Just past dawn, it was cool and I’d been waiting an hour already. Dewdrops clung to the glistening banyan leaves and crept down the overhanging roots. My back against the wide, muscular trunk, I sat on a smooth, wide root that stretched twenty feet and thrust the cobbles into undulated stone. Here I’d seen lawyers besieged by potential clients, but as yet it was quiet.
Soon a scrawny paan seller carried his basket of betel nut leaves and condiments to the tree. I asked for a sweet paan and squatted near him as he applied preparations to the betel leaf.
“Chuna?” he offered.
I declined the coating of corrosive white lime and asked in Rashid’s guttural tone, “When will they come, the lawyers?”
“Tsk. Today is Sunday,” he replied. “Court is closed. They return tomorrow.”
To get him talking, I said, “I need money. Some work or…”
He glanced over. “Where are you from?”
“Pathankot, near the village of…” I named a place he was unlikely to know.
His head wobbled in admiration. “Far away! That is good. The lawyer will like it. Just say whatever he tells you.”
So that was it! At the banyan tree market, false testimony was offered for sale.
“How much will they pay?” I asked, handing him a small coin for the paan.
“The judge will question you,” he warned me. “If you stand your ground, come back and you will get a full rupee. If you are found out, only eight annas.”
Was a man’s freedom worth so little? A rupee to lie and land some defendant in the clink. How easy it was to dismiss one’s part in it—those found giving false testimony paid only a small fine and blamed the lawyer for putting them up to it.
I wobbled my jaw as though weighing his words, then nodded.
“The friend who sent me here—he got a good deal more,” I went on. “It is a big case. I hope I can get something like that.”
“How much more?” His eyebrows rose, radiating doubt.
“He will not say,” I grumbled. “Keeps his windfall to himself. Can’t you help?”
“I can point out the big lawyers,” he said, handing me the paan. “It will cost you.”
“To make a tidy sum, it will be worth it,” I agreed. A few minutes of haggling and the price was set. I had no fondness for sweet spicy paan, but chewed on it until he was out of sight.
Next, I collected supplies from my stash in Dockyard Road and returned to Framji Mansion. Entering Adi’s chamber, I rummaged through his clothes. Dash it all, where were they? There.
The lawyer’s robes that Adi had earned were folded in a drawer. I shook them out, chose the largest, and donned it. Alas, the full-length mirror showed it hung at my knees.
Returning to our bedchamber, I added a woolly astrakhan hat from my collection and frowned at my reflection. Freshly shaved, I looked too young. The straggly mustache in the last of my goopy collodion was still stuck to a corner of the washroom mirror. Applying that and a pair of wire frames gave me an older, more studious look.
As I was trimming the mustache, a cry came from the door. “Ay Khodai!”
Dressed in a cream-colored housedress, Diana clung to the doorknob, a hand over her mouth. “It’s you! What are you doing, Jim?”
“I’m sorry, sweet,” I said, swinging my arms out. “A disguise. But the robe’s too short.”
She pulled in her lips and tapped with a finger. “Have it off and let me see. I’ll unpick the hem, iron it out…” Grimacing, she tilted her head. “That awful mustache, Jim. Like a mangy terrier!”
A half hour later, she’d altered the legal garb and insisted that I have a meal, so a tray had been summoned. Both Gurung and Ganju brought it, and then Jiji-bai and the other boy ventured into the dining room on assorted excuses to evaluate “captain sahib’s new clothes.”
They gawked, ducked their eyes, then offered dubious praise. “Captain needs a few good meals, return soon, sahib?” “If you go out in the dark, no one will trouble you.”
“What will you do?” Diana asked, her brown eyes worried. “How will this help?”
I scoffed the fried plantains, roasted chicken, and potatoes, then set down my spoon in regret. If I’d been in less of a hurry, I might have tasted them. “Adi was arrested because a new witness came forward. I think he was hired.”
She sucked in a breath, her mouth tight. “Paid to frame Adi? Why?”
“Diverts attention from the killer, hmm? If I get him to talk, we might have the culprit.”
Excitement rising, I counted out a few rupee notes and stuffed them in the pocket of my newly lengthened robe, then pecked a goodbye on Diana’s cheek and went to visit the prosecution’s new witness.
An afternoon gust threw dust and leaves at my face as I descended from the Victoria in the narrow gully where I’d last seen Dutta. Hunching over, I thumped on his door.
An elderly neighbor opened an adjacent door, others came to windows. Perhaps few rode a carriage to this neighborhood.
“Pritam Dutta?” I asked the local busybody.
“First floor,” he replied. Stepping through a narrow archway, I climbed the steep flight of stairs. On the landing, my arrival drew more attention. Neighbors peered out, curious and eager. They probably knew when Dutta showered, shone his shiny shoes, or burped. When I said I had an urgent message, they pointed to a door at the end of the chawl. Dutta opened to my knock.
“Yes?” he said, identifying me as a lawyer. “Vakil, sahib?”
He bid me enter a dingy room that smelled of old socks, and closed the door.
“I have no time,” I said roughly in Hindustani, thrusting three rupees at him. “The plan has changed. We said five rupees?”
His mouth dropped open. Recovering, he took the money. “How can you say that? It was ten! I asked for twelve, but bada vakil sahib said ten. I am very reliable, sahib! No one will suspect me.”
Bada vakil. Senior lawyer. With a show of nonchalance, I said, “Yes, yes. That’s why he sent three rupees in advance. You have the description?”
“Simple, sahib. I will point at the thin man standing in the dock. Adi Framji. I have memorized the name.”
“There is a new plan. You will say the same name. But you will point at the Englishman sitting near the lawyer. He will be wearing a grey suit with a blue cloth, here.” I patted my breast pocket. “Do you understand? They are going to trick you. So point at the tall gora. That is Adi Framji, not the youth.”
“Oh!” His eyes wide, he wobbled an agreement.
I said, “Look, why not speak to the bada vakil before you go in? Go early and seek him. He sent me with this message, but why not ask him yourself?”
So saying, I cracked the door, peered out, then gave him a nod and departed.
The stage was set. If he did not identify the lawyer who’d set Adi up, I’d have only the dubious testimony of the paanwala from the banyan tree. That bloke might keep his end of the bargain and identify Dutta and the mysterious bada vakil, but it was not as definitive as catching Dutta with the crook. Satisfied, I headed for the police headquarters to set my trap for Monday morning.
Since I was in disguise, it took a while to persuade the constable to admit me. By then Mac had gone home, but his burly sergeant took me around to my pal Stephen Smith, who went beet red, and then laughed for a quarter of an hour.
Some time later, we’d come up with a neat plan. It was better this way, I thought. McIntyre might not have approved it.