MEMBA’S REVENGE
A NOVEL
BY
TAO TAMMES
HOWMORE 2001
THIS BOOK IS FOR MY SISTER LYDIA
CONTENDS
PRELUDE PAGE 3
CHAPTER I AN UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER PAGE 4
CHAPTER II JUST ANOTHER BODY PAGE 6
CHAPTER III LIFE AS USUAL PAGE 9
CHAPTER IV A MOST ATTRACTIVE WIDOW PAGE 11
CHAPTER V A SPECTACULAR ARREST PAGE 14
CHAPTER VI MONEY HELPS PAGE 17
CHAPTER VII ASSISTANCE FROM FAR AWAY PAGE 20
CHAPTER VIII COWDUNG HELPS PAGE 23
CHAPTER IX OUT OF THE FRYING PAN …… PAGE 27
CHAPTER X …..INTO THE FIRE PAGE 30
CHAPTER XI MANGO-LI PLAYS DETECTIVE PAGE 32
CHAPTER XII ACTION ON ALL FRONTS PAGE 34
CHAPTER XIII HELP FROM UNEXSPECTED QUARTERS PAGE 37
CHAPTER XIV CHINESE IN MADRAS PAGE 39
CHAPTER XV AND CHINESE FOOD IN BOMBAY PAGE 44
CHAPTER XVI GATHERING THE THREADS PAGE 46
CHAPTER XVII SETTING THE TRAP PAGE 49
CHAPTER XVIII MEMBA’S REVENGE PAGE 51
©
COPYRIGHT BY
THEO TAMMES
CASA AZUL
PORTO DO PAUL
PERNES
2000-500
PORTUGAL
PRELUDE
Once upon a time a boy lived in a tiny village, more like a hamlet on the outskirts of the big city and encroaching on the nearby jungle. As everyone else in the village the boy was poor, uneducated, happy and unhappy like any other villager, but with one big difference to all of them. For he had a dog and he loved the beast.
How that came about is another story and will be told somewhere else.
The boy looked after his dog as good as he was able to in his own fashion, and the dog looked after his master in his own way. But they were firm friends.
And that was indeed very important to both of them. One night the dog went on a stroll on his own, for he was still young and willful and liked his own company best at times .He was a dog after all.
He happened to pick up a most interesting scent and followed it, for the time being completely forgetting his Master and his duties. The boy couldn’t sleep without his dog and got up again to search for him. He called and whistled whilst stumbling around in the dark finally entered the jungle in the search for his dog. The night was clear, the stars blazed down and the moon illuminated the land, but still the jungle was very dark and spooky in places.
The deeper he went into the forest the quieter he became. And then the dog picked up his masters scent and came sneaking up to him, nudging his legs with his cold nose. Happy to be united again, both turned to go home but before long they came upon a most unusual sight. In a clearing a man lay sleeping under a big tree , whilst nearby an elephant was quietly eating leaves and branches.
The dog gave a quick growl but the boy silenced him, and seeing neither the elephant nor its master were in the least disturbed, they went home. Soon enough the boy forgot all about this nightly encounter because he had enough to worry about simply trying to survive.
CHAPTER I
AN UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER
Out of the jungle they came, entering the big city just before the break of dawn. The light was getting stronger by the minute. As usual Afasheer was walking in front, Memba a couple of steps behind. The early morning air was still fresh and cool, not yet spoiled by the heat of a merciless sun, and as they turned a corner to get onto the main road the sun rose over the horizon in the far away eastern plains. It was a glorious sight and Afasheer’s spirits lifted. He stopped for a moment, but Memba was more interested in getting home and having her breakfast, so she nudged him silently from behind. “Get a move on”, she was saying.
Afasheer looked around at all the homeless beggars, mostly still sleeping in doorways and on the pavement, covered in anything from blankets to newspapers to just old rags. He didn’t like the sight of so much poverty but he was used to it.
It had always been like that, as long as he could remember. Here and there a body stirred, and whilst he continued to walk to his own home, the streets behind him slowly started to fill up with people and vehicles. Oxen carts and rickshaws, beggars and peddlers in all sorts and sizes. Soon enough it would be busy, with everyone heading for the city-centre.
Walking at a steady pace they were nearing their home when Afasheer suddenly stopped.
He noticed an old man sitting cross-legged on the pavement dressed only in a sort of loincloth. He was staring with unseeing eyes at God knows what.
“Probably a Sadhu”, thought Afasheer, when he noticed a rolled up bundle beside the old man. He saw that the rags were covered in blood when he came nearer.
He hesitated, then bent down to have a closer look. Ah, no doubt about it, it was a dead body.
He bent even deeper to get a look at the man’s face and got a shock. For he knew that face, if ever so slightly and recently. But the last time he had seen the man he had looked very different. And he had been alive. He was a trader, introduced to Ashafeer by some of his friends. A seemingly rich man who had come to establish new markets and expand his business in the big city.
Afasheer scratched his bead and wondered what to do. No doubt the man would be found sooner or later. Reluctant to get into trouble with the police, Afasheer paused for some moments to make up his mind and then decided to speak to the old man. The Sadhu was still sitting cross-legged unperturbed next to the corpse.
Memba had come up to him, but sniffing blood moved to the other side of the road. He asked the old man some questions but got no response. He tried some other languages but the old man did not respond in any way.
Concluding that the old man was either deaf or dumb or maybe both, Afasheer prepared to move on when it happened. A boy came out of nowhere, bumped into him so that he stumbled. Stretching out his arms in a reflex to break his fall he landed on the corpse. Appalled he started to swear at the boy, but before he could even right himself and pursue the boy, the young man had shrugged his shoulders and disappeared. Afasheer shook his head, wiped his hands as good as he could on his garments, called Memba and hurried home.
CHAPTER II
JUST ANOTHER BODY
Just as on every other day the street sweepers and cleaners appeared early in the morning on all the main roads and thoroughfares of the city to clean away yesterdays debris and to remove the bodies of the unfortunate homeless beggars who had died in the course of the night. Unceremoniously they were collected from doorways and pavements to be piled upon the trucks provided for this ghastly task.
As clearly and repeatedly instructed by the Authorities the street sweepers notified the police of the find of an obviously murdered person and then waited.
Whilst the crowd gathered around them and their gruesome find, the police duly arrived. Amid shouted questions in many different languages they started doing their job. The body was photographed, statements taken from the street sweepers and people questioned. That the Sadhu had disappeared in the crowd wasn’t noticed by anyone and eventually the body was taken to Police headquarters for examining.
Life slowly returned to normal and another mystery, another anonymous murder was added to the ever-growing list of the Delhi Police.
For a while nothing much happened in the case. The body was put in the mortuary awaiting an autopsy and an inspector was appointed to deal with the case.
He inspected the body personally and ordered the rags of the man to be searched. The police doctor who did the autopsy established a time of death and remarked to Inspector Clua-an-t’ha that the man had been stabbed enough times to kill him five times over. He concluded that the man had been obviously healthy and fit and must have been taken by surprise, for there was no sign of a struggle.
From the rags the man had been wearing when he was found they extracted an empty purse and a small slip of paper. It turned out to be a chit from a moneylender and after a lot of puzzling and trying the inspector thought he could detect a name. He was quite pleased with that, it seemed a good start to the case. But pretty soon Inspector Clua-an-t’ha found that nobody knew the man or recognized his name. So it was back to basics. One of the pictures of the murdered man was multiplied and the inspector and his helpers spread out over the city questioning hotel owners and receptionists all over the place. A long and tedious job, but one that often brought results in the long run.
When a couple of days went by without any information coming his way, Inspector Clua-an-t’ha asked his superiors to let the newspapers publish the picture and a short description of the man. Permission was granted and he went back to his office to work on some other cases, whilst waiting for results.
He didn’t have long to wait this time. The next morning a receptionist from a middle class hotel came forward and told the police he knew that man and he had been staying at their hotel. The inspector took some helpers with him and searched the room in the hotel. He had pictures taken, made an exhausting description of every item they found in the room and then sealed the place off, under loud protest of the hotel owner.
Taking the most important looking papers with him he retired to his office to study the documents at his leisure. There were bank statements, moneylender’s chits, letters and there was a picture of an extremely attractive woman - presumably the wife of the murdered man. Our inspector was no longer surprised that nobody had known the man in Delhi, for obviously he was from Bombay.
Through the usual channels a request for help and information was sent to Bombay police and meanwhile there were other cases to be dealt with. However, it didn’t take too long this time before a big file landed on his desk And Inspector Clua-an-t’ha had his hands full. Reading through the file he frowned dismally. The victim was not only well known in Bombay, he was almost famous. And he had been wealthy, very wealthy. Soon after a telegram arrived at his desk, informing him that the victim’s widow would be on her way to Delhi to identify the body and to take possession of her husband’s belongings.
Now it transpired that Delhi Police had not just another murder case, but a sensational one. Our inspector was dismayed. He didn’t like sensational cases; he preferred a quiet long drawn investigation without any pressure from his big bosses. But as so often happens he wasn’t asked what he wanted or not.
He was summoned to headquarters and told in no uncertain terms to deal speedily with the case and to produce the murderer as soon as possible. “Before the papers start to scream their heads off and accuse us again of being incapable”, he was told by his superintendent.
Well, that was that he thought to himself miserably when he had returned to his own office. Sipping his tea he read the file again. Through the open door he could already hear journalists asking questions of his colleagues and he shivered. He then debated secretly if he could ask to be removed from the case; a high profile case was just one of these things he really didn’t want. Pressure would be applied all the time, expectations would become impossible.
But refusing a case would damage his career, so he decided to get on with it.
First of all facts had to be established. Where had the man been seen last ? What time did he leave his hotel? Who did he meet, and many other questions. Why was he dressed in rags when he was discovered and how important was the moneylender’s chit? Inspector Clua-an-t’ha went to work.
To pacify the newspapers a press release was sent out, encouraging people who had met Shiram Varanasi to come forward tell their story to the Police. Our inspector stayed in his office waiting. He knew that sooner or later people would come forward, information would be uncovered. First of all a small group of businessmen came to see him. They had held a meeting with the victim. Shiram Varanasi, they maintained, had had some good and solid plans for the expansion of his business in Delhi. They also informed Inspector Clua-an~t’ha that he had carried a big amount of money around with him. They had all advised him to deposit that money with a bank, but to no avail.
Their questioning took all day, and before statements were drawn up and signed and the poor businessmen released, night had come to the city. Our inspector had a long evening of working and planning ahead of him. In turn the businessmen had to answer numerous questions from the journalists waiting outside for them before they could finally go home. Very slowly the city quietened down before sleep came to most of its citizens.
