On that occasion we had stayed with a friend, not in a hotel. Clarks Avadh had probably not even been built at that time. It was a really good hotel. We had been given a double and a single room. Both overlooked the river. When the sun set every evening on the other side of the Gomti, it was a sight worth seeing. The food, too, was excellent. We had stayed in many hotels in various parts of the country, but I couldn’t recall a single place where the food had been quite so delicious.
Lalmohan Babu had seen most of the important sights in these three days. We had begun with the Bara Imambara. Its huge hall—unsupported by pillars—made my head reel once more. Lalmohan Babu was speechless. All he said, as we left, was: ‘Bravo, nawabs of Lucknow!’
The Bhulbhulaiya nearly made him faint. When Feluda told him the nawabs used to play hide-and-seek with their begums in this maze, he grew totally round-eyed.
The Residency was another surprise. ‘This . . . this is like going back in time, Felu Babu! I can almost hear the cannons and smell the gunpowder. My word, did the sepoys really cause such a lot of damage to this strong and sturdy building?’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed.
On the fourth day, we went out to the local market to buy bhoona peda, a sweetmeat Lucknow is famous for. On our return to the hotel, we found an invitation to dinner. It had been sent by Hector Jayant Biswas, inviting us to attend his silver wedding anniversary in two days time. There was a map enclosed with the invitation, which showed clearly where his house was located. We already knew it was on the other side of the river. With a map like that, we should have no difficulty in finding it.
Mr Biswas rang us in the evening. ‘All of you must come,’ he said. ‘You’ll get to meet some other people, and of course I’ll show you Shakuntala’s necklace.’
We spent the next two days looking at the Chhota Imambara, Chattar Manzil and the zoo. Lalmohan Babu was most impressed to find animals in the open and not locked in cages. ‘The Calcutta zoo should also be like this!’ he proclaimed.
In the evening, we took a taxi to Mr Biswas’s house. The map we had been sent was a very good one. Our driver found his house quite easily. It was a bungalow, large and sprawling. Flowers bloomed in the big front garden. A cobbled driveway led to the front door. When we rang the bell, a bearer in uniform opened the door. We could hear voices from the living room. Mr Biswas came out quickly. ‘I am so glad you could come!’ he said warmly. ‘Do come in and meet the others.’
We followed him into the room where a few other people had assembled. Perhaps many more were expected. The first person we were introduced to was Mr Biswas’s wife, Pamela Suneela. She had clearly been good-looking at one time. Her daughter—Mary Sheela—was attractive and smart. Her son, however, was just the opposite: he sported long, thick, unruly hair untouched by a comb, an unkempt beard and a moustache. His name was Victor Prasenjit.
Mrs Biswas’s sister and brother-in-law—Mr and Mrs Saldanha were also present. Mrs Saldanha may have been pretty once, but had now put on a lot of weight. Her husband, on the contrary, was very thin. He seemed to be about sixty. I remembered being told he sold musical instruments. There was no one else in the room apart from these family members.
The room was fairly large. I was surprised to find that a screen had been put up in one corner. Opposite it stood a projector. I looked enquiringly at our host. ‘We have got a print of the last film in which Shakuntala Devi appeared. We’d like to show one reel from it before dinner,’ he explained. ‘You’ll see her wearing that famous necklace.’
That should be quite interesting, I thought. Mary Sheela came up to speak to Feluda.
‘I am a fan of yours. I would love to have your autograph but, right now I haven’t got an autograph book. I’ll buy one and call on you at your hotel before you leave,’ she said.
A bearer came in with a tray of drinks. We picked up three glasses of orange juice. Samuel Saldanha approached us. ‘My shop is in Hazratganj,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come and see it one day? I should be very pleased if you did.’
‘Thank you. Do you sell Indian instruments?’
‘Yes, we sell sitars, as well as western instruments.’
At this moment, we were joined by another gentleman. Judging by the resemblances between him and Mrs Biswas, he was her brother. But his skin and his eyes were lighter, which made him look more European than Indian. He picked up a glass of whisky and turned to us.
