Free The Case of the Love Commandos by Tarquin Hall

charged.”
    “Now, Mummy, that’s enough,” said Rumpi. “We’ve got Chubby’s wallet back, buss.”
    Inspector Malhotra cleared his throat. “If there’s nothing more, madam, I’ve my duty to attend to,” he told Rumpi in a polite but firm tone. “With your permission I’ll take my leaves.”
    He went and handed Pranap Dughal back his ID and wasted not a second in making for the station exit.
    Rumpi placed a hand on her mother-in-law’s arm and gripped it tenderly. “Come, Mummy-ji, we should get a move on,” she said. “Jagdish Uncle’s come to pick us up.”
    But her mother-in-law didn’t budge. “He’s a cunning one,” she said. “Must be he came to know he looted the wallet belonging to a certain jasoos. No doubt, he was already regretting his mistake, na. Then thanks to Chetan my face becomes known to him. Thus he does two and two and checks the chart. There he finds my good name—thatis Puri, also. What to do? Return the wallet, that is what. Thus he slips it under the curtain in dead of night.”
    “But, Mummy-ji, you told me you were up all night—keeping ‘vigil,’ as you put it.”
    “Correct. In case he fled the train.”
    “So don’t you think you would have noticed a man that size coming through our carriage?”
    “He’s got a compliss.”
    “An
accomplice
? Now, Mummy, I’ve heard enough. I’m going to call Chubby, tell him the good news, then let’s just forget the whole thing. Come. Everyone’s waiting.”
    Mummy had been watching the Dughals over Rumpi’s shoulder. The porters had struggled to get their bags—they looked uncommonly heavy—up onto their heads and were now heading for the exit. Pranap Dughal was pushing his wife’s wheelchair and she in turn was berating him.
    “How could you let that police wallah harass you without a protest? You should have given him a piece of your mind! Who is
he
to ask to see your ID? What are you, a man or a mouse?”
    Mummy looked for Weasel Face, but there was no sign of him. He must have left the train from a door on the other side, unseen, she decided, and reluctantly she went with Rumpi to join the rest of the family in the station car park.
    Her mood was not improved by their teasing—“Better bring your magnifying glass next time, Mummy-ji,” joked Chetan. And when Rumpi gave her a gentle reproach—“You have to admit, you got a bit carried away”—she bristled.
    “Not at all, Chubby was looted for sure,” said Mummy with crossed arms. “He himself told you, na.”
    Indeed, Puri, although delighted to hear that his wallet had been retrieved, was adamant that he’d been pickpocketed.
    “There is no way I dropped it,” he insisted when Rumpi called him while the bags were being loaded onto the roof of Jagdish Uncle’s car. “Definitely it was taken by that bloody bastard.”
    “Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Rumpi. “I’ve got your wallet. Just tell me what you want me to do with it … Wait, your mother’s trying to say something.”
    She handed the handset to Mummy.
    “Hello? Chubby? Listen,” she said. “Definitely this concerned person, name of Pranap Dughal, got hold of your wallet. What is that?”
    Mummy held the handset away from her ear for a moment. She rejoined the conversation with “Yes, I came to know. I was the one to get that snap on my portable. Do checking of police files. He’s a charge-sheeter, no doubt.”
    She listened to him for a few seconds and then let out a loud tut. “Just I’m trying to be of assistance, Chubby. Making so much of effort on your behalf. Thanks to me your wallet got returned. But fine. Have it your way.”
    She disconnected the line and handed the phone back to Rumpi.
    They both sat in silence, brooding, until they reached Jagdish Uncle’s haveli.
    After Puri’s run-in with Vishnu Mishra, Facecream spent a couple of hours in a small town five kilometers from Ram’s village where there was a hole-in-the-wall establishment that offered