CHAPTER III
LIFE AS USUAL
Afasheer went about his life as usual. On coming home he found the vendor of sugar cane in front of his house and bought a big supply for Memba, which she carried triumphantly into the garden. He was greeted by Ali his gatekeeper, and Janick his head gardener. Then he went to his private quarters and found his personal servant Yousaf ready with a bath and fresh clothes. After that he was served his breakfast of dahl and chappatties followed by a cup of freshly ground coffee. Before long Afasheer was on his way to the office.
Being a trader and a supplier of stationary and office equipment for many companies and several government departments, he was kept fairly busy even with a growing and capable staff.
Meetings, telephone calls, telegrams and a score of runner boys delivering and receiving messages and a never-ending stream of visitors occupied most of his time. But never mind how busy he was, at one o’clock sharp he went home to have his lunch. Often with business friends, sometimes alone, he took his time and hardly arrived back at the office before half past two. And shortly after five o’clock he stopped working most days, to go home and collect Memba for a walk and a ride outside the grounds of the old Red Fort.
In that hour before dark they strolled around leisurely and they met many people who new them and exchanged pleasantries. Memba often received a tidbit from adoring friends and enjoyed all the admiration she received quite a bit.
Once or twice a week Afasheer took her out of the city to the nearby jungle and both he and Memba greatly enjoyed these outings if for different reasons. She of course was a jungle animal and he enjoyed a quiet evening and night without interference of friends or relatives.
During the day he remembered his early morning incident from time to time, and he sent one of the runner boys out with a short message to his friends who had introduced the trader to him, only to forget the incident afterwards completely for a long time. He had a good life and he was perfectly aware of it. Well organized as he was there was time for leisure, more important, time for Memba, and he enjoyed that very much.
The house he had bought was big, the gardens spacious and he could afford to have a numerous amount of servants Best of all he had no relatives living with him. That had been hard to accomplish for as a rule in India the poorer relatives come to stay with the ones that are better off, and with his parent’s deaths there were enough cousins and aunts and uncles who would have loved to stay with him. But he had remained firm, bought them all off, supplying them either with jobs elsewhere or homes of their own. He received them friendly enough, had tea with them and even at times enjoyed their company, but he firmly refused to let them come and live with him. His own servants he chose very carefully and trained them well so that he could rely on them. In this way he had created almost ideal circumstances for himself and he was generally well pleased with his life.
Apart from his busy life as a trader he also had a bit of a secret life.
He traded in precious stones. Only on a small scale and only to insiders, but it was another thing he really enjoyed. After he had learned how to recognize and value the different stones, and had started buying and selling them, he had decided that he really didn’t need the money he earned with his trading and he had started a small charity of his own. A little house that was used as a hostel and two free meals a day for as many people as the money would allow. The charity part of his life he kept well hidden, not because he was ashamed but because he was shy of praise.
CHAPTER IV
A MOST ATTRACTIVE WIDOW
Inspector Clua-an-t’ha was busy. Busy with his new case, busy with his unsolved old cases. After the business friends nobody came forward for a while, but he couldn’t just sit still and wait. He had a case to solve and he set out to do it.
He had a victim, some people who had seen and met the man. A time of death and a chit from a moneylender.
So he went after the moneylender. But before he found him he was called to Headquarters again. The big boss made it clear that an arrest was awaited from him as soon as possible. The poor inspector got worried and his ulcer became worse. At home he shouted at his wife and children. He was not a happy man.
As usual everything happened at once. First he was told by the big boss that the widow of Shiram Varanasi was arriving by train the next day. He was to collect her, make sure that she was taken to a comfortable hotel, interview her and finally take her to the mortuary for identification. And he had to be as polite and as helpful as possible.
He was just thinking to himself that that was enough for one day when a young boy was brought into his office. The boy seemed very shy and hesitant and because he spoke Gujerati, one of the many languages of India our inspector didn’t speak, he had to find an interpreter before he could question the boy. It all took time and when he finally got the story out of the young boy he was exhausted.
It took more time still to take the statement to his secretary to be typed and then it had to be signed. After all that the boy was sent home and our inspector could start to think about his story. The boy had seen a man bending over the body. And the man had an elephant. And an old Sadhu was sitting cross-legged nearby.
“Not very much use “, thought Inspector Clua-an-t'ha. But now he had to find out who the man with the elephant was. And what had happened to the old Sadhu. “Surely there can’t be too many men with elephants in the city”, he thought to himself. So he talked to his colleagues to try and find out names, and made inquiries at the other police stations in the city.
The first thing he did next morning was to send out some of his men to find the Sadhu. The boy had given him a good description, but often these Sadhus looked all the same. Meanwhile he was compiling a list of owners of elephants. It wasn’t a long list, but he had to trace the addresses as well.
One man on that list was Afasheer, who had no idea at the time that the police were interested in him. But before our inspector could do anymore he had to go down to the station and meet the widow. It was the early hours of the afternoon and the sun was blazing. Summer was upon the city, and summer could be murderous. As always the station was crowded. Thousands upon thousands of travellers, beggars, tea sellers and food stalls mingled in the big hall and on the platforms. Huge mountains of trunks blocked passages and everybody seemed to be screaming at the same time.
They pushed their way through the crowds to get to the right platform and waited for the train to arrive.
Before long the Mail- Express steamed in, the huge locomotive billowing clouds of steam and smoke, slowly rolling to a stop. Instantly mayhem broke out as everybody tried to leave the train at once. By any conceivable means people tumbled out of doors and windows, and a seemingly unending stream of human bodies, mixed with pieces of luggage descended onto the platform. Inspector Clua-an-t’ha and his assistants made their way to the first class carriages where the scene was very different.
Slowly and stately a few very well dressed people emerged from the train, helped by uniformed servants and railway employees. It was easy enough to spot the widow, after all our inspector had seen her picture. And she was easily the most beautiful woman on the train. Actually, thought our inspector after taking a second look, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was accompanied by her sister, obviously not as young or beautiful but still enough of an eye-opener to increase your heartbeat. He introduced himself, gave his assistants orders to help their servants with the luggage and take it to the chosen hotel and then he took the sisters into the first class waiting room.
Journalists were starting to crowd round them and flashlights were exploding, so they were very relieved to enter the sanctuary.
For that is what a first class waiting room is in India. Closing the door firmly behind them, the headwaiter welcomed them with a smile and led them to their seats. Refreshments were served to them and the ladies took it in turn to go to the bathroom and refresh themselves. Inspector Clua-an-t’ha made small talk, very politely he inquired about their journey and their well being, meanwhile every so often staring at the widow. He couldn’t help himself, he was almost dumbstruck with her beauty. She didn’t seem to notice his glances but kept chattering away quite happily. Later on he took the sisters to the hotel where the servants and his assistants had everything arranged for them.
He arranged to pick up the widow in a couple of hours to take her to the morgue and then returned to his office. But he couldn’t get anything done. He was trembling. The widow’s beauty was so overwhelming that the poor inspector had immediately and deeply fallen in love with her.
There was nothing else that mattered right now. He tried to calm down and do some work, but it was impossible. All he could think of was the widow, and so he sat at his desk dinking tea and smoking beedies until it was time to go to the mortuary. There were some tense moments as the widow broke down after identifying the body of her husband. Our inspector had to use all his tact and instincts to calm her down again before he could return her to the care of her sister who was waiting at the hotel. Finally he could go home but he was not in a good mood. He shouted at his wife and growled at the children. All he wanted was to be with the widow.
CHAPTER V
A SPECTACULAR ARREST
The hot and dry days of summer were upon them and Inspector Clua-an-t’ha was kept busy, very busy. He had to interview all the known owners of elephants, establish facts and check alibis. His own men were still looking for the Sadhu the young boy had told him about, and he also had to interview the moneylenders.
And they certainly didn’t want to be questioned by the police. Not even about the time of day. So they made themselves scarce and our inspector had a hard task tracking them down.
To crown it all his superiors kept interfering and that most beautiful of widows; Matalevi Varanasi kept visiting him on an almost daily basis. Since he was so obviously in love with her and she seemed to have taken a fancy to him, the inevitable happened, they started to have an affair.
Of course he knew very well that it was wrong, forbidden and most inopportune, but he couldn’t help himself. It was not clear if Matalevi had any scruples at all. She most certainly wanted long passionate hours at any time of day and night. Inspector Clua-an-t’ha would loose his job if their affair ever came to light, and so the lovers had to be very careful where they met.
It was most wonderful while it lasted, but it most certainly complicated his job and upset his normal routines. He had to tell a lot of lies to his wife back home, and that triggered his bad moods and made him very unpleasant to live with.
At the office he had no patience for his colleagues or underlings. He grumbled and shouted at them. At times life was so stressed and complicated the he almost wished she would go away; go back to Bombay or where ever. At other times he couldn’t get enough of her and made love frantically in stolen moments in obscure hotel rooms, and sometimes in an empty house of one of his friends.
The day came when Afasheer was invited to the police station for an interview. After a bit of prodding the whole story came out and Afasheer told his version of the events. Inspector Clua-an-t’ha was happy enough with that, at last he had found someone who was clearly involved in the case. He let Afasheer go after signing a written statement, but he had a hunch and started a file on the man right away. Since there was no need to interview the rest of the elephant owners in the city he sent his men out to observe Afasheer. Some other members of his staff finally traced the old Sadhu and he was brought to the office for questioning. Not that it helped much in the beginning for the man wouldn’t speak one word. In fact he never spoke to anyone at all. Being wise in the ways of Sadhus, that didn’t surprise our inspector. It didn’t take him long to figure out that the Sadhu had taken a holy vow never to speak again in this life. Ah! Problems!
But strangely enough this Sadhu could write and once supplied with pen and paper, he did. Badly, hardly decipherable and also in a language our inspector didn’t know himself, but he wrote enough. It took a while to find someone who could read that language and translate the Sadhu’s words. He proved a blessing in disguise to Inspector Clua-an-t’ha for he wrote how he had seen a man with an elephant leaning over the victim and later on wiping his bloodstained hands on his clothes before disappearing. However, he didn’t mention the young boy who had pushed Afasheer or that the body had been there long before and had been cold even when put there.
Our inspector was well pleased, things were moving in his case! He read Afasheer’s statement again, also the young boy’s story and ordered him to be brought to the office again.
The rags in which Shiram Varansi had been found were inspected again and tested for fingerprints. And lo and behold they found some. Now he had to obtain Afasheer’s prints to see if they could be matched. Meanwhile he decided to have the moneylender whose chit was found on the body arrested. After a couple of days in jail he might be a bit more supportive of the police. Afasheer was kept under close observation and his finances were being quietly probed into.
Inspector Clua-an-t’ha was truly busy in these hot weeks.
Afasheer’s fingerprints were obtained by one of his colleagues by the simple means of paying a little baksheesh to a waiter in one of the restaurants where Afasheer often came for lunch. They matched some of the fingerprints on Shiram’s rags and now our inspector had a case against Afasheer.
