The light from the unshaded staircase bulbs reflected as a silver glimmer from the gun in his left hand.

- 12 -

My first instinct was to run. But where could I go?

Dixie controlled the stairs, Pudd’n was a formidable presence behind us. In any case, I would not leave Ameera to face those two alone.

While we stood there, Dixie advanced warily and came to within about nine feet of us: too far away for any attempt at manual combat, even if I had possessed the talent and taste for it.

I took Ameera’s hand firmly in mine and led her towards the music room. Pudd’n retreated warily before us. Whatever our harmless appearance, neither man was taking any chances. Dixie kept a safe three paces behind us.

“Lee-yo-nel!” Ameera’s voice was frightened.

I squeezed her hand with an assurance I did not feel. “It’s all right. Stay next to me, and don’t move quickly.”

Dixie circled us until we were facing each other. The gun had been transferred to his right hand, and he was training it alternately on me, then on Ameera.

“Back up, and sit down.” He lifted the gun until the open barrel pointed a dark circle straight into my right eye. “On the settee. No funny moves, or you get it.”

As soon we were sitting side by side on the settee, Dixie came around behind us and put the gun against the back of my head. My scalp shivered at the cold touch. We sat perfectly still while Pudd’n came forward and frisked us.

“Sit tight, Missie, I’m not trying to get fresh,” he said apologetically to Ameera as he ran his hands gently along her breasts, armpits, and thighs. “They’re both clean, Dix. Not even a penknife.”

Dixie gave a high-pitched laugh of relief. “Pity, really. Two bloody weeks we’ve waited here for you. That deserves something from both of us.” He moved the gun away from my head, while I shivered at the venom and triumph in his voice. “An’ I owe you a good one. That stuff you poisoned me with had me puking for two days. You’ll pay for that before I’m done with yer.”

Pudd’n went back to sit on the piano stool, while Dixie again circled to stand in front of us.

“How did you know where to look for me?” I said.

As I spoke I looked around the room and wondered about our driver. How long would he wait before he decided that something was wrong? Hours, at the least — we had been that long with Srinivasa.

“Use your loaf, man.” Pudd’n turned back to face the keyboard. “You left a trail a mile wide gettin’ to India . Scouse couldn’t believe it when he found you’d bought a ticket as Lionel Salkind — he was sure you’d have some other fake passport. An’ once he knew you were goin’ to Calcutta , it was obvious you’d be coming back here.”

“I’ve never been here before in my life.”

“Yer, pull the other one,” said Dixie nastily. “We know you were here for sure. Belur told us that months ago, before he croaked.”

He wiped his sleeve across his nose and stared curiously at Ameera. “Anyway, what’s wrong with her? Why’s she starin’ at me like that?”

“She’s not staring. Ameera is nearly blind. She isn’t seeing you at all.”

“You kidding me?” Dixie stepped a little closer and peered hard at Ameera, looking into her eyes. “Hey, kid. How old are you anyway?”

“I am fourteen years old.” Her voice was husky, and she was trembling a little. Her head turned slowly from side to side, like a hypnotized animal. “Lee-yo-nel, who are these?”

“Fourteen!” Dixie turned his head to give Pudd’n a brief glare of triumph. “See, I was right about the Nymphs as well. He’s like all you bloody musicians, screws anything that lets yer.”

“You’re an old poof, Dix — you’re just jealous of my good looks,” said Pudd’n. His voice was good-natured, and the relief in both men’s expressions was obvious. Waiting for our arrival must have been boring and nerve-racking. “Relax a bit, can’t you? We’ve got ’im now, an’ that’s what counts. Who cares if he’s got her on Nymphs or not? That’s their business.”

Instead of more talk, Pudd’n expressed their jubilation differently. He started to play. His choice was “Les Fastes,” one of Couperin’s masterpieces, and Pudd’n picked the riotous passage that the composer described as “the jugglers, acrobats, and tumblers, with bears and monkeys.” Dixie had to keep his gun trained on us, but I noticed that his feet automatically went into a little back-and-forth shuffle with the music, like dancing in place — no doubt which Couperin group he belonged in.

“Like that?” said Pudd’n to me as he finished.

“Pretty good. You’ve been practicing hard since I last saw you. But it’s supposed to be in C Minor, you know. You put it up a tone.”

“Don’t make much odds on this bleedin’ thing.” Pudd’n crashed his left hand flat on the keyboard. “It’s all way out of tune, flat as hell. But you’re right about the practice. There was bugger all else to do around this place until you got here.”

He ran a fast chromatic scale up three octaves.

“Never mind all that,” said Dixie . If it wasn’t music you could dance to, he wasn’t interested. “Let’s get ’em through into the back.”

He nodded his head towards the door. “Come on, you two, on yer feet.” He leered. “I didn’t know there’d be two of you, but I’ve got a nice little love nest for you back there. Real cozy.”

The gun couldn’t be argued with. Pudd’n led us along the corridor, then down another staircase that took us below ground level. Dixie , bringing up the rear, must have noticed my glance towards the front of the house before we started downwards.

“Don’t waste your time wonderin’ about old Gunga Din,” he said. “I dumped a handful of rupees on him, an’ he’ll be back at the station by now looking for his next fare.”

That ended any hopes I might have had about our driver.

We came to the bottom of the stairs, where a solid door led through into a small, windowless room. The heavy padlock and metal frame suggested that the place had been created originally as a store for valuables, probably tea and spices as well as family papers. Broad shelves ran along three walls, and the only furniture was a chair, table, and narrow bed. Seated upon the latter, and rising casually to her feet as we entered, was Zan. It only needed Scouse to make the London cast complete.

“You’re a cool one,” said Dixie . “Didn’t you hear the noise? He could have been shootin’ me an’ Pudd’n full of holes for all the help you were.”

“No such luck.” Even before she spoke, the animosity between Zan and Dixie was obvious. It seemed to crackle between them, a field of hate and contempt. Two boring weeks, cooped up in each other’s company, had changed smoldering dislike to active rage.

It was the first hopeful sign since we had entered the house. I remembered how Scouse had sent Zan out of the room when they started to torture me. If she was no more than Scouse’s mistress, dragged into this thing against her will, she might be ready to make the break from them.

Her first act was promising. Ignoring Dixie ’s curses, she stepped forward to Ameera and took her hand.

“This is an added factor.” Her husky voice was thoughtful. “Where did she come from?”

Dixie shrugged. “Ask Casanova there. She’s his bit of stuff.”

Zan flashed him a look of loathing. If she was Scouse’s mistress, he had chosen fire over comfort. “You simple-minded fool. Can’t you see what a complication this introduces? We know his background, where he came from and who might look for him. What about her? Where is her family?”

Dixie had flushed at her tone. “How the fuck am I supposed to know where her family is? She come in the door with him, right, an’ we’ve never seen her before, right? I don’t know who she is, but you don’t need to be a mind reader to know who’s screwing who — just look at ’em. If her family don’t mind that, they’re not likely to be worryin’ when she’s not home by teatime. Why don’t you use your bloody loaf, instead of tellin’ me I’m stupid.”