Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 105, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 640 & 641, March 1995

“Yes, yes. So I was watching until lady in question would come out of husband’s posh flat, Malabar Hill. After some time I saw their driver take car from garage and sit waiting for memsahib. At once I was securing taxi to be hundred percent ready to follow. In five-ten minutes Madam was coming. Then I in my taxi was trailing-trailing until we were reaching building at Marine Lines. There, as previously ascertained by my co-colleague, was staying Madam’s good friend known by the name of Laxmi. But what colleague had not at all considered was the block was having side exit also. But I in my taxi went, quick-quick, round corner, and in one minute, yes, please, Madam was coming out and waving-waving for taxi herself.”

Hands rubbed vigorously together in delight.

I began to think I had wasted the price of a Mangola and a falooda.

“To Colaba, Madam was going, just only where we are now. Myself following, promise-promising money to my taxiwalla. Here in Colaba, Madam was hurry-scurrying down some lane and into one Class-Two hotel. Five-ten minutes I was giving her, and then I was going in there also. Rupees five to fellow at Reception, and he was telling which room she had gone to and that also Mister was there in advance. Very good, very good.”

He tapped his tall glass sharply on the table. I was already aware it had been drained to the last dreg. The prolonged sucking sound had not been very agreeable.

Ah, well, I thought, might as well hear the end of the story. One more falooda won’t break the bank.

A long sticky swallow of the new tall glass and he was off again.

“Oh, you would have liked to see what I was seeing, sahib, when I was putting eye to keyhole. By twisting-twisting I was able to see bed itself. Lady’s sari hanging down from end. Madam one hundred percent invisible. Underneath big-big gentleman. Big-big bottom up and down, up and down. Like pile driver only. By God, I was so damn interested I was nearly forgetting my bounden duty.”

Yes, yes, you squitty little horror. Get on with it. Your sordid details are never going to form part of an Inspector Ghote investigation. But this murder... your first.

“You are liking-liking this story, yes? Then I am telling Part Two. At last, you understand, I was remembering keyhole camera. You know, what you must be getting in my line always is photographic evidence. Damn fool husbands never willing to believe naughty-naughty lady’s doings without evidence of own blasted eyes.”

“I dare say.”

“But then— Oh, sahib, sahib, damn-damn shame.”

“No film in your camera?”

Not a very nice thing to say, but I felt I was owed it.

“No, no, sahib. Not at all, not at all. I was telling, isn’t it, I am damn good operator. Always check-checking.”

“I’m sure you are. It was just that you said something was a shame.”

“Yes, yes. Two hundred percent shame. You must be knowing keyhole camera is able to take shot just only directly in front. And that bed with the up-down bottom going and going was not in exact straight line with door. I myself was able to see funny goings-on. Yes, yes. But I was able somewhat to wriggle round. Camera, no.”

He took a long swallow at his second falooda. Perhaps for consolation.

“But this murder...” I prompted.

Once more I could not help glancing at the tip of the leather sheath under my friend’s shirt.

“Yes, yes, I am coming to murder only. But it is important-important you should first be acquainted with each and every detail of beforehand. Or you would not be understanding whole damn affair.”

“No? Well, go on then.”

“So after looking and looking through what they are calling viewfinder— You are knowing viewfinder?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Well, at last I was having very-very quietly, you understand, to open door two-three inches and try for shot from changed angle. Perhaps better. Face of Madam now visible. One expression, utmost delight.”

“Yes, yes. But what happened?”

“Oh, sahib, bloody disaster. You see, at that moment Mister Big-Behind was turning face in that direction also. And, even if Madam was so enjoying she was having no eyes for door opening just only one crack, Mister was different kettle-fish to one hundred percent.”

I began to hope my peeping friend had got the thumping he deserved. But when was this first murder of his coming in?

“Yes, I can see you were in big trouble,” I said, by way of urging him on.

“Oh, sahib, you are not at all knowing how much of troubles I was in.”

“No?”

“No, no, sahib. You see, when I was observing whole of that man, just only as he was jumping off the bed, off lady also, I was at once seeing who it was. And, sahib, then I was knowing real-real disaster was there.”

“Why was that?”

“Sahib, perhaps, coming from foreign, you are not even knowing name of Bombay Number One top smuggler. Sahib, it is Munna Thakur. Thakur Dada, we are calling him. Famous-famous. Name in papers each and every day. Police very much respecting. And bad also. Bad-bad-bad.”

“And he had seen you? Is that it?”