But what about a motive? He had dealt with enough murderers to know that the motive wasn’t always obvious, but normally there was always a reason for killing someone. Afasheer didn’t seem to need money at all; he seemed to have more than enough of it. His business was flourishing, and of course the police had found out about his little side job and had thoroughly inspected that he was good at jewellery and made a nice profit out of it as well.
Our inspector was having a problem. He had a murder, he had a suspect - however unlikely- he had two witnesses but he didn’t have the stolen money and he didn’t have a motive.
What he did have was a lot of pressure from his superiors. After another passionate night with Matalevi he arrived at his office early, tired, but well relaxed. He made up his mind. He was going to arrest Afasheer on suspicion of having unlawfully killed Shiram Varanasi.
And when his colleagues informed him later that day that Afasheer was going to have a dinner party with some of his most important business partners in a well-known hotel, he decided that it would be a great opportunity for a spectacular arrest. So he set out to organize it. First of all he informed a journalist he knew quite well that “interesting developments” were expected on the coming Friday at the Koh-I-Noor Hotel, in such a way assuring himself of a very good covering by the press.
Then he got himself organized. Plenty of police officers around the building, vehicles in the streets surrounding the hotel and all his assistants would be waiting in the big dining room.
As the day neared he also decided to have dinner there himself, with Matalevi and her sister. But he didn’t inform them of his plans. It would be a spectacular coup and might help his career quite a bit.
He grinned, pleased with himself and the course of things. He could hardly wait until Friday evening.
Now in India there is a long-standing procedure that if the police decide to arrest a well known famous person they like to do it in style. As spectacularly as possible and preferably with a lot of publicity.
And indeed Afasheer’s arrest followed that tradition very nicely.
The big hotel was surrounded by officers and cars were lined up in all the back alleys. Inside, numerous journalists were either dining in the big hall or sipping drinks at the adjoining bar. Well-dressed and very well behaved upper class people were having exquisite meals served by numerous uniformed waiters who rushed around silently and very efficiently.
Our inspector was enjoying a very nice dinner himself for once, with the Varanasi sisters dressed in their very best. Deliberately he had chosen to dine early, so he would not have to miss any of his courses before he arrested Afasheer. At half past eight he excused himself to Matalevi and her sister, stood up and moved to Afasheer’s table. His assistants moved across the big hall to follow him and then he halted in front of Afasheer and arrested him clearly and loudly for the murder of Shiram Varanasi.
While a dumb struck Afasheer stared bewildered at the police officer mayhem broke out. All the journalists moved forwards, flashbulbs exploded, waiters scuttled around, seats were overturned and everyone was shouting at the tops of their voices. It was very satisfactory indeed. Afasheer was handcuffed and led away by his assistants and Inspector Clua-an-t’ha gave an improvised press conference in the bar.
CHAPTER VI
MONEY HELPS
Afasheer woke up from a horrible nightmare in complete darkness and utter silence. Shaking and trembling, bathed in sweat, he lay on a bed trying to orientate himself. Slowly he started to remember. The dinner party. His arrest. Being handcuffed like a common criminal in front of hundreds of people. Being taken to the cells.
And he remembered the long hours of questioning, deep into the night.
Having to strip and being bodily searched before he had to put on the hideous prisoners garb. Only to be locked in a dark stinking hellhole of a cell.
He had fallen asleep from sheer shock and exhaustion, only to wake up from a monstrous nightmare in which he had been chased by a set of crocodiles wearing his friends’ faces. Trying to escape but ever again slipping back into the mud.
He shook his head to clear it from those horrible images. Being thirsty he now tried to get up in the dark. He felt around him in the dark but could only feel the walls. He stood up and slowly moved around until his legs touched something. He bent down and groped. It felt like another bed, not that he could remember having seen another bed when he had been put in here last night. But then he wouldn’t have noticed a cow in the condition he was in.
Not only was there another bed in the cell, there was also another person, to the everlasting relief of Ashafeer. Because that person now started to speak to him in the kindest and most reassuring manner, like a mother to a distraught child.
At last he was able to say some words himself He tried different languages until the friendly voice answered in one of them. At last they could talk.
Thank the great Gods of Life and Death. He could talk and listen to someone else. A little bit of his sanity returned and he asked for some water. A cupful was put in his hands within moments and he drank deeply. Although the water was tepid and didn’t taste very nice he was extremely grateful.
His cellmate told him his name, Mango-li, and Ashafeer told him his. Since news travels even inside a prison with just about the speed of light, Mango-li knew all about Afasheer, but he was polite and asked him about what had happened. He listened quietly for a while, making soothing noises every so often. Then he told Afasheer a little bit about himself. Where he came from, how he had been in jail numerous times, mostly for theft, sometimes for a break-in.
Afasheer couldn’t have wished for a better cellmate. For Mango-li knew all about the police and prisons, he described the daily routine and told him how to survive and keep his sanity in jail.
He told Ashafeer about rules and regulations, rights and duties, what to expect and what not. How you could improve conditions by doing favours to selected wardens and other prisoners, and what money could do to improve life behind bars. Ashafeer was intrigued. He didn’t know anything about jail apart from that it was a place where criminals were kept.
They talked for hours until he finally fell asleep again, this time untroubled by nightmares.
He woke up hearing footsteps outside. Then the clanking of keys. Finally the door was opened.
Mango-li got up immediately and grabbed the bucket. “Slopping out time”, he announced to Ashafeer. “ Just follow me and do what I do and always do whatever the warden says.”
And so Ashafeer was introduced to the rigours of prison life.
Slopping out was followed by fetching water. They were locked up again and a little later breakfast was delivered. At mid morning Mango-li was taken out of the cell with the other low-risk prisoners to spend the day in the courtyard.
But Afasheer was kept locked up until he was called for in the early hours of the afternoon. He was interrogated for hours; again and again he was asked what he had done with the money. He was also informed that a confession would make his life in prison much more bearable.
Afasheer felt helpless. How could he confess to a crime he hadn’t committed? On the fourth day he was allowed to see a lawyer. Not knowing any defense lawyers, he asked for the one his firm had always been dealing with in legal matters.
He was allowed half an hour, under supervision of course, but it was better than nothing Firmly he instructed his lawyer, Jahri Susenathi, to bring a thousand rupees on his next visit, instruct his office manager to continue as usual, tell his servants to keep everything in order and to look well after Memba.
Finally he agreed that he would really need a good defense lawyer. Then he was marched back into his cell and locked up once more. He felt tired and hopeless.
For another week nothing happened.
Every day he was interrogated for hours before being locked up. Water and food were limited and not like what he was used to. Only Mango-li kept his spirits up. Every evening he reported the daily rumours of the jail. Then, suddenly his conditions improved. He was allowed out in the courtyard with the other prisoners. His lawyer came to see him with the money and with a very famous defense lawyer called Maestro Flumigahri.
He was allowed to have his own account with the prison service, which could be used to buy food and drink from outside. He could also buy newspapers and best of all; he could by visitor’s time. That of course was completely illegal and not mentioned in any Rules or Regulations, but that was the way it worked.
Now he could see his office manager Chan every day for an hour, and at night he could have other visitors for an hour and a half. It was a great improvement and he was glad to be able to look after his business again.
Maestro Flumigahri came regularly to give legal advice and to keep him informed about the procedures. Since the police didn’t have a witness to the actual killing and since the missing money hadn’t been recovered their case was shaky. They would prefer a confession from Afasheer before they brought him to court. Afasheer started to feel better.
Another snippet of news reached him in jail. The Sadhu had disappeared and the police had lost one witness that way. Not all news was good news however, because they had also recovered a knife from Afasheer’s home, which bore his fingerprints and was according to the police- the murder weapon.
But he wasn’t to disturbed about that. He ordered his lawyer to put more money in his prison account and ordered new beds and blankets. Then he ordered books, arranged another visitor hour and finally, after four weeks he managed to be allowed to keep Memba in the prison courtyard- although he had to pay heavily for that privilege.
By then he was past worrying about money. He shared most of his privileges with Mango-li and their friendship became deeper. Every day he walked around the courtyard for hours with his beloved elephant and at night he received his friends and relatives. They ate the best food money could buy and read any book or paper they wanted.
His friends advised him to hire a private detective to prove his innocence and after a while he gave in. Maestro Flumigahri was ordered to contact the best private detective he could find.
CHAPTER VII
ASSISTANCE FROM FAR AWAY
Monsieur Jardin was used to an awful lot of unusual things, having been in the police force for over thirty years. So when he got a telegram one nice Sunday morning he didn’t even bat an eyelid. He read the telegram twice, inspected his diary and then went to have a talk with his wife Francoise.
“Well darling” he said, “they want me to go to India on an urgent case. How would you like that?” And because his wife had known him for so long she just studied his face for a moment before she replied: “Well, that would be nice I think. But what about all your other jobs? And who is going to look after the house and garden and feed the cats and hens?” For she was very practical.
Monsieur Jardin thought that none of his other jobs were urgent, and all the other things could be easily arranged.
It had been done many times before. Right away he started to use the phone, sent Francoise packing and within hours he sat down with a smile on his face.
They shared a bottle of wine together, while he told her about the mail boat leaving Genoa for Bombay come Tuesday evening and how their neighbour’s son Paul would look after their house, garden and livestock. So they finished packing and on the Monday afternoon boarded the train to Genoa.
They arrived in time to do some last minute shopping before going down to the harbour to see the fast steamer coming in. Before long they were installed in their cabin to face a quite luxurious journey to Bombay for the foreseeable future.
Francoise liked going on long trips and holidays. She preferred to be with her husband whenever he had to go away for more than a week or so. She had accompanied him on numerous trips so far, and she had always managed to find them nice and comfortable quarters wherever he was sent.
Of course she looked forward to seeing India again. They had lived there in different places for several years during her husband’s long career.
While the steamer made it’s way steadily to India, Afasheer’s friends were busy. They organized a good hotel for the French detective and his wife, arranged a car and driver to bring them to Delhi and prepared a written statement with all that they knew about the case so far.
Inside the prison Afasheer had meanwhile done a lot of thinking.
He finally believed Maestro Flumigahri in that he had been framed for the murder, although he could not believe that anybody could be so cruel to him. As far as he knew he didn’t have any enemies.
But there was no other explanation. In order to have more funds available to pay his lawyer and the private detective, he instructed Maestro Flumigahri to sell some of his properties and open a special account to cover all his expenses.
Monsieur Jardin and his wife duly arrived in Bombay. They were very well received by Afasheer’ s best friends and travelled to Delhi in style a couple of days later. They settled in the hotel chosen for them and prepared to start working on the case. Before visiting Afasheer in prison, the detective decided to go and visit his house, taking Francoise with him.
