The landing was dark, so I pushed the switch on the wall. I fished out my key and promptly dropped it on the floor. Bending over to pick it up, I noticed the trace of a wet footprint in front of my door. Ranjit, I knew. He wasn’t in Poona, after all. Maybe he’d make me some dinner. That would be a welcome development.

I slipped my key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open, revealing a darkened room. Not wanting to surprise my sometime roommate, I hit the light switch and called his name. Then I realized my terrible mistake.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

There were no shoes against the wall inside the door. That meant Ranjit was not there. He’d never walk through the house in his city shoes, especially if they were wet.

I stepped back outside and pulled the door closed. It was possible, of course, that no one was there. That someone had merely come to the door and left the wet footprints when there was no answer to his knock. Or perhaps someone—my money was on Bikas—had come, broken in, and left already. I wasn’t going to stick around to find out which scenario was the correct one.

Instead, I flew down the stairs as fast as I dared, given my wet shoes and the slippery surfaces. The lift would have taken who knows how long to return to the twelfth floor, and I doubted I had the time. I had to leap over a soggy cat and hold onto the railing to keep my feet beneath me. On the fifth-floor landing, I hurdled a seventy-five-year-old grandfather playing with his little granddaughter. He yelled after me to be careful, shaking his fist as he did. Crap, that was the secretary of the Sagar Darshan Cooperative Society … As I continued bounding down the stairs, I thought I might never be allowed back in the building.

I reached the lobby and darted out the servants’ door just as the lift bell dinged. My morning runs were about to pay dividends. With room to stretch my legs, I took off on a sprint for the compound exit. Once I was in the lane, I chanced a look back over my shoulder and spied a man I’d never seen before exiting the building via the main entrance. From a distance, his clothes suggested he was either a delivery boy or a sweeper but, in the darkness, I couldn’t make out his features. He set off in my direction, not running, but not dawdling either. I put my head down and raced toward the marg, where I turned again to see if he was following. He’d climbed aboard a motorcycle and was soon roaring toward me. Oblivious of the risks of the traffic, I dashed into the road and barely managed to dodge a speeding taxi.