‘You would not find him there,’ said Ajit.

‘No indeed. No one had seen him apparently. They had no idea where he might have gone. I wonder if you have any idea, Ajit, of his present whereabouts?’

‘Oh, yes,’ was the laconic reply. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t ask.’

Joe waited, an enquiring smile on his lips. The smile faded at the finality of Ajit Singh’s next pronouncement.

‘Gone to Delhi!’

Chapter Fifteen

Joe was relieved to be tugged by the sleeve at this moment and to hear Edgar’s apologetic voice: ‘Sorry to break up this coppers’ convention, Ajit, old man,’ he said affably, ‘but Sandilands is much in demand this morning and is half-way through his calling list. Will you excuse us?’

Joe added his own excuses and followed Edgar from the room. ‘Well, thanks for rescuing me from the Inquisition, Edgar! What a formidable man! I hope he never decides he wants to speak to me in his professional capacity!’

‘Good bloke, Ajit. In his way. Keeps control. Does what Udai wants done and does it without fuss. Brave feller too – much decorated, I understand, in the war. Still – I know what you mean. Don’t go annoying him, Joe. I wouldn’t like to have to spring you from one of his dungeons. I don’t forget I was once on the receiving end of his policing methods.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind. And now – in pursuit of something positive to report back – perhaps you could put me in touch with Sir Hector who is somewhere about in this warren. He asked if he might see me this morning. There’s still a bit of the morning remaining.’

Edgar grunted, ‘Well, you’d better make it quick. I have to pass on to you an invitation to take tiffin with the Vyvyans. Lois told me to bid you to present yourself at the Residence at twelve thirty sharp. She can’t abide lounge lizards, so smarten yourself up, try to look a bit military if you can remember how that’s done and be punctual. I’ll summon Govind to take you there. Now, follow me,’ he said and walked ahead.

Some minutes later they had arrived again in the New Palace and Edgar knocked at the door of a suite which appeared to be the twin of Joe’s own. The old physician opened the door at once and welcomed Joe. Edgar made his excuses and left them together. While Sir Hector bumbled off to a sideboard to pour out a whisky-soda Joe cast an eye quickly around the rooms. He was intrigued to see how the doctor had arranged the accommodation to suit himself. The bed and chairs had been swept into the smaller of the two living rooms and the larger now looked like a combination of library and consulting room. Benches were stacked with files and cases of instruments, a brass microscope with black japanned base and bearing the label ‘Zeiss. Jena’ stood at the ready. There was even a large table in the centre of the room on which a patient, or a corpse perhaps, could have been accommodated. Piles of fresh white linen and rows of glass pill bottles gave the room a reassuringly efficient air.

‘Do you have help here?’ asked Joe. ‘You seem to be running a small hospital . . .’

‘As a matter of fact, I do have help,’ said Sir Hector. ‘I’ve got a squad of young chaps I’m training up. They’re very good. Wasn’t easy to recruit them though at first. They have their own system out here, you know. Ayurvedic medicine it’s called. Leaves, herbs, roots and so on. I’m afraid the court physician wasn’t very pleased to see me coming over the horizon, but there you are – the ruler is very Western in some of his ways. He called me in too late though. And the deaths of his two sons have sapped his will to live, you’d say. Terrible setback for any parent, lethal for a chap who’s got weeks to live. To be frank, I’ve been alarmed at the rate at which he’s sunk since his sons started dropping off the twig. Bound to drag you down, disasters like that – so unnatural for one’s sons to die before one. Many of us learned that sad lesson in the war, don’t you know . . .’ His voice trailed away.

‘Is there nothing you can do, sir?’

‘Nothing. Painkillers when necessary but even that’s superfluous – they have their own local supplies, as you’ll be aware. In fact his Ayurvedic remedies may well prove to be the most efficacious when it comes to these last stages.’ He frowned and went on, ‘I’m trying to learn what it’s all about and I have to say it’s not all the mumbo-jumbo you might expect. Oh, no. I’ve seen some quite remarkable things . . . The ruler keeps a potion about the place at all times and when he feels he’s in extremis he’ll swallow it.’

‘Kill himself, do you mean?’ Joe was alarmed.

‘No, no.’ Sir Hector shook his head and smiled. ‘Quite the reverse. It’s something called hiranya garbha. It’s a blend of pure gold – yes, the metal – goodness knows what the process might be for melting it down and making it digestible! – and ginger and other reviving herbs. If you take it on your deathbed, it’s reputed to bring you round sufficiently to enable you to talk. Been used – you can imagine the circumstances! – to elicit a last-gasp answer to urgent questions of the “Where did you hide the key of the treasure house, bapuji?” type. I will observe its effects with interest, should the occasion arise. Might even write a paper on it . . . But it’s not the ruler’s demise I wanted to talk to you about,’ he finished hesitantly.

Joe sipped his whisky and waited.

‘The deaths of the two sons have concerned me. Well, of course, they’ve concerned everyone. And from your presence amongst us, Sandilands, I’d guess that the powers that be are troubled also. Is that right?’

Joe nodded. ‘Yes, indeed, sir. And we were wondering whether you had any information regarding the deaths, any medical information perhaps, that might help us to understand the circumstances?’

‘Difficult. Hindus don’t go in for post-mortems, you know. I wouldn’t have been expected to carry one out on the princes and, after all, the cause of the deaths was very clear in each case. But in the case of the elder prince – Bishan, wasn’t it? – the ruler actually asked me to inspect the body. Not the regular carve up, you understand, more a snoop around to give him the specific information he wanted.’

‘Which was . . .?’

‘Quite simply – did the boy suffer? That’s all.’

‘A reasonable request from a father?’ suggested Joe.

‘Yes, of course. A natural need to know. But it was the answer to the question that intrigued me.’

Sir Hector nodded towards the central table. ‘Had the body brought here before we gave it over to the bai-bands. You know the circumstances of the death?’

Joe nodded. ‘Savaged by a wild panther, I hear?’

‘In a nutshell, yes. The body was a mess, as you can imagine. The flesh was shredded, one arm torn off . . . the beast must have been hungry – it had started to eat him. But, you’re a hunter, perhaps you are aware that a panther kills cleanly? One blow would have been enough to finish him off and I think I identified the lethal blow. To the throat. Where you’d expect it. The subsequent mangling looked dramatically hideous but practically all the wounds occurred after the poor chap was already dead.’

‘So the answer to Udai Singh’s question would be that his son did not suffer an unduly horrifying or protracted death?’

‘That’s so. But there’s something else. Difficult to tell with the destruction of tissue but there were signs that he’d taken a stiff dose of opium: pinpoint pupils, discoloration of the tongue. Now, Bishan wasn’t a complete fool. He took opium every morning, many Rajputs do – it’s hardly significant to them. Of as much note as this whisky we’re both enjoying.’ He waved his glass at Joe and offered to refill it. ‘It fortifies them for the day. But it doesn’t make them blind and deaf. On a normal day there’s no way Bishan would have failed to notice that the beast’s jaws were not sewn up and it still had its claws.’