Next to the table was a window. An easy chair was placed before it. Clearly, the chair had been in use for a long time, for its backrest had developed a dark patch. It could be that Nihar Datta spent much of his time resting in that chair.
In addition to this furniture, there was a desk with a flickering candle on it; a steel chair faced the desk, which had writing material on it, a rack to store letters, an old typewriter, and a pile of scientific journals.
A steel Godrej safe stood by the desk, to the left of the door.
Feluda ran his eye quickly over the whole room before taking out a mini torch from his pocket to examine the keyhole on the safe. ‘Yes, someone did try very hard to open it. It’s full of scratches.’ Then he moved to the table and picked up the tablets. ‘Soneril . . . yes, I thought as much! If Mr Datta wasn’t used to taking a strong sleeping pill every night, he would have woken up.’
Koumudi was hovering near the door. Feluda turned to him. ‘How come you didn’t wake up, either? Is this how you guard your babu?’
Koumudi hung his head. ‘I’m afraid he’s a heavy sleeper,’ Subir Datta informed us. ‘When he’s asleep, I have to call him at least three times before he wakes up.’
There were footsteps outside. A man of about thirty entered the room. He was slim, wore glasses and had wavy hair. Mr Datta introduced us. He turned out to be Nihar Datta’s secretary, Ranajit Banerjee.
‘Who won?’
Feluda’s unexpected question was meant for Mr Banerjee. He was so taken aback by it that he could only stare. Feluda laughed. ‘I can see the counterfoil of your ticket in your shirt pocket. Besides, your face looks sunburnt, so it’s not really that difficult to guess that you went to watch a major League game!’
Mr Banerjee smiled in return. ‘East Bengal,’ he replied. Mr Datta was also smiling, with a mixture of surprise and appreciation.
‘How long have you been working here?’
‘Four years.’
‘Has Mr Nihar Datta ever spoken about the explosion?’
‘I asked him, but he did not say very much. But sometimes, even without realizing it, he talks of the terrible damage caused by his loss of vision.’
‘Does he speak of anything else?’
Mr Banerjee thought for a moment. ‘There’s one thing I’ve heard him say. He says that if he’s still alive, it is because a job remains unfinished. I haven’t dared ask him what it is. Perhaps he still hopes to finish his research.’
‘But obviously he can’t do it himself. Maybe he thinks he can get someone else to work for him. Could that be it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What are your working hours?’
‘I come at nine, and leave at six. Today, I wanted to leave early to see the game. Mr Datta raised no objection. But if I leave the house during the day, I normally drop by in the evening. In case he has . . .’
‘Where is the key to that safe kept?’ Feluda interrupted him. ‘Under that pillow.’
Feluda lifted the pillow and picked up a key ring. Five keys were hanging from it. He chose the right one and opened the safe.
‘Where’s the money?’
‘In that drawer,’ Mr Banerjee pointed at a drawer. Feluda pulled it open.
‘Wh-wh-what!’
Mr Banerjee gasped in horror. Even in the dim candlelight, I could see that he had gone visibly pale.
Inside the drawer was a rolled up parchment, which turned out to be a horoscope; and in an old wooden Kashmiri box, there were some old letters. Nothing else.
‘How . . . how is it possible?’ Mr Banerjee could barely whisper. ‘Three bundles of hundred-rupee notes . . . about thirty-three thousand rupees . . .’
‘The research papers? Were they in this other drawer?’
Mr Banerjee nodded. Feluda opened it. The second drawer was completely empty.
Tap, tap, tap, tap! Nihar Datta was coming down the stairs. ‘There was a long envelope . . . with a seal from the University of Michigan . . . it had all the notes . . .!’ Mr Banerjee’s throat had clearly gone quite dry.
‘Was the money here this morning? And the research papers?’
‘Yes, I saw it myself,’ Subir Datta told us. ‘The numbers on all the hundred-rupee notes have been noted down. My brother has always insisted on that.’
Feluda’s face looked grim. ‘It means that the money and the papers were stolen in the last fifteen minutes—soon after the power cut began, when we were sitting in your living room.’
