Diamonds and Pebbles

Introduction
Following the allegedly unfaithful wife of a jealous client through the magnificent
lobby of the Maharaja Hotel, I heard a voice exclaim behind me. "Detective! Just
the person I wanted to see!"

Whilst I am usually imperturbable when on a case, to be honest, I was rather glad

for the interruption, so I stopped dead in my tracks. As I watched my mark leave
the building and disappear into the throng of passers-by, I silently wished her
adieu and bonne chance. Her husband really was a bore and a bully.

The owner of the voice was a tall man in his mid-forties. Dressed in a raincoat,
with the brim of his hat pulled down to his eyes, he looked the prototype of a
movie police inspector. Briefly flashing his badge at me, he said:

"I'm Inspector Umang Patel of the Delhi Police. Come, have a drink with me, and
I'll tell you why I was so anxious to find you."

Several minutes later we were comfortably seated at a table in the lounge,

sipping excellent French Cognac.

"This morning I got a telegram from the Prince of Shangri-La's private secretary,"
began the Inspector. "He told me that one of the Prince's jewels had been stolen
and that they believed the thief was in Delhi. He also asked me to get in touch
with you and obtain your help. It seems that the Prince sets great store by your
abilities. Of course, if you help us find the jewel, you'll be generously rewarded."

"Thanks," I said laconically. "What kind of jewel?"

"It's a diamond, a pink diamond. I believe it's called the Pink Chrysanthemum."

I felt my heart skip a beat. The Pink Chrysanthemum was one of the most
fabulous diamonds in the world, almost as famous as the Koh-I-Nor.
"Did the Prince's secretary tell you the name of the thief?" I asked.

Before the Inspector had a chance to answer, the hotel concierge, my old
acquaintance Gordon Smith, rushed into the lounge. He was out of breath, his
hair disheveled, quite unlike his usual composed self.

"Somebody call the police!" he shouted. "The gentleman in the Blue Suite has
killed himself!"

The Inspector and I simultaneously sprang to our feet.

"I'm an inspector of the Delhi Police," said Patel, flashing his badge for the second
time in less than half an hour. "Calm down, man, and lower your voice. Do you
really want the whole world to hear about a dead body in your hotel! Now take
me to the deceased's room and you can tell me all about it on the way."
The Investigation
Searching The Crime Scene
Letting Gordon lead the way, Inspector Patel and I entered the lavishly furnished
sitting room of a second floor suite.

"What was the name of the deceased?" asked the Inspector.

"Colonel Ludwig Minx. He only checked in two days ago. Oh, what a tragedy!
We've never had a suicide in the hotel before!" lamented Gordon.

"There's always a first time for everything," said the Inspector dryly.

In the middle of a beautiful Persian carpet lay the body of a man clutching a
revolver in his right hand. There was a small blood stain on the carpet under his
right temple. The Colonel was probably in his early forties and was wearing an
elegant evening suit. Near the body, on a malachite side table, stood an
enormous vase filled with pink flowers. I was no botanist, but I was pretty sure
they were chrysanthemums.

The Inspector's face showed disgust. "Ludwig Minx my foot," he murmured under
his breath.

"What is it, Inspector?" I asked, slightly taken aback. "Do you recognize him?"

"I've never met him personally, but yes, I know who he was. His name, or rather
one of his names, was Sir Otto Moriarty, and he was one of the most wanted
criminals in the world. Moreover, he was the man who stole the Prince's
diamond."

"An Arch Villain," I muttered to myself. Of course! The Prince of Shangri-La, the
stolen diamond, the Prince's secretary demanding my presence on the case... I
should have guessed as much.

The Prince was a man with a mission. When his favourite concubine was killed by
a member of that powerful syndicate of murderers several years ago, he swore to
hunt down as many Arch Villains as he could, and he was as good as his word. I
was only one of many detectives who were helping him achieve this noble aim.

"Who discovered the body?" the Inspector asked the unhappy-looking concierge.

"One of the waiters, sir," said Gordon. "Colonel Minx ordered dinner for two
earlier in the day, complete with caviar and champagne. I believe he also asked
the chambermaid to fill the vase with flowers."

"Ah, he was expecting a woman," Patel observed.

"It seems so, sir. Well, the waiter brought the dinner to the Colonel's suite at the
appointed time, but when his knock was not answered he tried the knob and
found that the door was locked from the inside. Fearing that the gentleman was
taken ill, he asked me to help him and we broke the lock together. And we
found... we found him lying on the floor like this," Gordon shuddered.

"You broke the lock?" Patel said somewhat warily.

Gordon seemed to understand, and reached into his pocket withdrawing a set of
keys. "Yes, Inspector I carry master keys for all the floors, but the Colonel's key
was in the lock on the other side, so I was unable to use my key."

"Did the chambermaid purchase the flowers herself?" I asked.

"No, I understand they were delivered by a man from the florist shop," said
Gordon.

"I don't think Moriarty killed himself, Inspector. There's something not quite right
about the position of the body and there's very little blood. I suspect foul play,
don't you?" I said somewhat dramatically, pointing with my thumb at the
chrysanthemums behind Gordon's back.