‘I am Albert Ratanlal Banerjee, Jayant’s brother-in-law,’ he said. ‘You are—?’
Mr Biswas stepped forward and quickly introduced us. ‘Private detective?’ Ratanlal raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you here working on a case?’
‘No, no,’ Feluda smiled. ‘I am here purely on holiday.’
Another man emerged from the house. He seemed to be about the same age as Mr Saldanha. Perhaps he lived here. I looked at him in surprise. His clothes were dirty, he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and his hair hung down to his shoulders. He was a total misfit among the other people.
Mr Biswas laid a hand on his shoulder and brought him over to us. ‘Meet Mr Sudarshan Som,’ he said. ‘He is an artist, a well-known painter of portraits. He did many portraits of Shakuntala. He’s been living with us since his retirement.’
I had never heard of an artist retiring so early. Now I noticed the portrait of a woman in one corner of the room. Was that Shakuntala Devi? She must have been about forty when that portrait was painted, which meant she had already given up films. Sudarshan Som picked up a whisky from a tray. For some odd reason, I felt a little sorry for the man. Samuel Saldanha and Ratanlal had started a loud argument on current politics. Mr Som went and joined them.
I kept wondering when we’d get to see the necklace. Mrs Biswas and her sister were moving among the guests, making sure they were being looked after. Mrs Biswas stopped as she saw Feluda and exclaimed, ‘What is this? Just orange juice? Don’t tell me you don’t drink!’
‘No, I don’t, Mrs Biswas,’ Feluda replied with a smile. ‘In my profession, it is best to keep a clear head at all times.’
‘But I always thought private detectives drank a lot.’
‘Perhaps you got that idea from American crime thrillers.’
‘Yes, perhaps. I am very fond of reading thrillers.’
‘Oh, by the way,’ Feluda couldn’t help saying, ‘your husband offered to show us your mother’s necklace.’
‘Yes, of course! I am so sorry, Mr Mitter, ! completely forgot. Sheela!’
Sheela came over to her mother.
‘Yes, Ma?’
‘Be a sweetheart, and bring me your grandmother’s necklace. Mr Mitter would like to see it. You know where the key is kept.’
‘Yes,’ she said and left immediately.
‘Don’t you keep the key with you?’ Feluda asked.
‘No, it is kept in the drawer of my dressing table. We hardly open the chest. It is perfectly safe, really. The few servants we’ve got are all old and trustworthy. Suleman, who opened the door for you, has been with us for thirty years.’
Sheela returned in three minutes, carrying a dark blue velvet box. Her mother took it from her and opened it. ‘Here it is,’ she said, turning the open box towards us.
Each of us gave an involuntary gasp. Never before had I seen a piece of jewellery with such exquisite craftsmanship. It was a golden necklace with a delicate design, studded with diamonds and pearls and many other precious stones.
‘A remarkable object,’ Feluda said. ‘Truly a unique piece. Do you have any idea how much it’s worth today?’
‘I don’t know . . . in excess of two hundred and fifty thousand, I should imagine.’
‘I see. Go and put it back, Sheela. It’s best not to keep something valuable like this out for long.’
Sheela left with the necklace.
I had noticed that Sheela’s brother was making no attempt to talk to us. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable and was obviously not enjoying himself. Perhaps he was one of those young men who cannot fe
el at ease unless they are with their own set of friends.
The round of drinks was coming to an end. I saw a man come in and start fiddling with the projector. After a while, he called out to Mr Biswas, ‘I am ready.’
‘All right. Ladies and gentlemen, we are now going to watch a part of the last film Shakuntala Devi featured in. Suleman, please switch the lights off.’
The room was plunged in darkness. The projector began running noisily. A second later, the first scene appeared on the screen. ‘This film was made in 1930,’ Jayant Biswas told us. ‘Just before talkies began to be made in India.’
