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Since none of the other ground floor rooms were open yet, Malcolm Priestly decided to conduct the first interview in the main meeting room itself. Nirad Shah was the first to arrive at the club. A short, thin man, he cut a sympathetic figure in front of the investigators. Just over five feet tall, the club manager seemed to almost disappear into the dark velvet cushion of his tall chair.
Prem Singh had difficulty believing that the man in front of him could have planned Colonel Hammond’s murder. But then he reminded himself that when it came to crime, the improbable was sometimes the norm.
“According to Inspector Atkins’s report,” Priestly said, beginning the interview, “you heard the bell ring and then found John Harrison standing over the body of Colonel Hammond. Where were you when you heard the sound of the bell? ”
“In the main dining room sir. I was preparing to talk to all the cooks about the preparations for the evening dinner.”
“Were the cooks already in the room?”
“No. I was still preparing the final list for the dinner menu.”
“Doesn’t the master chef decide the dinner menu?”
“Sometimes we get special requests from our members. We try our best to accommodate those as well. I take down those requests personally every day.”
“Did you hear the gunshot after the bell?”
Nirad Shah hesitated for a couple of seconds. “To be honest sir, I heard several gunshots.” He pointed to his right and in the direction of the rear garden. “The dining room is over there. I could hear all the gunshots from the duck shoot.”
“But did you hear any shots from the front garden or the veranda?”
“No sir. All gunshots were from the rear garden.”
“Why did you come into this room? Was there anything unusual about a member ringing the bell?”
“It’s very unusual. No one does it. That’s why I came to see who was ringing it.”
“Indeed? I’m told the bell is rung to call the members during lunch time. Who does it then?”
“I do sir. I ring it every day at exactly twelve noon. In fact, that’s what surprised me. Lunch was already over for the day.”
“So the club members never use the bell to call someone else?”
“Never. Also, there was something strange about it that day.....”
Everyone waited patiently for Nirad Shah to continue. He seemed to be deliberating something. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “It rang just once,” the manager finally explained. “Why would the colonel do that?”
“How many times do you ring during lunch time?” Prem Singh asked without looking up from his notebook.
“At least ten times. It’s a big building and there’s a lot of ground. If you want it heard properly everywhere, it has to be rung several times.”
Priestly suddenly turned around in his chair to look at the golden bell directly behind him. He then looked up at the ceiling for several seconds and then moved his eyes downwards. Without an explanation, he jumped up from the chair and walked over to the bell. Going down on his knees he peered up the inside of the bell. Since the rim of the bell was just two feet above the ground, Priestly had to bend down really low and twist at an awkward angle to look up inside.
“This bell has no gong inside,” Priestly said, his voice tinged with surprise. “How in the world do you ring this every day?”
“Using a hammer sir,” Nirad Shah explained. “In fact, that was also why I was surprised when I heard it ring that day. I thought someone had taken the hammer.”
“Where do you keep the hammer?”
“Inside the front reception desk.”
“Why don’t you keep it here in this room?” Priestly asked, getting up from the floor and returning to his chair. “Isn’t it easier?”
“We had trouble with some of the members’ children a couple of years ago. They started using it for fun. It became a real nuisance. So I keep it hidden away.”
“Is it still there?”
“Oh yes. I keep it locked inside and the key is usually with me at all times. It’s there along with the other keys I handed over to inspector Atkins.”
“I understand you also handed out all the rifles that day. May I ask who arranged the duck shoot? Is it the annual Christmas shoot at the club?”
“Oh no sir. It was arranged by Mister Alistair Hammond, the colonel’s son. He called me the evening before. He said he wanted to organise it for the next afternoon.”
“He called you the evening before December 11th?” David Atkins asked, slightly surprised. “Isn’t that rather short notice?”
“Not here sir,” Nirad Shah said with a faint smile. He now appeared to be slightly more at ease. “We get unusual requests from our members frequently. Also, a duck shoot is not particularly unusual at the Willingdon. There are usually four or five during the year.”
“Did Alistair Hammond give you a list of members to invite?”
“No. He asked me to invite anyone who was at the club that day. In fact, that’s why we had so few attendees. It was a week day. We’d have had more during the weekend. When I suggested that weekend, he said he wanted it the next day itself.”
“Did Alistair Hammond give a reason for this?”
