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A banker lost the very prestigious coronet that he supposed to take care off. He went to detective Jay Vasan with his problem. Let's find out how a case of theft is so complex for Jay Vasan.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
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Stealth
BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichStelath
“Aditi,” said I as I stood one morning in our bow-window looking down the street, “Here is a madcap coming along. It seems rather sad that his relatives should allow him to come out alone.”
She rose lazily from her armchair and stood with her hands in the pockets of her dressing gown, looking over my shoulder. It was a dark, thundering February morning, and because the rain of the day before water still lay flat upon the ground, shimmering brightly in the cloudy sun. Down in the middle of Street it had been broken into a brown crumbly band by the traffic, but at either side and on the heaped-up edges of the foot-paths it still lay as white as when it fell. The grey pavement had been cleaned and scraped, but was still dangerously slippery, so that there were fewer passengers than usual. Indeed, from the direction of the Metropolitan Station no one was coming save the single gentleman whose eccentric conduct had drawn my attention.
He was a man of about fifty-five, tall, portly, and imposing, with a massive, strongly marked face and a commanding figure. He was dressed in a somber yet fancy, in black kurta, shining cap, and skin tight black jeans. Yet his actions were in absurd contrast to the dignity of his dress and features, for he was running hard, with occasional little springs, such as a weary man gives who is little accustomed to set any tax upon his legs. As he ran he jerked his hands up and down, waggled his head, and writhed his face into the most extraordinary contortions.
“What on earth can be the matter with him?” She asked. “He is looking up at the numbers of the houses.”
“I believe that he is coming here,” I said, exciting in my mind.
“Here?”
“Yes; I rather think he is coming to consult me professionally. I think that I recognize the symptoms.
Ha! Did I not tell you?” As I spoke, the man, puffing and blowing, rushed at our door and pulled at our bell until the whole house resounded with the clanging.
A few moments later he was in our house, still puffing, still gesticulating, but with so fixed a look of grief and despair in his eyes that our smiles were turned in an instant to horror and pity. For a while he could not get his words out, but swayed his body and plucked at his hair like one who has been driven to the extreme limits of his reason. Then, suddenly springing to his feet, he beat his head against the wall with such force that we both rushed upon him and tore him away to the middle of the room. I pushed him down into the easy-chair and, sitting beside him, patted his hand and chatted with him in the easy, soothing tones which I knew so well how to employ.
“You have come to me to tell your story, sir, have you not?” said I. “You are fatigued with your haste. Please wait until you have recovered yourself, and then I shall be most happy to look into any little problem which you may submit to me.”
The man sat for a minute or more with a heaving chest, fighting against his emotion. Then he passed his handkerchief over his eyebrow, set his lips tight, and turned his face towards us.
“No doubt you think me mad?” said he.
“I see that you have had some great trouble,” responded Aditi.
“God knows I have!—a trouble which is enough to unseat my reason, so sudden and so terrible is it. Public disgrace I might have faced, although I am a man whose character has never yet borne a stain. Private affliction also is the lot of every man; but the two coming together, and in so frightful a form, have been enough to shake my very soul. Besides, it is not I alone. The very noblest in the land may suffer unless some way be found out of this horrible affair.”
“Please compose yourself, sir,” I said, “and let me have a clear account of who you are and what it is that has befallen you.”
“My name,” answered our visitor, “is probably familiar to your ears. I am Rana Bajaj, of the investment firm of Sunbeam Enterprises, at D-12 market.”
The name was indeed well known to us as belonging to the senior partner in the second largest private investment business concern in the metropolitan city. What could have happened, then, to bring one of the foremost citizens of New Delhi to this most pitiable pass? We waited, all curiosity, until with another effort he braced himself to tell his story.
“I feel that time is of value,” said he; “That is why I hastened here when the police inspector named Nikhil suggested that I should secure your co-operation. I came to you by the Underground and hurried from there on foot, for the cabs go slowly through this rain. That is why I was so out of breath, for I am a man who takes very little exercise. I feel better now, and I will put the facts before you as shortly and yet as clearly as I can.
“It is, of course, well known to you that in a successful investment business as much depends upon our being able to find remunerative investments for our funds as upon our increasing our connection and the number of our depositors. One of our most lucrative means of laying out money is in the shape of loans, where the security is unimpeachable. We have done a good deal in this direction during the last few years, and there are many noble families to whom we have advanced large sums upon the security of their pictures, libraries, or plate.
“Yesterday morning I was seated in my office at the bank when a card was brought in to me by one of the clerks. I started when I saw the name, for it was that of none other than—well, perhaps even to you I had better say no more than that it was a name which is a household word all over the earth—one of the highest, noblest, most exalted names in New Delhi. I was overwhelmed by the honour and attempted, when he entered, to say so, but he plunged at once into business with the air of a man who wishes to hurry quickly through a disagreeable task.
‘Mr. Bajaj,’ said he, ‘I have been informed that you are in the habit of advancing money.’
‘The firm does so when the security is good.’ I answered.
‘It is absolutely essential to me,’ said he, ‘That I should have Rs5,00,00,000 at once. I could, of course, borrow so trifling a sum ten times over from my friends, but I much prefer to make it a matter of business and to carry out that business myself. In my position you can readily understand that it is unwise to place one’s self under obligations.’
‘For how long, may I ask, do you want this sum?’ I asked.
‘Next Monday I have a large sum due to me, and I shall then most certainly repay what you advance, with whatever interest you think it right to charge. But it is very essential to me that the money should be paid at once.’
‘I should be happy to advance it without further parley from my own private purse,’ said I, ‘Were it not that the strain would be rather more than it could bear. If, on the other hand, I am to do it in the name of the firm, then in justice to my partner I must insist that, even in your case, every businesslike precaution should be taken.’
‘I should much prefer to have it so,’ said he, raising up a square, dark green case which he had laid beside his chair. ‘You have doubtless heard of the Sporcilet rock?’
‘One of the most precious public possessions of the empire,’ said I.
‘Precisely.’ He opened the case, and there, imbedded in soft, flesh-colored velvet, lay the magnificent piece of jewellery which he had named. ‘There are thirty-nine enormous rock,’ said he, ‘And the price of the gold chasing is incalculable. The lowest estimate would put the worth of the Sporcilet at double the sum which I have asked. I am prepared to leave it with you as my security.’
“I took the precious case into my hands and looked in some perplexity from it to my illustrious client.
