In ‘Silversmith’s Puzzle,’ Captain Jim Agnihotri Goes Sleuthing Amid a Sensory Overload of Bombay

“Silversmith’s Puzzle,” the fourth installment in Captain Jim Agnihotri’s sleuthing adventures, sees Nev March return with a rich, layered mystery, deeply woven into the social, economic, and political fabric of colonial India. As Jim and his beloved wife, Lady Diana Framji, leave behind London’s grey skies—accompanied by the bonneted Adele—they step once again into the blazing humidity and sensory overload of Bombay. There, a desperate cable from Diana’s brother, Adi Framji—“NEED HELP PLEASE COME”—draws them into a family crisis and a tangled murder investigation.

A Puzzling Plot

Adi stands accused of murdering his childhood friend and business partner, Satya Rastogi, a Cambridge-educated silversmith of rare talent. As Jim peels back the layers of the case, his investigation leads him through surgical instrument factories, financial rivalries, forged promissory notes, the red-light alleys of Kamathipura, the imperial mint, and the communal chawls of Gujarati silversmiths. A dying message—“Sona… Mat Bechne Do” (“Don’t let them sell the gold”)—a slender silver key, and a trail of economic desperation set the course. The plot thickens when Jim discovers a heavy gold Ganesha statue hidden in the mali’s hut—an idol that could unravel the entire conspiracy. But it sets up a chain of events that leads to the fake gold bar, an unscheduled medical check-up in Kamathipura, and a kidnapping.

The case unfolds through a series of clues: a stabbed silversmith, a friend found covered in blood, terrified laborers, a gardener brutally attacked, and the unraveling of an almost-breached hundi—the informal, trust-based Parsi financial system. Jim learns how a single dishonored note could destroy a family’s reputation and fortune. The narrative’s pace is deliberate—at times slow—but ultimately rewarding. Jim interviews peanut sellers, Parsi priests, Havildars, British policemen, and surgical salesmen. Seemingly disparate threads gradually converge. I enjoyed reading about the Aahhu Meechu ceremony—a lovely Parsi ritual to bless newlyweds with a happy, playful, and very long life, drawn from March’s family traditions. The joy of the occasion provides a poignant contrast to the murder investigation and the financial pressures weighing on Burjor Framji.

Bombay: A City of Contrasts

Late 19th-century Bombay bursts to life through March’s vivid prose. It is not just a backdrop—it’s a living, breathing character. From the scent of tuberose, saptparni blooms, mango orchards, and sandalwood, to the clang of workshops and the shouts of vendors, dogs, birds, and frogs—the city is a sensory symphony. We experience the chaos of godowns, tongas, trams, and rickshaws, and the contrasting elegance of British drawing rooms filled with rosewood furniture and hazel-eyed portraits. In Parsi homes, rose sherbet and coconut water are served on inlaid silver trays with meticulous hospitality.

March portrays contrasts between elite clubs that barred “darkies” and the chawls of Gujarati craftsmen, where Satya’s mother shells peas on a jhoola. From the Mazgaon docks to Grant Medical College, and the winding drive up Malabar Hill where men in white linen suits and polished leather shoes arrive in Victorias, every detail adds depth.

March does not shy away from the stark economic truths of the British Raj. British officials, industries, and banks extract gold—both literally and through taxes—draining India’s wealth and leaving its people to struggle for food and necessities.

Diana’s Pain

Despite her poise and privilege, Diana carries a deep sorrow. Her marriage to Jim—an Anglo-Indian orphan and former soldier—has led to her quiet ousting from the conservative circles of Bombay’s elite Parsi society. The Readymoneys, Petits, Tatas, and Padamjis no longer acknowledge her. She is unable to loan books from the Asiatic library. Her family are denied entry to the sacred Agiyari fire temple, leaving her spiritually estranged and heartbroken. The pain is unspoken but ever-present, layered beneath her composed exterior. Though her alliance with Jim is rooted in love and loyalty, it has cost her ancestral belonging and religious connection.

Colonial Tensions

March does not shy away from the stark economic truths of the British Raj. British officials, industries, and banks extract gold—both literally and through taxes—draining India’s wealth and leaving its people to struggle for food and necessities. This silent plundering forms an unsettling backdrop. The despair of the silversmiths at the loss of their karta (head), the weight of British-imposed debts, and the desperation to protect their sona (gold—or is it Satya’s daughter Sonali, hidden away in a brothel?) all resonate as reflections of a larger imperial theft.

Jaunty, Reflective, Holmesian

Narrated in the first person by Jim—a decorated army veteran turned detective—the novel carries a tone of dry wit, introspection, and old-world charm. Jim, devoted to the methods of Sherlock Holmes, employs disguises, deductions, and dogged observation. But he is no emotionless machine; his empathy and moral compass guide him as much as his sharp intellect. 

His tense relationship with McIntyre—the sharp-eyed, sardonic Scottish police officer—adds intrigue. McIntyre frequently unmasks Jim, whether disguised as the bearded Rashid Khan or a kurta-clad journalist. The subtext hints at something deeper: mutual respect tempered by suspicion.

Parsi, British, and Indian Worlds

March masterfully depicts the nuanced interplay of cultures. Diana’s Parsi heritage places her within a respected but tightly guarded community. Jim—Indian by blood, British by training—straddles multiple worlds. Their marriage is both a love story and an act of quiet rebellion.

The colonial bureaucracy hovers over every encounter. The Indian common man, often seated cross-legged on the floor in front of a British officer, not having “paid the price” to sit on a chair, reflects the embedded social hierarchy. Jim’s constant struggle to be recognized for his skill and intellect mirrors the broader colonial skepticism toward Indian competence.

Holmesian Echoes

Jim may share Holmes’ love of cryptic puzzles and sharp logic, but he is far more human. He obsesses over surgical instruments, stones, and symbols—but also savors berry biryani, soft scrambled eggs on buttered brun pao, and strawberries and cream. Diana is more than an accomplice—she is his conscience, his healer, his emotional anchor. He cherishes her scent—tuberose, strawberries, and something ineffable. She dresses his wounds, challenges his thinking, and walks beside him with bold decisions and courage.

Moments of familial warmth—Diana’s parents calling Jim beta, or little Shirin and Tehmina running into his arms—anchor the emotional heart of the novel. Even as he seeks justice, Jim is also seeking a home and a deeper sense of belonging.

“Silversmith’s Puzzle” is a richly textured historical mystery that rewards patient readers with immersive detail, a complex and meaningful plot, and deeply human characters. It explores love and exile, loyalty and legacy, tradition and change—all against the haunting backdrop of British imperialism. The mystery is not fully resolved—Jim senses someone still lurking behind the curtain—perhaps to be revealed in the next book.

I applaud Nev March for this intelligent, well-researched novel. I don’t think I’ll ever eat a Cadbury bar again without thinking of “The Silversmith’s Puzzle.”

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.