Clearly, he was not going to give up easily. Dr Basak ran his eyes over the list and said, ‘I know one of them. He’s a doctor, too; but he practises orthodox medicine. Dr Jyotirmoy Sen. He lives in Hastings. You’ll get his address from the telephone directory.’
‘Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.’
We came out and got into the car. ‘Look, Felu Babu, why are you assuming that the other boy was a classmate?’ Lalmohan Babu asked as we drove off. ‘One can make friends anywhere, surely? Not one of my present set of friends had ever studied with me.’
‘You’re right. I think in the end we’ll have to put in an advertisement in the press with the photo, but in the meantime let’s see what this other doctor has to say.’
Dr Jyotirmoy Sen was not available for the next three days. But he agreed to see us in his house on the fourth day, at half past nine. He normally left for his clinic at ten, he said. He had heard of Feluda, and appeared duly impressed.
Lalmohan Babu collected us in his car, and we reached Dr Sen’s house on the dot of nine-thirty. His house was large and well kept, so presumably here was another doctor with a thriving practice. A bearer showed us into his drawing room. ‘The doctor will be with you shortly,’ he said and disappeared.
‘Who will you ask him about? Ranjan Majumdar, or the other boy?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, lowering his voice.
‘Let’s see if we can get anything more on Ranjan Majumdar. We don’t know a great deal about our client, do we? As for the other boy, I don’t think Dr Sen can help.’
The doctor arrived as soon as Feluda finished speaking.
‘You must be Pradosh Mitter,’ he said, taking a chair, ‘although you’re better known as Feluda, aren’t you? And you two must be Tapesh and Jatayu. Everyone in my family devours the stories Tapesh writes, so all of you are quite familiar to me. How may I help you?’
‘Take a look at this photograph. Can you recognize either of these boys?’
‘Yes, one of them is Ranjan Majumdar. I remember him pretty well. I don’t know the other one.’
‘He wasn’t in your class?’
‘No. I’d have remembered him if he was.’
‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about Ranjan Majumdar.’
‘Go ahead. We were close friends in college. We attended lectures together, went to movies together. If he missed a class, I stood in for him at roll-call, and he often did the same for me. But now we’ve lost touch.’
‘What was he like as a person?’
Dr Sen frowned slightly. ‘A little eccentric. But we didn’t really mind that.’
‘Eccentric? Why do you say that?’
‘Well, he had very strong nationalistic feelings. I mean, no young man of that age ever spoke or felt like that about the country. Perhaps this was something he had inherited from his grandfather, Raghunath Majumdar, who was a terrorist once. He fought very hard against the British. Ranjan’s father went to England, but came back because of some disagreement he had had with an Englishman. The whole family had this funny trait.’
‘Mr Majumdar went to school in England, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he never spoke about it. He had a terrible accident in England. I assume you know about it?’
‘Yes, he told us.’
‘As a result, he lost his memory. He couldn’t remember anything of his life in England. Five years—or more—were totally wiped from his mind.’
‘Supposing he had made a friend there, or met someone special, is there any way one could find out?’
‘I can’t see how, unless his lost memory came back. That has been known to happen in many cases. But let me tell you this, Ranjan was not an ordinary young man. I don’t know how he lived in England, or what he did as a student there, but when I met him in college, I could tell he was different from all the others. He had a distinct personality of his own, even at that young age.’
We went to Mr Majumdar’s house the next day.
‘Any progress?’ he asked.
‘Well, we’ve established that your friend in the photo did not go to college with you here in Calcutta. Now I wish to take a step that requires your approval.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’d like to publish the photo of this other boy and see if anyone can recognize him. If it came out in papers in Calcutta and Delhi, I think that should be enough.’
Mr Majumdar thought for a minute.
‘Will my name be mentioned anywhere?’
‘No, not at all. All I’m going to say in the notice is that if anyone can recognize the boy, they should contact me, at my address.’
‘Very well. You must do what you have to for your investigation. I have no objection, Mr Mitter.’