“He said he had become engaged to a lady recently and he wanted to celebrate. He also said he wanted to introduce the lady to the other members that afternoon.”
Priestly’s next question was interrupted by the sound of a car braking near the main entrance. “That must be Edna Metcalf,” Atkins said, getting up from his chair. “She stays in Landour. I had sent the car to get her.”
“Could you please ask her to wait in the library?” Priestly requested Atkins. “I just want to make sure she remembers everything from that day.” Atkins nodded and left the room.
Priestly turned to Nirad Shah again. “Do you keep a written record of all the rifles you handed out?”
“No sir. There’s no need to do so.”
“Why not? Supposing one of them gets stolen?”
Nirad Shah did not seem particularly impressed by that question. “Why would anyone want to do that? All the rifles are donated to the club by the members themselves. Surely they would not want to steal their own rifles.”
“Do you know how many rifles have been donated to the club?”
“Oh yes, exactly twenty. We still have seven at this time,” he said looking at Atkins who had just entered the room again. “Inspector Atkins took the ones that were handed out that day.”
“All the guns including the one used by John Harrison?”
“That’s right. We have seven left here now.”
“Where are they kept?”
“In the basement, next to the wine cellar.”
Malcolm Priestly turned to Atkins. “I assume you have the keys to the basement. I’d like to see those rifles.”
Atkins took out a bunch of keys from his belt and got up from the chair. The group made their way to the basement via a smaller staircase next to the central one near the main reception. As he was about to descend, Prem Singh took a quick look around. That section of the club really was breathtaking. Every inch of the walls and ceiling seemed to be covered with a work of art. The biggest of this was the grand painting directly behind the main reception desk. It had clearly been placed there to impress the new visitor.
As befitting the stature of the Willingdon Club, the wine cellar was also an equally impressive affair. While Priestly was expecting a dark, cramped room with a low ceiling, he was taken aback by its cavernous size. Almost two storeys tall, it hosted hundreds of bottles and a dozen barrels containing the finest alcohol from around the world.
“The club has over two thousand permanent members,” Atkins explained, touching one of the barrels marked Glenfiddich. He walked to the end of the cellar and opened a small door to his right. Atkins and Nirad Shah stepped inside followed by Priestly and Prem Singh. As Atkins switched on the light, Nirad Shah bent down and dragged out two long rucksacks from underneath a wooden shelf. He untied the twine and opened both of them.
Immediately, Nirad Shah recoiled in surprise and bumped into Prem Singh behind him. “I don’t understand it,” he stammered. “There’s one rifle missing.”
Priestly seemed strangely detached even after this revelation. He bent over to look at the two rucksacks and then methodically looked around the room. “When did you last count them?” he asked.
“On the day of the shooting,” Nirad Shah replied, now looking very pale and haggard. “I counted them myself before taking thirteen upstairs.”
“So you did not take all of them upstairs at the same time?”
“It was not necessary. I had already taken count of the members who had come in that afternoon. Also, all interested members are required to register for any organised club activity.”
“You did not come back into this room after the colonel was killed?”
“No. I could not. When Inspector Atkins arrived, I handed over all the keys.”
“Are the rifles marked with the names of the donors or numbers?”
“No names or numbers. But some of them have the initials of their previous owners.”
“Just one more question,” Priestly said, looking at the door. “Did you lock this door when you went upstairs to distribute the rifles?”
“No. I usually leave it open until the rifles are returned.”
Priestly broke into a smile for the first time that morning. “Thank you, Mr. Shah,” he said, surprising David Atkins, who expected the questioning to continue. “We’ll detain you no longer. I assume you live in Mussoorie itself.”
“Near the club at the YMCA along with others.”
“Others....?”
“All the male employees of the club are housed at the YMCA,” Atkins explained. “It’s just beyond the wall. It makes it easy for them during weekends when the club gets crowded.”
Priestly thanked Nirad Shah and informed him that he will be contacted if required. After a very relieved Nirad Shah left the room, Priestly turned to Atkins and Prem Singh. “Gentlemen, I’d say that was a very productive start to the morning. We now have another suspect and a missing rifle.”
“Ah, so you think it was this fellow?” Atkins enquired, a lot more convinced now. “Is that why you did not ask him about his confrontation with the colonel?”
“We don’t want suspects to be on their guard, do we?”