Just then, Gurung entered on silent feet and bent to whisper into Burjor’s ear.
Sitting near him, Adi frowned. “Papa?” he said, his voice low. “Why is Jussawalla here?”
Burjor’s great chest heaved as he lumbered to his feet. “Let me deal with him.”
Making his goodbyes to the guests, he hurried away. Shortly after this, our visitors took their leave. In the foyer, Diana embraced her friend, while I shook hands with Soli Wadia.
When they’d gone, Mrs. Framji gave her son a stern look. “What is this about, Adi? Papa looked upset.”
From the doorway, Jiji-bai drew her attention. “Mai-ji, the children won’t come to bed. They want to stay at the party.”
“The party’s over,” said Mrs. Framji, her tired eyes resting on Adi. “Coming, coming. They’ll be climbing the walls in a minute.”
Diana, Adi, and I returned to the morning room and sat across from each other much as we had two years ago. Yet Adi kept gazing at the door, his clever fingers tapping on his knee.
“Adi, what have you done?” asked Diana.
The remaining color left his cheeks. “Done?”
“Why is Jussawalla here?”
“Don’t know.”
“Then you suspect why. What is it?”
Sounding defeated, Adi said, “Papa is selling him the Simla hotel.”
She flinched. “But I thought Byram found a buyer. He’d never suggest Jussawalla. At the temple, he called me a traitor, a slut!”
I hauled in a sharp breath. “Perhaps he came to apologize?”
Adi shook his head. “He’s a tight bloke. Old-fashioned, crass. We used to buy silver from him to plate our instruments.”
I pulled out my pencil and notebook. “Start at the beginning. How do you know him?”
Adi placed his hands on his knees and met my gaze. “Satya found a way to plate scalpels with silver, using electricity. Ingenious, really. The process required silver ingots, so Satya bought them from Percy Jussawalla. His store sells silver vessels and things.”
Writing, I asked, “Percy Jussawalla. He’s also Parsi?”
“He is. He sells things made of German silver for religious ceremonies. That’s an alloy of copper, nickel, and zinc. No real silver in it. However, aunts and uncles often gift silver spoons and cups to newborns, or silver rattles, Lakshmi coins. It’s tradition.”
Diana added, “On Deepavali, a Hindu family pools their savings to buy gold or silver coins. When they have a wedding, they melt these down for jewelry or to pay expenses. It’s how many people save.”
I tapped my pencil. “How does Jussawalla know your father?”
Adi shrugged. “He heard that Papa was selling a hotel. Some days ago, he came to Papa’s warehouse at the dock.”
“He had no other business with Burjor?”
Adi squinted, tilting his head. “They had some venture together, years ago—sending India ink to Britain. But nothing recently.”
I asked other questions, but Adi seemed absorbed, distracted by some inner calculations. He made as though to speak, then looked away.
As Burjor’s slippers sounded in the corridor, he blurted out, “Remember, Jim? Don’t let him confess to save me. I won’t have it. I’ll go to McIntyre straightaway!”
I could do no more than nod before Burjor entered, looking as though someone had stolen his best horse. Seeing us, he said, “Still here? Adi, you could have offered them some liqueurs.”
He wanted to play the host, but it was time for a reckoning.
“Sir,” I said, “may we discuss the case?”
“Humph.” He dropped into a chair. “You can call me Papa, you know.”
Call him Father? It took me by surprise. I said, “Thank you, sir.”
He chuckled, a wry smile lifting his worn face. “Now, what’s happened?”
Would my questions wound him? If I could avoid it, I would. But nothing good comes from hiding from truth.
I said, “The morning of Satya’s death both Faisal and the mali recognized your carriage. But Adi had gone to Lloyd’s bank. So it must have been you.”
Burjor did not dissemble for a moment. “Yes. I met Satya that morning.”
Diana flinched. Adi blurted, “You never said. Why?”
“Why did I meet him? Or why did I not say?”
I interjected, “Both.”