He was pleasantly surprised, the place was kept in immaculate condition and the servants seemed all to be friendly, capable and intelligent.
Francoise went to see the kitchen and befriended the cook and her assistants. They had a good long talk about food, recipes, likes and dislikes in eating and drinking and the habits of their master Afasheer. Both Francoise and her husband spoke several of the main Indian languages and that proved to be very handy indeed.
Monsieur Jardin liked Afasheer’s house very well and he was impressed with his servants.
So, after he had a long meeting with Afasheer and maestro Flumigahri next day, he accepted Afasheer’s invitation to stay in his own house for as long as he was working on his case. Francoise and he moved in that very same day, much to their satisfaction. She had already become firm friends with the kitchen staff the previous day. During the “ Conference” as Monsieur Jardin called the meeting with Afasheer and his lawyer, it had been clearly established that somebody, somehow and for some unknown reason, had framed Afasheer.
Monsieur Jardin thought that the boy who had caused Afasheer to stumble must be part of the plot, however unlikely, but he also reminded them that if an alibi could be established, he would be off the hook as well.
So he decided to follow these lines of inquiry and decided he would need some helpers. Although Afasheer had been reluctant to talk about his jewellery business and more reluctant still to say anything about his charity, Monsieur Jardin had of course found out all about these aspects of Afasheer’s life. And that proved to be beneficial for all of them.
Because when he visited the charity hostel run on Afasheer’s behalf, he met a most astonishing young man called Whirlwind. He had another nickname too, Flying Rumours. Of course Whirlwind knew of the difficulties his benefactor was in, and he knew plenty rumours about Afasheer and some about the inspector who arrested him. He knew rumours about the Sadhu who had testified against Afasheer and even about the boy who had pushed him.
And when it became clear to Whirlwind that Monsieur Jardin was looking for helpers, he volunteered straight away and was taken on as an assistant. Both Monsieur Jardin and Francoise had taken an immediate liking to him. He was so bright and funny, so full of life and stories and jokes that he kept everyone enthralled. Apart from that he was a great mimic and often had everybody in tears of laughter with his antics.
“Now Master Sahib,” he said to Monsieur Jardin, “you just leave me be, give me a little baksheesh and I will go and be your eyes and ears. You tell me Master, what you want to know and I will find out for you in a jiffy.” And so it was arranged that Whirlwind would go out during the day and find out as much as he could, before returning each evening to report to Monsieur Jardin.
CHAPTER VIII
COW DUNG HELPS
“Complications, there are always complications!” thought Inspector Clua-an-t’ha to himself. Instead of promotion he was facing disaster. The big Chief Constable was breathing down his neck more than ever. Yes, he had made an arrest.
But one of the key witnesses had disappeared. There was no sign of the Sadhu however much they tried to locate him. There still wasn’t any motive for the murder, and no confession. Under these circumstances it was very unlikely that Afasheer would be convicted in court. He would have to confess before the police could be sure of the case.
But that was not the only thing that bothered our inspector. There was more, much more. His wonderful affair with Matalevi was running into trouble. Apart from being very beautiful and full-blooded she also wanted to be in the limelight.
And she was, of course used to being treated as only the very wealthy can treat their own. Poor Inspector Clua-an-t’ha most certainly couldn’t afford a life style anywhere near hers. Matalevi became demanding. She didn’t just want a lover, she wanted a man who could show his appreciation by giving her the sort of presents she was used to, and who could take her out to fancy restaurants and nightclubs. She expected some nice bits of jewellery once in a while from the man who cherished her, and when none of these things were forthcoming she grew disappointed with her lover.
Our inspector became disillusioned. He had a boss breathing down his neck, a demanding lover behind his back and on the rare occasions he went home there was an embittered and spiteful wife right in front of him. She had long since stopped believing in any of his excuses and lies about his nights and evenings away. Maybe she didn’t know for a fact he had a lover but womanly intuition told her something was very wrong.
The inspector had nowhere to turn and felt trapped. He was in a dark despondent mood as he sat in his office sipping tea and studying his files. Then like a flash he had an idea. If he could only get Afasheer to confess! That would save him.
So Afasheer got a visitor in jail shortly afterwards. By now he had been left alone for weeks by the authorities. So much so that he had almost forgotten about them. And accordingly he was very surprised to see Inspector Clua-an-t’ha arriving at the prison and coming to his cell to visit him.
Our inspector greeted him jovially while his eyes scanned the cell. With one glance he saw the new beds, the carpet, the books and magazines lying about and all the other luxuries you normally don’t find in a prison cell.
“Nice to see you looking so well “, he said,” And I see you are enjoying all kinds of little extras. But a slight problem has arisen regarding these luxuries. You see, we like to help our prisoners when we can when they cooperate with the authorities. So we have been waiting to give you a chance. Sadly no help has been coming forward from your side. Now unless you confess to your crimes within twenty-four hours, I’m afraid we shall have to withdraw all your little extras. That would include of course having an elephant in the prison courtyard.”
And smiling benignly he left Afasheer to ponder on these revelations. Feeling much better our inspector returned to his office. He felt his threats would do the trick. Afasheer was shocked. He still remembered vividly that first week in prison and he didn’t like to think that he was going to face similar conditions again so he conveyed an urgent message to his lawyer and Monsieur Jardin through a friend that same evening. And it didn’t take long for those two to arrive at the prison the next morning. Afasheer told them all about the threats made by Inspector Clua-an-t’ha, and then sat down with his hands in his hair. Monsieur Jardin ~however smiled, there was a mischievous grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes when he told Afasheer about the inspector’s flowering love life. He himself had been informed of that most interesting aspect of the inspector’s life by Whirlwind, but so far he had kept that knowledge at the back of his mind to use it whenever it would become handy.
And it became very handy right now.” Don’t worry,” he told Afasheer. ”I will have a little talk with the inspector later on. Now tell me again exactly where you went on the night of the murder.” And he pulled maps of the city and its surroundings out of his bag and spread them on the floor. They traced the route Memba and Afasheer had taken and the detective explained to Afasheer that if they could find anyone who had seen him that night, he would be off the hook. He questioned Afasheer again and again of all he had done that night and wrote it all down in his notebook. When they were finally done he nodded. “We will now go and sort that lovesick inspector out,” he told Afasheer. And they left.
Instead of going directly to see Inspector Clua-an-t’ha in person however, he decided to send him an anonymous letter. He was sure it would have the desired effect. So he wrote the note and sent it on the way by one of the runner boys who always lounged around in the main streets. Then he sat down with his wife for a quiet cup of tea and awaited Whirlwind’s return.
It was shortly after dinner that night when Whirlwind returned. Dirty, disheveled and with a wide grin on his face. “Dear boss, sir Sahib, all is well,” he told the detective. They talked for a while about all the matters that concerned them and then Monsieur Jardin became serious.
“Listen Whirlwind, there is a lot to do right now,” the detective told him. “Tomorrow you go and get all your friends. Then we go and ask everybody who lives along the road that Master Afasheer and Memba took on the night of the murder. Someone must have seen them coming or going. We ask everybody, old, young, blind or deaf.
And so one of the strings of the web that would solve the murder of Shiram Varasani was put in place. Another string was put in place by Mango-li who was coming to the end of his prison sentence, and preparing to leave jail and Afasheer.
Since they had become firm friends, Mango-li had decided that he needed to help Afasheer. He would trace that young boy who had pushed his friend. To him it was clear that the boy would somehow lead to the real murderer. But he told no one about his plans for the time being.
Whirlwind and his friends swarmed out next morning and talked to hundreds of people all day long. For days on end they kept doing just that and they did find enough people who had either seen Afasheer and Memba come or go.
But nobody had seen them in the middle of the night, the time of the murder.
But then fate took a hand in the proceedings. In a strange way as usual, for Whirlwind injured his leg when he jumped from a cart that had given him a lift. And it happened to be just outside a hut where a boy and his dog lived, in a little hamlet that bordered on the jungle.
And while the boy bound up his leg with a plaster of cow dung, the two boys got talking to each other. The boy explained to Whirlwind that cow dung was the best medicine in cases like his and Whirlwind accepted his invitation to stay the night. The boys soon became friends and of course Whirlwind told his new friend all about Afasheer and the detective and all they were trying to find out.
The boy, called Harkh, found it unbelievable that anyone could own an elephant and take it for walks. But the story triggered long forgotten memories and in the middle of the night he woke up from a confused dream about elephants, dogs and cows. It was then that the memories of a long forgotten moonlit night flooded back to him.
He woke Whirlwind and told him about that strange night when he had gone into the jungle to find his dog. He described how he had found a man asleep in a clearing and an elephant feeding off the trees. “Could that have been Your Master?” he asked Whirlwind.
And his newfound friend was so grateful for this story that he fell on his knees, cow dung and all and prayed to all the Gods he knew and several he didn’t know yet. He was ecstatic.
“That will save my Master,” he kept saying.
Early next morning they went on their way back to the city. Harkh organized an oxcart and Whirlwind paid for it. Then Harkh loaded a fresh heap of cow dung on the back of the cart, so that his new friend would have a plentiful supply.
He insisted that Whirlwind needed five days with cow dung plasters around his leg before it would be all right. To Monsieur Jardin’s never lessening surprise there arrived just after breakfast, on oxcart with driver, two very dirty looking boys, a dog and a heap of cow dung loaded on the back.
Whirlwind soon explained all there was to be explained and the detective sat down to figure out which night exactly Harkh had seen the man and his elephant and how they could prove it. Of course Harkh didn’t have a diary or a calendar, but he remembered that it was the first night of the full moon, three days after a local festival in there village. He checked the dates and they fitted. Now he needed proof of that. So they all piled back into the oxcart and set out once again for the little village. Monsieur Jardin questioned the priest who was on duty in the little temple, and all Harkh had been telling them was agreed upon as the truth. Now they returned to the city and went to refresh themselves. The boys were scrubbed and put into fresh clothes, the detective took a written statement from the village priest along and then he went to police head quarters.
CHAPTER IX
OUT OF THE FRYING PAN…..
While Whirlwind refreshed his bandage of cow dung on his injured leg, Francoise took care of the boy. She made sure he ate and drank enough and talked to him in a relaxed way about all that had happened in Afasheer’s case so far.
Before nightfall Monsieur Jardin arrived back from his visit to Inspector Clua-an-t’ha. They had a little party that night to celebrate the alibi they had found for Afasheer. Whilst Monsieur Jardin went again to police headquarters to see about Afasheer’s release from prison, Whirlwind was busy recalling all his friends and relatives and paying them off for the time being.
