Five minutes later, my elbow duly dabbed with Dettol, we came out of the house. Instead of going towards the main road where we might have caught a tram to go home, Feluda began walking in the opposite direction. Before I could ask him anything, he said, ‘My friend Ganapati lives nearby. He promised to get me a ticket for the Test match. I’d like to see him.’
Ganapati Chatterjee’s house turned out to be only two houses away. I had heard of him, but had never met him before. He opened the door when Feluda knocked: a rather plump man, wearing a pullover and trousers.
‘Felu! What brings you here, my friend?’
‘Surely you can guess?’
‘Oh, I see. You needn’t have come personally to remind me. I hadn’t forgotten. I did promise, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, I know. But that’s not the only reason why I am here. I believe there’s a wonderful view of north Calcutta from your roof.
I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind. Someone I know in a film company told me to look around. They’re making a film on Calcutta.’
‘OK, no problem. That staircase over there goes right up to the roof. I’ll see about getting us a cup of tea.’
The house had four storeys. We got to the top and discovered that there was a very good view of Mr Chowdhury’s house on the right. The whole house—from the garden to the roof—was visible. A light was on in one of the rooms on the first floor, and a man was moving about in it. It was Kailash Chowdhury’s father. I could also see the attic on the roof. At least, I could see its window; its door was probably on the other side, hidden from view.
Another light on the second floor was switched on. It was the light on the staircase. Feluda took out the binoculars again and placed them before his eyes. A man was climbing the stairs. Who was it? Kailash Chowdhury. I could recognize his red silk dressing gown even from this distance. He disappeared from view for a few seconds, then suddenly appeared on the roof of his house. Feluda and I ducked promptly, and hid behind the wall that surrounded Ganapati Chatterjee’s roof, peering cautiously over its edge.
Mr Chowdhury glanced around a couple of times, then went to the other side of the attic, presumably to go into it through the door we could not see. A second later, the light in the attic came on. Mr Chowdhury was now standing near its window with his back to us. My heart began beating faster. Mr Chowdhury stood still for a few moments, then bent down, possibly sitting on the ground. A little later, he stood up, switched the light off and went down the stairs once more.
Feluda put the binoculars away and said only one thing: ‘Fishy. Very fishy.’
He didn’t speak to me on our way back. When he gets into one of these moods, I don’t like to disturb him. Normally, if he is agitated about something, he starts pacing in his room. Today, however, I saw him throw himself down on his bed and stare at the ceiling. At half past nine, he got up and started to scribble in his blue notebook. I knew he was writing in English, using Greek letters. So there was no way I could read and understand what he’d written. The only thing that was obvious was that he was still working on Mr Chowdhury’s case, although his client had dispensed with his services.
I lay awake for a long time, which was probably why I didn’t wake the following morning until Feluda shook me. ‘Topshe! Get up quickly, we must to go Shyampukur at once.’
‘Why?’ I sat up.
‘I rang the house, but no one answered. Something is obviously wrong.’
In ten minutes, we were in a taxi, speeding up to Shyampukur Street. Feluda refused to tell me anything more, except, ‘What a cunning man he is! If only I’d guessed it a little sooner, this would not have happened!’
When we reached Mr Chowdhury’s house, Feluda saw that the front door was open and walked right in, without bothering to ring the bell. We crossed the landing and arrived at Abanish Babu’s room. The sight that met my eyes made me gasp in horrified amazement. A chair lay overturned before a table, and next to it lay Abanish Babu. His hands were tied behind his back, a large handkerchief covered his mouth. Feluda bent over him quickly and untied him.
‘Oh, oh, thank God! Thank you!’ he exclaimed, breathing heavily.
‘Who did this to you?’
‘Who do you think?’ he sat up, still panting, ‘My uncle—Kailash Mama did this. I told you he was going crazy, didn’t I? I got up quite early this morning, and decided to get some work done. It was still dark outside, so I switched the light on. My uncle walked in soon after that. The first thing he did was switch the light off. Then he struck my head, and I fell immediately. Everything went dark. I regained consciousness a few minutes before you arrived, but could neither move nor speak. Oh God!’ he winced.