"Hmmm... a locked room mystery. I thought they only existed in the minds of
dime store novelists," murmured Patel.

"Who occupies the rooms next to this one?" I asked.

"The room on the right is occupied by an elderly lady, Professor Drusilla Panzer,"
said Gordon. "The room on the left is occupied by a Captain Wanjala Dark."

"Well," said the Inspector, "Let's see if those two have heard or seen anything
that might help us in the investigation. Thank you, Smith, that'll be all for now."

When the concierge left the room, the Inspector said:

"The diamond must be hidden somewhere among his belongings. Let's have a
look around."

Our search of the sitting room proved futile and we proceeded to the bedroom.
Our attention was immediately caught by an exquisite filigree jewel box lying on
the bedside table. The Inspector threw himself on it like a hawk, but when he
opened it, there was no diamond inside. Instead, the box was filled with pebbles.

We stared at the box and at each other in silence. I could almost hear the
gnashing of his teeth.

"Pebbles...," I said finally. "It reminds me of something I read once:

'Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without'."

"Confucius," said the inspector unexpectedly. "But believe me, detective, the Pink
Chrysanthemum has no flaw - it is absolutely perfect. In fact, it's the most perfect
pink diamond in the world."

After a short pause he added:

"I must call headquarters and ask them to send a surgeon. In the meantime, you
can pay a visit to the people next door and see what they have to say. Come see
me around ten, I live in Bengal Flats."
Drusilla Panzer

I found Professor Panzer in the process of packing her suitcases. She was an
elderly lady with iron-grey hair and shrewd grey eyes behind a pair of thick
eyeglasses. I was rather surprised to notice that the garment she was folding so
neatly was a bright red silk slip trimmed with black lace.

"Leaving already, professor?" I asked after introducing myself.

"I'm a wanderer, detective. I never stay in one place for too long. Besides, they're
expecting me in Vienna the day after tomorrow, I'm giving a lecture on medieval
torture," said the Professor, slamming the suitcase shut.

"What brought you here, another lecture?" I asked.

"Oh no, my stay in Delhi was part business, part pleasure. Anyway, my job here is
done. But let's not waste time on small talk. What can I do for you, detective?"

Detective: "Where were you between six and eight o'clock this afternoon?"
Drusilla Panzer: "I went to see the podiatrist about my ankle. I sprained it a week
ago and it still feels sore."

Detective: "How well did you know Sir Otto Moriarty? Is there, to your
knowledge, anybody who might have wanted to kill him?"
Drusilla Panzer: "We had a nodding acquaintance, that's all," said the Professor.
Was it my imagination, or did her eyelids flutter slightly behind her glasses? "We
met once or twice in the dining room, but he was always alone."

"Well, in that case," I began, but she interrupted me in mid-sentence.

"Wait, I did see him with someone. It was on the night before yesterday. I was
coming out of the elevator on my way to my room and he was entering it, in the
company of a young woman. I can't be sure, but they seemed to be in the middle
of an argument. They stopped as soon as they saw me, and I proceeded to my
room."

"Did you hear what they were saying?" I asked.

Drusilla took off her glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief.

"No, detective, I didn't hear a word."

I left her suite with a definite feeling that something wasn't quite right. Then,
suddenly, I realized that I used the name Moriarty, and the victim was known at
the hotel as Colonel Minx, but she answered readily enough. How did she know
his real name? It looked like I'd have to pay her another visit.
Foot Doctor’s Office

I went to see the local foot doctor.

I didn't have an appointment, so I simply walked past the protesting receptionist

and into the exam room. I knew he wouldn't like it, but I had to talk to Dr. Suneel
Visweswaran, the Podiatrist.

Detective: "Was Drusilla Panzer here between six and eight o'clock?"
Suneel Visweswaran (Podiatrist): "Yes, she came to see me about a sprained
ankle. I couldn't find anything wrong with it, though."
Twist #1
I knocked on the door of Captain Dark's room but there was no answer. I'd have
to come back later.
Twist #2
Bengal Flats was a luxury apartment building in the heart of Delhi. I found myself
wondering how a police inspector could afford to live in such a palace. Well,
maybe he came from a wealthy family.

An elderly doorman in full livery told me that the Inspector hadn't returned yet. I
decided to come back punctually at ten o'clock.
Alisha Singh

I found Alisha Singh, the chambermaid, in one of the second floor suites. She was
dusting the sitting room.

"Terrible, isn't it?" she said. "I'm sorry for the poor colonel, he was so nice!"

"Did you like him?" I asked, somewhat surprised. One wouldn't expect an Arch
Villain to be described as 'nice'.

"Yes, I did," Alisha said simply. "He was joking all the time, and patting my cheek.
Besides, he was a generous tipper."

Then, without a warning, she burst into tears.

"Detective I feel responsible for his death! If only I wasn't so greedy..."

Detective: “Why? What happened?”

