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odd trait in a military man. Perhaps this abrupt change in affect was more the result of his present
predicament, and not a normal personality trait. But it was unquestionably fortunate that Weaver had
so quickly concluded that Geraldine was not with them in Bombay. If he had known otherwise, he
might have requested a meeting, which she would have insisted on granting, and Trevor couldn’t
fathom bringing Geraldine into such a place as this.
But the questions were the real issue. The fact that Trevor Welles was supposed to be
asking them, and not Anthony Weaver.
“Your stepson traveled separately,” Trevor finally conceded, for the man would surely
become aware of this fact shortly, whether he was the one to tell him or not. “I understand he is in
Bombay but I have not yet had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I represent Scotland Yard and
have voyaged on order of the Queen. With this in mind, shall I assume I have your full cooperation?
And might we start with August 7, the morning your wife and Pulkit Sang died?”
Weaver sank back in his chair. “What of it? That morning was no different than any
other, at least not as far as I know. I didn’t see either Rose or Sang before I left the house.”
“Tell me everything that happened. Walk me through it step by step.”
Weaver sighed, as if the simplicity of the task was beneath him. The nervousness which
had seized him had passed as quickly as it came and he was once more his composed self. “I arose
and dressed. Rose and I sleep in different rooms, as I gather a Yard man such as yourself would have
already deduced.”
A small jab, but Trevor let it pass. “Did you go into the dining room to eat or take your
meal in your room?”
“I don’t breakfast,” Weaver said sharply, as if hunger upon awakening was some sort of
profound moral failure. “I rose, I dressed, I visited the WC, if you must know, but that was the only
room in the house I entered other than my own. I walked down the main hall and out the front door.
My driver Felix was there. Held the door for me, asked me if I needed an umbrella, pulled round the
carriage. He was the only one I saw.”
“You did not walk through the gardens?”
“I have already said that I did not.”
“Or the kitchen?”
“Why the devil should I go into the kitchen?”
“Where did you go upon leaving the house?”
“The Byculla, of course.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows.
“I go there every morning,” Weaver said. “Myself and some of the other pensioned
officers – we like to take our coffee and papers on the patio, discuss the business of the day.”
“Were you at the Club when Rose and Sang arrived?”
“Of course not. That was much later.”
“What time did you leave the Club?”
“10:15.”
“That is quite specific.”
Weaver shrugged. “A clock stands in the foyer.”
“So I understand. Which is why the butler could tell the authorities with great
confidence that your wife and her manservant arrived at 10:29. So they didn’t come much later at all,
did they? In fact, I would imagine you passed their carriage approaching the Club as your own
carriage departed.”