‘And Kailash Babu? Where is he?’ Feluda shouted.
‘No idea.’
Feluda turned and leapt out of the room. I followed a second later. There was no one in the drawing room. We lost no time in going upstairs, taking three steps at a time. Kailash Chowdhury’s bedroom was empty, although the bed looked as though it had been slept in. The wardrobe had been left open. Feluda pulled a drawer out and found the small blue velvet box. When he opened it, I was somewhat surprised to see that the blue beryl was still in it, quite intact.
By this time, Abanish Babu had arrived at the door, still looking pathetic. ‘Who has the key to the attic?’ Feluda demanded. He seemed taken aback by the question.
‘Th-that’s with my uncle!’ he said.
‘OK, let’s go up there,’ Feluda announced, grabbing Abanish Babu by his shoulders and dragging him up the dark staircase.
We reached the roof, only to find that the attic was locked. A padlock hung at the door. Anyone else would have been daunted by the sight. But Feluda stepped back, then ran forward and struck the door with his shoulder, using all his strength. On his third attempt, the door gave in noisily. A few old rusted nails also came off the wall. Even I was surprised by Feluda’s physical strength.
The room inside was dark. We stepped in cautiously. A few seconds later, when my eyes got used to the dark, I noticed another figure lying in one corner, bound and gagged exactly like Abanish Babu. Who was this? Kailash Chowdhury? Or was it Kedar?
Without a word, Feluda released him from his bondage and then carried him down to the bedroom. The man spoke only when he had been placed comfortably in his bed.
‘Are you . . . the . . .?’ he asked feebly, staring at Feluda.
‘Yes, sir. I am Pradosh Mitter, the detective. I suppose it was you who had written me that letter, but of course I never got the chance to meet you. Abanish Babu, could you get him some warm milk, please?’
I stared at the man in amazement. So this was the real Kailash Chowdhury! He propped himself up on a pillow and said, ‘I was physically strong, so I managed to survive somehow. Otherwise . . . in these four days . . .’
Feluda interrupted him, ‘Sh-sh. You mustn’t strain yourself.’
‘No, but I have to tell you a few things. Or you’ll never get the whole picture. There was no way I could meet you personally, you see, for he captured me the day I wrote to you. He dropped something in my tea, which made me virtually unconscious. He could never have overpowered me in any other way.’
‘And he began to pass himself off as Kailash Chowdhury from that day?’
Kailash Babu nodded his head sadly, ‘It is my own fault, Mr Mitter. I cannot blame anyone else. Our entire family suffers from one big weakness. We are all given to exaggerating the simplest things, and telling tall stories for no reason at all. I had bought that stone in Jabalpore for fifty rupees. I have no idea what possessed me to tell Kedar a strange story about a temple in a jungle, and a statue with that stone fixed on its forehead. He swallowed the whole thing, and began to eye that stone from that day. He envied me for many reasons. Perhaps he could not see why I should be so lucky, so successful in life, when he appeared to fail in everything he did. After all, we were identical twins, our fortunes should not have been so very different. Kedar had always been the black sheep—reckl
ess and unscrupulous. Once he got mixed up with a gang that made counterfeit money. He would have gone to jail, but I managed to save him.
‘Then he went abroad, after borrowing a great deal of money from me. I was glad. Good riddance, I thought. But only about a week ago, I came back home one day and found the stone missing. I never imagined for a moment that Kedar had come back and stolen it from my room. I rounded up all the servants and shouted at them, but nothing happened. Two days later, I wrote to you. Kedar turned up the same evening, and returned the stone to me. He was absolutely livid, for by this time, he had learnt that it had no value at all. He had been dreaming of getting at least a hundred thousand for it. He said he needed money desperately, would I give him twenty thousand? I refused. So he waited till I ordered a cup of tea, then managed to drug me and carry me up to the attic. When I woke, he told me he’d keep me there until I agreed to do as told. In the meantime, he’d pretend to be me, and he’d tell my office I was on sick leave.’