Alisha Singh: "When I was leaving the hotel last night, I was approached by an
unknown man who said that he worked in a florist's shop and that he was asked
by a lady, a friend of Colonel Minx, to put some flowers in his room, as a birthday
surprise. He asked me to let him in, and he offered me a very nice sum of money.
At first I refused, but then he offered me more money, and finally I agreed to do
it.

This afternoon he came to the hotel around five, when the colonel was out, and I
let him into the room. He said he needed time to arrange the flowers, so I left him
there alone. It was a busy afternoon and I didn't have time to think about it until I
heard Gordon screaming that the colonel was dead. Then I remembered the man
from the florist's and I kept thinking that it was all my fault..." and she started
crying again.

Detective: “Can you describe him?”

Alisha Singh: "Yeees, I suppose so," she sounded uncertain. "He was of middle
height, neither young nor old, neither thin nor fat, and had one of those
nondescript faces you forget the moment they are out of your sight."

I knew the type. Alas, no golden tooth, no glass eye, not even a scar across his left
cheek...

"If you saw him again, would you recognize him?" I asked.

"I hope so, detective, but I really can't be sure," said Alisha, wiping her eyes with
her sleeve.

Detective: "What were you doing at the time of murder?"

Alisha Singh: "I was changing bed linen in one of the first floor suites, the new
guest was expected tonight."
Maharaja Hotel

I went to Maharaja Hotel. The lobby was almost empty, but I had the unpleasant
feeling that I was being watched. I glanced around the room nervously, but could
not locate the source of my unease.

Word around town was that a group known as the Green Hand had set up shop in
one of the top floor suites.

I wanted to talk to Gordon Smith, the Concierge.

Detective: “Gordon, do you know who was supposed to dine with Sir Otto
Moriarty this evening?”
Gordon Smith (Concierge): "I don't know her name, but I suppose it was the
young lady who had tea with him yesterday. I heard her say something about
having an appointment with the tailor."
Kobayashi Kloths

I had plenty of dealings with the Kobayashis from my days in New York: some
good some bad. One thing was certain though, they knew their threads. So it
wasn't surprising to find a member of the family going about her business on the
far side of the world, Naoko Kobayashi, the Tailor.

Detective: “Who was the young woman who came to see you yesterday
afternoon?”
Naoko Kobayashi (Tailor): "Well," said Naoko, "at least three young women came
to see me yesterday afternoon. Don't you know that I'm the most sought-after
tailor in Delhi?" I suppose I gave her a blank look and she laughed. "You probably
mean one of my best customers, Countess Isabella Severn. She lives at Bengal
Flats."
Isabella Severn

Countess Isabella Severn was young, not bad looking, with a mischievous gleam in
her dark eyes. She was constantly smoking, stubbing one cigarette in a congested
ashtray and immediately lighting another. She didn't look one bit like a genuine
countess, which led me to the conclusion that she probably was one.

"Hey, detective, I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance. You almost caught me
once, 'member? Of course, at the time I had a different name."

Why wasn't I surprised to hear that she too belonged to the syndicate of Arch
Villains? I began wondering if everybody connected with this case would
eventually turn out to be a member of that murderous clan.

Detective: "Did you have a dinner appointment with Colonel Ludwig Minx for
this evening? Or should I call him Sir Otto Moriarty?"
Isabella Severn: Isabella gave me an amused look.

"Who told you that? I suppose it was that babbling concierge. Yes, as a matter of
fact I did, but I changed my mind and didn't go after all."

Her face remained impenetrable, but a little flicker in her eye told me she wasn't
speaking the truth.

"Come, Countess, you were seen entering the hotel around the time of Moriarty's
death," I said.

It was a blatant lie, but I hoped that the end would justify the means. It was
certainly worth a try.

Isabella extinguished a half-smoked cigarette and immediately lit another.

"Okay," she said, "I was there, but when I got to his room, Moriarty was already
dead. Of course, I searched the place for the diamond, but it wasn't there. Then I
made a hasty exit."
"Let's assume that I believe you, which I don't," I said. "When the body was found,
the room was locked from the inside. How did you get out?"

She smiled. "It's an old trick," She said. "I went out and turned the key from the
outside with a pair of tweezers. Simple as that."

"Why did you do that?"

Isabella smirked and shrugged. "Whoever killed him, did their best to make his
death look like a suicide. I couldn't resist adding a final touch."

Detective: "Where were you at the time of murder?"

Isabella Severn: "I was probably somewhere near the hotel. I must have arrived at
Moriarty's suite shortly after the murder."

Detective: “Do you know of anyone who had a motive to kill Moriarty?”
Isabella Severn: Isabella burst into laughter. She laughed so hard that she almost
choked on the smoke from her cigarette.

"What's so funny?" I asked, feeling a bit offended.

"You! Who had a motive to kill him? I don't know of anyone who didn't. If you are
looking for people from his past, you'll find hundreds of them. But I'm pretty sure
that the reason for his murder at this particular moment can be only one: the Pink
Chrysanthemum."

"You know, Isabella," I said grudgingly, "I'm inclined to agree with you there."