Three
Five days later, Feluda’s little advertisement came out in the Statesman in Delhi and Calcutta. Nothing happened on the first day. ‘It can’t be anyone from Calcutta, I guess. If it was, we’d have heard by now,’ Feluda said to me.
On Wednesday, Feluda got a call from a tourist staying in the Grand Hotel. His name was John Dexter. He was travelling with a group of Australians, and had seen the photo—purely by chance—in Delhi. This made him come to Calcutta to talk to Feluda. Since he was leaving for Kathmandu in the evening, he would have to see us in the afternoon, he said. ‘Would it be all right if I called at your house at one o’clock?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course. Thank you for taking so much trouble.’
Feluda sounded excited. He had not really expected the little notice to work.
A taxi drew up at our front door a little before one. Feluda opened the door and admitted a middle-aged white gentleman.
‘Mr Mitter?’ he said, offering his hand, ‘I am John Dexter.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Feluda shook his hand. ‘Please sit down.’ Mr Dexter sat on our settee. His face and arms had a deep tan. He had clearly been travelling in India for some time.
‘You saw that photo in the Statesman?’
‘Yes, that’s why I am here. I told you on the phone. I was amazed to see a photo of my cousin, Peter Dexter, after such a long time and in a foreign country.’
‘Are you sure it was your cousin?’
‘Absolutely. Peter and I are first cousins. But I left England and went to Australia when I was quite young. Then I lost touch with Peter and his family. In fact, I am no longer in touch with my own family in England. So I couldn’t tell you where Peter is at present, or what he does. All I can tell you is that Peter’s father, Michael Dexter, used to be in the Indian Army. I think he went back to England after 1947.’
‘Was Peter his only son?’
‘Oh no. Michael Dexter had seven children. Peter was his sixth. His eldest son, George, was also in the army.’
‘Where did Michael Dexter live in England?’
‘In Norfolk. I couldn’t give you the whole address, not even the name of the town. Sorry.’
‘Never mind. You have been most helpful.’
Mr Dexter rose. His companions were waiting for him in the hotel. Feluda thanked him again and saw him off to his taxi.
We went to see Ranjan Majumdar the next day.
‘Did your plan work?’
‘Yes, that’s what I have come to tell you. That boy was English, called Peter Dexter.’
‘How did you find out?’
Feluda told him about John Dexter’s visit. Mr Majumdar grew a little thoughtful. ‘Dexter?’ he muttered, ‘Dexter . . . Dexter . . .’
‘Can you remember anything?’
‘Only vaguely. Something unpleasant happened, I think . . . but no, it’s no more than a feeling. There are no definite memories.’
‘Does your memory return occasionally?’
‘Yes, sometimes I feel as if I can recall certain incidents. But there’s no one I might ask to see if any of it is true. My parents were the only people who knew what had happened in England. Both are now dead.’
‘Well, one thing has become quite clear. No one in Calcutta can tell
us anything more about Peter Dexter.’
‘Yes, I realize that, but . . .’ Mr Majumdar grew preoccupied again.
‘Would you like me to drop the case?’
Mr Majumdar suddenly pulled himself together. ‘No, no, of course not. I want to know where he is, where he works, whether he remembers me, everything. When can you leave?’
‘Leave? Where to?’ Feluda was taken aback.
‘London, where else? You’ve got to go to London!’
‘Yes, that would be the next logical step.’
‘Do you both have valid passports?’
‘Oh yes. We’ve had to travel abroad before. I have no other case at the moment, so I could go any time.’
‘Good. I’ll arrange tickets for you.’
‘A friend of ours will go with us—at his own expense, of course.’
‘Very well. Let my secretary have his name. He’ll make the necessary arrangements for all of you. We use a good travel agent, who can book you into a hotel in London.’
‘How long would you like me to stay there?’
Mr Majumdar thought for a minute. Then he said, ‘Give it a week. If you fee! you’re just not getting anywhere, you can come back after that. I’ll tell my secretary to make your return bookings accordingly.’
