The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [253]
‘What I should have done,’ thought Ash, giving up the attempt to break the stitches and looking around for a pair of nail-scissors, ‘was to go back as soon as it was light and hide in the grass where I was ambushed. I bet that bastard went scuttling back as soon as he realized what he'd lost, and crawled over every inch of it – and serve him right: a nice piece of poetic justice if ever there was one.’ But then at the time it had not occurred to him to go back for he did not know that his assailant had lost anything of value; and even if he had known, he would have been too late, because he had not woken until well into the afternoon. So much for hindsight.
Ash found the scissors, and without bothering to unpick the stitches, cut through the centre of the pocket. The trinket that it had contained fell out and rolled over the edge of the table onto the floor, where it lay in a pool of light thrown by the hurricane lamp that hung from a hook on the tent pole. A single pear-shaped jewel with the subtle, smoky iridescence of a pigeon's feather…
It was Hira Lal's earring.
Ash's body emptied itself of breath and he stood rigid, staring down at it for a full three minutes before he bent stiffly and picked it up.
It was incredible that after all these years he should actually have thought of this thing only an hour or so ago, and seen it clearly in his mind's eye. The fabulous black pearl that had so infuriated Biju Ram, who suspected rightly – that it was worn in deliberate parody of the single earring that he himself wore, and that its rarity made his own diamond look flashy and meretricious by contrast.
The pearl glowed in the lamp-light as though it was alive, and looking at it Ash knew beyond any shadow of doubt who had killed Hira Lal. And who had ordered it.
Biju Ram would certainly have accompanied Lalji on that fateful visit to Calcutta, and Biju Ram had hated Hira Lal and envied his possession of the black pearl. The murder itself would have been the brain-child of Janoo-Rani, who had probably planned it down to the last detail before the travellers even set out, so that Biju Ram would only have had to wait until they were in tiger country – preferably in an area where there was known to be a man-eater – before putting it into operation. But Janoo should have known that he would never be able to resist keeping that priceless bauble, even though its retention would brand him a murderer and he would never dare wear it. Its beauty, as well as its rarity and value, had obviously overweighed those considerations and made it seem worth any risk, and Biju Ram must have carried it about with him ever since.
There must still be any number of people who even now would recognize that pearl on sight, as Ash had done, because no one who had seen it was likely to have seen another. It was doubtful if a pair to it could have been found in all India, and only greed – or hate? – could have made Biju Ram keep such a damning piece of evidence against himself. No wonder he had torn Ash's tent apart trying to find it. The thing was as dangerous as a krait, the little brown snake whose bite is swift death.
Ash weighed it thoughtfully in his hand and wondered why on earth he had not instantly known the identity of the man he had grappled with in the dark. Looking back on it there were so many things that should have told him, little things that should have made it perfectly clear, like size and shape – and smell. Biju Ram had always used scent, and the man who had ambushed him had smelled of orris-root. But at that time he had been far too angry to be conscious of anything except the desire to kill, and it was only now that he recalled the reek of orris-root, and realized, too, that Biju Ram no longer wore the vivid colours that he had been addicted to in the old days, but in conscious (or unconscious?) imitation of his dead rival, had taken to wearing grey. And only grey.
The blood-stained