Nihar Datta entered the room. It was clear from his face that he had heard everything. We stepped out of his way as he went and sat on his easy chair. ‘Just imagine!’ he said with a sigh. ‘The thief walked away with his loot from under the detective’s nose!’
We left him and went out to the corridor. ‘Is there another staircase anywhere, apart from the one we used?’ Feluda asked Subir Datta.
‘Yes. There’s a staircase at the back, which the cleaners use.’
‘Do you have a power cut at the same time every day?’
‘Over the last ten days or so, yes, we’ve been having a power cut every evening, from six to ten o’clock. Some people have started to set their watch by it!’
I tried to think if a similar thing had happened before in Feluda’s career as a detective. Not a single instance came to mind.
‘Has either of your tenants returned?’ Feluda asked as we reached the top of the stairs.
‘We can find out. They normally return about this time.’ Opposite that landing on the ground floor was the door to Mr Dastur’s flat. The door was closed and it wasn’t difficult to see that the room behind it was in complete darkness.
‘We have to go to the rear of the house to find Sukhwani,’ said Subir Datta.
We walked down a path that ran alongside a garden to reach Sukhwani’s flat. There was a fluorescent light on in his front room, the kind that is operated by a battery.
He heard our footsteps and emerged on the veranda. He could see Feluda’s torchlight, but naturally could not see the people behind it. Mr Datta spoke, ‘May we come in for a minute?’
Mr Sukhwani’s expression underwent a rapid change as he recognized his landlord’s voice. ‘Certainly, certainly!’
When he heard Feluda’s name and learnt the purpose of our visit, he grew quite agitated. ‘You see, Mr Mitter, my room is full of valuable things. Any mention of theft and burglary gives me a heart attack! So you can imagine how I felt when I heard this morning about the attempted burglary upstairs!’
Honestly, I could not have imagined that a room could be crammed with so many valuable objects. There were at least thirty statuettes made of stone, brass and bronze, many of them of either Buddha or various forms of Shiv. Apart from those, there were pictures, books, old maps, pots and vases, shields and swords, spittoons, hookahs and containers for ittar. Feluda told me later, ‘If only I had the money, Topshe! I’d have bought at least the books and those prints!’
Mr Sukhwani had returned ten minutes before the power cut, he said.
‘Did anyone come this side in those ten minutes? I can see that the second staircase going up is right behind your flat. Did you hear any noise from that side?’
Mr Sukhwani had heard nothing, as he had gone straight into his bathroom. ‘Besides, how could I have seen anyone in the dark? By the way, do you really think an outsider did it?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Have you spoken to Mr Dastur?’ Mr Sukhwani’s tone implied that if we spoke to Mr Dastur, we would see immediately that if anyone should be under suspicion, it was Dastur.
Before Feluda could say anything, Mr Sukhwani added, ‘He is a most peculiar character. I know I should not speak like this about my neighbour, but I’ve been watching him for some time. Before I actually met him, all I could hear through his window was the sound of his snoring. I bet that sound reached the first floor!’
From the way a smile hovered on Subir Datta’s lips, Sukhwani’s remark was not an exaggeration.
‘Then, one morning, he came to borrow my typewriter. That’s when I first met him. I tell you, I didn’t at all like the greedy way in which he was looking at everything in this room! Out of simple curiosity, I asked him what he did for a living. So he said he sold electrical goods. If that’s the case, why doesn’t he get himself a battery light and a fan, when we have power cuts every day? The whole business is highly suspicious.’
Mr Sukhwani stopped. We took the opportunity to rise. Before we left, Feluda said, ‘If you notice anything odd, please inform Mr Datta. It will help us in our work.’
As we began walking down the same path to go back to the front of the house, we heard a taxi toot its horn outside. Then we saw a man on the gravelled path, making his way to the porch. Even in the dim light, I could see that he was of medium height and rather plump. He was wearing a brown suit, and had a neatly trimmed, salt-and-pepper French beard. In his hand was a briefcase, possibly new.
He turned towards us. ‘Good evening!’ Subir Datta greeted him. The man looked taken aback. Perhaps he wasn’t used to hearing ‘Good morning!’ and ‘Good evening!’ from other people in the building. But he returned the greeting.