I watched Shakuntala Devi with some interest. She was undoubtedly a beauty—even today, one didn’t often get to see such a beautiful woman in films. It was clear why she was so successful. She had touched the hearts of people—from maharajas to. paanwalas—not merely because of her looks, but also because of her acting. Despite the drawbacks of a silent film and the overtly theatrical style of acting, Shakuntala Devi emerged as a gifted performer.
The film ran for ten minutes. All the lights were switched on again, and people began talking. Suddenly I realized someone had slipped in while the room was dark. It was Mr Sukius. He had presumably not been invited, for I heard him apologize for barging in. Mr Biswas waved aside his apologies and asked him to stay for dinner. Only a few minutes later, a bearer appeared at the door to announce that dinner had been served.
When we returned to our hotel after a sumptuous meal, it was a quarter past eleven. The party must have continued for quite a while after our departure.
Four
Feluda shook me awake the next morning. I sat up quickly.
‘What is it, Feluda?’
He looked grim. ‘Mr Biswas rang me just now. Shakuntala’s necklace has been stolen.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Get ready as quickly as you can. I’ll go and tell Lalmohan Babu. We must go back there after breakfast. I believe everyone except Mr Sukius has already arrived after they heard the news.’
‘Haven’t the police been informed?’
‘Yes, but they want me as well.’
We reached Mr Biswas’s house by half past eight. The cheerful atmosphere of the night before was replaced today by a sombre silence.
‘I can’t help feeling I am responsible,’ Feluda said. ‘That necklace was taken out yesterday only because I asked to see it. It may well have nothing to do with the theft, but I thought I ought to tell you how awful I feel.’
The police had already appeared. The inspector in charge greeted Feluda with an outstretched arm. ‘Mr Pradosh Mitter?’ he said, shaking hands, ‘I have heard of you. I am Inspector Pandey.’
‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘I assume you’d like to make your own enquiries?’
‘Yes, but only after you’ve finished.’
‘Thank you.’
Inspector Pandey began asking questions. It was gradually revealed that when the last guest had left after midnight, Mrs Biswas retired to her bedroom and suddenly felt like looking at the necklace once more. As she confessed herself, ‘It is probably only my vanity that made me want to open the chest and look at the necklace. I had just watched my mother wear it on the screen and it looked lovely on her. So I thought I’d put it round my own neck and see how I looked. But . . . but when I took out the key from my dressing table drawer and opened the chest, I couldn’t find it anywhere. I called my daughter immediately and asked her if she had put it back. She was absolutely sure that she had. It had always been kept in that chest. Where else could she have put it, anyway?’
‘You had a dinner party last night, didn’t you?’ the inspector asked.
‘Yes,’ Mrs Biswas replied.
‘When did it start and how long did it continue?’
‘It went from a quarter to eight to midnight.’
‘Mrs Biswas, did you go straight to your room after the party was over?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how long was it before you discovered the necklace was missing?’
‘About fifteen minutes.’
‘You didn’t leave your room during that period?’
‘No.’
‘That means it was stolen during the party.’
‘So it seems,’ Mr Biswas remarked. ‘When my daughter brought the necklace out to show it to Mr Mitter, the party was in full swing.’
‘After that, Miss Biswas, did you put the necklace back where you had found it? Did you go back to your mother’s room straightaway?’
‘Of course!’ Mary Sheela said firmly. ‘I didn’t waste even a second.’
‘Perhaps I ought to mention, Inspector, that soon after the necklace was taken away, all the lights in the living room were switched off to screen a film. The room remained dark for ten minutes.’
‘How many servants do you have?’
‘Three. A cook and two bearers.’
‘How long have you had them?’
‘Fifteen years or more. Suleman, the old bearer, has been with us since the time of my father-in-law,’ Mrs Biswas said.
‘Then there is only one conclusion to be drawn,’ Inspector Pandey declared. ‘If you think your servants are all above suspicion, the necklace was taken by one of those present at the party. I am sorry, Mr Biswas, but every reason points that way.’
I—and possibly Feluda and Lalmohan Babu—could only agree with him. Inspector Pandey now turned to Feluda.
‘Mr Mitter, who are your companions?’
