‘What, even murder?’
‘That’s right. Take A, for example. Arun Sengupta. His ancestors were wealthy zamindars. When he was a young man, Sengupta was a middle-ranking bank officer. But he had inherited his forefathers’ passion for spending money. So he ran up heavy debts, even borrowing from kabuliwallas.’
Kabuliwallas, Feluda had told me once, were men from Kabul, who made a living out of lending money at a very high rate of interest. They had left the country now, but once the sight of kabuliwallas standing at streetcorners, carrying heavy sticks, was pretty common.
‘A time came when the amount he owed became so enormous that Sengupta got absolutely desperate. He stole forty thousand rupees from his bank. However, he did it with great cunning, so that no suspicion could fall on him. A junior officer was blamed, who had to spend a few years in jail.’
‘I see!’ Jatayu cried. ‘This was followed by great pangs of conscience, then that became a psychological problem, and so he had to see Dr Munshi. But now . . . now this Sengupta is an important man. That can only mean Dr Munshi’s treatment worked beautifully, and Sengupta recovered.’
‘Correct. Dr Munshi has mentioned the success of his treatment, but nothing else. Nevertheless, it is not difficult to imagine how Sengupta must have changed his lifestyle, and gone from strength to strength to reach the position he is at today. So he is naturally anxious to remove any possibility—however remote—of being exposed and ridiculed.’
‘I see. What about the other two?’
‘I cannot tell you who R is because Dr Munshi has said nothing about his real identity. Apparently, he knocked a man down while driving. The man died, but R got away with it simply by bribing a few people. His own conscience did not spare him, however, and so he ended up at Dr Munshi’s clinic. Anyway, his case isn’t so important since he has raised no objections. What is interesting is the case of George Higgins.’
‘What did Higgins do?’
‘You know he exports wild animals, don’t you? Well, in 1960 a Swedish film director came to Calcutta to make a film in India. He needed a leopard for his film. Someone told him about Higgins, so he met him at his house. It turned out that he did have a leopard, but it was not for export. It was his own, Higgins treated it as his pet. The Swedish director paid a lot of money to hire the animal for a month. He promised to return it, safe and in one piece, within a month. But that did not happen. The leopard was killed by some villagers, as was described in the film script. When the director eventually visited Higgins and told him what had happened, Higgins was so outraged that he lost his head. In a fit of insane rage, he caught the Swedish man by the throat and throttled him to death. When he realized what he had done, fear replaced fury—but even so, he did not fail to think of a plot to save himself. First, he took a knife and made deep wounds all over the body of his victim. Then he found a wild cat among the animals he kept in his collection in his house. He released the cat from its cage, and shot it. It then looked as if the cat had somehow escaped and attacked the film director. Higgins shot the cat, but the director was already dead. This ruse worked, and the police believed his story. However, Higgins began having nightmares. Night after night, he saw himself being dragged to the gallows and hung by the neck. These terrible dreams soon drove him to seek help from Dr Munshi. Munshi helped him recover, and you know the rest.’
‘Hmm, very interesting. What should we do now?’
‘I have to do two things. Number one, I must hand over the manuscript to you; and number two, I must ring Arun Sengupta.’
Lalmohan Babu took the proffered packet with a big smile. ‘Are you going to meet Sengupta?’ he asked.
‘Yes, there’s no point in waiting any more. Topshe, go and find his number. Arun Sengupta, 11 Roland Road.’
The phone rang as soon as I picked up the directory. It was Dr Munshi. Arun Sengupta had sent him another letter. Feluda spoke quickly, noting down the details of the letter. Then he put the phone down and read it out to us:
I give you seven days. In that time, I wish to see it reported in every newspaper in Calcutta that your diary is not going to be published due to some unavoidable reason. Remember, only seven days. If you do not do as you are told, these warnings will stop and I will get down to direct action. Needless to say, the results will not be happy—at least, not for you.
I found Sengupta’s number and dialled it quickly. Luckily, I got through at once. Then I passed the receiver to Feluda, and heard his side of the conversation:
‘Hello, could I speak to Mr Arun Sengupta, please? . . . My name is Pradosh Mitter . . . Yes, that’s right. Can I come and see you? . . . Really? How strange! What’s the matter? . . . Certainly. When would you like me to be there? . . . All right. See you then.’
‘Just imagine!’ he exclaimed as he replaced the receiver. ‘He said he was about to call me himself.’
‘Why?’
‘He didn’t want to talk about that on the phone. He’ll tell us everything in person, he said.’
‘When does he want to see you?’
‘In half an hour.’
Four
Eleven Roland Road was a house with two storeys, built during British times. A bearer in uniform answered the door, and took us upstairs. The wooden stairs were covered by a carpet.
Mr Sengupta arrived in a couple of minutes, wearing a, dressing gown and bedroom slippers. In his hand he held a cheroot.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ he asked after we had introduced ourselves.
‘No, thank you. We don’t drink,’ Feluda replied.
‘I hope you won’t mind if I have a beer?’
‘No, of course not.’
Mr Sengupta called his bearer and told him to bring us tea, and a glass of beer for himself. Then he turned to Feluda.