‘Good evening, Mr Datta!’
His voice was extraordinarily squeaky. He turned to go, but Feluda whispered, ‘Stop him!’ Subir Datta obeyed instantly. ‘Er . . . Mr Dastur!’
Mr Dastur stopped. We strode forward to join him. When Mr Datta explained what had happened, he appeared perfectly amazed. ‘You mean all that happened in just a few minutes? Your brother must be terribly upset!’ he exclaimed.
Feluda had once told me that, sometimes, if a person is profoundly moved or shaken, his voice can change so much that it may well be impossible to recognize it. When Mr Dastur spoke those words, with a mixture of surprise and fear, I noticed that the squeakiness in his voice disappeared completely. It sounded as if a totally different person had spoken.
‘When you arrived, did you see anyone go out of this building?’ Feluda asked him.
‘Why, no!’ Mr Dastur replied. ‘But then, I could easily have missed seeing him in the dark. Thank God I don’t have anything valuable in my flat!’
‘Who’s there?’ asked a voice from the landing on the first floor. It was Nihar Datta. We were standing on the front steps near the porch. Now we went back into the house and looked up. Even in the dark, Nihar Datta’s glasses were shining.
‘It’s me, Mr Datta!’ Mr Dastur responded. ‘Your brother just told me about your loss. My commiserations!’
The dark glasses moved away. In a few seconds, so did the sound of his slippers and his stick.
‘Won’t you come in?’ Mr Dastur invited us. ‘After a hard day’s work, it is very nice to have some company.’
Feluda raised no objection. I could see why. It is a detective’s first job to get to know the people in a house where a crime has been committed.
After Mr Sukhwani’s room, the barrenness of Dastur’s was really striking. The only pieces of furniture were a sofa, two couches, a writing desk and a bookshelf. There was a small, low table placed in front of the sofa, on which stood a candle. Feluda flicked his lighter on and lit it. The room became brighter, but there was nothing else in it, except a calendar on the wall.
Mr Dastur had disappeared inside, possibly to call his servant. When he returned, Feluda offered him a cigarette. ‘No, thanks,’ Mr Dastur said. ‘I gave up smoking three years ago, for fear of getting cancer.’
‘I assume you don’t mind others smoking in your house? In fact, I can see a half-finished cigarette in your ashtray.’ Feluda picked it up. ‘My own brand!’ he added. I, too, had learnt to recognize Charminars, even from a distance.
‘You know,’ said Mr Dastur, ‘I have thought many times of getting myself an emergency light and fan, like Sukhwani. But then, when I think that ninety per cent of the population in Calcutta has to suffer in the dark and the heat, I start feeling most depressed. So I. . .’
‘You sell electrical goods, don’t you?’ Feluda asked. ‘Electrical?’
‘Mr Sukhwani told us.’
‘Sukhwani frequently talks rubbish. My business is to do with electronics, not electricals. I started it about a year ago.’
‘By yourself?’
‘No, I have a partner—a friend. I am from Bombay, though I spent several years abroad. I used to work for a computer manufacturing firm in Germany. Then my friend wrote to me, asking me to join him here. He’s put up the money, I’m providing the technical expertise.’
‘When did you arrive in Calcutta?’
‘Last November. I stayed with my friend for three months. Then I heard about this flat, and moved here.’
A servant entered the room with cold drinks. Thums-Up. Mr Dastur had already learnt that Feluda was a detective. He now lowered his voice as he went on speaking, ‘Mr Mitter, it is true that I don’t have anything valuable in my flat. But there’s something I feel I ought to tell you about my neighbour. He is not a simple and straightforward man. His flat is a place for all kinds of fishy and shady activities, I can tell you!’
‘How do you know?’
‘My bathroom is next to his, you see. There is a door between the two. It remains locked, but if I put my ear to it, I can hear conversations from his bedroom.’
Feluda cleared his throat. ‘Eavesdropping is hardly an honest and straightforward activity, Mr Dastur!’
