The iciest sin by H.R.F. Keating

Author:H.R.F. Keating
Language: eng
Format: epub

TEN

Next morning, first thing, Ghote requested an interview with the Assistant Commissioner. When he was summoned, something over an hour and a half later, he laid out, briefly as he could, his theory about how the young Firdaus Kersasp had provided himself with a sort of prealibi before robbing Mr. Topiwala, the crime that had led to the old sandalwood merchant’s death.

“Yes,” the Assistant Commissioner said when he had come, a little breathlessly, to a halt. “You may well be right, Ghote. I am inclined to think you are. Yes, right enough. But we would need somewhat more before we try tackling Mr. Freddy Kersasp.”

He sat behind his sweep of a desk and pondered.

Ghote, standing to attention in front, was careful not to interrupt the process. At last the Assistant Commissioner spoke.

“Yes. Well, if what you suspect is correct, then the money Kersasp used to start up that appalling publication must have come not from some magazine he is supposed to have run in England but from what he stole from that Parsi recluse of yours. What’s his name?”

“Topiwala, sir.”

“Exactly. The money must have been what Mr. Topiwala had made from the sale of his sandalwood business. A good deal, no doubt. Say what you like about your Parsi, he’s a damn good businessman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes. It stands out a mile. All that stuff about his early days Freddy Kersasp is always writing in that column of his must be the sheerest fabrication.”

“Please, sir, what stuff is that?” Ghote asked.

“Don’t you read the rag, Inspector?”

“No, sir. Never have, sir.”

“Yes. Well, my wife— That is, the damn servants sometimes bring copies into the flat. Suppose it’s my duty, in a way, to keep an eye on it.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

“Well, thing is, Kersasp keeps claiming that during his sojourn in the U.K. he started up some damn magazine to do with Indian arts and made a hell of a success of it. And the fruits of that, he has the bloody impudence to say, he brings to the task of correcting the ills of society here. Says he does it only for the sake of India itself.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So he’s got to be stopped, Ghote. And I venture to think I’ve seen the way to do it. Now, if the fellow didn’t make that fortune of his in the U.K. as he claims, we ought to be able to get evidence for it. Damn it, if that magazine there never existed or was no more than some wretched sheet nobody wanted to buy, then we can quickly enough find out. I’ll have a message sent to Scotland Yard ek dum. They’ll provide an answer in no time at all. And when we find that claim of Kersasp’s is all bunkum, as I personally am willing to bet, then we’ll have every bit enough to tackle the fellow with.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clicking heels in salute, Ghote left the Assistant Commissioner’s cabin. In his heart he cherished the thought that, thanks to something he himself had hit on, the tremendous machinery of distant Scotland Yard was going to be set rapidly to work.

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