‘If you don’t mind, Mr Sengupta,’ Feluda said before he could speak, ‘Could you first tell me why you were keen to meet me? I will then tell you the reason why I wanted to come here.’
‘Very well. Have you heard of G.P. Chawla?’
‘Guru Prasad Chawla? The businessman?’
‘Yes.’
‘One of his grandsons—?’
‘Yes, he’s missing. Possibly kidnapped.’
‘I read about it in the papers.’
‘I have known Chawla for many years. The police are doing their best, but I suggested your name to Chawla.’
‘I am sorry, Mr Sengupta, but I am already working on a case. I couldn’t take on another one.’
‘I see.’
‘In fact, I am here regarding this case I am handling right now.’
‘Really? What’s it about?’
‘It involves Dr Munshi.’
‘What!’
Mr Sengupta jumped to his feet. ‘Munshi told you about me? Then in just a few weeks the whole world will come to know who A is, when they read his book.’
‘Look, Mr Sengupta, I know how to keep a secret. You may trust me. But no good can possibly come out of sending repeated threats to Dr Munshi.’
‘Why shouldn’t I threaten him? Have you read his book?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you think?’
‘He has mentioned something that happened thirty years ago. In these thirty years, there has been embezzlement of funds in at least five hundred banks. It is very likely that many of the other culprits have names that also start with A. You have nothing to fear.’
‘Has Munshi mentioned the name of my bank?’
‘No.’
‘There were two officers there who had suspected me at the time. I had gone to them to borrow some money, but neither had agreed.’
‘Mr Sengupta, let me assure you again—you have no cause for concern. Besides, what do you think you are going to gain by sending these notes? Dr Munshi has done nothing to break the law. You couldn’t possibly take any legal action against him. Surely you aren’t thinking of doing anything illegal?’
‘If I find myself in trouble, Mr Mitter, I am not going
to worry about the law. Since you know my history, you must also know that I would not hesitate to take drastic measures.’
‘You seem to have gone quite mad, Mr Sengupta. You are not the same man you were thirty years ago. You are well-known now, and highly respected. Why should you want to risk losing your position in society by doing something stupid?’
Mr Sengupta did not reply immediately. He sat in silence, sipping his beer. Then his face softened a little. He finished his remaining drink in one gulp, put the glass down on a table and said, ‘All right, damn it! Let him go ahead.’
‘Does that mean there will be no more threats from you?’
‘Yes, yes, yes. I will stop—but, let me remind you, if I see even a hint of any trouble whatsoever . . .’
‘I know, I know. You have made yourself quite clear, Mr Sengupta. I will pass on your message to Dr Munshi.’
Five
True to his word, Lalmohan Babu returned the manuscript the following day. Feluda thanked him and said, ‘I am afraid we haven’t got time for a cup of tea. I spoke to G; he wants to see us in half an hour.’
The man who opened the door at 90 Ripon Street was bald, but had white hair round his ears. The rather impressive moustache he sported was also totally white.
‘Mr Mitter? I am George Higgins,’ he said. He shook hands with all of us, then took us to his living room. It was a big house with a large compound. I noticed two big cages, one of which contained a tiger, and the other a hyena. I might as well be in a zoo, I thought.
‘You are a detective?’ Mr Higgins asked Feluda when we were all seated.
‘Yes, a private one,’ Feluda replied.
‘I see. So . . . you’ve spoken to Munshi, have you? I must admit he helped me a lot when I was in trouble.’
‘If that is so, why did you threaten him?’
Higgins was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Well, one reason for that was I had had a bit too much to drink that night. But tell me, is it not natural that I should feel anxious? Do you know what my father was? Just a station master. And look at me! I have done so well in life, simply through my own efforts and hard work. I have a monopoly in this business. I am well-known as the only man who deals with exporting animals. If Munshi’s book is published, and if his readers can recognize me simply from the initial G, can you imagine how badly my business is going to be affected?’
In reply, Feluda had to repeat what he had told Arun Sengupta. There was nothing George Higgins could do legally; and if he decided to break the law in the hope of saving his reputation, things could only get worse.
‘Is that what you really want?’ Feluda asked him, raising his voice a little. ‘Do you think doing something unlawful will enhance your prestige?’
Higgins fell silent once more. Then I heard him mutter: ‘I don’t regret having killed that Swedish swine. If I could get the chance, I’d kill him again. Bahadur . . . my leopard . . . how I loved him! . . . He was only four years old. And that stupid oaf had him killed, for nothing!’
No one said anything in reply. Higgins seemed lost in thought. Finally, he looked up and suddenly slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Very well,’ he said clearly. ‘Go and tell Munshi I don’t give a damn what he does with his diary. I don’t care if I am recognized. Nothing can harm my business. I know it.’
‘Thank you, Mr Higgins. Thank you very much.’
Feluda had already rung Dr Munshi and told him about Arun Sengupta. Now we went to his house to report on George Higgins. Besides, the manuscript had to be returned.
Dr Munshi thanked us profusely and said to Feluda, ‘You have done a splendid job, Mr Mitter. You may go home and relax now.’
‘Are you sure?’ What about R?’
