CHAPTER<br >The man s office was enormous. Inspector Ghote; at the door， stood<br >stock still unable for a moment to take a step forward so overwhelm-<br >ing was the effect.<br > Even its occupant， at whose urgent request he was there， seemed<br >shrunk into insignificance behind his huge， carved table-desk at the<br >far end. Yes， even Mr. Ranjee Shahani， the croreyati， the "magnate"<br >as the English-language newspapers called him， the head of Shahani<br >Enterprises itself， was dwarfed here.<br > But why had this man， this magnate， requested the presence of a<br >simple inspector of the Bombay C.I.D.? And so urgently? And why<br >had it been that nothing could be told him about the reason for the<br >request?<br > Ghote drew in a breath， still without setting foot on the first of<br >two vast carpets that lay between him and the crorepati s huge table-<br >desk， and the very air he sucked in seemed a different substance<br >from the damp， sullen atmosphere of end-of-monsoon Bombay out-<br >side. It was air-conditioned to a chilliness that put him in mind of<br >the snow-crowned Himalayas.<br > "Mr. Shahani? It is Inspector Ghote."<br > He wished violently that his voice had sounded less dry in the<br >back of his throat.<br > The magnate， the crorepati， there at the far end of the huge<br >room， lowered his head in slight acknowledgement.<br > ~res，" he said. "It was Inspector Ghote."<br > Was? It was Inspector Ghote? Why， why "was" and not "is"?<br > "Come， Inspector."<br > Ghote plunged onto the carpet in front of him， a softly shining<br >expanse of pale， marked-at-a-touch fawn with mysteriously contorted<br >bluish dragons disporting over it， fetched at some time long past<br >from Ancient China. Dimly， as he advanced， he was aware ，f the<br ><br >