‘He obviously did not know you had written to me,’ Feluda added, ‘So when we turned up, he took ten minutes to write a fake anonymous note and then gave us a cock-and-bull story about an imaginary enemy. If he didn’t, he knew I’d get suspicious. At the same time, my presence in this house or in his life was highly undesirable. So he tried a threat on the telephone, then got in a car and tried to run us over.’
Kailash Chowdhury frowned. ‘That makes perfect sense,’ he said. ‘What doesn’t is why he left so suddenly. I did not agree to give him a single paisa. So why did he leave? Surely he didn’t leave empty-handed?’
‘No, no, no!’ Shouted a voice at the door. None of us had seen Abanish Babu return with a glass of milk. ‘Why should he leave empty-handed?’ he screamed, ‘He took my stamp! That precious, rare Victorian stamp has gone.’
Feluda stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘What! He took your stamp?’
‘Yes, yes. Kedar Mama has ruined me!’
‘How much did you say it was worth?’
‘Twenty thousand.’
‘But—’ Feluda turned to Abanish Babu and lowered his voice, ‘according to the catalogue, Abanish Babu, it cannot possibly fetch more than fifty rupees.’
Abanish Babu went visibly pale.
‘The Chowdhurys are prone to exaggerate everything to make an impression,’ Feluda continued, ‘and you are their nephew. So presumably, you inherited the same trait. Am I right?’
Abanish Babu began to look like a child who had lost his favourite toy. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ he said with a tragic air. ‘I spent three years going through four thousand stamped envelopes. Not one of them was any good, except that one. Oh, all right, it wasn’t much, but people believed my story. I got them interested!’
Feluda started laughing. ‘Never mind, Abanish Babu,’ he said, thumping his back, ‘I think your uncle is going to be suitably punished, and that should give you some comfort. Let me ring the airport. You see, I had guessed he might try to escape this morning. So I rang Indian Airlines, and they told me he had a booking on their morning flight to Bombay. I began to suspect your uncle only when he said he couldn’t remember having bought a new bottle of Dettol just a few days ago.’
The police had no problem in arresting Kedar Chowdhury; and Abanish Babu’s stamp was duly returned to him. Feluda was paid so handsomely by Kailash Babu that, even after eating out three times, and seeing a couple of films with me, he still had a substantial amount left in his wallet.
Today, as we sat having tea at home, I said to him, ‘Feluda, I have been thinking this through, and have reached a conclusion. Will you please tell me if I am right?’
‘OK. What have you been thinking?’
‘It’s about Kailash Chowdhury’s father. I think he knew what Kedar had done. I mean, maybe a father can tell the difference between identical twins. Perhaps that’s the reason why he was throwing such murderous glances at his son.’
‘That may or may not be the case. But since your thoughts appear to be the same as mine on this subject, I am hereby rewarding you for your intelligence.’
So saying, Feluda coolly helped himself to a jalebi from my plate.
The Anubis Mystery
‘Who rang you, Feluda?’ I asked, realizing instantly that I shouldn’t have, for Feluda was doing yoga. He never spoke until he had finished every exercise, including sheershasan. He had started this about six months ago. The result was already noticeable. Feluda seemed a lot fitter, and openly admitted that yoga had done him a world of good.
I glanced at the clock. Feluda’s reply came seven and a half minutes later. ‘You don’t know him,’ he said, rising from the floor. Really, Feluda could be most annoying at times. So what if I didn’t know the man? He could tell me his name, surely?
‘Do you know him?’ I asked impatiently. Feluda began chewing chick-peas which had been soaked overnight. This was a part of his keep-fit programme.
‘I didn’t know him before,’ he replied, ‘but I do now.’
Our Puja holidays had started a few days ago. Baba had gone to Jamshedpur on tour. Only Ma, Feluda and I were at home. We didn’t plan to go out of town this time. I didn’t mind staying at home as long as I could be with Feluda. He had become quite well known as an amateur detective. So it shouldn’t be surprising at all, I thought, if he got involved in another case. My only fear was that he might one day refuse to take me with him. But that hadn’t happened so far. Perhaps there was an advantage in being seen with a young boy. No one could guess easily that he was an investigator, if we travelled together.
