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“Whyevernot? I should dearly like to see the sights of India.”
“Not this sight, I’d venture,” said Mrs. Tucker.
“It is a Hindu temple?”
“Of course.”
“Then I am quite curious,” said Emma, her energy returning as she leaned forward to
better face her hostess. Or landlady, or whatever the woman would ultimately prove to be. She
should have asked Gerry for more particulars before she had gotten on the boat. Mrs. Tucker was a
strange one, no doubt about it. What would compel her to don a full bustle, plumed hat, and gloves in
this appalling heat?
“I am quite curious about the local customs,” Emma continued, surprised Gerry was not
jumping into the conversation as well. But Gerry sat silently staring out the window. “And I hope to
experience as much of Bombay as I can while I’m here.”
“Are you a missionary, my dear?” said Mrs. Tucker.
“No,” said Emma, stung. “Of course not.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the woman, whom Emma was beginning to dislike more with
each passing moment, carriage or not. “For they are the only ones who go poking around the temple.”
“One doesn’t have to be a missionary,” Emma said, “in order to want to see the real
India.”
“The real India?” said Mrs. Tucker, barking a laugh. “Yes, visitors fresh off the boat
always claim just this, that they have come to see the real India.” She sat back in her seat, and fanned
herself with one of her gloves. “I must tell you, my dear, that this ambition generally lasts about a
day. Sometimes two.”
***
Bombay Jail
11:14 AM
They had been deposited on the steps of the police station with little ceremony, but both
Henry Seal and Hubert Morass were at least on hand to greet them. After offers of refreshment and
the privy – the first declined, the second accepted – the men from Scotland Yard were escorted back
to a dreary little office for the debriefing. Seal claimed the desk, and presumably any authority that
went with it, while the chairs of the others were crammed in at such close quarters that the ten knees
of the five men were nearly touching.
Within minutes of the start of the meeting, Trevor was utterly confused as to what aspects
of the investigation fell under Seal’s jurisdiction, and which fell under that of Morass. The two men
seemed to talk over the top of each other, much in the manner of comic actors. Of course, it scarcely
mattered what was said or who said it, for the past three days appeared to have provided little new
information in the case. With Seal attempting to take the lead and Morass offering numerous points of
commentary, the men stumbled once more through the same details which had been outlined in the
telegram and then simultaneously fell silent.
“You have interviewed the Weaver household staff, I presume?” Rayley ventured.
“Of course we have, for all the good it’s done us,” Seal said. “Apart from the dead
bodyguard, the Weavers employed a cook, a maid, and a young fellow who served as valet, driver,
and butler. All claimed to have seen nothing amiss.”
“And even if one of them had noticed anything, they wouldn’t tell us,” Morass added.
“The Indians don’t want to talk to the British any more than the British want to talk to the Indians.”