The Mystery of the Meticulous Murder Chapter II
A Tale of Professor Akanksha Ardath and Wachtmeister Luitbald Leopold
And a quarrelsome trio they were!
There was a fellow who, to my observation, didn’t like anyone, and the other two men were clearly at odds with one another. Professor Ardath and I were not the cause of their dispute, and while our presence may have influenced the timing of the violence, the horror that brought ruin to all three men was long in coming and might as well have happened any night they sat together.
The first fellow, the one who didn’t like anyone, was the manager of the hotel, a Scotsman called McTeague. Short and broad, our host wore a perpetual scowl. His hands were always busy, doubtless more so as he was missing fingers on both, either due to his work on the railroad or some other cause he did not disclose.
I will add this: McTeague clearly had no love for any living woman or man, but he did show a gruff sort of courtesy to Professor Ardath, much in the way a belligerent hound will show tolerance to guests of its master.
The second was Constable Rory, the sub-divisional police officer for the town that the inn and railroad stop were attached to. As with many colonists we had encountered, he was all but indifferent to India. From what I had seen, he considered his jurisdiction to be the hotel and the station. The native township, such as it was, could have dried up and blown away, and it may have been days before the constable would take any notice.
The third man was a travelling peddler or ‘knight of the road,’ one Mister Daphne, and rude fellow he was. He’d doubtless have been dismissed from any reputable commerce not on the edges of civilization, but along the rails he was tolerated.
Men are often quite taken with the professor; and this was clearly true of Officer Rory and Mister Daphne.
As her secretary and protector, it is not my place to wax over her beauty, but I will say that she was a striking woman, and her sharp wit and flashing eyes only added to the effect. She had her Indian mother’s dark complexion and her father’s chestnut hair, and her skin grew darker with time in the sun, while her tresses grew lighter—quite a beguiling effect.
Having been raised in an English household with strong Pahari influences, it was not unusual for her to augment her tailored dresses and jackets with traditional bracelets, silken scarves, and other ornaments. She had a wonderful sense of style and combined these many contrasts in a natural, pleasing way.
She also took full control of my costume when we travelled together, putting me in the white suit of the Raj or, as she had on that day, a dhoti in place of trousers. I drew the line at sandals, boots being necessary for my duty as her protector.
The men were doubtless emboldened by the professor’s own forward manner, for Professor Ardath did not display the habits one might expect from a lady.
Veiled and silent, my presence has been called intimidating, if not off-putting. Constable Rory, however, was not a man to be intimidated, and he paid me little mind, dismissing me, in the callous way of colonizers, as a servant.
And while Mister Daphne had begun our association with good manners, these deteriorated with each beer he drank.
Their socializing went into the night, the four of them around the small table while I sat nearer to the wall. I followed the conversation as best I was able, watching as inebriation, familiarity, and boldness rose in Constable Rory and Mister Daphne.
After dinner, she played bezique with the men, taking trumps and sharing stories just as if she were a soldier or a salesman, and not the cosseted, university-educated middle child of one of the wealthiest gentlemen on the entire sub-continent.
McTeague passed on his turn to shuffle and deal the cards but was well able to manage his plays and bids despite his missing fingers. So engrossed was McTeague in play that he made no offer of serving his guests, and while I would have performed any action that Professor Ardath asked of me, she took it upon herself to fetch beers, flat bread, and ripe Egyptian cheese mall kitchen, with no comment or encouragement from McTeague, who played his hands with the concentration of a man etching filigree onto ivory.
She was setting another round of beers to the men at the table—McTeague included. Indeed, treating our host well was a habit she kept to, and one that would spare us considerable trouble in the night to come.
To Be Continued Next Week
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