They ran back through rain and darkness, the chapel lantern swinging wildly in Sarojini’s hand.
By the time they reached Bishan House, the front hall was chaos.
Servants wept. Mira stood rigid beside the staircase. Leela, now conscious but weak, clutched the banister. No one dared approach the drawing room.
Arindam entered first.
Harish Bishan lay collapsed in his high-backed chair near the fireplace, eyes open, lips darkened, one hand gripping his chest.
Dead.
No wound.
No struggle.
Only the faint bitter scent of almonds in the air.
Niraj whispered, “Cyanide.”
Arindam glanced at him.
“Too many detective novels.”
Still, he bent near the body and examined the tea cup overturned beside the chair.
A residue stained the saucer.
Poison was possible.
But not certain.
He looked around the room.
The bolted front door remained locked from inside.
The windows were shut.
Everyone present had been at the chapel—except those who stayed behind:
Mira.
Leela.
Three servants.
And Harish.
Arindam rose.
“Who served him tea?”
A maid stepped forward trembling.
“I placed tray, sahib... but I left before he drank.”
“Who entered after?”
No answer.
Leela spoke weakly.
“I heard him arguing with someone.”
“Whom?”
“I could not see from the stairs.”
Mira said quietly, “I was with her the whole time.”
Arindam turned.
“The whole time?”
“Yes.”
Leela hesitated.
“Almost.”
That single word changed the room.
Mira’s eyes flashed hurt.
“You doubt me too?”
“I doubt everyone equally,” said Arindam.
Sarojini entered last, dripping rainwater.
She looked once at Harish’s body and said only:
“So fear reached him first.”
Arindam moved to the mantelpiece. A decanter and two glasses stood there.
One glass clean.
One touched.
He smelled the decanter.
Brandy.
Then the tea cup.
Bitter almonds indeed.
But something else.
Cardamom.
He turned to Mira.
“Did Harish take sugar?”
“No. Cardamom tea only.”
“And who knew this habit?”
“All of us.”
Dev stepped forward angrily.
“Enough delays. Harish killed Raghav. Now someone killed Harish. Perhaps justice saved us trouble.”
“Justice rarely uses teacups,” Arindam said.
He examined Harish’s clenched hand and gently opened it.
Inside was a torn piece of paper.
On it, only three letters remained:
MIR
The room erupted.
Mira staggered back.
“No!”
Harish had died clutching what looked like the beginning of her name.
Leela cried out. Dev moved protectively toward Mira.
Sarojini’s face became unreadable again.
Niraj murmured, “Either the dead accuse efficiently... or someone writes carelessly.”
Arindam looked at the scrap for a long moment.
Then he smiled for the first time since entering.
“This is excellent.”
Everyone stared.
“Because now,” he said, “the murderer has made a mistake.”
He folded the paper and faced them all.
“Tomorrow morning, in this hall, I will name who killed both brothers... and why love was hidden for years.”