After a short pause I added:

"Thanks for the pleasant conversation, it was very illuminating, but I must be
going. I'm meeting somebody at ten. We'll talk again before long."
Umang Patel

The inspector was still in his outdoor clothes, the same he wore earlier in the
evening.

"Any luck with Dark and the Panzer woman?" he asked as soon as I entered his
elegant living room.

"Dark was out, and the professor was preparing to leave Delhi. By the way, she
knew who Moriarty was. Is she an Arch Villain too?"

"I don't know," said the inspector, "but she might well be. They all use a number
of different names."

"I'm inclined to think that she knows more than she is willing to tell. And I'm
afraid the same applies to you."

"Me?" The inspector sounded amused. "Well, if you have any questions for me,
fire away!"

Detective: "Where were you at the time of murder, inspector?"

Umang Patel: "Hey, detective, are you really asking ME for an alibi?"

The inspector sounded more amused than insulted.

"I can see now why the Prince has such a high opinion of you. You never trust
anybody, do you? I left my apartment around half past five, but you know the
Delhi traffic as well as I do. It took me about an hour and a half to arrive to the
hotel. When I ran into you, it was around seven. You know the rest, you were with
me when we heard about the murder."

Detective: "I found the mysterious woman who had a dinner appointment with
Moriarty. She also seems to be an Arch Villain. Tell me, inspector, are there
more Arch Villains connected with this case?"
Umang Patel: Patel cleared his throat.
"I'm not sure, but a couple of them happen to be in Delhi right now. There's
Doctor Hemlok Dimitrijevic who specialises in diamonds, they are his passion. He
once stole a Fabergé egg, reputedly owned by none other than the famous
Rasputin, but that's another story. Then there's Baron Dragutan Malatesta who
bears Sir Otto a personal grudge, although I don't know what it is."

"Maybe he forgot two birthdays in a row," said I, making a feeble effort to be

funny, but he gave me such a look that the smile instantly froze on my lips.

Patel scribbled something on a piece of paper and threw it down at the table.

"You can pay a visit to Dimitrijevic and Malatesta, I have other fish to fry. Here are
their addresses."
Twist #3
I rang at the door of Doctor Dimitrijevic's flat, but there was no response. Where
was everybody? They seemed to be an elusive bunch.
Dragutan Malatesta

Baron Dragutan Malatesta was a corpulent man with a jet black moustache. He
was deeply immersed in a book. I managed to glance at the cover and read the
title: "The Treasures of Shangri-La".

"What can I do for you, detective? I know what brings you here, you don't have to
spell it out, but I must tell you that I had nothing to do with Moriarty's death,
absolutely nothing at all."

Detective: “What were you doing at the time of murder?”

Dragutan Malatesta: "I was having a quiet drink at the Taj Masion bar. I came
home sometime after nine."

Detective: “I was told that you had some personal grudge against Sir Otto?
What was it?”
Dragutan Malatesta: "Oh, nothing that might interest you, detective. Something
concerning a woman, but it was a long time ago."

Detective: “Was the woman in question Countess Isabella Severn?”

Dragutan Malatesta: "Isabella? Oh no, the woman in question was somebody
else. If you must know, it was Drusilla Panzer."

I stood there with my mouth open in astonishment.

"Do you mean Professor Panzer? But she... she's quite old!"

"Old?" laughed the baron. "You disappoint me, detective, I thought your power of
observation was better than that. She's not a day over thirty. And about her being
a professor... She recently took Delhi by storm with her famous belly dance.
Professor indeed!"

And he laughed and laughed until the tears started streaming down his cheeks.
I felt like a complete fool. I remembered what one of my contacts had told me
long ago: "They say some of the Villains are masters of disguise. They could be
anybody!" His words now sounded prophetic.

As I reached for the doorknob, the baron suddenly stopped laughing and said:

"Oh, detective, I think I saw Moriarty's wife this morning. She was entering the
fortune teller's shop. That's strange... I thought she died years ago."
Taj Masion Bar

Despite the early hour, I headed over to the Taj Masion, a quiet bar housed in an
old colonial mansion. The place was crowded with chatting locals, as always.

Lurking near the back, I could make out the shape of one of the bar's regulars. He
was the local fixer, and it seemed like every city had one, if you knew where to
look. An unpleasant person to deal with, but one who was sometimes necessary.

I wanted to talk to Jasraj Bharwani, the Bartender.

Detective: “Was Baron Malatesta here at the time of the murder?”

Jasraj Bharwani (Bartender): "Yes, he was, detective. He had a couple of drinks,
with his nose stuck in a book the whole time."
The Romanov Mansion

The Romanov family had been in Delhi for three generations. Starting out as
street performers, they turned their talents into a small fortune which allowed
them to pursue a more relaxed life as money lenders. All of them but one, that
is...

An old matriarch of the family was not interested in wealth, and stubbornly clung
to the old ways, Judith Romanova, the Fortune Teller.

Detective: "Judith, can you tell me where I can find Lady Moriarty? She was
seen entering your shop."
Judith Romanova (Fortune Teller): "No, detective, you were misinformed," said
Judith. "There's no Lady Moriarty here."
Drusilla Panzer

"What can I do for you, detective?"

