An approaching tonga stopped for me, and this small success was accompanied by another. I had seen Hedley Fleming – in the guise he presented in the car rather than at the zoo – on a previous occasion, and not in the flesh, but in the photograph albums displayed at the Debating Society dance.
IV
An hour later, I was in the stifling lobby of Willard’s Hotel, looking over the novels in its bookcase. I picked up Plain Tales from the Hills by Kipling. I thought I might take it downstairs to the basement music room, where I knew that Bernadette was practising dances with her friends, Ann Poole and Claudine Askwith. In a couple of hours’ time, Bernadette would be leaving for the hills, so I could suggest she take the Kipling with her. It might begin the bridge-building after the disastrous ending of the Debating Society dance. I might also ask if they wanted some lemonades sent down.
I began to descend the staircase leading to the basement, but halfway down, I froze. I had heard a loud wail. I darted forward; the door of the music room was closed. I opened it, and Ann Poole was screaming into Bernadette’s shoulder. They were in an embrace, and Bernadette was facing towards the door. Claudine Askwith was sitting at the piano, half turned towards Bernadette and Ann. As I entered the room, Ann continued to scream.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
From the piano, Claudine said, ‘Ann’s father was bitten by a snake. We’ve just had the news.’
‘Is he all right?’
Bernadette eyed me for a while. It was the first time I had addressed her since the end of the Debating Society dance.
‘He’s absolutely fine,’ she said at length, and Ann’s scream redoubled.
‘Was he on a train?’
Claudine nodded, and played a couple of notes. She said, ‘He was going up to that place – what’s it called again?’
‘Asansol,’ said Bernadette. ‘The coal place. For a meeting. The snake was in the compartment. The first class – it was under the seat.’
‘Where did it bite him?’
‘On the foot.’
I had meant where on the line.
‘On the boot, she means,’ said Claudine. ‘The top of his boot. The venom came out, but it just ran down the leather of his boot.’
Ann screamed again.
‘Obviously she’s very upset,’ said Bernadette.
‘Although we don’t really know why,’ added Claudine.
At this, Ann broke away from Bernadette to explain.
‘It’s just that Dad’s been in very low water recently, and this coming on top of everything else. It was all too much.’
It had been too much. Now, it appeared, everything was fine. She did not seem tearful; she had simply been making a great deal of noise. I had always had her down as a level-headed girl, and now she was reverting to type.
‘Ann,’ I said, ‘it is very important that your father makes a statement to the police. Has he done that?’
Ann nodded, and I got the following from her . . .
Her father, Dougie Poole, had been bitten on Sunday late afternoon as the Asansol train came into Ondal, which was two stops before Asansol itself. Poole assumed the snake had been in his compartment since Howrah, albeit sleeping or biding its time. This must be the case, he thought, because no other passenger had come into the compartment since departure from Howrah. Therefore nobody could have deposited a snake in the compartment. But then again, Poole himself had been asleep for much of the time – and no wonder, I thought, after the amount of drink he’d put away the night before. The snake had been identified as an Indian cobra, not a king. The deputy station master at Ondal had then killed it.
Poole had waited until this morning – Monday morning – before telephoning through to his wife with the news. Ann herself had only just heard of it.
‘You can go now, Dad,’ said Bernadette.
‘Well, if you’re sure she’s quite all right.’
Somewhat slower music recommenced as I walked back along the corridor. I reflected that, if the snake man had been going after employees of the East Indian Railway in particular, then here was his second direct hit, after Herbert Milner, the assistant auditor, killed at Asansol itself, and the very first person to die.
I realised I still held Plain Tales from the Hills.
Chapter Eight
I
Whereas Howrah station sits directly on the west bank of the Hooghly River, Sealdah station is a mile inland of the east bank. In that station, the light of day was trapped and dying, but all the heat of day – the day that had been Wednesday 2 May – remained. I carried only a tiffin basket containing biscuits, potted meat, a bottle of Beck’s beer, and a kit bag I had containing my revolver.