The Damascened Blade(39)

‘Well,’ said Joe, trying to make sense of it, ‘he might have changed from his evening dress into pyjamas and then back into his uniform if he wanted to make himself respectable to consult the lady doctor in the middle of the night.’

‘Sheesh! That’s more changes than one of Mademoiselle Chanel’s mannequins could perform! But look, Joe – he’s feeling so ill he thinks he may be dying and he takes time to pull on his top boots? Would he have bothered struggling into those?’ Lily shook her head derisively. ‘Such a lot we don’t know about Pathans. Kinda hard to figure!’

‘Well, file it away. It doesn’t make sense now but if we dig a bit further something else may explain it later. Now, let’s have a look at those . . . Right. Now, there may be nothing to see but if I were doing this properly this is where I’d start. I hope you’re not squeamish. This may be rather disconcerting for someone untrained.’

‘I don’t faint easy. Carry on.’

Methodically Joe spread each garment out and inspected every inch. He gave a commentary as he went, becoming less sensitive to Lily’s presence as she remained quiet and helpful. ‘Waistcoat. Dried vomit, ponding around the right side of the neck. Pity we can’t analyse this.’

Lily wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Aw, jiminy! That smell!’ she commented. ‘Takes me back to children’s parties!’

‘Children’s parties! Takes me back to closing time on any Saturday night in Seven Dials!’ Joe broke off in sudden puzzlement. ‘Or does it?’

‘Urgh! There’s bits in it!’ said Lily.

‘And you’d expect that if he did indeed die at the time Grace suggests,’ said Joe in deeper puzzlement. ‘You are perfectly sure of your timing, Lily?’

‘Sure! Look, I’ve told you the exact truth with the exact timing and that’s your base. That’s where you start and everything else is hogwash!’

‘Mm . . . Very well. Trousers . . . perfectly clean. And that’s odd.’

‘Odd? Why odd?’

‘Arsenical poisoning is normally accompanied by diarrhoea. I’ve only encountered one case of arsenical poisoning.’ Joe frowned. ‘A wife had polished off her violent husband but it had taken her six months to do it. I’m afraid I just can’t believe that anyone would die from eating a pheasant that’s swallowed the stuff. But then, out here in the wilderness, how would we find out? Have to try other methods. I’m rather surprised Grace went along with the arsenic theory . . . And what was that other theory she had? The andro-what’s-it poison? Does that sound likely? Anyway, let’s have a look at his shirt. Same vomit staining though less copious.’

‘Joe, look at this,’ said Lily.

Gingerly she held up the cuff of the wide-sleeved cotton shirt that hung over the table on her side. The right sleeve. Joe took hold of it and looked. He slipped a magnifying glass from his pocket and looked again, then passed it to Lily.

‘Rose thorns? This is what he was wearing when he went for his swim. Could he have torn it on the bushes?’

‘I don’t think these are the tears of rose thorns,’ he went on. ‘The holes are too big. And look at the shape. There are two of them and they’re sort of . . . rounded at the puncture point and torn downwards. Look, if he held his arm like this,’ Joe held the sleeve at an angle horizontal to the ground, ‘then the tearing, the drag, would be vertical.’

‘The holes are very small,’ said Lily, ‘and very close together. Puncture holes? Oh, my God!’ She shuddered and dropped the cuff she had been holding. ‘A snake! You’re not going to tell me he’s been attacked by a snake? Oh, why didn’t anyone think of that? Cobras are always slithering in through the holes in the bathroom wall. He could have got back to his room, entered the bathroom and . . . I can’t bear to think of it! Poor, poor Zeman! How long does it take you to die of a cobra bite?’

‘Anything from fifteen minutes upwards, depending on the constitution of the victim. But, no, this wasn’t a snake,’ said Joe.

Lily looked again thoughtfully at the shirt, folded it carefully and replaced it on the pile. ‘Were there any scratches on his arm? Did you get a close enough look at the body, Joe?’

‘Yes, I did. There were no wounds of any kind except for the blow to the head he received when he fell against the stairs.’ He explained the findings of the autopsy.

The remainder of the items including the turban were examined and produced nothing further of interest. Joe looked carefully at the dagger that Zeman had carried always in his belt. He held it in his hand for a moment, admiring the restrained jewelled decoration on the sheath, and then delicately slid out the blade. Lily could not hold back a shudder at the sight of the purposeful weapon revealed. Sumptuous and valuable, certainly, but this was no toy, no ornament. The stubby hilt was of carved black jade, encircled with rows of rubies which gleamed like drops of blood, the curved blade appeared black also, of damascened steel and decorated with a filigree pattern of gold in the shape of a tear drop. Joe took out his handkerchief and gently ran it along the midrib of the blade. He examined it carefully. There was no trace of blood, no residue of any kind. The revolver also was innocent of recent use.