Detective: "Have you met Captain Wanjala Dark? Whenever I tried to see him,
he was out."
Drusilla Panzer: "No, I haven't. But I heard one of the chambermaids mentioning
that he was temporarily out of town."

Detective: "Professor, you lied to me when I asked you about Moriarty. Why
was that?"
Drusilla Panzer: Drusilla took off her glasses, scratched her nose with one of the
handles and put them back again.
"When I saw Moriarty with that woman the other day, I recognized him
immediately. And yes, I knew that he had the diamond and I was after it myself.
But I didn't kill him, I swear. When I came back after my visit to the podiatrist, he
was already dead and you and the inspector were searching his room."

"Did you recognize the woman?"

"No, I've never seen her before," said Drusilla, and this time she sounded quite
sincere.

"Well, that's all for now," said I, "but don't leave town without Inspector Patel's
permission. He might want to ask you a question or two himself."
Isabella Severn

"What do you want now, gumshoe?" said Isabella playfully, puffing a smoke ring.

Detective: "What do you know about Captain Wanjala Dark? Is he... errr... is he
one of you?"
Isabella Severn: "You mean, is he an Arch Villain like myself? Don't be so tactful!"
laughed Isabella. "The answer to your question is yes."

Detective: "Do you know if Dark had some grudge against Moriarty?"
Isabella Severn: "I rather think it was the other way around. Moriarty had a lovely
wife, Allegra, and he was very much in love with her. Two years ago they ran into
Wanjala in Cairo, and it didn't take him long to seduce Lady Moriarty. I don't think
he cared about her one bit, it was pure mischief on his part. He's like that, nothing
amuses him so much as other people's suffering. So she left Moriarty and rode
into the sunset with the newly found love of her life. I don't need to tell you that
Dark left her a couple of months later. She decided that she couldn't live without
him, and shot herself in a hotel room in Venice. A romantic story, isn't it?" said
Isabella, lighting another cigarette.

"And now Moriarty shoots himself in a hotel room in Delhi. Merely a coincidence?
I rather doubt it."

"So do I, detective, so do I," said Isabella.

Hemlok Dimitrijevic

The gramophone was blaring.

"Ain't she sweet?

See her walking down the street.
Now I ask you very confidentially,
Ain't she sweet?" sang doctor Dimitrijevic in a high falsetto voice, slightly out of
tune. He seemed to be in high spirits.

When he saw me he suddenly stopped singing, all merriment draining from his
face.

"Any special reason for your mirth, doctor?" I asked. "Have you by any chance
found a cave filled with pink diamonds?"

"I was expecting you, snoop," he growled. "A friend of mine told me that you
were making enquiries into old Moriarty's death. My source also said that for
some reason you think that one of us poor Arch Villains is responsible. It's
becoming an obsession with you. So, what do you want from me?"

Detective: "Do you have an alibi for the time of Moriarty's death?"
Hemlok Dimitrijevic: "I was having dinner at the Royal Peacock restaurant."

Detective: "I hear that you are a passionate collector of precious stones. Did you
steal the Pink Chrysanthemum?"
Hemlok Dimitrijevic: His eyes assumed a greenish gleam, like a cat's.

"I wish I did, detective," he sighed. "I'd willingly give ten years of my life, plus my
Rasputin's egg, to add that beauty to my collection."

I didn't believe him, but decided to let it pass for the time being. Instead, I
attacked him on the other flank.

"How well did you know Moriarty? What can you tell me about his wife?"
He looked dumbfounded by the sudden change of subject, which had been
precisely my intention.

"Gilda? Why are you asking me about her?" he stammered.

Now it was my turn to look dumbfounded.

"Did you say Gilda? I was told that her name was Allegra. Besides, everybody
thought her dead until today, when she was seen entering the fortune teller's
shop. Tell me all you know about her or you'll leave me no other choice than to
ask the inspector to put you behind bars."

"Okay, okay," said Hemlok, his face turning green like a slab of Gorgonzola
cheese. "Allegra is alive, and she is temporarily staying with her great-aunt, Judith
Romanova. She's calling herself Madame Gilda Derringer."
The Royal Peacock

A famous restaurant with a very exclusive clientele, the Royal Peacock wasn't
exactly my kind of joint. In fact, I couldn't even get in the front door. Luckily, I
wasn't counting on getting dining room service.

I wanted to talk to Chander, the Waiter.

Detective: "Was Doctor Dimitrijevic here at the time of murder?"

Chander (Waiter): Chander scratched his head. "No, I don't think he was. He is a
frequent guest, but I'm positive he wasn't here in the past couple of days."
Twist #4
I had a few more questions for Dimitrijevic, so I returned to his flat later in the
evening. The gramophone was still blaring and I could distinctly hear the words of
the song:

"I'll be glad when you're dead, you rascal, you!"

Then I noticed that the door was open and the lock smashed.

I found Hemlok's body lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood. Mechanically, I
felt his pulse, but it told me only what I already knew: Hemlok Dimitrijevic was
dead.
The Romanov Mansion

The Romanov family had been in Delhi for three generations. Starting out as
street performers, they turned their talents into a small fortune which allowed
them to pursue a more relaxed life as money lenders. All of them but one, that
is...

