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undignified sight of Tom wresting the bodies apart, at one point straddling the both of them and using
his full youthful strength to accomplish the task. He assured Rayley that his roughness was necessary
and would not corrupt the investigation. Since the two had been dead so long, it should be an easy
enough matter to tell postmortem wounds from any which might have been inflicted while the person
was still alive. Rayley had briskly nodded, but in truth the purity of the forensics was the last thing on
his mind. Although he had volunteered for this task, recording the observations made as Tom
examined the bodies, he hadn’t counted on anything quite so distressing as this.
At last the two lay apart and it took Tom but a few minutes more to confirm that the
original report appeared to be accurate. The bodies had suffered no obvious injuries before death.
“At least nothing such as obvious as a blow or stab wound,” Tom had said. “But the skin
is far too corrupted to look for a puncture mark.”
“You agree with the possibility of poison, I take it?” Rayley asked, finally leaving his
post at the door to cautiously approach.
“It seems likely,” Tom said, glancing toward the vials of blood resting on the table
behind him. “The local boys are right in saying that it’s the only thing that explains the fact that both
arrived here at the club apparently in fine fettle and lay dead just minutes later. But the trouble is, the
kit I brought from London and my study books only address the sort of poisons one is apt to find in
Europe. I venture to say there are any number of botanicals here in Bombay which could cause death
upon ingestion, but I have no idea where to begin.”
“They were likely dosed in the home and not the club?” Rayley said, gazing down at the
form of Rose Weaver. Of the two, she looked especially pitiful. So small and pale and startled
looking, as if death had caught her utterly unaware. The fact that one foot flopped awkwardly inward,
the ankle no doubt broken during the rather brutal autopsy, only added to her helplessness, as did of
course, the fact she was missing all ten fingers. Sang was curled on his side, with his own ravaged
hands tucked under him, almost as if he were ashamed of them.
“Yes, the poisons are a conundrum,” Tom continued, lining the fingers up on the table
beside the blood samples. “But I do believe these fingers may yield at least partial prints. With any
luck Davy shall pick something up when he dusts the house and we will be able to determine where
and how the poison was administered, even if we don’t know the precise kind it is.”
“Would a jury convict without proof of the type of poison?”
“I cannot say. What a jury will or will not do lies more within your expertise than mine.
A British court might demand it, but who knows what a local court may accept.”
“It seems,” Rayley said, “that we are well on our way to strengthening the case against
your aunt’s beau.”
“We can’t help which way the evidence falls,” Tom said, shifting the form of Rose back
beside that of Sang on the table and wincing with the effort. “Which Aunt Gerry fully understands, I
am sure. But as for now,” he added, “help me rebury them in ice, will you? I’m not sure these bodies
have anything else to tell us, but I am not ready to release them for burial yet. Or whatever the Hindus
do. Burning, probably.”
` “Very well,” said Rayley, scooping the smaller shards of ice to pack around the two
bodies. “But I wish to stay and assist while you do the fingerprinting and blood work. Should I pull
the microscope from its case? I know I’m little help in the laboratory but I find this part of the
process oddly compelling.”
“Of course,” said Tom, as they lowered the large curved piece of ice over the bodies. “I
shall talk you through it as I work and turn you into a proper laboratory assistant. Ah, look there,” he