‘He’s all right, he’ll never raise any objections. Don’t worry about R, Mr Mitter. Send me your bill and I will pay it immediately.’
‘Thank you.’
We came back. ‘Felu Babu,’ said Jatayu on reaching home, ‘can you really call this a case?’
‘You can call it a mini case; or a case-let.’
‘Yes, I guess that’s quite apt.’
‘What amazes me is that all these people committed serious crimes, and yet continued to live normal lives. No one was caught and punished by the law.’
‘Exactly. That’s what I was thinking, too. I was trying to remember how many people I knew closely thirty years ago, and what eventually happened to them. After hours of thinking, I could remember just one man. A fellow called Chatterjee. I used to go to the cinema with him, see football matches, spend hours in the coffee house.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘God knows. I cannot even recall how I lost touch with him. He just vanished from my life.’
Lalmohan Babu dropped by for a chat the next day.
‘Why do you appear a bit depressed?’ he asked Feluda. ‘Is it because you are out of a job?’
‘No, sir. I am not depressed. It’s just that I am still very curious about R. I wish I knew who he was. I can’t rest easy until I find that out. It would have been simpler if R had also made threats.’
‘Rotten, rubbish, ridiculous!’ said Lalmohan Babu emphatically. ‘Let R go to hell. You’re being paid in full, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well then, you should forget the whole thing, Felu Babu.’
The phone rang. I answered it. It was Shankar Munshi. I passed the receiver to Feluda.
‘Hello?’ said Feluda and listened intently for the next few seconds. A deep frown appeared between his brows as Shankar Munshi began speaking. Then he simply said ‘hmm’ and ‘yes’ a couple of times before putting the phone down.
‘I can hardly believe what I just heard,’ he said, turning to us. ‘Dr Munshi has been murdered, and his manuscript is missing.’
‘My God!’
‘We thought the case was over, didn’t we? This is just the beginning.’
We left immediately in Lalmohan Babu’s car without wasting another second.
The police had already arrived at Munshi Palace. The inspector in charge—Inspector Shome—happened to know Feluda. ‘He was killed in the middle of the night,’ he said. ‘Struck on the back of his head by a heavy instrument.’
‘Who was the first to find the body?’
‘His bearer. He took him a cup of tea at six o’clock, as he did every day. That’s when he saw what had happened. Dr Munshi’s son was not at home. We were informed by his secretary.’
‘Have you finished speaking to everyone?’
‘Yes, but you can start your own investigation, Mr Mitter. I know your work will not hinder ours. There are only four people to question, anyway. But there is also Mrs Munshi. We haven’t yet asked her anything.’
Feluda thanked the inspector, and we made our way to the living room upstairs. Shankar Munshi came with us. ‘I had feared many things,’ he said with a sigh as we entered the living room, ‘but not this!’
‘I know it cannot be easy for you, but I will have to ask questions and it may be simple if I start with you.’
‘Very well. What would you like me to tell you?’
We sat down. I couldn’t help glancing at the heads of all the animals that graced the walls. Who could have guessed that such an expert shikari would one day be killed himself?
Feluda began: ‘Is your room on the first floor?’
‘Yes. My room is in the northern side. Father’s was in the south.’
‘Did you go out this morning?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To get hold of our doctor. His phone is out of order. I knew that he goes for a long morning walk every day near the lake. So I went out to catch him on the way. I have been getting a headache for the last few days. Perhaps my blood pressure has gone up.’
‘Couldn’t your father have checked your blood pressure at home?’
‘No. That’s another example of my father’s peculiar behaviour. He refused to treat people of his own fa
mily even for minor ailments. We had been told to consult Dr Pranav Kar.’
‘I see. Let me tell you something, Mr Munshi. You said your father was indifferent towards you. That is not true. He mentions you frequently in his diary.’
‘Very surprising.’
‘Didn’t you ever want to read it?’
‘No. I haven’t got the patience to read such a long handwritten manuscript.’
‘I assume what he has written about you is true and correct?’
‘It would be so only from my father’s point of view. I mean, he wrote what he felt to be true and correct. My point is, when did he get the chance to find out what I was really like? He was so totally preoccupied with his patients all the time, he did not know me at all.’
‘Do you have any idea what his monthly income was?’
‘No. But judging by the amount he spent, his income might well have been in the region of thirty thousand.’
‘Did you know he had made a will?’
‘No.’
‘He made it last year, on the first of December. A portion of his savings will go to psychological research.’
‘I see.’
‘His will includes you too.’
‘I see.’
‘Can you throw any light on this murder?’
‘No, none at all. It’s come like a bolt from the blue.’
‘And the missing manuscript?’
‘That may have been stolen by one of the three people he’s mentioned in it. I mean, one of them might have hired a man to break into the house and steal it. They had all visited this house before. They knew which was his consulting room. They also knew that the next room was his office. That was where the manuscript used to be kept.’
‘Your front door is always kept locked at night, I presume?’
‘Yes, but there is a spiral staircase at the back of the house that’s used by the cleaners. A thief could have sneaked in using those stairs.’
‘I see. All right, that’s all for now. Could you please send in Mr Chakravarty?’