Joe handed him his card. ‘Not on official duty, you understand, Robertson. Purely personal and unprofessional.’ He leaned forward and said confidingly, ‘Couldn’t help noticing as I passed your window that wonderful string of pearls. Just what my, er…’ He managed a slight stammer and felt that the gloom did not do justice to his blush. ‘Well, anyway, it’s a lovely piece and might just do the trick, if you follow me… eh?’

Robertson smiled and listened.

‘Well, to be blunt, how much are you valuing it at?’

‘That rope would be worth a thousand rupees, Commander. It is, as you have obviously noticed, very fine. The pearls are exceptional – large and unflawed – and they are well matched. Would you like to handle it?’ He smiled. ‘I warn you that once you have it in your hands and feel the silkiness and weight of the pearls you will be unwilling to let it go.’

Joe shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but a thousand rupees, that’s too steep for a London policeman like me! Ah, well,’ he sighed, ‘it will have to be chocolates again or perhaps a bouquet of Madame Flora’s best.’

He looked closely at the man’s face, watching for any change of expression when he heard the name of a client whose neck was adorned by the twin of this necklace. But he was disappointed. The man remained unflinchingly bland and polite.

Joe said goodbye, adding his regrets, and the boy assistant showed him to the door. For a moment Joe stood on the pavement looking again at the necklace. He was remembering not only the pearls around Flora’s neck but also the matching pearl and diamond ear-rings.

At that moment he would have given much to turn out Madame Flora’s jewel box.

He counted to ten and then swept back into the shop.

Robertson was still behind the counter giving instructions to the boy. He looked up in surprise at Joe’s abrupt reappearance and obvious change in demeanour.

‘One question,’ said Joe. ‘This is police business and I require an instant and truthful reply. Who, in Simla, is your best customer? And by that I mean the one who spends the largest sums of money with you – who would that be?’

‘Mrs Sharpe,’ he said without taking time to reflect. ‘Alice Conyers-Sharpe. ’

Chapter Thirteen

«^»

Eager to tell Carter about his foray into the world of fashion and his incursion into the jeweller’s shop, Joe hurried along to the police station where he was greeted by smart salutes and wide smiles. A brisk order was called out for tea to be brought and he was shown into Carter’s office.

‘Ah, Joe! Glad you’ve surfaced at last! Had word from Simpson. He’s on the early train and will be with us about midday. I can see you’ve been up to something. Your trouble is that, for an experienced bobby, you are sadly impressionable! Can it be Marie-Jeanne Pitiot who’s stirred you to such a pitch of excitement?’

Joe went carefully through his interview with Mademoiselle Pitiot, saying at last, ‘So it looks as though we’ve got yet another obliging, communicative, “do let me know if there’s anything further I can do to help” woman with a solid alibi on the scene. I begin to get a bit suspicious when all the suspects are falling over themselves to be helpful. Tell you what though, Charlie, I have met someone who made my nose twitch! Anything known – and by that I mean to his discredit, of course – about a Cecil Robertson, jeweller of this town? Cecil Robertson! Such a likely name!’

‘Well, for a start, that actually is his name! Scottish father, Persian mother. Not a bad pedigree if you think about it for someone who makes a lot of money out of trading in gems. I keep an eye on him. All that valuable property in small parcels, cash washing about the place, opportunities unrivalled for smuggling and goodness knows what else. As far as I can see there’s never been a whiff of suspicion that his business is not entirely above board. His clients include the highest in the land. And, if you’ve seen his shop, you’ll understand why! It’s not Cartier’s, it’s not Asprey’s – it’s more Aladdin’s Cave and every bit as irresistible! Not only for buying but for selling – or even pawning as well. Expensive place, Simla. Temporary financial embarrassment not unknown and Cecil Robertson’s your man!’

‘And do you know who is his best customer? I asked him and, without any hesitation, he said – Alice Sharpe. Does that surprise you?’

Carter was silent for a moment, nonplussed. ‘Yes, it does,’ he said finally. ‘I suppose in a way it ought not to because she is, after all, extremely rich but she is not at all showy. She always wears simple frocks and if I were trying to think of a particularly fine piece of jewellery that I’ve seen her wearing, do you know – I don’t think I could mention one! I suppose she does wear the stuff – viceregal balls and that sort of thing – but you’ll have to ask Meg for details. It’s certainly escaped my attention.’

‘Whereas Madame Flora flaunts her ill-gotten gains for all to see.’

‘Not all. Only clients remember. Seems a bit unfair to waste all that beauty on the lower degrees and the dissolute of the town,’ Carter sighed.

A police havildar slipped into the room and gestured towards the window.

‘Ah, that’ll be him! Our man Simpson!’ said Carter, jumping up and going to look out. Joe joined him and they watched as a tonga drew up and a tall man, slim and with a scholarly stoop, got uncertainly out. He was wearing a well-cut brown linen suit, white shirt with a regimental tie and a panama hat. He leaned heavily on a stick and his eyes were concealed behind dark glasses. A waiting policeman greeted him and ushered him swiftly into the station.

Carter went to the door and flung it open. ‘Simpson? Captain Colin Simpson?’ he said cheerfully. ‘Come in, sir. Come in. We’re delighted to see you. So very good of you to come! This is Commander Joe Sandilands of Scotland Yard who’s on secondment in India at the moment. I mentioned him when we spoke on the telephone. Char! Jildi!’

Carter drew forward a chair and Simpson limped his way to it and settled down. ‘It’s all right, Captain, I’m not blind,’ he said in a firm, cheerful voice. ‘But I think you’ll understand why I wear these when I take them off.’

He took his dark glasses off for a moment and then replaced them at once. Joe and Carter just had time to register a right eye, brown and alert but surrounded by thick scar tissue, and a shockingly empty left eye socket. ‘Apt to frighten the horses to say nothing of the memsahibs, so I keep them covered up. Souvenir of Ypres. The limp’s one hundred per cent genuine.’

‘Ah, yes, well, thank you for explaining that, Simpson,’ said Carter. ‘And we’re very grateful you could get up here to speak to us with such speed. We don’t have much to spare but you must let us pay your expenses – indeed, I insist.’

‘Thank you but I was very anxious to come. I dropped quite a few things I ought not to have dropped and there’ll be hell to pay when I get back but what you had to say rang a bell with me. Something I’ve been bottling up for years, you know, always intending to make a clean breast of it, and then realizing that nobody is in the least bit interested in what I have to say – can you imagine?’

‘The Beaune railway disaster?’ said Joe. ‘It’s somewhat peripheral to our enquiries, I’m afraid, so I hope you won’t think you’ve wasted your time coming all this way to talk to a couple of strangers about something that might, in the end, have no relevance to our case.’

‘Look here,’ said Simpson earnestly, ‘I’ve waited three years to talk to someone about the crash. It almost doesn’t matter what you decide is the relevance of what I have to say… I just need to say it… get it out in the open… and that’s what I’ve come for.’

Carter sat back in his chair, leaving Joe to continue the conversation. ‘Very well, and that’s good to hear. Let me start by outlining our area of interest and then perhaps you could just fill in with information as you feel able to do so? This isn’t an official interrogation or anything like that – just look on it as three chaps who are trying to tug on loose ends of a puzzle until one end pulls free.