Francoise was enjoying herself by organizing a big party for that evening with the help of the cooks and all Afasheer’s servants. She was absolutely sure that he would be released from prison that day. It took most of the day though, because the police wanted to interview anyone connected with the case, and they needed written statements as well. Just before nightfall Monsieur Jardin and maestro Flumigahri arrived at the prison with all the signed and stamped documents needed for Afasheer’s release.
A very happy and greatly relieved Afasheer rode out of the prison gate on Memba’s back, a free man again for the first time in many months.
Some of his servants had come to the prison as well, to welcome their master and take all his possessions home from the prison. Maestro Flumigahri stayed behind to finish all the legal paperwork and to close Afasheer’s account with the prison authorities.
And there was a party that evening at Afasheer’s house. A brilliant party.
His business friends, who had heard about his release on that mysterious grapevine, arrived. They were utterly delighted. Neighbours came and lots of relatives and some of the staff from his charity hostel.
Whirlwind was the hero of the moment and entertained the masses in the most wonderful and funny way until he got so drunk that Francoise had to put him to bed. The party lasted into the early hours of the morning and caused a few hangovers and headaches the next day.
The visits of friends and relatives went on for quite a while and of course Afasheer had to give interviews to numerous journalists. For once he didn’t mind. He was glad to tell his story and to point out that had been innocent from the start. Now he could take Memba out on long walks once again and he started to go back to his office for a couple of hours each day. Slowly but steadily life resumed most of it’s former routine.
Whirlwind was promoted to be his private assistant and Monsieur Jardin and Francoise were persuaded to stay on for a little holiday. He was quite adamant about that, for he was not only grateful for their role in bringing about his freedom, he had grown very fond of them and they all had become close friends.
There came an evening when Monsieur Jardin talked seriously to Afasheer. “There is still a lot we have not been able to find out,” he said. “ You are free, out of jail, but who wanted you there in the first place? Why ever did that young boy shove you, and what role does that missing Sadhu play in all this? Who wanted to frame you for that murder and why?”
Afasheer didn’t have an answer. He just could not imagine that anyone would frame him. As far as he knew he had no enemies.
Then there was a surprise visit one day. Ali the gatekeeper came to announce Matalevi Varasani herself, accompanied by her sister.
After being officially introduced to Afasheer, she expressed her sorrow that he as an innocent person had been put in jail for a murder he hadn’t committed. Afasheer was slightly taken aback, but he managed to make polite conversation. He recognized her beauty and attractiveness, but he was not interested in her.
At least that is what he told himself. Refreshments were dutifully handed around, tea was served by Whirlwind- resplendent in his brand new set of clothes- and Afasheer wondered how long the visit was going to last.
It was very clear to Whirlwind that the beautiful widow had an eye on his master and he chuckled to himself, spreading this nice bit of gossip around the kitchen. Finally the two sisters left to return to their hotel. Afasheer had seen the signals the widow was giving him and he wondered: was the inspector out of the running already? He tried to get back into his normal routine and to enjoy the last couple of days Pierre and Francoise Jardin were staying with him. They had decided to go to Bombay and visit some of their old friends and to do a bit of shopping before returning to France.
His life didn’t return to normal that easy however. There were still the odd interviews and because of the prominence given to the case he had by now become quite a celebrity himself. Whenever he took Memba out they were recognized and greeted by complete strangers. And then there was Matalevi. She appeared again within the week to visit him, and this time she surprised him by giving him a wonderful bracelet made of gold and diamonds and rubies, to appease him for all his sufferings. Of course he had to accept after numerous protestations, and strangely enough, he was very pleased with it. He felt obliged to invite her for dinner the next day. Whirlwind lapped it all up. “Master is being chased by this woman”, he explained to all the kitchen staff. “And she is very beautiful and rich”. He snickered and told them about the big eyes she was making at Afasheer.
After that evening he could hardly go out to a restaurant at night without Matalevi turning up at the same place sooner or later. And every time that happened he had to invite her to his table of course. Sometimes he thought to himself that it was uncanny how she found him.
She must have been spying on him or having others spy for her. Invariably she was surprised and delighted to meet him and quite good company too.
In a way he was pleased — as any man would be to receive so much attention from a beautiful and by now very rich woman. But he was also worried. So far he had avoided marriage, but he wasn’t so sure he could avoid it this time. Luckily he could sometimes escape with Memba from the city and have a quite night away from the city.
It was on one of these nights that an anonymous letter arrived. Ali, the gatekeeper, found it early in the morning, dangling from the gate by a piece of string. As soon as Afasheer returned home that morning, it was handed over to him. It proved to be not a nice letter, not a nice letter at all.
It went like this: “You have now seen what we can do to you. Unless you pay us twenty percent of the profits you make on a monthly, basis we will ruin you”. And the letter went on with explicit instructions as how he had to hand over the first installment, which was to be twenty thousand rupees.
He had to be at Connaught Place for five o’clock the next afternoon, with the money in a red velvet bag. Afasheer was deeply disturbed by the letter. He wished Monsieur Jardin was still around to help him out of these new troubles. He was sure of one thing, the blackmailer had to be the one who tried to frame him for the murder.
CHAPTER X
……INTO THE FIRE
....
Afasheer was so shocked by the anonymous letter that he didn’t know what to do for a while. He didn’t know anybody who would blackmail him. He was also annoyed, very annoyed. If somebody had it in for him he would find out as much as possible about that someone. Right now he didn’t want to talk about it to anybody, and of course it was no use to go to the police.
Come the next day he filled a red bag with ripped up newspaper instead of money and went to Connaught Place, as instructed. He would keep his eyes open and find out who was doing this to him. Connaught Place at that time of day is sheer mayhem. It is full of rickshaws, taxis buses and carts that it seems impossible that anything can move at all. Pedestrians shuttle around like ants from a disturbed ant heap, and such is the noise and chaos that you could lose your own self easily. Afasheer stood patiently in a corner and when it happened it happened so fast that he had no time to look or see anything. Suddenly somebody bumped into him, and whilst he struggled to regain his footing, the red bag had disappeared. In the milling masses of people he couldn’t see who had done it. Feeling utterly stupid and very disappointed he returned home, glad to be able to take Memba out for their evening walk.
He had been playing with fire without realising it. A couple of days went by without anything unusual happening and Afasheer was just starting to relax when he heard that there had been a break-in at his office. Nothing much was stolen, but quite a lot of damage had been done. Lengthy interviews with the police followed, his staff was questioned and his whole routine was upset again.
The next day another anonymous letter arrived. It read: “Just another little warning. No more mistakes. Twenty five thousand rupees in a blue bag tomorrow, same place same time.”
He was shocked and frightened but he decided immediately not to give in to the blackmail. He told Whirlwind of the letter this time, and that he was just going away for a couple of days with Memba. Would Whirlwind like to come along? Before they set out he wrote a letter to Monsieur Jardin explaining what was happening to him.
They went to the little village where Harkh and his dog lived, visited them briefly and after buying some provisions, they walked into the forest.
For a couple of days they didn’t do much but walking and resting. When Memba was having her swim they all joined in and a wonderful battle evolved. They were all throwing mud at each other for hours and Afasheer couldn’t remember having so much fun for years.
On the morning of the third day they returned to the city, Memba leading the way. Afasheer was relaxed and talked to Whirlwind, who laughed and joked as usual. Sometimes he imitated people they met on the road and nearly got Afasheer rolling with laughter with his antics. They were having such a good time that it took Afasheer a while before he realized something strange was going on at his house. A great crowd had gathered, and when they entered the gate they were met by lots of policemen, and none of his servants were visible.
There was a good reason for that, because they all had been rounded up and were being questioned in Afasheer’s living room. Afasheer was not to know about that until much later, for as soon as he was recognized he was arrested. Together with Whirlwind he was taken straight away to Headquarters. Both of them were completely bewildered.
At the police station they were both charged with murder and locked up. In separate cells. Afasheer tried to find out whom he was supposed to have murdered but got no reply to his questions. For more than a week they were locked up, seeing no one but a warden who brought them food and drink. Then Afasheer was told he could see a lawyer “If he so wished”.
To heck, he thought. Yes, wished indeed. More likely needed very much indeed. And he asked for Maestro Flumigahri. The Maestro came and was able to enlighten Afasheer. He told him what had happened.
Very early in the morning, Yousef, wanting to prepare everything for his master’s return, had gone into his bedroom, to find the widow Matalevi on his master’s bed. Stark naked and very shocking. More shocking still was the fact that she had a knife sticking out of her breast and the bed was full of blood. She appeared to be very dead. Of course Yousef had shouted so much that the whole household had come running to see what was wrong. After making sure Afasheer wasn’t in the house they had alerted the police. The police had arrived in big numbers and it was right in the middle of their investigations that Afasheer and Whirlwind had come home.
. The police had searched the whole house thoroughly, had taken pictures and fingerprints. They had questioned the poor servants for hours. Police doctors had examined Matalevi. and it had been very exiting and most horrible. The knife that had been used for the murder proved to belong to Afasheer and had his fingerprints on it.
Afasheer was in a horrible position. He knew that for weeks on end he had been seen with the widow regularly, in cafes and restaurants. And here she was found murdered in his house, worse, in his bed. He asked Maestro Flumigahri to send a telegram to the French detective.” Ask him please to come straight away,” he begged the lawyer. “Tell him I am at my wits end”.
CHAPTER XI
MANGO-LI PLAYS DETECTIVE
Unbeknown to Afasheer or anyone else Mango-li had decided that he was going to help his friend. He decided to go and trace that young boy who had pushed Afasheer and caused him to fall onto the murdered Varanasi.
It was Mango-li’s opinion that the boy had done it on purpose and that he was somehow connected with the murder. He could feel it in his bones. So he started to look for the boy as soon as he was released from prison. It took him a long time, for Delhi is a big city and it is easy enough to disappear without a trail if you want to. Obviously the boy had wanted to disappear, for he was nowhere to be found. But Mango-li had patience.
He told his friends who he was looking for and why, and soon there were a lot of eyes looking for the boy.
Later it proved to be the same day Afasheer had seemingly given in to the blackmail and went to Connaught Place that Mango-li spotted the boy for the first time. But right at that moment he didn’t know about Afasheer’s affair.
He knew he had found the boy at last and followed him. Through lots of back alleys and finally into a dead end street where he climbed a stair and entered a room built on top of the flat roof
Mango-li waited for a while and then went to look for his friends. He rounded them all up and explained where the boy was. They arranged to have the boy watched by two people all the time, just in case one of the two couldn’t follow quickly enough and lose him.
These observations went on for many days, but the boy never seemed to do anything unusual. He went out to eat and drink and to do some shopping, but apart from that he spent a lot of time in his room. Mango-li hung in there; he felt in his bones the boy was important and would lead them to others. And he had enough patience. After all that was one thing he had learned in prison.