‘Sorry, I should have introduced them before. This is my cousin, Tapesh; and that’s my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli. He is a well-known writer.’
‘How long have you known him?’
‘More than five years.’
I looked at Lalmohan Babu. He had turned pale. For a moment, I tried to picture him as a thief. Even at this critical moment, I nearly laughed out loud.
Fortunately, the inspector changed the subject. ‘How many people live in this house?’ he asked.
‘Apart from my wife and myself, my two children and Mr Som, the artist.’
Mr Som was present in the room with all the others. His stubble was heavier today which made him look even more haggard.
‘What about the others?’ Inspector Pandey went on.
‘Mr Saldanha and his wife live in Clive Road. Mrs Saldanha and my wife are sisters.’
‘I can see one more gentleman.’
‘Yes, he is my wife’s brother, Ratanlal Banerjee.’
‘Was there anyone else at the party?’
‘Only one other person. In fact, he had not been invited, but he happened to drop by. It was Mr Sukius. He arrived while the film was being shown. I saw him only when the lights came on.’
‘What does Mr Sukius do?’
‘He is a collector of antiques and art objects. He is also a professional moneylender.’
‘Did he ever show an interest in that necklace?’
‘Yes. He wanted to buy it, but I refused to sell.’
‘I see.’
Inspector Pandey was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘I think we are agreed that one of the guests at dinner removed the necklace. The question is: where has it gone?’
Mr Biswas cleared his throat. ‘If you wish to search us and the house, please feel free to do so.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I am going to have to do that. I’ve arranged a couple of women police officers to search the women. The house will have to be thoroughly searched.’
No one raised any objection. Only Mr Saldanha said, ‘I have to go and open my shop at ten o’clock. I’d be grateful if you could search me first and allow me to leave before ten.’
Feluda was silent all this while. Now he said, ‘I am going to go back to the hotel. If you find the necklace, Mr Biswas, please let me know. If you don’t, I will come back this evening.’
We returned to our hotel. Lalmohan Babu joined us in our room. ‘Can you remember how many times this has happened before? I mean, this business of goi
ng on a holiday and getting mixed up in a mystery? Telepathy, that’s what it must be!’ he observed.
‘All right then, Lalmohan Babu, let me test your memory,’ Feluda laughed. ‘I have tested Topshe often enough, but not you.’
‘Very well sir, I am ready.’
‘Let me ask you something about Shakuntala Devi’s family.’
‘All right.’
‘What are the names of her three children?’
‘The elder daughter is called Susheela.’
‘Yes, but there’s a Christian name before that.’
‘Oh yes. The Christian name . . . ah . . .’
‘Topshe, do you remember?’
Luckily, I did. ‘Margaret,’ I said.
‘Good. What is Mrs Biswas called, Lalmohan Babu?’
‘Pamela Suneela.’
‘Right. Her brother?’
‘Ratanlal. Albert Ratanlal Banerjee.’
‘Fine. Now tell me the names of the Biswas children.’
‘Mary Sheela and Prasenjit. I can’t remember his Christian name.’
‘Victor. Margaret Susheela came with her husband. What’s he called?’
‘Samuel Saldanha.’
‘Very good. Who else was there?’
‘That artist fellow. What’s his name, now? . . .’
Topshe?’
‘Som. Sudarshan Som.’
‘Well done.’
‘Don’t mind my saying this, Felu Babu, but I didn’t like that man.’
‘Why not?’
‘He looked weird, as if he was really quite mad. Hadn’t shaved for days, his clothes hadn’t been washed probably for weeks! . . .’
‘Artists don’t always keep themselves spruced up. They don’t often live by social norms.’
‘Perhaps, but in my view he and one other person are the prime suspects.’
‘Who is this other person?’
‘Victor Prasenjit Biswas. Looks like a hippie, a good-for-nothing. But I noticed he wasn’t drinking.’
‘Perhaps that was because his father was present.’
‘Could be. Anyway, there was someone else present at the party.’
‘You mean Mr Sukius?’