‘Thank you. If I return without having traced the whereabouts of your friend, I will not accept a fee from you.’
‘Have you ever failed in a case, Mr Mitter?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘Then you won’t fail in this one either.’
Four
‘UK!’ Lalmohan Babu stared, his eyes round with surprise. Feluda had just finished telling him of the latest developments. He was clearly not prepared for a visit to the UK.
‘You will have to bear your own expenses, Lalmohan Babu. Mr Majumdar is paying for Topshe and myself.’
‘I know that. I can afford the trip, I assure you. You may be a busy and famous detective, but don’t forget I earn much more than you. Just tell me what I have to do.’
‘Take enough warm clothes to last you a week. I hope you haven’t lost your passport?’
‘No, sir. It’s kept carefully in my almirah.’
‘In that case, you have to do nothing else except pay Mr Majumdar whatever is required in Indian rupees. He will make your bookings and arrange foreign exchange. His travel agent is handling all the arrangements.’
‘Where are we going to stay in London?’
‘Probably in a three-star hotel.’
‘Why only three star?’
‘Because if he tried to climb any higher, Mr Majumdar might well go bankrupt. Do you have any idea how expensive London hotels are?’
‘No. Tell you what, I’ve just thought of something. One of my neighbours is a businessman. He goes abroad every year. He might be able to give me a few extra dollars. What do you say?’
‘It would be going against the law.’
‘Please, Felu Babu, you don’t always have to act like a saint. Everyone tries to take extra foreign exchange. That doesn’t make them all criminals, does it?’
‘Very well, Mr Jatayu. I agree, much against my better judgement, mind you.’
We were booked to travel by Air-India on a Tuesday. The plane would leave Calcutta soon after midnight and go to Bombay, where we would catch a connecting flight to London. The hotel we were booked at was called the Regent Palace, in Piccadilly Circus. Feluda said it was a very good place to be in, right in the heart of the city. He had been reading a lot of guide books on London, and studying various maps.
He rang Mr Majumdar the day before we left. I heard him speak for a couple of minutes, then he said goodbye and rang off. ‘I asked him if his father had been attached to a hospital, but he said he did not know; nor could he remember where they used to live. Never mind, one of my friends is a doctor in London. Let’s see if he can help.’
Feluda’s work had taken us to so many different places, but I never thought we’d go to London. When Lalmohan Babu arrived to pick us up on his way to the airport, he said, ‘I was trying to tell myself to stay calm for, after all, every Tom, Dick and Harry goes to London these days. But I just couldn’t help getting excited. Do you know what my pulse rate was this morning.’ One hundred and ten. Normally it never goes beyond eighty.’
It wasn’t just the thought of going to London that made him feel pleased. I knew he had managed to get quite a few extra dollars from his neighbour.
Feluda said nothing in reply. He was doing everything that needed to be done, but was speaking very little. Perhaps he had not yet worked out how he’d proceed. I certainly didn’t have a clue. There was virtually nothing to go on. Lalmohan Babu noticed his silence and remarked, ‘Frankly, Felu Babu, I can’t imagine why you took this case. Have you ever handled anything like this before, with so little information?’
‘No, but if I hadn’t taken the case, how could you have gone to London.
‘Yes, there is that, of course.’
Our plane took off on time and we soon reached Bombay. When it was announced that our connecting flight was ready for departure, I looked at my watch. Normally, at this time I would be in bed, fast asleep. But today, I wasn’t feeling sleepy at all.
‘I feel wide awake too,’ Lalmohan Babu told me, fastening his seat belt. ‘I slept for a couple of hours this afternoon, you see. I say, doesn’t this remind you of the story of Pinocchio? He got swallowed by a whale, didn’t he? This jumbo jet seems like a whale to me. I could be sitting right inside its tummy! How will it climb into the air with so many people inside it? Amazing stuff!’
