TWENTY
‘It’ll never work,’ I said as we ran down the corridor.
‘We’ve nothing to lose by trying,’ replied Surrender-not.
‘We’ll have to hurry,’ I said. ‘Carmichael’s probably on his way over there now.’
We were looking for Colonel Arora’s office. I flung open the first door we came to and barged in, only to find it empty. Cursing, I turned around, just in time for Surrender-not to run smack into me.
‘No one here,’ I said, as I manhandled him back out.
We continued our search, opening the doors of yet more unoccupied offices. It seemed as though the entire floor might be empty. Just as I was beginning to get exasperated, Surrender-not gestured for me to stop.
‘Wait,’ he panted.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You can rest when we reach Arora’s office. And make sure you enrol for the officers’ physical when we get back to Calcutta.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There may be a smarter way of doing this, sir.’ He went into one of the empty offices, picked up a telephone and spoke to the switchboard operator.
‘I need to speak to Colonel Arora urgently,’ he said. ‘Please put me through to his office.’
I could hear the line ringing on the other end. Then he turned to me and smiled. ‘Colonel Arora,’ he said, ‘Sergeant Banerjee here. I have an urgent request, sir.’
A few minutes later, we were standing in the colonel’s office as he finished a telephone call. He replaced the receiver and stared up at us from behind his desk.
‘It’s done,’ he said. ‘There are two telegraph offices in town: one here at the palace, and the other at the station. Both shall be experiencing technical difficulties for the next hour.’
‘Thank you,’ said Surrender-not.
‘Now, would you mind explaining to me the need for such action?’
Surrender-not looked at me and I nodded for him to continue. There was no good reason to keep the truth from Colonel Arora. More importantly, we hadn’t had time to come up with a plausible lie.
‘Mr Carmichael has received orders from Delhi for Captain Wyndham to return to Calcutta forthwith. Fortunately, due to an administrative error, the orders were received from the civil service and not the police. Mr Carmichael has gone to seek clarification from his superiors. Obviously, until such clarification is received, the captain is at liberty to remain here in Sambalpore . . .’
The colonel turned to me. ‘And why do they want you back in Calcutta, Captain?’
‘They don’t,’ I said. ‘If they did, the cable would have come from police headquarters in Calcutta, not from some pen-pusher in Delhi. They just want me out of Sambalpore.’
‘And why might that be?’
I didn’t know, but I had my suspicions, all of them unhealthy and none of which I particularly wanted to share with the colonel.
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ I shrugged.
‘So, you don’t want Carmichael speaking to Delhi? Why can’t he simply telephone them? There is, I believe, a telephone connection at the Residency?’
‘Official orders need to come in writing, but now that you mention it, it might be nice if his telephone were to be affected too,’ I replied. ‘The monsoon rains might not have reached Sambalpore yet, but I understand that a lot of places between here and the capital are giving Atlantis a run for its money. It stands to reason that the telephone lines somewhere along the way might be down.’
A smile broke out on the colonel’s face. ‘I’ll need authorisation. The Dewan might not approve, but I think His Highness the Maharaja may be agreeable. He enjoys cocking a snook at the British now and again. Indeed, he once presented Mr Carmichael with a golf bag and clubs as a token of Sambalpore’s esteem for its noble Resident. Carmichael seems inordinately proud of it. What he doesn’t know is that the bag is made from the skin of an elephant’s penis. His Highness had it made especially.’
‘Interesting,’ I said. ‘If you manage to delay my recall by a few days, I’ll make sure to challenge him to a game.’
‘You play?’ asked the colonel.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never had the incentive till now.’
The colonel let out a laugh, which was good in that it proved that he actually could.
‘How long would you like Mr Carmichael’s communications issues to continue?’ he asked finally. ‘I can’t cut him off indefinitely. Wars have started on lesser provocations, and I don’t have permission to start a conflict this week. Besides, I would hate to be the man responsible for the end of British rule in India.’
It was my turn to smile. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Mr Gandhi might never forgive you for beating him to it. But please, as long as possible. Ideally a week.’
‘Three days, maximum,’ he replied. ‘But there is a condition.’
‘You can never disclose to Mr Carmichael the provenance of his beloved golf bag.’
‘I think we can manage that,’ I said.
‘In that case,’ he smiled, ‘you may rest assured that for the next seventy-two hours, Mr Carmichael will find it quicker to walk to Delhi than telephone or send a telegram there.’
We were about to return to our office when there was a knock on the colonel’s door. Knock probably wasn’t the right word, though, as it sounded more like someone was taking a hammer to it. The door opened and in stepped a dark-eyed man with a beard as thick as an Axminster carpet. He was dressed in a flowing emerald-green silk tunic, belted at the waist, and carried an envelope which he handed to the colonel.
At a nod from Arora, he turned and stood beside Surrender-not, throwing the sergeant into shade as effectively as if he’d been standing under a tree.
The colonel tore open the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper which he quickly unfolded and read.
‘Well,’ he said, as though unsurprised by the contents. ‘Regarding the meetings you requested, His Highness has refused your request to interview the Princess Gitanjali.’
Beside me, Surrender-not breathed a sigh of relief.
‘What about Prince Punit?’ I asked.
‘His Highness has voiced no objections to that.’
‘Well, that’s a start, I suppose.’
Arora pursed his lips. ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘The Yuvraj is leaving on a hunting expedition tomorrow. He has his brother’s cremation to attend today. I doubt he’ll make the time to see you.’
‘He’s going hunting straight after his own brother’s funeral?’
The colonel nodded. ‘It seems the hunt was scheduled to commence yesterday. The prince has been forced to delay his departure by over a day and is in no mood to extend it any further.’
That was interesting. When my own half-brother, Charlie, had been killed during the war, I fell into a black slough of despondency for weeks, and I’d hardly known the boy. Hunting wouldn’t have been high on my list of priorities.
‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked.
‘You can still examine Prince Adhir’s bedchamber; and interview the Englishwoman.’
‘That’s not much to go on,’ I replied.
‘Let me see what I can do regarding a meeting with Prince Punit. In the meantime, he’ll also be attending his brother’s wake tonight. Maybe you could ask him a few questions then?’