The Perplexing Theft of the Jewel in the Crown by Vaseem Khan Page A

exceptionally clever. They planned everything well in advance. They had access to all the right equipment. They were well financed and thoroughly professional.’
    â€˜Are you thinking what I am thinking, sir?’ said Rangwalla.
    â€˜Rangwalla, even God does not know what goes on in that head of yours. But if you are thinking that this could only be the work of one of the big organised gangs, then yes, I am thinking what you are thinking.’
    â€˜Who are your likeliest suspects?’
    â€˜Take your pick,’ said Chopra. ‘The Rohan gang; Das’s outfit; the Chauhan mob. The Koh-i-Noor is a piece of cheese the size of the moon for such rats.’ Chopra shook his head. ‘I hate to admit it, but this was a slick piece of work. And they have covered their tracks well.’
    â€˜They always make a mistake somewhere, sir,’ said Rangwalla encouragingly.
    â€˜Yes. But if I am to save Garewal, we will have to somehow discover that mistake on our own, in double-quick time, whilst avoiding the attentions of our friend Rao. He is determined to pin this on Garewal.’
    It was Rangwalla’s turn to shake his head. ‘How do men like Rao live with themselves? Where do they leave their consciences each morning? Sometimes it makes me think there is no hope for this country of ours.’
    Chopra frowned. ‘“You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.”’
    Rangwalla stared at him. ‘I suppose Gandhiji said that.’
    Chopra coloured. His obsession with the great statesman was well known to his subordinates. Not everyone, he knew, appreciated Gandhi’s homespun wisdom.
    His phone suddenly exploded in his pocket, sending out the rousing chorus of the national song, ‘Vande Mataram’. It was a message from Poppy.
Do not forget to go to the school. The appointment with Principal Lobo is at 4 p.m. P.S. Did you take your pills?
    Chopra cursed. The appointment! He had completely forgotten. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter to four. He was going to be late.
    â€˜Come on,’ he said, standing up with such haste that his napkin fluttered to the floor.
    â€˜Where are we going?’
    â€˜To the St Xavier Catholic School for Boys.’

THE MISSING HEAD

    The St Xavier Catholic School for Boys, located in the posh suburb of Juhu, had only recently celebrated its centenary and in so doing consecrated a glorious legacy of pedagogical and charitable endeavour in India’s most factious city. Chopra had recently become acquainted with the renowned institution’s colourful history, which came back to him now as he walked through its wrought iron gates.
    Exactly one hundred years ago the Bishop of Bombay had invited a band of Portuguese missionaries to the subcontinent in the hope of making headway in the divine mission of converting the heathen. Astounded by the universal poverty and suffering that confronted them, the zealous Catholics had set about building an orphanage, which had later been converted into a school. The hope was that the school might be employed to bring the Word to the masses when they were at a more malleable age, that is, an age at which they would not take umbrage at being told that their seven-thousand-year-old faith was pagan nonsense and they would burn in eternal hellfire should they not immediately see the error of their ways.
    The school had swiftly become a Mumbai institution.
    Now it was one of the city’s most sought-after educational establishments, with parents willing to pay extortionate sums to enrol their future Tatas and Ambanis on its hallowed roster. The school continued to stay true to its roots, attempting to inculcate in each of its wards a sense of civic responsibility and charitable endeavour. One did not have to be a Christian to attend the school, but one was expected to imbibe the Christian virtues of decency,