Red Snow at Darjeeling by Lawrence G. Blochman

Author:Lawrence G. Blochman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2023-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

Inspector prike and Deputy-Inspector Robbins were walking, briskly along the third-floor corridor of the Himalayan Grand Hotel, when a door burst open in front of them. Stanley Hubertson came hurtling into the astonished embrace of the deputy-inspector.

The white-haired engineer raised his hand quickly to keep his eyeglasses from falling off, mumbled a brief apology, and tried to brush past.

“What’s the hurry, Hubertson?” asked Prike, grasping his arm. “We were just coming to call.”

Hubertson’s well-lined face was of a ghastly pallor. Great drops of perspiration oozed from his high, white forehead, and his small, buttonhole mouth quivered.

“I—I didn’t recognise you, inspector,” he stammered. “I’m so terribly upset! I was rushing off to get help! I’ve just been witness to a tragedy.”

“What happened?

“A man’s been shot, inspector. I—”

“Where?” Prike’s voice was sharp, brittle.

“I—I can’t tell you exactly, inspector. I only saw it from my window.”

“Show me!” Prike ordered. He pushed the excited Hubertson back towards the room he had just left.

Hubertson, his shoulders more stooped than ever, led the way to the window.

“You see,” he explained, “this window is in the arm of an ‘L’ so that I can see all the rooms along that side of the hotel. I happened to be looking out, and saw a man standing in that window there.” He pointed a trembling finger. “The far one, just before the angle in the wall. The window was open. A few seconds later the man turned suddenly, as though startled by some one coming into the room behind him. At the same instant I heard a report. I’m certain it was the report of a pistol, although it was not very loud. It was muffled, in fact, as if something had been wrapped about the pistol to deaden the explosion. The man gave a little cry, and ran forward, away from the window. He seemed to stagger a little, as he disappeared from my line of vision….”

“To the right or left?” Prike demanded, looking out the window.

“To my right,” said Hubertson. “Then, a moment later, a woman came to the window, closed it, and pulled down the shade. That’s all I saw, inspector.”

“And this just happened?”

“Well, no inspector. Perhaps five minutes ago.”

“Five minutes? And you waited all this time to—”

“But I was stark naked, inspector!” Hubertson apologised. “I’d been taking my bath. I dressed as quickly as I could. After all, one can’t go running through the hallway with nothing on….”

Prike’s teeth clicked. He strode from the room.

“You come along,” said Robbins to Hubertson.

Prike paced down the corridor with precise, military stride. At a jog in the hall, he stopped.

“This must be the room,” he said to Hubertson. His knuckles beat a brisk tattoo on the door. When he got no answer, he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket, tried to turn the knob. The door was locked.

“Robbins, run down to the office and get a duplicate key to 329,” Prike said. “And bring the desk clerk or some one from the management who can tell us about the occupant of this room.

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