It took them all by surprise when the boy went to the station one morning and boarded the train to Bombay.
Being the only one near enough to follow him, Mango-li climbed on board as well. Right now he was in a quandary. He could have done with some of his helpers on that train. If the boy suddenly got off at one of the many stations on the way he might not be able to follow him fast enough. He uttered a quick prayer to the Gods of Chaos.
He was lucky, very lucky. The boy stayed on the train all the way to Bombay and even there he didn’t leave the station, but boarded another train within hours.
That train went all the way to Madras. Again Mango-li followed him, getting on the train with thousands of others. Without a ticket and with very little money in his pockets. Not that he cared about that. Lots of people travel around India on the railways without a ticket. You just take the risk of a fine or being chucked of at the next stop. And surviving without money is an art that everybody learns sooner or later in India. It is easy enough to make friends on a long journey on a crowded train. Everybody shared the same problems and it is easier to share problems than to face them alone.
Mango-li was actually enjoying himself. It was ages ago since he had travelled that far and was enjoying meeting new people and seeing different places. On one of the many stops at a small station he managed to slip into the same carriage as the boy, and now he was confident he wouldn’t lose him. But he had a few hairy moments at Madras Station. The boy moved that fast it was uncanny. Mango-li had to do a bit of running before he caught up with the boy outside the station, where he was climbing into a rickshaw.
Unperturbed Mango-li climbed into the next one and asked the driver just to follow the rickshaw in front. “And not too close please,” he added.
The chase led him to a small ashram on the outskirts of the city. Mango-li observed the boy entering through the gate and decided to hang around. He would like to know what the boy was doing in the ashram in the first place, or was he going to visit someone in there? Because he was running low on money, he had to obtain some pretty fast if he was to keep following the boy. So he stole a handful of purses from a crowd at a nearby market.
Some had hardly any money in them at all, but one contained several hundred rupees, and he was well pleased with himself. He now rented a room across from the ashram and loitered around. There was a Sadhu in the ashram, a rather atypical one, for he was well dressed. Only his staring eyes and long hair confirmed him as a Sadhu. One day he saw the boy talking to the Sadhu, and an envelope changed hands. That was enough to convince him that both the boy and the Sadhu were linked to the murder and he decided to go home. It was time to inform his friend Afasheer about his observations. After that it would be up to Afasheer to decide what to do about those two.
CHAPTER XII
ACTION ON ALL FRONTS
Maestro Flumigahri, having been Afasheer’s lawyer from the very beginning of his troubles, knew that his client would need the help of the French detective again.
To get him out of trouble if that was possible at all. He knew Monsieur Jardin and his charming wife had left India and were on their way to France. But he didn’t know how long it would take them, or on which boat exactly they were. So he had to visit the travel agency where all the bookings for Europe were made.
It took a while, but at last he knew on which steamer they had embarked, and he had a list of ports of call. He then sent telegrams to all these places and an extra telegram was sent to the home of, the French detective.
The telegram reached Monsieur Jardin at Aden, the Red Sea port, and it caused immediate upheaval. The ship would anchor for only half day or so, replenishing the coalbunkers and taking fresh food and water on board.
If he were to pack his luggage and leave the ship, he didn’t have much time. But first of all he had to discuss with Francoise what was going to happen. “I think you best go home, darling,” he told her. “I have no choice, it seems I’m very much needed in Delhi and I will need to go back as soon as I can. But you can keep an eye on our house and garden, at least for a while.”
Francoise was torn. It was true she was looking forward to going home. But on the other hand she knew she wouldn’t enjoy being at home without her husband. In the end she gave in and consented to continue on her voyage home but they agreed that if the case was going to take more than two or three weeks or so, she would return to Delhi once more. Monsieur Jardin packed his belongings hurriedly and left the ship after a tearful farewell.
He installed himself in the only decent hotel in the town, and started to make inquiries about return steamers bound for India. And he was lucky, for one of the fast Mail- Packets would come through within five days time, bound for Calcutta and onward for Malaya. He booked his ticket.
Meanwhile life went on in the city. Afasheer was still locked up in solitary confinement and the only thing he had to look forward to were the weekly visits of Maestro Flumigahri. During these visits the lawyer tried to put some hope in Afasheer’s heart, but even he had to admit that the case looked black. Very black. And this time he brought some more bad news. Some people had come forward and told the police how they had seen a man with an elephant in the neighbourhood of Afasheer’s house on the night of the murder. They had not been able to recognize Afasheer, but stated that the man resembled him. He himself had no doubt that the same people who had framed him for the first murder and then had tried to blackmail him, framed him again
On receiving Monsieur Jardin’s reply telegram announcing the time and day he would be arriving in Calcutta, Maestro Flumigahri informed Afasheer as soon as possible. Afasheer asked him to get Whirlwind out of prison. “I’m sure the detective will need the boy,” he said. “And we all know he is completely innocent in this case”, he added. The lawyer promised to do his best.
While they were waiting for the detective to arrive, Mango-li was making his way back to Delhi. It didn’t take him long to find Afasheer’s home, where he was met by All. The gatekeeper told him straight away that his master wasn’t at home, but in prison again. This time for the murder of the first victim’s widow.
Mango-li couldn’t believe it. “My dear friend Afasheer couldn’t kill a fly if he tried,” he told Ali. Ali then told of the severe conditions under which his master was kept. Only one visit a week from his lawyer”, he said. “No good food, no walks, no letters even. We don’t know what to do to help our poor master.
And Memba is in a bad mood. If she can’t be with Master, she doesn’t like us.” Together they decided that Maestro Flumigahri needed to be told of Mango-li’s discoveries so they sent a runner boy along with a chit. Ali then talked to Yousaf, Afasheer’s personal servant, and they agreed to offer Mango-li a place to sleep in their quarters.
They felt that anyone who could help their master in the least little bit should be kept together. Just after they had organized a place for Mango-li in the household, the lawyer arrived, and he had a long talk with Mango-li. He listened carefully, took notes and in the end told him of the detective arriving in Calcutta shortly. “Lets leave to Monsieur Jardin what can be done about your information,” he told Mango-li. The lawyer informed Afasheer on his next visit to prison about what Mango-li had done to help him. Afasheer was very glad to hear the story, and he was touched that his prison friend had gone to so much trouble for him. “And what have you done to get Whirlwind out of jail?” he asked his lawyer. “Well”, announced the Maestro, “They are willing to do a deal. If you confess to the murder, they will release Whirlwind in return.” “ That is not going to help at all”, declared Afasheer. “I will never confess to a crime I haven’t committed.
He was feeling very determined about that right now. He knew he would fight back. Somehow they would find and expose these criminals who had done all this to him. And he wished that the strict sanctions against him would be lifted, so that he could talk to other prisoners and walk in the courtyard.
So far the authorities had been unrelenting in their attitude towards him.
No amount of money could buy him any little privilege at all. Afasheer hoped that Monsieur Jardin could do something, anything to help him out of the dreadful mess he was in.
Maestro Flumigahri had so far been in charge of all Afasheer’s affairs, and he didn’t like it. So he was delighted when the detective arrived soon afterwards. Once he had made his way from the station to Afasheer’s house he was warmly welcomed by all. He took charge immediately. Calling them all together, he let them explain what had happened. He questioned them for a good while, taking notes in his little book.
That evening he met Mango-li for the first time, and was delighted with what the man had done. He praised him no end for his initiative and the careful ways he had followed the suspected boy. “Your discoveries will one day get our friend out of jail”, he declared. Before going to bed that night he visited Memba in the garden. “I promise you my dear, we will get your master out of jail one way or another”, he told the lonesome elephant. Then he went to bed, but for long hours he could not sleep. Instead he thought about this strange case.
CHAPTER XIII
HELP FROM UNEXPECTED QUARTERS
Maestro Flumigahri had a strange visit one day. An official from the Chinese embassy came to see him. He was immaculately dressed and handed over his business card over to the lawyer with a smile. “Let me explain myself,” he started. “Our government is very disturbed about the activities of certain Chinese nationals. We try to maintain friendly relations with the Indian government and we feel that the practices of these individuals have a negative effect on our efforts. For years we have been gathering information about a group of- what we call criminals. They are involved in the protection money scheme and seem to operate mainly in Bombay, but lately one of the main suspects has been spotted repeatedly in Delhi. We are very afraid that they will try to expand their nasty business to Delhi.
And while studying the case we have concluded that your client, Afasheer, might have been victim of their horrible schemes.
Of course we can’t be sure yet, but we would like to inform you of our concerns and provide some pictures of the three leading suspects. Our government feels you should be forewarned in case you come across any Chinese individuals in the course of your investigations.”
Maestro Flumigahri himself of course had not much use for all this information, but he contacted Monsieur Jardin, and another meeting with the Chinese official was arranged. After listening to Han-shi for about an hour, rarely interrupting him apart from an occasional question to clarify a point, he smiled at his guest and declared to be very grateful for his help. He then proceeded to tell Han-shi about the investigations Mango-li had carried out on his own. “I feel that both the boy and the Sadhu are closely involved with your blackmailers”, he said. “We will keep you informed of our actions and we will be very glad to co-operate with your government.” They said goodbye to each other and Monsieur Jardin went to work. A plan was taking shape in his mind, and he had to do some serious thinking.
First of all he decided he would need some more trained assistants, and went out to a private detective agency in the city. Since he personally knew the manager of the agency it proved to be simple to hire around ten trained investigators to help him with his plans in various ways. He returned home pleased with the way things were going.
Whirlwind appeared late one night at the gate of Afasheer’s house. A delighted Ali led him to Monsieur Jardin. “Since I’m on the run from prison I had better lie low,” he told the detective. “But I will come late at night to see you everyday, and you can tell me what I can do to help our master.
Monsieur Jardin was pleased to see him and didn’t worry too much that Whirlwind might be recaptured by the police. The boy was quick and intelligent, he would manage. And he began to include Whirlwind in his plans. It would be best for the boy to disappear for a while, and the detective thought of sending him to Madras to investigate that old Sadhu a bit closer. So he waited for Whirlwind to arrive in the middle of the night and started to explain his plans. “You can take two of the detectives I’ve hired along with you, and two or three of your closest friends. You will all work together as a team and observe the ashram and the Sadhu as close as you can. Maybe one of you can get a temporary job in there. I will supply you all with cameras and recorders, and remember it is vital to bring evidence back.”
Then they agreed on different coded telegrams to keep the home base informed. The next morning they all assembled in the big living room.
The detective supplied them all with money and handed out the equipment, making sure they could all operate the machinery. And the first party was sent on its way. To Whirlwind, as the leader of the expedition, he handed a list of names and addresses. “These are all trusted friends of mine,” he explained. “If you run into any trouble you can get help from them.” Next he turned to Mango-li. “I will give you some trained assistants as well,” he told him. “And of course you will get cameras and recorders as well. Just you keep a close eye on that boy, you never know what he will do next.”