An old matriarch of the family was not interested in wealth, and stubbornly clung
to the old ways, Judith Romanova, the Fortune Teller.

Detective: "Judith, we have known each other for a long time and you never lied
to me before. I'm positive that you know Madame Gilda Derringer's
whereabouts."
Judith Romanova (Fortune Teller): " I didn't lie to you, at least not technically,"
said Judith, with a ghost of a smile. "You asked about Lady Moriarty, not Madame
Derringer. Yes, Gilda is here, in a little flat above the shop. What has she done
now? She has an outstanding talent for getting herself into trouble."
Gilda Derringer

Madame Gilda Derringer was sitting behind an old, battered desk, writing in a
blue leather bound notebook that looked like a diary. She was so absorbed that at
first she didn't notice my presence.

I made my best attempt at a polite cough, and she suddenly sprang to her feet,
shutting the notebook with a snap.

"Who are you? What are you doing here? Who let you in?" she asked in a shrill
staccato voice.

One thing was obvious: Madame Gilda was afraid of something or somebody, so
much afraid that her legs refused to support her and she had to sit down.

"I'm a detective investigating the death of your husband. I'm going to ask you a
few questions. If you cooperate, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"My... my husband? I have no husband," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Madame, I know who you are, and you are perfectly aware of it. Let's talk sense,
shall we?"

She was silent for a few moments, trying to pull herself together, and then said in
a much calmer voice:

"All right, detective, I'm listening."

Detective: "Your husband, Sir Otto Moriarty, was murdered in his hotel room.
Did you kill him?"
Gilda Derringer: "No, detective, I wasn't near the hotel at the time. My great-aunt
can tell you that I spent the whole day with her."
"But you were there two days ago, weren't you? " I asked, suddenly sure that the
woman whom Drusilla had seen with Moriarty was Gilda. "What were you and Sir
Otto arguing about?"

"It was a private matter, concerning only my husband and myself," said Gilda,
"you have no right to pry into that."

"I'm investigating Moriarty's death, Madame, and I have every right to ask
anything that can help to catch his murderer. Please answer my question."

After thinking for a moment or two, Gilda decided to cooperate.

"I still think that this is strictly private, but if you insist... I asked Otto to take me
back."

Whatever I expected, it wasn't that.

"What did he reply?" I asked.

"He flatly refused. In fact, he was quite rude about it. He said that I was 'a
diamond with a flaw', and that he didn't want to see me ever again."

Detective: "There was another murder this evening. A man who called himself
Doctor Hemlok Dimitrijevic. Did you know him? "
Gilda Derringer: Gilda began to tremble so violently that she dropped the
fountain pen she was still holding in her hand. It fell on the floor, leaving small ink
spots on the carpet.

"Hemlok? Oh no, that's impossible! Not Hemlok! It's that damned diamond, it
leaves a bloody trail!"

And she started sobbing. At that moment the door opened and Judith entered.
Putting her arm around Gilda's shoulders, she turned to me and hissed:

"Go now, detective, you've done enough harm for one day."
The Romanov Mansion

The Romanov family had been in Delhi for three generations. Starting out as
street performers, they turned their talents into a small fortune which allowed
them to pursue a more relaxed life as money lenders. All of them but one, that
is...

An old matriarch of the family was not interested in wealth, and stubbornly clung
to the old ways, Judith Romanova, the Fortune Teller.

Detective: "Was Gilda with you at the time of murder?"

Judith Romanova (Fortune Teller): "Yes, detective, she was. I told her not to leave
the house, I had a definite feeling that something bad was going to happen. She
didn't believe me, poor girl. She's the only one in the family with absolutely no
talent for predicting the future."
Umang Patel

Dressed in a raincoat, with the brim of his hat pulled down to his eyes, Patel
looked the prototype of a movie police inspector.

"Any questions, detective?" he asked.

Detective: "I'm afraid I have some bad news, but don't shoot the messenger.
Dimitrijevic is dead. "
Umang Patel: "Yes, I know," said the inspector. "I searched his flat but, needless
to say, I found no diamond. By the way, I got another telegram from Shangri-La,
the Prince is becoming impatient. Any ideas what we should do next?"

Detective: "I think I've found a ray of light in all this darkness. Moriarty's wife is
alive, and she's here in Delhi.”
Umang Patel: For a moment I thought that Patel's eyes would fall out of their
sockets.

"Allegra Moriarty? But I... I thought..."

"You thought that she was dead, along with everyone else. Well, she's alive and
kicking, and she's staying with her great-aunt the fortune teller. Maybe we can
get something out of her."

"Yes." Patel had calmed down by now and was looking his normal self. "I'm going
to see her right now, I'm sure she can tell us something worth hearing."
Maharaja Hotel

I went to Maharaja Hotel. The lobby was almost empty, but I had the unpleasant
feeling that I was being watched. I glanced around the room nervously, but could
not locate the source of my unease.