Mr Dastur remained perfectly unmoved. ‘I would not have eavesdropped. I mean, not normally. But, one day, one of my letters was delivered at his flat by mistake. Do you know what he did? He steamed it open, then stuck it back with glue. When I realized what he’d done, I couldn’t help doing something naughty in return. Look, I don’t like making trouble. But if Sukhwani is going to harass me, I am not going to spare him, either.’
We thanked Mr Dastur for the cold drinks, and left.
Feluda stopped at the front gate to ask the chowkidar if he had seen anyone go in or come out of the house in the last half an hour. The chowkidar said he had seen no one except Sukhwani and Dastur. That did not surprise us. 7/1 Ballygunj Park had a compound wall that surrounded the house. The house directly behind 7/1 was empty, and had been so over the past few months. Any able-bodied thief could have jumped over the wall without being seen; but all of us secretly thought it was done by someone from within the house. Or someone who lived in the house had hired an outsider for the job. No one knew anything for sure.
Since we didn’t have a car, Subir Datta offered to drop us back, but Feluda assured him we could quite easily walk to the main road and get a taxi.
‘Informing the police might not be such a bad idea, you know,’ Feluda said suddenly. It was a totally unexpected remark. Even Mr Datta looked taken aback. ‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.
‘No matter what your brother thinks of the police, they have the means to track down thieves and burglars. A private investigator cannot do that. Besides, the amount of money stolen isn’t that small, is it? You said the numbers on the notes were written down somewhere. So, if you told the police, they would probably find their job relatively simple.’
Subir Datta said, ‘Since J asked you to come here, and there has been an unfortunate occurrence, I cannot even think of asking you to leave the case. Even if I inform the police, I’d like you to work alongside them. If you do that, my brother and I will both feel much more reassured. But . . . to tell you the truth . . . I can tell who the thief is, even without any help from anyone.’
‘Do you mean your son?’
Subir Datta sighed and nodded. ‘It couldn’t possibly be anyone but Shankar. He knows the lights go off in this area at six o’clock. He’s an agile young man. Scaling that wall would not have been a problem for him. Using those back stairs, going up to his uncle’s room and opening that safe . . . all this would be child’s play!’
‘But what would he do with his uncle’s research papers? Does he know a lot of people in scientific circles?’
‘He doesn’t
have to. He can blackmail my brother. Get him to pay for the return of his papers. Shankar knows very well how much those papers mean to his uncle.’
So much had happened in such a short time—my head was reeling. I had no idea, when we left Mr Datta’s house, that much more was in store. But, before I describe what happened later that day, I ought to mention the conversation I had with Feluda when we got home.
After dinner, I went to his room to find him lying flat on his back, chewing a paan and smoking a Charminar. I went and sat on his bed, and finally asked the question that had bothered me ever since we’d left the Dattas’ house.
‘Why did you want to leave this case, Feluda?’
Feluda blew out two perfect smoke rings, and said, ‘There’s a reason, dear Topshe, there’s a reason!’
‘But you told us what that reason was. The police can catch a thief more easily, especially if he’s got a lot of money.’
‘You are convinced that it was Subir Datta’s son who stole the money?’
‘Who else could it be? It’s obvious that someone from the family was responsible. Mr Dastur wasn’t there at all. And I can’t believe Sukhwani could have stolen the stuff and continued to sit at home, as if nothing had happened. Ranajit Banerjee arrived after the theft. Apart from these people, there are only the servants . . .!’
‘But—suppose—my client himself is responsible?’
I stared at Feluda in surprise.
‘Subir Datta?’
‘Try to think of everything that happened just before we realized there had been a theft,’
I shut my eyes and cast my mind back. There we were, sitting in the living room. The tea was brought in. We began drinking it. Feluda was holding his cup. The lights went out. And then. . .
Suddenly, I remembered something that made my heart give a lurch.
‘Subir Datta left the room as soon as the lights went out, to call his servant!’
‘Right. How do you think I’m going to look if it turns out that my own client had gone and opened the safe? It is not entirely impossible, you know. After all, we do not know a great deal about him, do we? Yes, he did call the servant, there’s no doubt about that. However, supposing he has lost a lot of money speculating on the stock market, or at the races, or gambling, and has run up a huge debt, then would you be surprised to learn that it was he who took the money?’