Ali would receive any post, coded telegrams or messages to forward to Maestro Flumigahri, who would for the time being act as a liaison officer. Finally he announced that he himself would go to Bombay with the rest of the detectives, to try and gather evidence against the Chinese gangsters. He had lived in Bombay before, and still had a lot of good friends among the police there, and he felt very confident that he would come up with some thing. On the train he wrote a long letter to Francoise, urging her to come back so she could manage their Headquarters’ in Afasheer’s house.
CHAPTER XIV
CHINESE IN MADRAS
The bitter wind of early winter cut through their clothes as they made their separate ways to the station. Whirlwind had decided that they would all stay apart during the journey and that they would not meet until they were to assemble in a hotel in Madras. They would all arrive at different times and different days, only to come to his room after being given the coded message. Thus, he thought, no one would be able to trace them or connect the various members of his troop together.
He was looking forward to a spell in the sun; Delhi could be nasty and cold in the winter. And once away from the city, he wouldn’t have to watch out for the police.
Back in Delhi the Chinese diplomat was meeting up with Maestro Flumigahri. “I will give you all the help I can,” he promised the lawyer. “We shall share and study any information that our troops can send back to us. And I’m sure that when Monsieur Jardin’s wife comes back she will know exactly what to do.”
They both smiled and Maestro Flumigahri tried to smooth some of the wrinkles from his face. “I can feel a change in the whole case”, said Ha-tsi. “Now the hunters are on the trail of the murderers. The dragon has stirred.”
And although the lawyer didn’t understand what dragons had to do with the case, he felt relieved. It was good to know someone had faith in his client's case. As soon as Monsieur Jardin had left for Bombay Mango-li and his helpers streamed out into the city. With the help of different disguises they would trail and observe the boy all the time. By now they had nick named him Ali Baba, since no one knew his real name. Mango-li just hoped that he could find some more evidence that the boy was part of the blackmail and murder gang. He had a personal grudge against him for bringing his friend into trouble.
In Madras things were going well. As arranged they all arrived at the hotel at different times and on different days. They mingled with the other guests without ever giving a sign that they knew each other. When he was sure they had all arrived, Whirlwind gave them the coded message, one by one. It had something to do with Delhi and rice, so he told various people that he found the rice in Delhi better for a curry. They all got the message and crowded into his room at night, one by one.
Whirlwind explained his strategy. “We shall all move to the neighbourhood of the ashram,” he declared. “All of us will try and get lodgings independently and mingle with the local crowd. The aim is for one or more of us to get access to the ashram. That can be a delivery job or maybe even a simple job in the ashram itself. But even a job with neighbours would be fine. As soon as I have found a room somewhere I will walk around and tell you one by one where I am staying. If we need to meet, just mention the Red Ford. That will mean we will meet up the same evening in my room.”
And they all talked about the different disguises they would use. So far they were enjoying themselves.
In the course of the next day they all booked out of the hotel one by one. Whirlwind walked about in the streets surrounding the ashram for most of the day and managed in the end to find just the right place to stay. It was a room above a shop, just facing the ashram, but he had to enter by a flight of stairs from a back alley. That way hardly anybody would see him come or go. He was well pleased with his luck. Surely the Gods were smiling down on him! He hung around in the streets, befriending the shopkeepers and neighbours and occasionally meeting his helpers in their different disguises.
One of the hired detectives had taken up a job as a letter-writer. All he needed was a pen and paper and a wooden board. He was sitting cross-legged on a corner of the pavement. Since his trade was obvious there was no lack of customers. And it was very handy for the other members of the team. If any of them needed to speak to him they only had to pretend that they wanted a letter written.
Over the next few days Whirlwind befriended the ashrams’ gatekeeper. They could chat for hours, and meanwhile he could observe all who came and went from the place. After a while he inquired about a job in the place, but the gatekeeper was reluctant and told him nobody was needed right now, and any way, the big boss, the Sadhu was very strict with the servants and he had to approve of every new servant himself
Whirlwind was running out of patience and called his team for a meeting. “If none of us can gain entry, we might have to disable some of the staff of the ashram,” he told them. “How about a gardener with a broken leg?” asked one of the detectives. “Or a sweeper with broken arm? I’m sure that could be arranged.” They all laughed, but the idea got a hold of their minds, and after unsuccessfully trying to gain access to the ashram for a couple of days more, Whirlwind decided that they would have to arrange a little accident.
Funnily enough the gardener had an accident the next day. It was however, not arranged by Whirlwinds helpers. He fell out of a tree he was trimming and broke his ankle. When Whirlwind heard the news from the gatekeeper he was delighted, but he was clever enough not to show it and wise enough to show concern.
He offered himself as a temporary replacement for the job and the gatekeeper promised to put a word in for him with the Sadhu. For some unknown reason the man who swept the floors and grounds in the ashram also had an accident a couple of days later. Funnily enough he did break an arm, so that he couldn’t do his job. And although the servants had tried to share the gardener’s job among themselves, it proved too much for them to also take over the sweeper’s duties, and the Sadhu agreed to hire another servant for the time being.
Whirlwind got what he wanted; he finally had a job in the ashram. Because of his very nature he soon became a loved and cared for member of the staff. He sang and told jokes, he listened and gossiped and occasionally he gave funny impersonations. And he took care to perform his duty. Even his new master smiled at him a couple of times. The Sadhu still never seemed to speak. Orders were given by sign language or written down. Whirlwind had been working in the place for just over a fortnight when a visitor arrived. A Chinese visitor.
But although he studied the guest at length, he couldn’t place him. At night the Sadhu seemed to have a meeting with his guest but Whirlwind couldn’t overhear any conversation.
His helpers however managed to take pictures of the man as he was leaving next morning.
They rushed to get them developed and printed, and within hours copies were on their way to Afasheer’s house by first class express mail.
Then they all settled down again to wait for the next developments.
This time they didn’t have to wait long. Three days later a big black limousine arrived driven by a uniformed Indian chauffeur, and two Chinese men descended from it. One look was enough for Whirlwind to recognize them. They were the ones involved in the “protection racket” in Bombay. He kept a close eye on them, as they were received like royalty. The best food and drink was prepared for them. and they were installed in the ashram’s best rooms.
They seemed to enjoy themselves. At night Whirlwind hid himself inside a little cupboard next to the Sadhu’s office and waited with baited breath. Would they talk? He had his recorder ready and prayed to the Gods that it would work and that he wouldn’t be discovered. His luck stayed with him, for talk they did. For the first time he heard the Sadhu’s voice. Some how the holy vow of silence seemed to have become obsolete. Whirlwind listened, and he was fascinated. The men talked about their business and how they were expanding their protection racket to Delhi.
“That Afasheer should be a good warning to all the others,” he heard. “ Word will go around and the rest of them won’t be reluctant to pay up.” A little later he heard them say what an excellent job they had done with their latest murder and how nicely the blame had been put on Afasheer. “And you have been doing a good job yourself,” he heard them say to the Sadhu. “Even just as a safe house, you are very useful to us,”
Whirlwind listened with mouth agape at all that was revealed. The recorder kept going ever so nicely and he prayed he could get this tape straight to Monsieur Jardin. The detective would be delighted with it. When the meeting came to an end he waited till the ashram became quiet again, then he made his escape from his hiding place and hurriedly left the building.
Taking his belongings with him he scaled the wall and started to round up his helpers. They hadn’t been idle either. The arrival of the two Chinese had been carefully documented, and the films had already been developed. Whirlwind thought it was time to go home.
CHAPTER XV
AND CHINESES FOOD IN BOMBAY
Monsieur Jardin was busy in Bombay with his own enquiries. He had visited some friends and met up with various old colleagues from the Bombay Police. It was very lucky that he liked Chinese food, for it gave him a good reason to try the different Chinese restaurants in town. He thought that if he could befriend some of the owners and their servants, he might learn about any rumours connected to the Chinese Mafia.
Slowly and carefully he started to ask questions about “ protection money”, but he met with a wall of silence. And it was not until he began to spread the rumours that the Chinese Mafia were being investigated and would soon be arrested, that some of the shopkeepers and businessmen he befriended started to confess that they were being blackmailed. They were all very fearful and intimidated, and he had to promise the strictest of confidentiality before they spoke about it. As usual the ones who didn’t want to pay suffered “accidents”. Their shops were broken into or burned to the ground. Sometimes a relative suffered a deathly accident. They all had the reasons to be extremely careful.
In the next few weeks, however Monsieur Jardin and his assistants slowly but steadily collected some evidence. Pictures of money being handed over were taken. The money collectors were followed to their headquarters. One day the detective befriended a prostitute. Not from a personal interest but of course from a professional point of view. And when they got into talking about protection money and pimps and such things, she surprised him. She remembered that she knew some of the gangsters personally, because they were clients. “Did she realise that some of the money she earned was going straight back for protection?” he asked her. She nodded. “I know, I know, but what can I do about it?”
He grabbed his chance and explained to her that she could help him to collect the evidence he needed to get them behind bars. Rather reluctantly the girl agreed in the end, and Monsieur Jardin explained at great lengths what he expected of her.
There was time.
The girl told the detective that her Chinese customers mostly came at the weekend, and they did not always come together. Monsieur Jardin moved into a little hotel in the same street as the house of pleasure. He observed the customers unobtrusively, walked around the neighbourhood visiting the various shops.
He bought little items here and there, bargained a bit and had lots of little conversations.
The big day came. He recognized the Chinese gangsters immediately from the pictures Ha-tsi had given him. As soon as the gangster had entered the house of pleasure he sneaked into the back door, hurried through the kitchen and climbed the stairs. Then he hurriedly hid himself in the room next to the prostitute.
Quietly he put his microphone against the wall and started recording. There was no need for the first part of it, heavy breathing doesn’t sound too good on tape. But later on there was a conversation. As they had arranged, the girl started to talk about the latest murders in the town, and later on mentioned the spectacular murder of the widow of one of Bombay’s most famous businessmen.
Her client laughed and told her he knew all about it. He seemed to be in a very good mood and continued about the widow. “Yes”, he said. “We had a little hand in that one. Very successful and extremely efficient. We had to make an example of that guy Afasheer you see. He didn’t want to pay us, so he needed a lesson.” And he laughed again. The detective kept listening and he kept recording, although he had heard enough by now. In the end any noise stopped in the other room and he sneaked out of the building.
When he saw the girl next he thanked her profusely, and paid her a big bonus.
“But don’t you tell anyone about the money,” he told her. “Your Madam would take it away from you.”
Knowing that they had collected all the evidence they needed, he rounded up his assistants and told them to go home to Delhi. He said goodbye to his friends and took the overnight train to Delhi.