‘I bet you’re dying to know who made that phone call,’ Feluda added. This was an old technique. If he knew I was anxious for information, he never came to the point without beating about the bush and creating a lot of suspense. I tried to be casual. ‘Well, if that phone call had anything to do with a mystery, naturally I’d be interested,’ I said lightly.
Feluda slipped on a striped shirt. ‘The man’s called Nilmoni Sanyal,’ he finally revealed, ‘He lives on Roland Road, and wants to see me urgently. He didn’t tell me why, but he sounded sort of nervous.’
‘When do you have to go?’
‘I told him I’d be there by nine. It’s going to take us at least ten minutes by taxi, so let’s go!’
On our way to Roland Road, I said to Feluda, ‘But suppose this Mr Sanyal is a crook? Suppose he’s called you over to his house only to cause you some harm? You’ve never met him before, have you?’
‘No,’ said Feluda, looking out of the window. ‘There is always a risk in going out on a case like this. But mind you, if his sole intention was to cause me bodily harm, he wouldn’t invite me to his house. It would be far more risky for him if the police came to know. A hired goonda could do the job much more simply.’
Last year, Feluda had won the first prize in the All India Rifle Competition. It was amazing how accurate his aim had become after only three months of practice. Now he possessed a revolver, although he didn’t carry it in his pocket all the time, unlike detectives in books.
‘Do you know what Mr Sanyal does for a living?’ I asked.
‘No. All I know about the man is that he takes paan, is probably slightly deaf and tends to say “Er . . .” before starting a sentence.’ I asked no more questions after this.
We soon reached Nilmoni Sanyal’s house. The meter showed one rupee and seventy paise. Feluda gave a two-rupee note to the driver and made a gesture indicating he could keep the change. We climbed out of the taxi and walked up to the front door. Feluda pressed the bell. The house had two storeys. It didn’t appear to be very old. There was a front garden, but it looked a bit unkempt and neglected. A man who was probably the chowkidar opened the door and took Feluda’s card from him. We were then ushered into the living room. I was surprised to see how well-furnished it was. It was obvious that a lot of money had been spent on acquiring the furniture and paintings, flower vases, and old artefacts displayed in a glass case. Someone had arranged these with a great deal of care
.
Mr Sanyal entered the room a few minutes later. He was wearing a loose kurta over what must have been his sleeping-suit pyjamas. His fingers were loaded with rings. He was of medium height, clean-shaven and looked as if he had been sleeping. I tried to guess his age. He didn’t seem to be more than fifty. ‘You are Mr Pradosh Mitter?’ he asked. ‘I had no idea you were so young.’ Feluda smiled politely. Then he pointed at me and said, ‘This is my cousin. He’s a very intelligent boy, but if you’d rather speak to me alone, I can send him out.’
I cast an anxious glance at Mr Sanyal, but he said, ‘No, no, I don’t mind at all. Er . . . would you like some tea or coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Very well then, allow me to tell you why I asked you to come here. But before I do so, I think I ought to tell you something about myself. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I am reasonably wealthy, and am fond of antiques and other beautiful things. What you may find difficult to believe is that I wasn’t born rich. I did not inherit any money; nor have I got a job, or a business.’
Nilmoni Babu stopped, and looked at us expectantly. ‘Lottery?’ said Feluda.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, did you win a lottery?’
‘Exactly, exactly!’ Nilmoni Babu shouted like an excited child. ‘I won two hundred and fifty thousand rupees in the Rangers Lottery eleven years ago. I have managed—pretty well, I must admit—all these years on the strength of that. I built this house eight years ago. Now you may wonder how I fill my time, do I not have an occupation at all? The thing is, you see, I have only one main occupation. I spend most of my time going to auction houses and buying the kind of things this room is filled with.’ He waved his arms about to indicate what he meant. Then he continued, ‘What happened recently may not have a direct connection with these objects of art in my collection, but I cannot be sure about that. Look—’ he took out a few pieces of paper from his pocket and spread them out. There were three pieces in all, with something scribbled on them. A closer look showed me that instead of words, there were rows of little pictures. Some of them I could recognize—there were pictures of owls, snakes, the sun and the human eye. Others were more difficult to figure out. But the whole thing seemed familiar somehow. Where had I seen something like this before? In a book?