The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (14 page)

Feluda said only one thing before switching off his light, ‘Did you know, Topshe, that people who send anonymous notes and threaten others on the telephone are basically cowards?’ It was perhaps because of this remark that I finally fell asleep.

Feluda rang Kailash Chowdhury the following morning and told him to relax and stay at home. Feluda himself would take care of everything.

‘When will you go to Victoria Memorial?’ I asked him.

‘The same time as yesterday. By the way, do you have a sketch pad and pens and other drawing material?’

I felt totally taken aback. ‘Why? What do I need those for?’

‘Never mind. Have you got them or not?’

‘Yes, of course. I have my school drawing book.’

‘Good. Take it with you. I’d want you to stand at a little distance from the lilies, and draw something—the trees, the building, the flowers, anything. I shall be your drawing teacher.’

Feluda could draw very well. In fact, I knew he could draw a reasonable portrait of a man after seeing him only once. The role of a drawing teacher would suit him perfectly.

Since the days were short in winter, we reached the Victoria Memorial a few minutes before four o’clock. There were even fewer people around today. Three Nepali ayahs were roaming idly with their charges in perambulators. An Indian family—possibly Marwaris—and a couple of old men were strolling about, but there was no one else in sight. At some distance away from the gate, closer to the compound wall, stood two men under a tree. Feluda glanced at them, and then nudged me quietly. That meant those two were his friends from the police. They were in plain clothes, but were probably armed. Feluda knew quite a lot of people in the police.

I parked myself opposite the rows of lilies and began sketching, although I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing. Feluda moved around with a pair of binoculars in his hands, occasionally grabbing my pad to make corrections and scolding me for making mistakes. Then he would move away again, and peer through the binoculars.

The sun was about to set. The clock in a church nearby struck five. It would soon get cold. The Marwaris left in a big car. The ayahs,
too, began to push their perambulators towards the gate. The traffic on Lower Circular Road had intensified. I could hear frequent horns from cars and buses, caught in the evening rush. Feluda returned to me and was about to sit down on the grass, when something near the gate seemed to attract his attention. I followed his gaze quickly, but could see no one except a man wrapped in a brown shawl, who was standing by the road outside, quite a long way away from the gate. Feluda placed the binoculars to his eyes, had a quick look, then passed them to me. ‘Take a look,’ he whispered.

‘You mean that man over there? The one wearing a shawl?’

‘Hm.’

One glance through the binoculars brought the man clearly into view, as if he was standing only a few feet away. I gave an involuntary gasp. ‘Why . . . this is Kailash Chowdhury himself!’

‘Right. Perhaps he’s come to look for us. Let’s go.’

But the man began walking away just as we started to move. He was gone by the time we came out of the gate. ‘Let’s go to his house,’ Feluda suggested, ‘I don’t think he saw us. He must have gone back feeling worried.’

There was no chance of finding a taxi at this hour, so we began walking towards Chowringhee in the hope of catching a tram. The road was heavily lined with cars. Soon, we found ourselves outside the Calcutta Club. What happened here was so unexpected and frightening that even as I write about it, I can feel myself break into a cold sweat. I was walking by Feluda’s side when, without the slightest warning, he pulled me sharply away from the road. Then he leapt aside himself, as a speeding car missed him by inches.

‘What the devil—!’ Feluda exclaimed. ‘I missed the number of that car.’

It was too late to do anything about that. Heaven knew where the car had come from, or what had possessed its driver to drive so fast in this traffic. But it had disappeared totally from sight. I had fallen on the pavement, my sketch pad and pencils had scattered in different directions. I picked myself up, without bothering to look for them. If Feluda hadn’t seen that car coming and acted promptly, there was no doubt that both of us would have been crushed under its wheels.

Feluda did not utter a single word in the tram. He just sat looking grim. The first thing he said on reaching Mr Chowdhury’s house was: ‘Didn’t you see us?’

Mr Chowdhury was sitting in a sofa in the drawing room. He seemed quite taken aback by our sudden arrival. ‘See you?’ he faltered. ‘Where? What are you talking about?’

‘You mean to say you didn’t go to Victoria Memorial?’

‘Who, me? Good heavens, no! I didn’t leave the house at all. In fact, I spent all afternoon in my bedroom upstairs, feeling sick with worry. I’ve only just come down.’

‘Well then, Mr Chowdhury, do you have an identical twin?’

Mr Chowdhury’s jaw fell open. ‘Oh God, didn’t I tell you the other day?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘About Kedar? He’s my twin.’

Feluda sat down quickly. Mr Chowdhury’s face seemed to have lost all colour.

‘Why, did you . . . did you see Kedar? Was he there?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes. It couldn’t possibly have been anyone else.’

‘My God!’

‘Why do you say that? Does your twin have a claim on that stone?’

Mr Chowdhury suddenly went limp, as though all the energy in his body had been drained out. He leant against the arm of his sofa, and sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘yes, he does. You see, it was Kedar who found the stone first. I saw the temple, but Kedar was the one who noticed the stone fixed on the statue.’

‘What happened next?’

‘Well, I took it from him. I mean, I pestered and badgered him until he got fed up and gave it to me. In a way, it was the right thing to do, for Kedar would simply have sold it and wasted the money. When I learnt just how valuable the stone was, I did not tell Kedar. To be honest, when he left the country, I felt quite relieved. But now . . . perhaps he’s come back because he couldn’t find work abroad. Maybe he wants to sell the stone and start a business of his own.’

Feluda was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Do you have any idea what he might do next?’

‘No. But I do know this: he will come and meet me here. I have stopped going out of the house, and I did not keep the stone where I was told to. There is no other way left for him now. If he wants the stone, he has to come here.’

‘Would you like me to stay here? I might be able to help.’

‘No, thank you. That will not be necessary. I have now made up my mind, Mr Mitter. If Kedar wants the stone, he can have it. I will simply hand it over to him. It’s simply a matter of waiting until he turns up. You have already done so much, putting your life at risk. I am most grateful to you. If you send me your bill, I will let you have a cheque.’

‘Thank you. You’re right about the risk. We nearly got run over by a car.’

I had realized a while ago that one of my elbows was rather badly grazed, but had been trying to keep it out of sight. As we rose to take our leave, Feluda’s eyes fell on it. ‘Hey, you’re hurt, aren’t you?’ he exclaimed, ‘your elbow is bleeding! If you don’t mind, Mr Chowdhury, I think Tapesh should put some Dettol on the wound, or it might get septic. Do you—?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Chowdhury got up quickly. ‘You are quite right. The streets are filthy, aren’t they? Wait, let me ask Abanish.’

We followed Mr Chowdhury to Abanish Babu’s room. ‘Do we have any Dettol in the house, Abanish?’ Mr Chowdhury asked. Abanish Babu gave him a startled glance.

‘Why, I saw you bring a new bottle only a week ago!’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me it’s finished already?’

Mr Chowdhury gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Yes, of course. I totally forgot. I am going mad.’

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.