The House That Let No One In - A Murder Without a Weapon - Part 4

 Inspector Harish Mehta seized the envelope with visible satisfaction.

“At last,” he declared. “Something sensible.”

He broke the seal and unfolded the single sheet inside. The handwriting was firm, angular, unmistakably that of Raghav Malhotra.

If anything happens to me, do not trust appearances.
The danger is already inside this house.
—R.M.

No names.

No accusation.

Only a sentence that deepened suspicion without guiding it.

“A melodramatic old fox,” muttered the inspector.

Devendra Sen said nothing. He reread the line twice, then folded the paper carefully.

“He expected harm,” said Anil.

“Or wished others to know he expected it,” replied Devendra.

They returned to the study where the medical examiner, Dr. Suresh Kulkarni, had just arrived with preliminary findings.

“Death between eight-forty-five and nine-fifteen,” he announced. “Likely poisoning. There are traces of blood in the mouth, internal irritation, and rapid collapse.”

“What poison?” asked the inspector.

“Too early to confirm. Samples sent to laboratory.”

“Any wound? Needle mark? Strangulation?”

“None.”

“No weapon?”

“None.”

The inspector threw up his hands. “A murder without a weapon, by a killer who never entered.”

Dr. Kulkarni shrugged. “Bodies do not care for logic.”

Devendra asked, “Was he seated when death occurred?”

“Most likely. Minimal disturbance. He appears to have collapsed in the chair.”

“Could he have walked after taking poison?”

“For a short while, yes.”

The detective nodded thoughtfully.

When the doctor left, Devendra began examining every object in the room as if seeing them anew.

The water glass.

The decanter.

The books.

The carpet.

The lamp.

The pen.

The paper.

He opened drawers one by one. Bills, ledgers, envelopes, sealed files. In the lowest drawer he found a tin of imported lozenges.

He opened it.

Empty.

“When was this last used?” he asked.

No one knew.

He next inspected the wastebasket. Torn receipts, ash, pencil shavings, and one crumpled silver foil wrapper.

He smoothed it out on the desk.

It was from a medicinal mint.

Inspector Mehta frowned. “So?”

“Mr. Malhotra had diabetes,” said Kamini from the doorway. “He often sucked sugar-free mints after meals.”

Devendra looked at the wrapper.

“And did he keep them here?”

“Yes, sahib. Always on the desk.”

Anil brightened. “Then the poison was in the mint!”

The inspector glared. “Do not solve cases before breakfast.”

Devendra smiled faintly. “Perhaps our friend is not entirely wrong.”

He then did something peculiar.

He sat in the dead man’s chair.

From there he studied the room in silence for nearly a minute.

Then he reached toward the desk, precisely where the victim’s right hand would have rested.

His fingers touched empty air.

He leaned further.

Still short.

Finally he stood.

“The pen,” he said softly.

“What about it?” asked the inspector.

“It was found near the right hand. Yet from this chair, unless he leaned forward after collapse, it could not have fallen there naturally.”

“You mean it was placed?”

“I mean many things in this room seem eager to be noticed.”

The inspector scoffed. “Then arrest the furniture.”

Devendra ignored him and moved to the bookshelf. One volume sat slightly forward from the others.

He pulled it free.

It was not a book at all, but a hollow case.

Inside was nothing—except a faint medicinal smell.

Kamini gasped.

“That was never there before!”

Devendra sniffed the interior once and closed it.

“A hiding place,” he said. “Used recently.”

“For poison?” asked Anil.

“Possibly.”

“For money?”

“Possibly.”

“For something more interesting?”

He slipped the false book under his arm.

As they prepared to leave, Mohan Lal hurried in with sudden panic.

“Sahib! I remembered one more thing.”

“What is it?” asked the inspector.

“Last night, just before sir went upstairs… the house telephone rang.”

“Who called?”

“I do not know. But after speaking, sir became very angry.”

“Did you hear any name?”

Mohan hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Speak.”

“He said… ‘You cannot threaten me now, Suri.’”

The room grew quiet.

Inspector Mehta smiled for the first time that day.

“At last. A man outside the family.”

But Devendra’s gaze remained on the empty mint wrapper.

“No,” he said quietly. “At last, a man someone wants us to notice.”