The amazing stuff happened soon enough. When the plane began to rush down the runway, making an ear-splitting noise, Lalmohan Babu kept his eyes closed. As the bright lights of Bombay grew smaller, I saw Lalmohan Babu’s lips move, possibly in a prayer for a safe journey. Then the noise grew less and the hostess announced that we could unfasten our seat belts. We were sitting in the non-smoking section of the plane. Feluda usually smoked frequently, but could go without doing so for several hours, if he had to.
‘Aren’t they going to show a film?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.
They did, but it was such a’ boring film that I put my headphones away and went to sleep.
When I woke, bright sunlight was streaming in through the windows. Feluda said he too had slept for two hours. Only Lalmohan Babu had been awake throughout.
‘I will make up for it when we get to our hotel,’ he said.
I looked out of the window, but there was nothing to see except the snow-covered Alps. On learning the name of the range, Lalmohan Babu asked, ‘Shall we get to see Mont Blanc?’ He pronounced the ‘t’ and the ‘c’.
‘Yes,’ Feluda replied, ‘but if you are going to visit Europe, you had better learn the correct pronunciations of European names. It’s “Maw Bleau”.’
‘You mean several letters are silent?’
‘Yes, that’s natural enough in French.’
Lalmohan Babu muttered ‘Maw Bleau, Maw Bleau’ a few times. Finally, we landed at Heathrow half an hour later than our scheduled time of arrival. After we had been through immigration control and collected our baggage, Feluda said, ‘There are three ways to get to central London: by bus, taxi or by tube. A taxi would be too expensive, and a bus would take too long. Let’s try the tube. According to my map, it would go through Piccadilly.’
‘What is the tube?’
‘It is like our metro rail, except that there are many more lines. The map looks like a maze, but once you get to understand how it works, travelling by tube is the easiest thing to do in London. I’ll get you a map tomorrow.’
Five
Our hotel was large and comfortable, but not all that expensive. ‘Mr Majumdar’s travel agent is a sensible fellow, I must say,’ Lalmohan Babu commented. He seemed very pleased with everything he saw, from the underground stations to the red double-decker buses.
‘See how handsome these buses are?’ he said admiringly, looking out of
the window. ‘We have double-decker buses too. Why do you think ours look as though they’ve been chewed and then spat out?’
After lunch, Feluda said, ‘If you’re not feeling tired, go and have a walk down Oxford Street. You’ll see London at its busiest.’
‘What about you? What are you going to do?’
‘I am going to call my friend, Bikash Datta. Didn’t I tell you I had a friend here? Let’s see if he can give us any information.’
We were not particularly tired, so we decided to go out. Feluda managed to get through to his friend almost immediately. When he rang off, he was smiling. ‘Bikash was amazed to hear my enquiries had brought me to London. But he told me something useful.’
‘What?’
‘There’s an old doctor here—an Indian, who came to London as a medical student soon after the Second World War, then stayed on to work as a GP. A man called Nishanath Sen. He is apparently, a very kind and helpful man. He might have known Mr Majumdar’s father. Bikash gave me the address of his clinic. I think I’ll try meeting him.’
Feluda got to his feet. ‘If we must take shots in the dark, we may as well start with Dr Sen.’
We left the hotel together. Feluda went in the direction of the tube station, having told us how to find Oxford Street. Lalmohan Babu and I pulled out woollen scarves and wound them round our necks as we began walking. October in London was decidedly cool.
There were plenty of Indians on the street, which was probably why Lalmohan Babu said, ‘I feel quite at home, dear Tapesh. Mind you, the roads are so good here that that is enough to remind me I am not at home!’
A little later, staring wide-eyed at the milling crowds on Oxford Street, he exclaimed, ‘A sea of humanity, Tapesh! A veritable ocean!’
What was amazing was the speed with which everyone was walking. Why was every single person in such a hurry? We had to increase our own pace, or we’d have been trampled in the rush. The street was lined with huge departmental stores, with the most tempting objects in their show windows. I could now see the famous names I had only heard of: Marks & Spencer, Boots, Debenhams, D.