Word around town was that a group known as the Green Hand had set up shop in
one of the top floor suites.

I wanted to talk to Gordon Smith, the Concierge.

Detective: "Gordon, what can you tell me about Captain Wanjala Dark? He's so
elusive that I'm beginning to wonder if he is real."
Gordon Smith (Concierge): "I don't know anything about him, I've never set my
eyes on the gentleman," said Pierre scratching his chin. "Maybe Alisha could tell
you more."
Alisha Singh

"Can I help you, detective?"

Detective: "Alisha, what can you tell me about Captain Wanjala Dark?”
Alisha Singh: "I don't know anything about him, I only know that he was suddenly
called out of town. He asked that we keep his suite for him until his return."

"Did he leave the message with you?"

"No, he left a note on his bedside table. Along with a nice tip," said Alisha smiling,
all her past woes forgotten.

"Would you do something for me? I'd like to search his room. Can you let me in?"
I said, taking out my wallet.

"Of course, it's strictly against the rules, but you didn't tell anybody about the
man from the flower shop, so I'll do it just for you," and, taking the money, she
smiled innocently.
Twist #5
Most hotel rooms are impersonal, but Captain Dark's suite was the most
impersonal place I'd ever seen. The only thing that threw some light on its
occupant's interests was a fine leather and canvas golf bag, containing a set of
high quality clubs.

I went methodically through all the closets, wardrobes and chests of drawers, but
I found nothing of interest. There were no books, no notepads, no photographs.
Not even an example of Dark's handwriting. It was all very disappointing.

"Alisha, what did you do with the note from the bedside table?" I asked the
chambermaid.

"I showed it to the receptionist and then threw it away. I didn't know it could be
important," answered Alisha.

"We can leave now, we've seen everything there was to see, which was precious
little. There's one more thing you can do for me: when Dark returns to the hotel,
let me know at once."

"I will, detective, that's the least I can do," said Alisha.
Twist #6
As soon as I entered the fortune teller's shop, I had a premonition of disaster.
Judith was nowhere to be seen, and I slowly ascended the rickety stairs. I found
them both in Gilda's small sitting room; Gilda was lying on the floor with an ugly
bullet wound in her forehead, and Judith was kneeling beside her, her eyes full of
tears.

"I was out for only about an hour, I went to see a customer. The killer must have
watched the house and took the opportunity of my absence. I will never forgive
myself for leaving her alone, as long as I live," she said tearfully.

"Judith, I believe that Gilda kept a diary. Would you lend it to me? If we're lucky,
maybe it could throw some light on the identity of her murderer."

Judith went to a small table standing in front of the window. Beside a large
goldfish bowl lay the blue leather bound notebook I'd noticed on my previous
visit.

"Here, detective, take it and find the fiend who killed her! She was not a real Arch
Villain, you know, I don't think she ever killed anybody. Her biggest fault was that
she couldn't help being attracted to the wrong kind of men."

There was nothing more to say. I took the diary, patted her shoulder and left.

As I was putting the diary in my coat pocket, a photograph of a man fell out...

I found myself looking into the smiling face of Hemlok Dimitrijevic.

Alisha Singh

"Can I help you, detective?"

Detective: “Alisha, do you recognize the man in the photograph?”

Alisha Singh: She looked at the picture for a long time and suddenly exclaimed:

"Yes, that's him! I'm quite sure that this is the man from the florist's shop!"
Twist #7
I was walking aimlessly through the busy streets lost in thought, when I suddenly
realized that I was still carrying Gilda's unread diary in my coat pocket. I sat on the
nearest bench and began to read.

As I turned page after page, an image of the dead woman and the recent events
slowly began to take shape in my mind.

After Wanjala Dark had left her in Venice, Gilda decided that it was best for her to
stage her own suicide. It was partly revenge on Wanjala, and partly a precaution
against Moriarty. Nobody knew that she was alive until one night, at Big Lucy's
cabaret in New York, she ran into Hemlok Dimitrijevic who had been in love with
her for years. After that eventful night they travelled around the world together
until they arrived in Delhi.

They heard that Gilda's former husband had stolen the Pink Chrysanthemum and
Hemlok, who could never resist a valuable jewel, let alone one so famous,
decided to steal it from him. So Gilda went to see Moriarty under the pretense
that she wanted to return to him, but their meeting didn't go well. He refused
her, saying that he didn't want a 'diamond with a flaw', and she answered him
with Confucius's words about flawed diamonds and flawless pebbles, and later
took her little revenge on him by talking Hemlok into leaving the pebbles in the
jewel box in place of the diamond.

They had to alter the plan, and Hemlok, pretending that he was a florist, bribed
the chambermaid to let him into Moriarty's room. He found the diamond, put the
chrysanthemums in the vase as the final joke, and managed to get out of the
hotel unseen. Later that evening they heard about Moriarty's death.

Tantalizingly, the diary stopped there. There was no hint of the diamond's
whereabouts.

