Ragtime in Simla

This was exactly what he’d been about to say. And he knew now that what she said about her origins was true. He reverted to English to reassure Carter who was begi

‘I had not expected such gallantry from a London policeman,’ said Flora.

‘Even a London policeman may appreciate beauty wherever he meets it,’ said Joe.

Carter cleared his throat and looked at Joe sourly. ‘If you have nothing to add to that pronouncement let us turn to Flora and see what’s on her mind.’

Her face clouded for a moment and, with a gesture, she invited them to sit on a gilt-legged sofa piled high with damask cushions. As they settled themselves, Joe watched her move gracefully across the room to fetch a decanter of whisky and three glasses set out on a tray. The room had none of the seductive oriental atmosphere of Captain Troop’s office but was none the less of a decided and calculated style. French Château, Joe thought. Crystal wall sconces illuminated a grand sideboard bearing piles of Gien china plates and Venetian glasses, a subtle blue and white contrast in simplicity and luxury. Spindle-legged tables which would have looked quite at home in Versailles were scattered around the room, each showing off a pretty object in gold or silver. A large fireplace in which smouldered a log or two was flanked by ebony cupids and surmounted by a tall gold decorated mirror. On the mantelpiece a handsome Sèvres clock ticked comfortably. The pale green walls with panelling picked out in a darker shade gave the room an air of calm and elegance.

A strange ambience, though a convincing one and one that must have cost a great deal of money, Joe thought, an odd setting for Flora who, in Joe’s increasingly fervid imagination, would have looked more at home sitting side saddle on a white horse of the Camargue, wearing a red ruched and frilled dress, one sunta

She poured them each a glass of whisky which they sipped politely and put down again on the table. She took a cedarwood box from the table, opened it and offered it to them. ‘Turkish on this side and gaspers at the other,’ she said. Joe took one of the Turkish cigarettes and in turn offered the box to Flora.

‘Turkish, thank you. Not fond of Virginian tobacco,’ he said. ‘Will you have one?’

She also chose a mild cigarette and Joe leaned forward and lit it for her. She inhaled the scented cigarette gratefully then, after a moment, she went to the door and opened it abruptly, looking this way and that. Closing it, she returned to settle on a chair opposite them. Without doubt a piece of theatre, Joe decided suspiciously.

‘You are here to investigate the shooting of the Russian singer, are you not?’

‘That’s so,’ said Carter. ‘And we are also reinvestigating the murder last year of Lionel Conyers. Do you have any information for us about either of these tragedies?’ He turned to Joe. ‘Madame Flora quite often gets to hear of things which would otherwise remain a mystery to the forces of law and order,’ he said wryly. ‘And, naturally, we are very grateful when she passes the information to us and we express our gratitude in an appropriate ma

They smiled conspiratorially at each other.

‘There is something, yes,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Something I find disturbing and hard to believe. Something which I think I should not tell you but yet I have to tell you…’ She broke off in confusion and started to bite her thumbnail.

‘We will be very discreet, Flora, you know that,’ said Carter reassuringly.

She nodded and seemed to pull herself together. ‘I hear – through my usual cha

‘That’s true,’ said Carter. ‘It’s a .303 rifle. The same gun could well have been used in both killings.’

‘I think the gun you are looking for may be only a few steps from where we are sitting, Superintendent,’ she said steadily and took another puff at her cigarette.

‘Edgar Troop’s pair of .303 rifles?’ said Carter. ‘Yes, we asked him about those and he’s given us permission to take them away and test them.’

‘Pair?’ she said in surprise. ‘Captain, there are three.’

She stubbed her cigarette out in a silver bowl and stood up. ‘Come with me.’ She glanced quickly at the clock. ‘Everyone will be busy front of house at this time of day. Move quietly.’

She led them into the corridor which widened out into a small hallway. In one alcove cartridge belts and bags hung from hooks. In the other alcove in a locking glass-fronted gun cupboard were a pair of twelve-bore shotguns, other armament of smaller calibre and two rifles. .303s.

‘Two?’ queried Carter.

Flora shook her head and pointed to a second cupboard with a solid panelled door. She stood on tiptoe and ran a hand along the top. Showing them a small key she unlocked the cupboard and they peered inside. Behind the door, on the right, wrapped in an oily rag, was a third rifle.

Joe took it, holding it carefully by the barrel, and mimed that he wished to take the other two rifles as well. Flora unlocked the second cupboard and Joe gathered them up. Handing one to Charlie Carter, Joe took two rifles under his arm and they returned together to Flora’s room. The rifles looked incongruous amongst the studied elegance of that pretty and civilized room. Not knowing what to do with them, Joe slid them under the sofa.

Carter scribbled out a note for Troop saying simply that, as arranged and agreed, they had taken his .303 rifles away to the police station for testing and handed it to Flora.

‘To keep this official,’ he said, ‘here’s a receipt for the armament but now – tell us what you’re thinking, Flora,’ said Carter.

She was once again hesitant. ‘I hate disloyalty. Loyalty is the quality above all that I demand in my staff and yet here I am about to betray perhaps a man who has been of great service to me since I arrived in Simla, and I am not ungrateful.’

‘We’re talking about murder, Flora, not accusing someone of making off with the silver fruit knives.’ Carter’s voice acquired an official edge.

‘Yes, of course. Murder,’ she said more confidently. ‘And I have wondered whether Edgar might be involved. He is very close to Reggie Sharpe, as you know. I have thought – with the whole of Simla – that Reggie might have been very thankful that his brother-in-law never arrived in Simla. Where would he turn? To Edgar of course! Edgar knows the ropes; he’s well co

‘Flora,’ said Carter, ‘I want you to be very careful and ponder what you say. So far this is a private conversation but you are levelling an accusation of murder against a man who – whatever else he may be – is acknowledged as a close associate – some say a partner – of yours. We have had a suspicion identical with your own. How far are you prepared to go with this? Indeed, I wonder why you should be saying this to us at all?’