Burjor slumped, his eyes squeezed shut. Exhaling, he said, “All right. Satya … he stole from us. I felt that bringing it up would look worse for you, Adi.” He noticed our stillness. “What’s the matter—you think I killed him?”
Adi said, “No.”
I said, “Not deliberately. But perhaps, he tripped or slipped on something while you were … expostulating.”
Burjor pulled back, affronted. “You think I’d skulk away and let my son take the blame?”
Adi gave a surprised laugh. “Papa, I’ve been terrified you would confess to something because you feared it was me!”
“Ah!” Father and son locked gazes, which were not unkind. They were more alike than they’d realized, I thought. Pulling in a long breath, I asked, “Satya stole from you, how?”
Burjor mopped his forehead. “Months ago, in July, he asked me for a loan.”
Adi cried, “Papa!”
Burjor spread his hands. “Well, you wouldn’t let me help!”
Satya had been murdered at the end of August. I asked, “What was the loan for?”
Burjor shrugged. “Plating equipment, nickel, copper, I don’t know.”
I frowned. “Would you invest in a business you did not understand?”
“I was investing in my son!” Burjor grated.
I said, “You agreed to the loan?”
He sighed. “One thousand rupees.”
Adi stiffened. “That much?”
Burjor dropped his gaze. “That’s what he wanted. I gave him a promissory note in exchange for his IOU.” He turned to me to explain. “It’s like this. He could use my note to purchase something, and I would owe his vendor. Mind you, that vendor could use the note like cash for a small amount of time.”
He cleared his throat, then said in his deep baritone, “But when the note came due, this is what I received.” He took a page from his pocket and unfolded it on the table, framing it with his hands.
Adi glanced at the page and yelped. “Papa! This is for five thousand!” He looked like he’d taken a blow to the head. “That’s why you sold the hotel. But this is a forgery!”
Burjor shook his head. “It will be difficult to make that case. It is my signature.”
Adi held it to the light. “But for a larger amount! Satya changed it. Damn him!”
Burjor said simply, “Yes.”
A pretty piece of thievery indeed. My head spun with the implications. I asked, “When it comes due, you must pay up, is that it? When did it come due?”
“The day before Satya was killed,” Burjor said.
I squinted at him. “But Banner said Satya wanted a loan two weeks before. At that point Satya already had your note. Why did he need more funds?” Silence answered, as I took stock. “So on the day he died, he had two thousand in banknotes, and also something he bought from Jussawalla for five thousand.”
Diana covered her mouth. Throat dry, I asked, “Sir, why did you go to see Satya?”
Burjor said, “To remonstrate. He had spent five thousand rupees but his IOU was for one thousand!”
“So you argued. Did he get violent?”
Burjor leaned back in his chair. “Nothing like that. He offered to sell me his share in Adi’s business. Then he changed his mind and said, ‘You want collateral? Here, take it.’”
Burjor placed a small silver key on the glossy wood table. “He pressed this in my hand and hurried me away, saying he would explain later.”
I squinted at him. “Satya was killed on the twenty-fifth of August. We met Adi in Liverpool on the sixteenth of September, and he’d been there a week. The ship takes thirteen days, so you dispatched him two days after the murder. Was this why you sent Adi abroad? Because Satya stole from you?”
He shook his head dolefully. “No, Captain. Someone killed Satya, perhaps for that.” He gestured at the key with his chin. “I was afraid for my boy!”
I picked up the neat, shiny object, two inches long and curiously modern in design. Passing it to Adi, I asked, “Does this look familiar?”
He fingered it, turned it to and fro. “Never seen it before.”
“Satya suggested selling his share, then changed his mind,” I said. “Was he expecting someone else?”
Burjor’s brows clumped in thought, while the grandfather clock ticked a slow dirge. “I don’t know. He was … distracted. He looked past me, but the door was empty. That’s when he changed his mind.”
“What time was this?”
Burjor’s brows knit. Rubbing his jowly chin, he said, “About ten minutes before noon.”
That was later than the other witnesses had claimed seeing his carriage leave. I felt a chill cut through my veins. “I think someone was standing at the door behind you. Perhaps, the killer.”