The past events were much clearer now, but I had learned nothing about the
identity of the murderer, or the destiny of the Pink Chrysanthemum. Did the
killer, whoever he (or she) was, manage to take the diamond after Hemlok's
murder? It certainly hadn't been there when I found his body.
Twist #8
I arrived at the Bengal Flats in a low mood. Nothing was going according to plan.
Three people were dead, there was no trace of the murderer, and I didn't have
the faintest idea what had happened to the diamond.

"Looking for the Inspector, detective?" asked the doorman. "I'm afraid you won't
find him here; he was suddenly called out of town on urgent business. He left an
hour ago."

I couldn't believe my ears. What could have been more urgent than our present
case? I simply had to get in touch with him and tell him the news.

I went into the nearest telephone booth and asked the operator to connect me to
the Delhi Police Department.

"Inspector Patel?" The man's voice sounded surprised. "He is not here. He took
sick leave three days ago."

I stood there staring at the receiver in my hand a long time after the man had
hung up.
Research #1
I spent most of the afternoon reading the local newspapers, looking for some
information about Inspector Patel. I found several articles about his success in
solving various murders.

He had apparently crowned his career a year ago by catching an Arch Villain after
'a painstaking hunt' and receiving a special reward from the Prince of Shangri-La.

There was a photo of Patel in the company of the turbaned Prince, but it was so
blurred that his face was unrecognizable.

The Arch Villain's name was Colonel Azriel Dark.

Alisha Singh

"Can I help you, detective?"

Detective: “Any news about the captain?”

Alisha Singh: "Oh, detective, I was just going to call you!" exclaimed Alisha
excitedly. "He's come back a few minutes ago."
Wanjala Dark

I couldn't believe my luck. After so many futile attempts, I was standing before the
mysterious Captain Wanjala Dark.

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise.

"Hello, detective, welcome to my humble abode!" he said.

Detective: ‘It’s… it’s you!”

Wanjala Dark: Even as I spoke, I realized how idiotic my words sounded.

Wanjala didn't say anything. He just sneered.

Conclusion
When I recovered from the first shock, I asked:

"What did you do with the real Inspector Patel?"

"Killed him, of course. You have certainly discovered by now that he was
responsible for the arrest of my brother, which ended in his death sentence.
Come, detective, spare me your hypocritical judgement. You and your self-
righteous crowd from Shangri-La have caused the deaths of more people than all
the Arch Villains put together.

I wanted that diamond, and Moriarty, Gilda and that fool Dimitrijevic were just
obstacles in my path. I had to eliminate them. I'm not saying that I didn't enjoy
myself," said Wanjala with a demonic smile on his lips.

"How do I fit into the picture?" I asked, seething with helpless rage.

"Before he died, Patel told me about all those panegyrics from Shangri-La sung in
your honour," he said. "I hoped that you would lead me straight to the diamond,
but I was sadly disappointed. Your reputation as a detective is highly overrated."

"Do you mean to tell me that you killed four people without managing to find the
diamond?" I asked in disbelief.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Wanjala. "Unfortunately, you're of no

further use to me. Goodbye, detective!"

With lightning speed he pulled a revolver out of his pocket and aimed it at me. I
threw myself on the floor, but the shot never came. Instead, I heard a heavy thud.

Slowly rising myself to a kneeling position, I saw Wanjala crumpled on the floor,
and Isabella Severn standing above him with one of his golf clubs in her hand.
-

The police had come and gone, taking Wanjala with them. Isabella and I were
sitting in the lounge at the same table where I sat with the fake inspector only a
few days ago.

"Isabella," I asked, "how did you materialize in Wanjala's room? For a brief
moment I thought that my days were numbered."

"I'd been following him for weeks, and the chambermaid had been most obliging.
I don't need to tell you that some rupees changed hands in the process. She let
me into his room and I hid behind the curtain. Useful things, curtains," she said,
smiling. "You see, Dark wasn't the only one pretending to be somebody else. He
was an Arch Villain masquerading as a police inspector, and I'm a detective
masquerading as an Arch Villain. I've found it very useful on several occasions in
the past."

"Yes, I was puzzled. Somehow, you didn't fit my concept of an Arch Villain. As a
rule, they're not very friendly."

"There are no rules without exception. Except, of course, for the rule that there
are no rules without exception," said Isabella and laughed.

We sipped our tea in silence, both thinking about the events of the past few days.

"I've put all the pieces of the puzzle together, except one," said Isabella at last.
"Where is the bloody diamond?"

Suddenly, an idea flashed into my mind.

"If you come with me, I think I can show you."

Half an hour later our cab pulled up in front of the fortune teller's shop.

Judith let us in and we climbed the rickety stairs. The little flat was still full of
Gilda's belongings.
I went straight to the small table in front of the window and immersed my hand in
the goldfish bowl. I hoped the fish wouldn't mind. I searched among the pebbles
at the bottom, until my fingers touched a solid round object. I took my hand out
and slowly opened it. In my palm there lay the most beautiful diamond I've ever
seen, the diamond without a flaw: the Pink Chrysanthemum.

"I'm taking it to Shangri-La tomorrow, too many people have already died
because of it," I said. "It's high time it stopped leaving a bloody trail."