GOVERNMENT HOUSE. IN the City of Palaces, this one was the biggest. Four vast wings around a central core, a symphony of columns and cornices, topped by a silver dome. All very impressive, and if the sight of it didn’t take your breath away, climbing the stairs to the entrance probably would.
Its occupier was the most important man this side of Delhi. More powerful than any maharaja. He was also a civil servant.
I was met on the stairs by a pale-looking chap attired in morning suit and cravat. I assumed he was some mid-level functionary, maybe even upper-mid level, given the cravat. He didn’t give me his name, which was fine as I’d only have forgotten it.
Instead, he led me inside towards the administrative wing. We passed the throne room, where once the King Emperor would sit with his local satraps in attendance. Now that the capital had moved to Delhi, it was doubtful the throne would ever be sat in much again, at least not by a royal posterior.
‘His Honour will see you in the Blue Drawing Room,’ said the functionary as we passed through one of several sets of double doors, each opened by a pair of turbaned flunkies in red and gold livery. I nodded, as though well versed in the colours of the rooms of the L-G’s inner sanctum.
The room itself was about twice the size of Lord Taggart’s office back at Lal Bazar and smaller than I’d expected. Behind a desk the size of a rowing boat sat Sir Stewart Campbell, the Lieutenant-Governor of the Bengal Presidency, pen in hand and poring over documents. Beside him stood another functionary in morning suit and cravat. As we entered, the functionary whispered something to him. The L-G looked up. He had a hard face, not brutal, but severe. The face of a man accustomed to power, used to governing countless masses for their own good. A beak of a nose, pinched features and eyes that showed a businesslike determination. Together they gave him a look of mild irritation, as though there was some noxious odour in the room and he was the only one who could smell it.
‘Captain Wyndham,’ he said, betraying a curiously nasal accent, ‘you’re late.’
I walked across an acre of polished floor to the desk and took a seat opposite him. He looked slightly surprised.
‘I was under the impression there would be two of you?’
‘I’m afraid my colleague had to be elsewhere,’ I said.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I understand you’re new to Calcutta.’ It was a statement rather than a question. ‘I’d have expected a seasoned hand for a case such as this, but Taggart assures me you’re ex-Scotland Yard and the right man for the job.’ Again, I said nothing, which was fine as the man didn’t seem to want an answer. ‘The Viceroy himself has been informed of the regrettable incident of two nights ago,’ he continued. ‘He’s deemed it a matter of imperial importance that the criminals be apprehended swiftly and without further disruption to the organs of state. Anything you need, you will have.’
I thanked him. ‘If I may, Your Honour, I’d like to ask you a few questions about MacAuley and his role in the administration here.’
The L-G smiled. ‘Of course. MacAuley was indispensable to the government here.’ He paused, then corrected himself. ‘No, that’s not quite true. No man is “indispensable” but he was an important and integral part of the machinery of government in Bengal.’
‘What exactly was his role?’
‘Technically he was in charge of government finances, but in reality, his remit was far wider and covered many things, from planning to policy execution.’
‘I assume it was a high-pressure role.’
‘Very much so. But MacAuley was well used to it.’
‘And do you know if he was under any unusual strain recently?’
‘Tell me, Captain,’ the L-G said, ‘did you ever happen to see a German P.O.W. camp during the war?’
I wondered where this was going. ‘I was lucky enough to avoid such a fate, sir.’
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘I once met the commandant of one of them. He told me the Boche liked to use Alsatians as guard dogs in their camps… all except for the one he ran, that is. He preferred Rottweilers. You see he didn’t trust Alsatians. Good dogs they undoubtedly are, but they have a better nature. If they’re treated with kindness, over time they’ll reciprocate. Rottweilers, on the other hand, have no better natures. They’re fiercely loyal to their masters and will obey every command, no matter what. MacAuley was this administration’s Rottweiler. He wasn’t the type to succumb to strain, unusual or otherwise.’
‘I expect that made him quite a few enemies,’ I said.
‘Oh undoubtedly,’ he said, ‘zamindars and babus but they’re not the sort to have done this kind of thing. Are you familiar with the term “bhadralok”?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s a Bengali word. It means “the civilised people”, what we’d call “gentlemen”. It refers mainly to the upper-caste Hindus who hold prominence among the natives. They’re all soft and fat. It’s just not in their nature to commit this sort of act.’
‘What about whites? Someone with a grudge against MacAuley personally?’
‘You’re not serious, are you?’ he said, a thin smile forming on his grey lips. ‘This isn’t the 1750s when sahibs conducted duels on the Maidan. We certainly don’t solve our disputes by knocking one another off. No, it’s inconceivable. This is clearly the work of terrorists. I believe there was a note found on MacAuley’s person confirming as much. That is where you must concentrate your efforts.’
‘Do you have any idea why he might have been up in Cossipore on the night he was murdered?’
The L-G scratched distractedly at one ear. ‘None whatsoever. I wouldn’t have imagined any European would venture up there after dark.’
‘He wasn’t up there in an official capacity, then?’
‘Not that I know of.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s possible, though highly unlikely. Nevertheless, do check with his colleagues at Writers’ Building.’
‘I will do. It’s a rather delicate matter, though.’
‘How so?’
I hesitated. ‘You do know his body was found behind a brothel? It might just be a coincidence but…’ I trailed off.
‘Do you have a question to ask, Captain?’
‘No, sir,’ I said. ‘I was merely thinking aloud.’
‘Good. Remember, Captain, the man those terrorists assassinated was a British official, not some moral degenerate. Speculation to the contrary would reflect terribly badly upon us all.’
I could have pointed out that the two weren’t exactly mutually exclusive, but instead I opted to change tack. ‘Did you attend Mr Buchan’s function at the Bengal Club on Tuesday night?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I was wondering whether you attended Mr Buchan’s function. MacAuley had been there earlier that night. We think he may have gone to Cossipore straight from the club.’
The L-G stepped his bony fingers together and touched them to his lips.
‘No, I did not. He may be one of our great captains of industry, but there are some matters more pressing to the interests of His Majesty’s administration than assisting Mr Buchan in closing yet another contract.’
There was a knock at the door and another secretary entered. The L-G rose from his chair. ‘Unfortunately we will have to end our conversation there. Humphries here will see you out.’
I thanked him for his time.
‘This case is your top priority, Captain,’ he said. ‘Solve it quickly.’
I checked my watch as I followed the secretary back down the corridor. Exactly fifteen minutes since I’d entered the room. It’s what Taggart told me I could expect. Still, the precision was impressive.
Back outside, I lit a cigarette and considered what I’d learned. MacAuley was a hundred per cent loyal. A Rottweiler. Well, the L-G was wrong about one thing: Rottweilers do have better natures. And if Miss Grant was correct about him finding God, so too it seemed, did MacAuley. There was only one man who could tell me if that was true. I needed to speak to the Reverend Gunn.