Tweezers and swabs took samples from the paw and these went under the microscope. Joe offered the claw he had preserved wrapped in a handkerchief and they set to wait for Sir Hector’s findings. Several times he called them over to look down the eyepiece and verify a conclusion and finally he said, ‘That was well done, both of you! However did you manage to come up with this? I’d never seen or even heard of such a thing. But it’s certainly the tool that was used in the killing of the Yuvaraj. The missing claw is a match for colour and general state of wear.

‘The object has obviously been preserved for many years and been put to active, er, martial use which has resulted in the claws being less solidly attached than those of a live tiger. Not surprising that one of them worked loose and became embedded in the wound.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Of course, it could have been deliberately extracted from the foot and placed in the wound as a clinching factor. You yourself referred to it as a “calling card”, I think, Joe.’

‘Over-egging the pudding, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I would. Colin certainly would. Any expert would. You did – with hindsight and a hefty nudge. I think our perpetrator wasn’t expecting to have a scientific searchlight shone on his handiwork. Just as interestingly, the matter I’ve found between the claws and on the pads is flesh and hair and, I’d say, not animal but human. And it’s not been there all that long. I wouldn’t say it’s been left over from the last combat even if that were last week which it wasn’t. It’s relatively fresh. Someone’s given the thing a good brush or comb down, a thorough job, and one which would deceive the human eye – unaided. You couldn’t identify it without a microscope.

‘I say – would you like to take that thing away with you?’ he finished, distaste in his tone.

The baghnakh had safely been stowed away in the gun case when a servant appeared at the door. Trembling and anxious, he delivered his message. The doctor’s presence was urgently required at the ruler’s suite. The Maharaja Udai Singh was dying. He wanted to see also the two sahibs, Troop and Sandilands.

Chapter Twenty-Four

They were escorted with urgency through the New Palace to a north-facing wing projecting out into parkland, the lake a distant gleam between crowding trees. Two rows of the Royal Guard were lined up along the corridor leading to the prince’s apartment, and although the men made not the slightest movement Joe passed between them with a shudder.

As they arrived, the carved sandalwood doors opened and an Indian woman came out. A young girl dressed in blood-red Rajputana silks, her black hair was parted in the centre and a jewelled ornament hung very precisely in the centre of her forehead. Her arms were covered in ivory bangles from shoulder to elbow and gold anklets gleamed as she walked. Head erect, a smile on her face, she came on towards them. She glowed. She pushed ahead of her an almost palpable bow-wave of triumph.

Joe, Edgar and the doctor stood aside, gazing.

‘Shubhada?’ Edgar finally managed to ask.

Her glance flicked from one to the other. They were hardly worth her attention; she did not attempt to greet them.

An anger beginning quietly to burn in him pushed Joe to stand in front of her, blocking her path. Two of the guards took a step forward, hands on sword hilts. At a gesture from Shubhada they stood back. She waited for him to move aside, tapping her foot, the chink of anklets expressing her irritation. Her eyes remained fixed on the top button of his jacket.

His voice when he spoke was so soft she had to lean slightly towards him to hear what he said.

‘Shah mat?’

‘Shah mat. Though I think I prefer the English saying: “The King is dead. Long live the King.” She smiled. She seemed amused. ‘It always pays to look to the future, Commander.’

‘Perhaps that is all one can do when the past is full of dishonour and death . . . and guilt!’

She was unable to meet his scorching gaze and stood, motionless, until he stepped aside and released her to flow on down the corridor.

‘Now what the hell was that all about?’ muttered Edgar.

The doctor at that moment was ushered into the staterooms and Edgar and Joe were left to wait outside in the courtyard.

‘And why is Third Her Highness got up in that outfit, do you suppose?’ he persisted, with an anxious look at the guards to ascertain they were out of earshot. ‘Are you going to tell me what on earth was the meaning of all that gibberish? Whatever you said, it certainly took the wind out of her sails!’

‘An accusation of murder usually has that effect,’ said Joe.

‘Murder? Shubhada?’ Edgar whispered, disbelieving. ‘Are you barmy? Who’s she supposed to have murdered? Not . . .?’

‘Yes. It sickens me to say it but yes. Bahadur.’

‘Then you are barmy! She of all people needed the boy alive, you idiot! She was going to be regent – years of power ahead of her to establish herself. Who knows,’ his voice reached a new depth, unwilling to hear himself pointing a finger at Udai’s wife, ‘perhaps she had it in mind to milk the treasury? She’s got expensive tastes. It has occurred to me that she mightn’t have balked at helping herself to the goodies.’

Joe nodded. ‘And those aren’t the only goodies she was planning to help herself to, if I’ve got it right.’

Edgar considered. ‘You’ve lost me, old chap.’

‘The Resident.’

‘Don’t follow. Claude’s the other key-holder, so to speak. Are you saying she was planning on suborning her coregent?’

‘Not suborning. Seducing, more like.’

Edgar whistled under his breath. ‘You can’t mean . . .’

‘Yes. She’s in love with him. If they haven’t already embarked on a liaison, it’s certainly on the cards. Part of the lady’s look towards the future.’

‘Absolute nonsense!’ Edgar tried to splutter quietly. ‘Total fantasy! Why, I’d have sworn she doesn’t even like him . . . Good God, man! You’ve got me gossiping like you . . . just like two old maids at a Simla tea-party! What possible evidence do you have for such a scurrilous suggestion?’

Joe sighed. ‘None you would accept, Edgar. A boat on a lake . . . a trace of perfume in the air . . . what indeed?’ He shook his head. ‘It does sound mad but, believe me, I’d place no weight on mere glancing suspicions if they weren’t themselves given strength by the circumstances of Bahadur’s death. Listen! Claude works (till all hours according to the memsahib) in a bungalow down by the lake.’

Edgar nodded.

‘A short way along the shore is Shubhada’s secluded pavilion, staffed by her discreet and devoted servants. She has a boat. We actually saw her being ferried about on the lake when we visited Colin. Where had she been?’

‘Fishing of course!’ said Edgar. ‘We all understand she’s a keen fisherman but you’re saying it’s not just lake trout she’s got her hooks into?’

‘No proof at all – I’m just asking you to follow a trail and see where it leads. I’m talking about possibilities. I don’t know how this intrigue – let’s call it that, shall we? – started or who started it.’

‘Well, a royal Indian female would not be Claude’s natural prey, no matter how hungry, if you understand me. Way beyond his reach. Inviolate!’

‘Yes, I would agree with that,’ said Joe, ‘were it not for the fact that this would not be the first, nor the hundredth, not even the thousandth love affair between an Indian and a European. And Cupid’s been known to scatter his darts a little carelessly sometimes. But I take your point. I don’t think Claude would have set out to ensnare Shubhada. Charm, perhaps, but not ensnare. It was most probably started on Shubhada’s initiative or it was a simultaneous coup de foudre – the words do feature in her vocabulary. She grew up in the West – must have absorbed the usual romantic notions. May even have read Monthly Moonshine Magazine under the covers in her Brighton dormitory. And, let’s admit it, shall we – though I’m sure it annoys us both – Claude’s an attractive chap.’