A Christmas Garland by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online

entered?”
    Grant’s face tightened, his eyes suddenly bleak. “Chuttur Singh was on the floor in the main room outside, lying near the door. He must have used his last ounce of strength to reach up and pull the alarm. The cell door was open. There was no one inside, just Dhuleep’s bedding on the floor and a plate of food, spilled … and blood. Lots of it. There was a trail of blood from the cell across the floor to where Chuttur had crawled. Hewas in a terrible state, his uniform slashed half to pieces, scarlet with his own blood. His face was gray, what I could see of it. He could hardly move.” He stopped speaking for several seconds, emotion choking him at the memory.
    Narraway waited.
    A clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Somewhere outside a child shouted, its voice innocent, happy.
    “He was dying,” Grant went on with an effort. “He told me Dhuleep had escaped and to go after him. He had to be stopped because he knew about the route of the patrol. I wanted to stay and help him. He was … there was blood everywhere!”
    He looked up at Narraway, agony in his face. “I should have stayed,” he said hoarsely. “I left him and went after Dhuleep. I—I was desperate that he shouldn’t get away, because of what Chuttur said about the patrol.”
    “How long had Dhuleep been in the cell?” Narraway asked.
    “A day or two, I think,” Grant replied.
    “So they didn’t know he had this information, orthey would have changed the patrol route, or time, or something?” Narraway said.
    “Can’t have,” Grant agreed miserably. “But the patrol was ambushed. I know that for a fact.”
    “How?”
    “Tierney told me.”
    “Tierney?”
    “The one man from the patrol who lived, although he’s in a bad way. He said they were taken totally by surprise and pretty well massacred. That’s what letting Dhuleep go did. That’s why they’ll hang Tallis.” His voice cracked. “God, it’s a mess. Not that Tallis doesn’t deserve it for what happened to poor Chuttur Singh. Regardless of what happened to the patrol, no one should die lying on the floor, alone. I shouldn’t have left him.” Grant stared into the distance, perhaps into a place inside his head rather than beyond the walls of the small, shabby house. “We didn’t even get bloody Dhuleep anyway!”
    “Did you find any trace of him?” Narraway asked, although he could not think what difference it would have made in the end.
    “Not then. I suppose we thought we were on his heels and we’d catch up with him if we went fast enough. Damn lot of use that was.” He sank into a silent misery, slumped in the chair, his tea ignored.
    “So the others arrived soon after you? Attwood and Peterson?” Narraway continued.
    “Yes.”
    “How long were you alone before they came?” Narraway asked.
    Grant chewed on his lip. “About half a minute, maybe more, maybe less.”
    “Tell me what you did again, exactly.”
    “I went to Chuttur Singh.” Grant was concentrating intensely, his mind back in those first awful moments. “I … I saw all the blood, and I knew he was fatally wounded. I just wanted to … I don’t know. To say ‘save him’ is ridiculous. There was so much blood on his clothes, on the floor, it was clear he was beyond help. I suppose you don’t think. You just …” He stopped. His face was ashen.
    Narraway tried to keep the image from forming in his own mind, and failed. “You went to Chuttur Singh on the floor and realized he was past help. Then what?”
    “He said … ‘Dhuleep’s gone,’ I think. Something about someone else coming in, took him by surprise. Let Dhuleep out. He was mumbling, choking. I remember he said ‘gone.’ And then, ‘Get him, he knows the patrol.’ The man must have gone in the time it took Chuttur to crawl from the cell to the alarm.” Grant was sweating, as if in his imagination he had made that desperate crawl himself.
    “Then what?” Narraway asked.
    “Then I looked into the