CHAPTER XVI
GATHERING THE THREADS
Francoise had only been at home for a short time when the first letter arrived from her husband in Delhi. She was to hold the fort and organize the communications between the different troops. It was a role to her liking, a woman gathering the threads in preparation to weaving the web. In this case it would be a web to catch the real criminals.
Although she did her very best to find a steamer going to India as soon as possible, it seemed impossible. One had just left and the next one wasn’t due to leave Portsmouth for another fortnight. It would call at Naples for refuelling and taking fresh supplies on board as well as outgoing passengers.
The steamer was bound for Calcutta. Having ascertained that it was the best she could do, she settled down to enjoy her days at home as much as possible. Before she left another long letter arrived from her husband, telling her about the developments and future plans. Then it was time to pack her bags and she took the train to Naples. She was glad to be on her way. If her husband couldn’t come to her, she would go to him. Since she would have to go by way of Calcutta it would take a bit longer to reach Delhi, but she didn’t mind that.
All that time Maestro Flumigahri had tried to keep an eye on things in Afasheer’s house, ably assisted by Ha-tsi. They received several letters and pictures, which were all duplicated and sent on to the other parties. Mango-li came daily to report on the movements of Ali Baba. So far he hadn’t been seen to do anything conspicuous or to meet any other suspected people.
Afasheer was kept in his lonely cell under strict surveillance and only allowed to see his lawyer once a week. He was getting depressed and wished to God he was somewhere else. Life had become such a nightmare for him. Only the knowledge that monsieur Jardin was out there and busy with helpers and friends to prove his innocence kept him sane.
He prayed frequently and fervently to the Gods that they would be successful in hunting down the real murderers. Most of all he missed Memba and the walks and outings they used to have together. When Francoise finally arrived at Afasheer’s house she was made very welcome indeed by all the servants. Ali, the gatekeeper, shouted for joy as he spotted her, and kissed her hands. Then all the others crowded around her, all smiling and talking. It was like coming home.
Before she went into the house she paid a visit to Memba.
Although the elephant had been looked after very well by Janick and the other servants, she was moody. She missed her master more than anything. But she was pleased enough to see Francoise and gratefully accepted the tidbits she was given. Then Francoise settled in the house and had a good long talk with Maestro Flumigahri and Ha-tsi. They showed her the letters and pictures that had arrived. Only the day before another letter from the detective had come, in which he had explained the evidence he was collecting and the help of the prostitute he received in nailing down the criminals. Françoise felt a bit embarrassed. It looked like she only had to turn her back and her husband was having an affair with a prostitute. But she knew very well that in the course of his duties he had often had to befriend the strangest people. She quickly set to organize her headquarters. Files were made for all the work parties, and everyone who was helping her husband got a sheet with his name and details and the hours worked. She would need them later on to see that everyone was paid rightly and properly. Then she set to organize the house.
Beds and bedding would be needed in numbers as the troops arrived home. Big orders for food and drink were dispatched. Extra chairs and tables were needed as well as other things like cups and plates. She really enjoyed herself now, and the servants helped her with smiles on their faces and no questions asked. Whirlwind was the first to arrive back. He had come on the night express from Bombay and he looked extremely dirty, but he smiled and grinned and joked to all his friends. He went to see Memba and gave her some bananas, then Francoise made him sit down and eat an enormous breakfast.
Afterwards he talked to her for hours, relating all that had happened in Madras. He told her about the Ashram, about the Sadhu and about the Chinese. He played the tape for her and Francoise could hardly believe her ears. That would certainly get Afasheer off the hook she thought. A runner boy was sent to the Chinese diplomat and to Afasheer’s lawyer to tell them of Whirlwind’s arrival. Soon enough they arrived and the boy told his story all over again, showed the pictures he and his helpers had taken and played the tape for them. “That is just what we need”, said the lawyer.” You couldn’t have done any better”.
Over the next few days the other members of Whirlwinds troop arrived, and were all warmly received and highly praised for their efforts. Maestro Flumigahri kept telling everybody how glad he was, and that Afasheer would soon be a free man again. They all waited for Monsieur Jardin to come back, he would be the one to present their findings and all the evidence to the authorities.
Finally the big day came and the detective arrived. Francoise was in tears, she was so happy to have her husband back. All the others were delighted as well, they all liked and respected the detective, and after all he was their leader.
Soon there was a really big conference going on. One after the other, they told their stories. Questions were asked and points clarified. Evidence was studied, and they all listened with gaping mouths to the tapes. Yes they definitely had proof that the three Chinese were the real murderers. And blackmailers. They felt jubilant. It was sure Afasheer would regain his freedom, and the gangsters would be locked up for a very long time, if not forever.
CHAPTER XVII
SETTING THE TRAP
“I think I will see the authorities tomorrow,” said Monsieur Jardin. “I will write a statement of our discoveries and add copies of the pictures and tapes that we have collected. And maybe I should start with that inspector Clua-an-t’ha even if he wrongfully arrested Afasheer. If we give him the chance to arrest the real murderers and their accomplices, he will be grateful, and it might help our case.” And so it was decided.
The Chinese diplomat, Ha-tsi, remarked that it would be nice if they could lure the real criminals to Delhi.
“If I were to make an announcement that my government threatens to go public with the knowledge of the Chinese Mafia, with facts and names and photographs, they will surely come to Delhi to try and stop us. Or maybe I should just do it in my own name. In that way I would be their target and we could set a trap and have them arrested before they could do me any harm.”
Monsieur Jardin explained that it could be very risky. “We know they have killed before,” he said. “We would have to find a way to ensure your safety.” They talked and planned deep into the night. The next morning Monsieur Jardin paid a visit to Inspector Clua-an-t’ha. If the inspector was surprised to see the private detective he didn’t show it. Courteously he ordered tea for his guest and they made small talk before the detective handed him the file. It took the inspector a while to read it all, grumbling ever so often. “Well now who would have believed it?”
The inspector was visibly shaken. When he regained his composure, he first of all congratulated Monsieur Jardin. “You and your helpers have done an incredible job,” he confessed. “On the face of all this evidence, Afasheer should be released from jail straight away. And we won’t have to look for Whirlwind any more either. Now we shall have to find out where those gangsters are so that we can arrest them.” It was then that the detective told him of the plan to set a trap for the criminals. He explained how Ha-tsi had offered himself as bait and explained their ideas. Inspector Clua-an-t’ha was a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing. “I will have to go to my superiors first of all,” he told the detective. “I have to show them all the evidence and explain your idea of setting a trap. Please give me a day or so. Let us all meet in my office tomorrow afternoon and we can then see what can be done.” Monsieur Jardin agreed and went home.
He took Maestro Flumigahri with him the next the next day and also Ha-tsi.
Since both Whirlwind and Mango-li wanted to come as well, he took them along. It proved to be a long and stormy meeting. The whole case was endlessly discussed; the plans were made and remade until the inspector thought them good enough. Maestro Flumigahri was sent to see Afasheer in prison.
They had decided that if Afasheer remained in prison voluntarily until the gangsters were arrested, it would be to his own benefit as well as to the police.
Ha-tsi prepared a press release. He announced the plan of his government to publicise all it’s knowledge about the Chinese Mafia. He himself was preparing the final documents and photographs. At the same time he announced that he had rented Afasheer’s house, since the owner was in jail and would have no need of it, and it would suit him as a diplomat- far better than his current residence. The die was cast. They all went home to attend to their own affairs and the waiting began.
CHAPTER XVII
MEMBA’S REVENGE
Francoise and her detective husband had moved to a hotel. Most of Afasheer’s servants had gone temporarily to friends or relatives, and Ha-tsi had moved into the house. A great number of disguised police officers were hiding in the neighbourhood and everybody was lying low.
The trap was set and the waiting began. Francoise had proposed that an effigy be made to replace the Chinese diplomat in his bed at night. Ha-tsi slept secretly in the servant’s quarters just for the time being. Everybody had been given photographs of the Chinese gangsters to help them identify the criminals.
Inspector Clua-an-t’ha had installed his headquarters in the back room of a café across the road. He was sweating and biting his nails. The days went by and the tension rose. But the first signs of trouble took them all by surprise.
In the middle of the night, Ha-tsi’s former house was raided. Scores of bullets were fired into his bedroom, any recognizable piece of paper was stolen and finally the house was set on fire. Monsieur Jardin went to see the inspector. “Well it seems the gangsters have arrived,” he said. “But they have got their wires crossed. Somehow it seems they didn’t know that our friend Ha-tsi has moved house.”
Inspector Clua-an-t’ha nodded his head grimly. “ I’m sure the papers will rectify that,” he said. “Our friend is already giving them interviews. But they won’t make the same mistake twice. I think either tonight or tomorrow night they will attack Ha-tsi in Afasheer’s house. We are ready to receive them.”
The police were instructed to let any intruders enter Afasheer’s house and garden, but not to let anyone out. At the slightest sound of trouble they were to seal off the grounds and arrest anyone in the house or garden.
It was not until the early hours of the morning of the second day when the gangsters struck. They sneaked into the garden and gained access to the house. The dummy representing Ha-tsi was riddled with bullets, which caused the diplomat to faint when he was shown the evidence later on.
Before they knew it the gangsters were surrounded. But they didn’t give up that easily. Even whilst Inspector Clua-an-t’ha announced that they were under arrest they tried to escape. One of the gangsters opened fire on the police and made a dive for it. One of the other officers fired back and managed to hit the gangster in the legs. He crumbled and fell to the ground shouting with pain. The other two then surrendered and immediately they were handcuffed and chains were even put between their legs. They were unable to move that way. That was not the end, however, of the commotion that night. There was someone they had overlooked in their plans.
Memba had already been moody when she went to sleep. Now, in the middle of the night she was woken up by shots and shouts.
The smell of blood drifted to here stable and she started to panic. She hated the smell of blood and loud noises. If Janick or Afasheer had been there, they might have calmed her down, but no one was there to sooth her and talk to her, so Memba flew into a rage.
An angry elephant is a dangerous elephant, and by now Memba was very dangerous. Just as the police officers were carrying the shackled gangsters into the courtyard for onward transportation to the jail, Memba burst through the doors of her stable. And on spying a big group of people who were obviously the cause of her disturbance, she charged. If it weren’t for Janick who saw her racing towards them, many more would have been killed. As it was they were all alerted by Janick’s cries at the very last moment.
Every one jumped out of the way of the furious elephant. Everyone apart from the gangsters. Handcuffed and shackled, one of them injured, they never had a chance. Before anybody could stop her, Memba had trampled two of them to death.
And it was again Janick who saved the life of the last one. He jumped in front of Memba waving his arms and shouting at the top of his voice. Recognizing him at the last moment, she swerved and headed back into the garden.
I