The Damascened Blade(93)
‘Retribution? What kind of retribution?’
‘Very serious, I’m afraid. In fact, if I’d been Iskander, I would have avoided coming back here. He could easily have done that. He is, under British law, guilty of abduction, kidnap, threatening to kill. I think Rathmore could talk this up into a capital charge if he sets his mind to it.’
Lily’s face darkened. ‘Rathmore! He’ll set his mind to it all right! Joe, you’ve got to find a way of fixing him! Can’t you think of something?’
‘I’ll try. It would give me considerable personal satisfaction to nail the man but I’m not hopeful. Men like Rathmore are protected by often unseen and undeclared forces. They do favours for those high up in government and one day they call in those favours. He struts around and behaves as though he were impregnable and I’m sad to say that’s because he very probably is. I think it certain that he has it in his power not only to wreck my career but that of James as well and certainly to see to it that Iskander is either hanged or, at best, put into the deepest dungeon in Peshawar and left there for many years. We’ll find, I think, that in all this he will be supported by Edwin Burroughs. I must say, Lily, I’m not looking forward to this meeting.’
To Joe’s surprise Lily put out a hand and rubbed solicitously at his eyebrow. ‘You’ll think of something, Joe! But no one’s going to pay a whole lot of attention to you if you don’t smarten yourself up a bit and wash off that eye paint or whatever it is. Come on! Let’s hear that Lindsay war cry again – what was it? – “E’en do and spare not!” That’s not bad!’
An hour later, washed and confident in a fresh uniform, Joe ran upstairs and tapped on Lily’s door. She joined him looking cool in a short blue silk dress and a simple sapphire-studded necklace.
‘Not sure what sort of entertainment James has lined up for us – could be anything from court martial to beauty parade,’ she said. ‘But if the Commissioner’s going to be there I thought it couldn’t hurt to go for the angelic look.’
‘You missed by about a mile,’ said Joe, looking at her appreciatively, ‘but don’t worry – he’ll like the result.’ He peered at her face more closely and she swept a concealing hand over her nose.
‘I know! I look simply awful! Ride two days without a sun helmet and see if your nose looks any better!’
‘Before we go down, Lily, there’s something I’d like you to look at with me. What do you say to a little breaking and entering?’
He paused outside James’s room and listened, ear to the door. ‘No sound.’
‘There won’t be. I left my door open because I wanted to hear Betty if she came upstairs. Just to say hullo . . . They never came up. I guess they stayed down there in the durbar hall. Grace didn’t come up until about half an hour ago – now I wonder what can have detained her downstairs, don’t you, Joe? Telling tales out of school? She went back down five minutes ago. We’re alone up here,’ she finished quietly. ‘How about the ground floor rooms?’
‘They’ve all gone over apart from Rathmore. I heard him still crashing about. I listened shamelessly at the door.’
Joe smiled. Lily knew exactly what he was up to. He pointed in silence to the door of James’s room.
‘I had already noticed that,’ she said, eyes dancing.
Joe knocked on the door and called, ‘James? Betty?’ Hearing no answer he opened the door and stepped inside followed by Lily. A perfectly ordinary scene met their eye. Neat, clean and utilitarian, there was nothing apparently to attract attention but Joe methodically gave every item of furniture an assessing look. Of the two narrow beds, the one nearer the door was obviously that of James. Tucked underneath the brass candlestick on the bedside table there was a War Office pamphlet. Lily could not resist moving closer to read the title.
‘“Victualling On The March”’ she read out, rolling her eyes in disbelief. ‘Jeez! Do you suppose he’s reading it aloud a chapter a night to Betty?’
On Betty’s matching table between the two beds was a Bible and a copy of Home Chat wedged under her candlestick and open at a story by P.G. Wodehouse. At the foot of Betty’s bed was Minto’s box. Peering inside, Joe grunted. ‘No one at home. Our furry friend has apparently gone to the meeting as well. I think I’ve seen all I need to see. How about you, Lily?’
‘One more thing, Joe.’ She moved to the small cubicle which passed for a bathroom and opened the door. ‘Same as the other rooms, I guess,’ she said. ‘Water jug, washing bowl, washing things. Yup! That’s it! We can go now.’