‘Tell me, Prentice, did you know your wife was drinking heavily?’

‘Of course,’ Prentice replied without hesitating. ‘Though I would say moderately. By station standards. That is why I usually took her with me whenever I had to be away from the station. She got lonely, as most of the wives do, when she was left alone. I accept that it may well have been a contributory factor in her death.’

‘Speaking of the deaths, Prentice, and you understand how much I dislike having to bring up the subject at all, I must ask you – because I have already asked or intend to ask in due course the other bereaved Greys husbands – do you know of anyone who had reason to kill your wife?’

‘Of course not! Everybody loved Dorothy. She was an easy woman to like.’

‘She would have made a good colonel’s wife?’

‘Excellent. She’d listen to anybody’s problems, enjoyed solving them however tedious. People like that. She was used to life in India – it was the life she’d chosen. She was very sociable. She may have had the occasional glass of gin too many but she was no Emma Bovary. I’m luckily not dependent on my army pay and she had good clothes and fine jewellery, better looks than any of the other women and her prospects – which is to say my prospects – were all that she wished. Dorothy was a contented woman. I used to think of her as a mountain pool, clear, inviting and always reflecting the sunshine.’

‘And shallow, perhaps?’ Joe wondered silently.

Aloud he said, ‘You must have found your daughter a great consolation…?’

Prentice’s face became a degree less stiff. ‘Yes. Certainly. No children of your own, Sandilands?’

‘No. But I can imagine the joy. And the pain,’ said Joe seriously.

A bearer appeared discreetly in the doorway, trying to catch Prentice’s attention.

‘Have to cut this short now, Sandilands. I’m expected at the stables in twenty minutes and my bearer will insist I take a bath before I set foot outside again. Not that the horses will notice.’ He rose to his feet and Joe walked with him from the room. ‘How are you getting along with Bamboo? Good. I thought he’d suit you. Used to ride him myself. Now look – if there’s anything I can do, anyone’s arm I can twist, that sort of thing, let me know.’

They shook hands and Joe emerged into the blinding sunlight with a hundred other questions buzzing in his head and the strong feeling that Colonel Prentice had just given the professional policeman a sharp lesson in how to conduct an interview.

Chapter Eleven

Joe’s breakfast on Tuesday morning was interrupted by a squawk from the bulb horn of the Collector’s 1910 Packard and, hurriedly assembling maps, notebooks, cigarette case and camera, he went out to find Naurung standing to attention and Nancy sitting in the back seat.

They greeted each other as old friends. She reached out to shake his hand and as he sank into the grey corduroy upholstery it was a moment or two before he remembered to release it.

‘This is a very luxurious vehicle,’ said Joe, taking in the appointments with a good deal of pleasure and satisfaction. ‘Sliding plate glass window between us and the driver, comfortable seats…’

‘Yes,’ said Nancy, ‘and there’s even a little silver trumpet to put a flower in. Remind me to pick one if we see one. It’s as well to arrive in style when you’re visiting the Acting Governor.’

‘Uncle Jardine? We are to see him again? The man who shot me into this vipers’ nest!’

‘See him? We’re to stay with him! I’ve been busy on the telephone and I’ve fixed up everything. You don’t need to worry.’

‘That’s exactly when I need to worry! Tell me our programme.’

‘Well, to save time I’ve arranged for you to interview old Carmichael while I go to see Dr Forbes this afternoon. Then we meet up again at the Great Eastern Hotel for tea and then on to the Residence to spend the night with my uncle.’

‘More impeccable chaperonage,’ Joe muttered.

He opened the dividing window. ‘Good morning, Naurung,’ he said.

‘Good morning, sahib.’

‘You know where we’re going?’

‘Indeed,’ said Naurung, ‘but I thought it would be sensible if I took the same route as the Memsahib Carmichael in 1911. So we start from the Carmichael bungalow which is just down there,’ he pointed, ‘go to the end of the maidan and turn right.’

‘What is this?’ said Joe, surprised, as they followed a rough road some minutes out of the station. ‘New road?’

‘No, it is a fire break that the Forestry officer has cut through the jungle. It is a popular way for ladies to ride. It takes you up to the high ground where there is a fine view and the Memsahib Carmichael was a nervous lady, I have heard people say. She would have liked this open ride; forty yards wide, quite straight and no surprises.’

He pulled off the road and followed the bumpy ride onwards until he said, ‘It was here that the memsahib was killed.’

He stopped the car and they all stepped out.

‘Nothing whatever to see,’ said Nancy.

‘She was found just here,’ said Naurung. ‘There was a pile of brushwood here then and there is a pile of brushwood here now.’

Joe took a seat on the running board of the car and stared around, trying to recreate the scene of eleven years ago. ‘Horrible story!’ he said. ‘It really haunts me… What’s the matter, Naurung?’

Naurung was staring at the ground.

‘What have you seen?’

‘It’s not what I’ve seen, sahib, it is what I’ve always thought. But I’ll tell you. This is a very strange place to find a cobra.’

‘Strange? How strange?’

‘This was not a King Cobra, this was not a Hamadryad. They are sometimes found in jungle places like this but this was the common Indian cobra – Naja naja. They are not found in the open jungle. They are found where they can find what they like to eat which is rats and mice. And rats and mice live near human habitation in grain stores and gardens. Anywhere rats and mice can be found you may find a cobra – but not out here. You can find a cobra in every village. To some they are sacred. You will find a cobra in the village temple – the village priests put milk out for them…’

‘So what are you saying, Naurung?’

‘I am saying I have a different picture. I see this lady who is not well and she comes up here and she squats out of sight of everybody behind this brushwood pile because I’m sure there was always a brushwood pile here. Somebody comes out of the jungle with a cobra in his hand…’

‘In his hand?’ said Joe, horrified.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Naurung. ‘I could not do it but there are many who can catch a cobra. If you catch it just behind its head it may writhe and wriggle but the catcher is quite safe if he keeps hold of its head and puts it in a sack. I know six, perhaps more, Indians who could do this. He approaches the memsahib. She is shocked, she is horrified, she is terrified. He holds the snake in his hand and he throws it at her. She was bitten here, sahib,’ he said, pointing to his left buttock. ‘From here to the heart is not far for the venom to travel. She would have died very quickly. It is terrible but I think that is what happened. And then, because he is a very bad man, he stands and watches her die and when the poor lady is dead he cuts the snake’s head off and disappears into the jungle. I have seen it in my imagination so many times. Now I stand here I believe it is the truth.’

‘Christ!’ said Joe. ‘I believe you’re right! It sounds terribly true. I didn’t know about cobras.’

‘I did,’ said Nancy, ‘but I never connected it. Naurung, we must catch this man.’

‘He is clever,’ said Naurung. ‘He is very clever. Now that we know he exists, we will find him.’

‘One last thing, Naurung,’ said Joe. ‘Have you ever heard of a white man, a sahib, who would know how to catch and handle a cobra?’