Watson’s Hotel was a five-minute drive from Suren’s lodgings. It was a handsome structure, a whitewashed, five-storey block with a colonnaded ground level and balconies wrapping the upper floors.
I walked in and crossed an acre of tiled floor to the mahogany counter and gave my name to the morning-suited duty-manager. I signed the guest register and was shown up to the third floor by a shiny-looking bellboy who had no luggage to carry but seemed to expect a tip nonetheless. I was about to fling him out on his ear when a different thought occurred. I opened my wallet and dipped into the meagre funds within, then tipped the lad rather generously given the circumstances. He seemed happy enough, beaming through a set of extremely white teeth and pointing to a button set in a brass plaque on the wall. ‘Anything you need, sahib, just ring the bell and ask for Lawrence. I will be at the door, day or night, and in a jiffy.’
I wondered where a Bombay bellboy picked up a name like Lawrence or a word like jiffy. The name was probably bestowed upon him by the hotel, and as for jiffy, he might have picked it up from some guest, a passing governor-general maybe, or a viceroy in transit.
‘I’ll remember that,’ I said. ‘You could start by telling me where I can find a telephone.’
‘Downstairs, sahib. At back of main lobby. Several telephone booths are there.’
He saw himself out and I opened the French windows to the balcony and the sounds of the city beyond. The room was as plush as could be expected, given the military were paying. A single bed, a desk, a wardrobe against the wall and even a sink in the corner.
I turned on the tap and washed my face, then headed out and made my way back down to the lobby. There I located the telephone booths and asked the operator to place a trunk call to Calcutta.
Dawson came on the line sooner than I’d expected.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s your friend from the Post Office,’ I said. ‘We’ve arrived.’
‘Your disappearance has been noticed,’ he growled. ‘Your colleagues paid a visit to your flat this morning, looking for your chum.’ I could hear his teeth clicking against the pipe in his mouth.
‘Do they know where —’
‘No,’ he said, ‘at present, they’re none the wiser as to your whereabouts. But that might change. You’ll need to work quickly.’
That was easy for him to say. Gulmohamed was a powerful politician, on home turf, while I had no jurisdiction here and Suren was a wanted man. We didn’t even have the inkling of a plan to apprehend him.
‘Anything you can do to help?’ I asked.
‘Not for the present. Whatever I do now might alert suspicion.’
‘There’s a problem,’ I said. ‘We’re rather low on funds.’
‘How low?’
‘About thirty-five rupees between us.’
I heard Dawson sigh and could almost picture his face. ‘Christ. You didn’t think to take a bit more?’
‘You’ll forgive me for not having had a chance to pop to the bank before we left,’ I said, ‘what with doing my job and half the city being on fire.’
‘I can’t help you,’ he said, ‘and we should keep this conversation brief. Anything else?’
‘How’s Taggart?’ I asked.
‘Still with us. The doctors report his condition as stable, but he’s not out of the woods yet, not by a long chalk. Now if that’s all, contact me when you’ve got something to report.’
With that he was gone and for a moment I thought I heard breathing on the line. It might have been the operator, or it might have been someone more sinister. I tried to shake the thought from my mind. Dawson had given me the number I assumed, because he knew it to be secure. He couldn’t have been wrong.
I inserted another coin and asked the operator for a second trunk call, this one to Chowringhee 2657. The response was slower this time, but the call was taken eventually.
‘Miss Grant’s residence.’
‘Anju,’ I said, ‘is Miss Grant there?’
‘Memsahib is in her bedroom.’ Her tone always seemed to harden once she realised it was me she was speaking to.
‘Please call her to the telephone, Anju.’
‘Memsahib is sleeping, possibly.’
‘Then wake her… please.’
There was silence on the line as the domestic servant and self-appointed gatekeeper went to fetch her mistress.
Annie eventually came on the line.
‘Sam?’
‘We’re in Bombay.’
‘And Suren’s OK?’
‘He’s fine for now.’
‘Good,’ she said, ‘I’m glad to hear it. Take care of him… and yourself.’
I steeled myself, then launched in to the real reason for my calling her.
‘Listen, Annie. I need another favour.’
‘Of course you do, Sam.’ I couldn’t decide whether her tone was one of irritation or just plain exasperation.
‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. It’s for Suren, if that makes a difference.’
‘It doesn’t make a difference.’ Now I was sure it was irritation. ‘Tell me what you need.’
‘Money,’ I said. ‘I’ve got about thirty-five rupees on me and Suren hasn’t got a bean, and we can hardly walk into a bank and request a wire transfer.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
I took a breath and swallowed my pride. Annie was a rich woman, with, it seemed, at least one rich friend in every port; some man who’d jump to attention at the sound of her voice. I didn’t particularly like those men, but needs must and all that.
‘You mentioned your friends in Bombay. Do you think any of them might be persuaded to advance me a small sum on your behalf? You could tell them I’m a friend from Calcutta who’s come to Bombay and been robbed en route. I’d pay you back as soon as we get home… assuming Suren and I aren’t under arrest of course… in which case it might take a bit longer, but I —’
‘Sam,’ she said, ‘stop talking. Telephone me again tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll see what I can do.’