To be frank, there was nothing strange about him. But to the simple folks of our village anyone from the outside world was strange and mysterious. So from the very beginning, we looked upon him with suspicion. He was first seen at Ahmed’s shop. Aseem, the coffee shop attendant approached him to ask him what he wanted. Taking his seat, the stranger placed his canvas bag on a table and ordered a cup of coffee. Aseem brought the coffee; while mopping the table, he lifted the canvas bag and placed it on a chair. Two blood-shot eyes that seemed to see through everything transfixed Aseem. “My bag,” muttered the stranger curtly, “will remain where I placed it. No one shall touch it.”
Aseem just managed to mumble something apologetically. He placed the bag where it was. The stranger sat there, sipping the coffee and puffing a cigar. There were only a few people in the coffee shop then. They all glanced at him through he corners of their eyes as if they did not want him to know that he was being watched. None dared to approach him. They whispered comments – it was certain that the stranger had aroused their curiosity. Meanwhile the stranger sat there, as if he was in a deep though, eyes distant. He was about sixty, lanky of frame with a droop at the shoulders. Having paid for his drink, the stranger went along the foot-path that led towards the nearest town. Those who saw him leaving hoped that they would see no more of him in our village.
They were proved wrong; he was there again on the next day and the next. He frequented Aseem’s coffee shop; meanwhile news of the stranger figured prominently in the gossip of our village. They all had something to say about him. But opinion varied as to whether his frequent visits were a good omen of bad. Elderly people like Mr. Tan and old Haji were decidedly against it, for “such strange visitors often bring some misfortune with them,” they argued.
It was really startling news to us when we heard that the old man had rented out a room in Madam Ho’s house. Madame Ho was a widow; her only son, Chen, the village carpenter went to town in search of work. The old woman was living alone in a three-roomed house. We were a bit puzzled when we heard that the old man was going to stay among us. Mind you, it was not because we had anything against the stranger- it was simply because it meant some change, at least; and we were not used to changes.
Days rolled by and once again life in our village returned to normal. As eventless days passed by, life continued to flow with that same unruffled placid quietude, but we did not know that it was the calm before the storm; we did not realize that we were sitting on a dormant volcano.
The stranger seldom spoke to any of us. A man of few words, he seemed to move in a plane entirely different from ours. We suspected that there was something shady about him. For one thing, he was very secretive. We knew very little about his movements; not that we cared about it, but how would you feel about a fellow who lived by your side and of whom you knew next to nothing? He used to go out early in the morning – no one knew where to. At sunset, he was back, none knew from where. Like a frightened rabbit, he would look furtively at anyone who was near him and scuttle off from company.
A fortnight or so later, two strangers called at Ahmed’s shop. They wanted to see a friend of theirs. The description they gave of their friend fitted the old man exactly. Ahmed showed them Madam Ho’s house and told them their friend was staying there. “But it’s no use going there now; he has gone out,” Ahmed informed them. This seemed to satisfy the strangers. “We’ll come tomorrow; we know he’ll wait for us,” they said and departed. They were lying; they came to see him – that night itself.
The next morning our village awoke to witness the bloodiest scene we had ever seen. Murder was committed in Madam Ho’s house. The mysterious old man lay in a pool of blood. A ten inch dagger, plunged into his chest, had skewered him to the floor.
Utter panic gripped the whole village. Fear and consternation could be seen on every face. Ahmed alone had a head cool enough to act wisely. Having instructed the curious crowd to keep clear away from the dead body, he sent his boy, Sam to the Police Station in the nearest town, but before San reached there, the police were already on the scene. They had caught the scent of the murder somehow or other. The Inspector in charge of the police surveyed the scene of murder with an expert’s glance and asked, “Didn’t he have any personal belongings such as a bag or a box?”
“Yes, he used to carry such a canvas bag,” volunteered Ahmed. “It is missing, but I didn’t expect to find it. There is a reward of $5000 for this rascal. Murder was his business. He is the third of the notorious ‘Five Diamonds’ to meet with his end. Now, the remaining two who have got away, will slit each other’s throat for that canvas bag. It contained a fortune in diamonds and precious stones.
