The Damascened Blade

‘Oh, I say! Less said, the better, eh? And then he sent you off up to the Simla hills to cool off?’

‘Ostensibly. He shot me straight into a year-old unsolved murder that had been nagging at him and this was followed the minute I arrived by a second similar killing. Before you ask – yes, I solved that one too. Though “solved” is perhaps an overstatement. The killer is known to me and to Sir George but, the demands of diplomacy perpetually overriding those of justice in India, I’m afraid there’s a murderer still at large in the country.’

‘That wouldn’t suit Honest Joe!’

‘No. It’s not white as the untrodden snow in England but at least I know what the rules are and so do the villains. George has a compulsion to find out the truth – oh, yes, he likes to know what’s really gone on – but then, instead of letting the law take its due course, he diverts it, runs it down cha

‘No, you never were much of a politician, Joe. But you’re safe from his machinations out here at least. Plenty of shooting going on but it’s all above board! But there can’t be anything sinister in this request, can there? Dancing attendance on an American girl? Some would jump at the chance.’

‘I don’t like it. Look, James,’ said Joe desperately, ‘you command this blasted fort – or don’t you? Can’t you just say no? Isn’t there a system of passes to travel west of Peshawar? There is, you know! I remember on mine it said in block capitals that no women were allowed into the war zone. And this is the war zone, dammit! We were shot at a dozen times this afternoon.’

‘Believe me, Joe, I’ve been saying no for weeks! This place is filling up like a five star hotel. The Waldorf Astoria perhaps.’

‘Why? How do you mean?’

James Lindsay rubbed his face morosely. ‘Trouble is,’ he said, ‘the fort is something of a model. Football ground, hockey ditto. Squash court under construction. Te

‘Never heard of him. But, whoever he is, he’ll never see a better run fort, James. No reason for concern there, surely?’

‘Oh, but there is! Sir Edwin’s views on the border forts are well known and very uncomplicated: “Shut the buggers down!” He’s advising the government and anyone who will listen to him that the British should pull out, abandon the Durand Line and retreat back east to the Indus. And there are some days, believe me, Joe, when even I can see the sense of that! But for the duration of his visit I’m expected to put on a show of efficiency to make your eyes water. It’s all a propaganda exercise to reassure HM Gov. that we’re firmly in control. Or otherwise. What the hell am I supposed to do with him?’

Joe laughed. ‘Take him out on a gasht and lose him! But, seriously, the chap’s not military – he’ll be cosseted Indian Civil Service from Calcutta or Delhi. All he’ll be concerned about is that you offer him the right kind of marmalade for breakfast.’

‘There’s more, Joe! As if that weren’t enough, even you will have heard of Dr Grace Holbrook? Pioneer of medical missionary zeal? She’s much admired by His Excellency, she’s quids in with Sir George and – unbelievably – quids in with the bloody Amir of Afghanistan! Our friend over the border. Ever since she successfully treated his piles or was it his worms? Anyway she’s en route for Kabul, it’s said to take up a post as the Amir’s personal physician, and spending “a day or two in the fort” to rest and wait for her Afghani escort to take her on to Kabul. I tell you, Joe, this is going to be a shambles! At least it would be enough of a shambles if it weren’t for Lord Rathmore who’s also chosen this moment to drop in on us.’

‘Lord Rathmore? Who’s he, for God’s sake?’

‘Chairman of West India Trading, very eager to see British goods replace Russian goods in the Kabul bazaars and I don’t only mean pretty leather boxes, tins of turtle soup and cakes of Pears soap – I’m speaking of military hardware as well. And, inevitably, there’s a sheepdog to herd this mob, an RAF man, Fred Moore-Simpson (nice chap, I don’t mind him staying). He’s coming to consider the problems and advantages of aerial proscription and hoping to site a squadron of light fighter-bombers to patrol the frontier from the air. It’s not a bad idea but I do just wish it could have cropped up at any other time.’

Joe had listened to this catalogue with a certain amount of amusement as he saw James’s anguished face. ‘I think you’re going to have to go over that cast list again for me! How many was that? Five including the Coblenz girl? And two of us – one more and we could have a di

‘Yes,’ said James, his expression changing to one of happiness, ‘there is one more. Betty!’

‘Betty? She’s not coming up here, is she? Surely it’s against all the rules to have your wife on the station?’

‘Well, since everybody else seems only too happy to break the rules I don’t see why I shouldn’t! And she’s on her way. I shall be very happy to see her.’

‘Me too,’ said Joe who remembered Betty Lindsay very well. ‘I shall be delighted to see her… always provided she hasn’t got that wretched little dog with her! Did she bring it out to India? What was it called? Minto?’

James sighed. ‘Minto yes. Can’t promise you, Joe. I mean, after all, what would she do with him if she didn’t bring him with her? Can’t leave the little thug with anybody else. Bites like a baboon. Come on, Joe! Ten lengths – I’ll race you!’

They both smiled, happy with their shared memories. When they had found themselves going home on leave on the same boat after their first campaign together Joe had asked James where he was bound. A stiffness had descended on the lively features and he had confided that he was going to spend his precious fortnight with the only family he had in England – two elderly uncles in Camberwell. It had been easy for Joe to say, ‘Don’t do that. Come and finish this game of chess at home with me. At least not my home but my sister’s. She and her husband live in Surrey, place called Upfold House. There’s not a lot to do – tea on the lawn, bridge, going to church. Pretty boring really, and I’m begi

‘Heaven!’ James had said. ‘It sounds like heaven!’

And he had found his heaven, though not at Upfold House. Joe discovered that James’s constant visits to Upfold Rectory were prompted not by religious fervour but by a more particular interest (amounting perhaps to fervour) in the rector’s pretty daughter, Elizabeth. All James’s subsequent leaves, with or without Joe, were spent at Upfold and when the war ended he married Betty and took her back to India to resume his career. It had been decided that his military experience was exactly what was needed on the North-West Frontier, and Major and Mrs Lindsay were sent north to Peshawar.