Day of Doom: The Complete Battles of Gordon Manning & The Griffin, Volume 2 by J. Allan Dunn

cunning and could hold cruelty, the mouth, half hidden by a carefully groomed mustache and forked beard, was sensuous, greedy, dominant.
    He gave off a scent of jasmine that made Manning’s nose wrinkle.
    “Not much like ants,” he told himself.
    “You wish to see me?” said Zerah. “I hear you are from the police. I am in retreat to-day, in deep sorrow because of the death of one who sat, with me, at the feet of Parvati. It is perhaps, concerning that you come to me?”
    “I am of the police,” Manning corrected. “How did you learn of the death of Mrs. Power, who sat with you at the feet of Kali?”
    He saw those black eyes show sudden fires of suspicion, of hatred, then of caution. Zerah was wondering how much Manning knew, this man of and not from the police. He was appraising his visitor, who knew the difference between Parvati and Kali, who wanted to know how he had learned of the death of the woman who had worshiped there, in the big room with the dim lights.
    “I should not have known, but for a friend of hers who called me and thought I had heard the news. One of my pupils. I do not care to give the name. There will be much talk and printings.”
    “There will be much talk, and printings,” said Manning. Zerah was on guard. “And you grieve for Mrs. Power? Doubtless she has attained Nirvana, under your teachings. Could you give me any reason for her death, Zerah?”
    The glint of hate that had shone when Manning mentioned Nirvana changed again to calculation.
    “I should not care to say, save to the police, whom I respect,” replied Zerah. Now his tone was slightly mocking. Manning was not inclined for a wordy duel.
    “It is as well to always respect the powers of a foreign nation,” he said. “What’s your idea? Suicide? After all the philosophy you have shown her? You think she may have been despondent, taken poison? Why?”
    He saw Zerah’s mind grasp the suggestion. It glowed in the look he turned on Manning.
    “She had not acquired enough philosophy,” he said. “It is hard to teach, to those who are not of my race. But she was not happy.”
    “With her husband, eh? He might have poisoned her?”
    He saw Zerah re-rating him, placing him as an obtuse official, the typical policeman.
    “It might be,” said Zerah. “I cannot say.”
    “She was insured for two hundred thousand dollars, payable to him,” Manning went on. “At the present rate of exchange, that’s a lot of money, Zerah. Eight hundred thousand rupees. Eight lacs of rupees. A fortune, in India!”
    “Also in America.”
    “But it seems that her husband is no longer the beneficiary,” snapped Manning. “The man who would receive the two hundred thousand dollars, the eight lacs of rupees, according to the records of the insurance company, is you. ”
    The Hindu’s simulation, if it was simulation, was perfect in its amazement.
    “I take no fees,” he said. “There is a certain voluntary endowment fund, to build a temple. It provides also for my own expenses, but I did not dream of this. It is true that she embraced the Faith, clung to it but that she had willed so much to it was unknown to me.
    “That money could not be collected until after her death,” said Manning. “Of course, since you did not know of the change of beneficiary, it is quite possible that her husband was also ignorant. But, under the circumstances, you will understand that the question will come up. It establishes what we might call a motive. It does not necessarily implicate you, but you will undoubtedly be asked, in private hearing, to testify. I must ask you not to leave New York, not to change your address until that hearing has been held.”
    Zerah smiled.
    “Of course. I am glad to assist the authorities. After all, how could I leave without their consent? I am an alien, admitted under regulations. My papers are in perfect order, Mr….?”
    “The name is Manning.”
    “Manning? I am glad to have met you. I shall be pleased to assist