it back to him?’

Claudio held out his hand, looked disdainfully at the packet of Black Cat cigarettes and gave it back to Joe. ‘I’m sorry, sir, you are mistaken. Captain Troop smokes only cigars. The best cigars. Perhaps your friend

?’

‘Oh, yes, quite. Mine, I’m afraid,’ said Carter and pocketed the cigarettes.

They were led down a corridor and along a raised internal verandah from where they glimpsed below them a vividly green indoor garden. The tinkling of a fountain drew Joe irresistibly over to the fretted balustrade. Small flowering trees were growing in carefully arranged profusion, lamps had been lit beneath each and the effect in the warm dusk was magical. The heat of the day was still rising from the earth of this south-facing slope and though a mountain chill would soon take its place, for this moment Joe thought he was peering down into paradise. An impression reinforced by the presence of girls sitting in twos and threes on cushions, laughing and chattering. Joe had a glancing impression of bright silks, dark eyes raised invitingly to his, white teeth and fluttering hands. The scent of strange flowers mixed with a trace of something more elusive – hashish? – rose teasingly to his nostrils as he leaned over.