The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (60 page)

The cook at the Calcutta Lodge produced an excellent chicken curry. He also served fish, which was equally tasty, but Lalmohan Babu did not touch it.

‘After having seen Machchli Baba this evening,’ he informed us, ‘I couldn’t eat fish, ever again.’

‘Why?’ Feluda laughed, ‘would that make you feel you were chewing the Baba’s flesh? Do you suppose Machchli Baba himself abstains from consuming what you are proposing to give up?’

‘Doesn’t he?’

‘Well, you have heard he spends most of his time in water. So what could he possibly live on except fish? Certain species of fish eat other fish, didn’t you know?’

Lalmohan Babu did not say anything. I felt quite sure he’d go back to being his fish-eating self from the next day.

After an eventful day, I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. But that was not to be. Our roommate, Jeevan Babu (short and fat and with a beard, just as Feluda had predicted), turned out to be a champion snorer. I spent most of the night tossing and turning in my bed, wondering why, just this once, Feluda could not have been proved wrong.

The next morning, as we were coming out of the hotel after breakfast, we met Niranjan Babu. Feluda exchanged pleasantries before asking, ‘Do you happen to know where Maganlal Meghraj lives?’

‘Meghraj? As far as I know, he has two houses, both in the heart of Banaras. One of them is not far from the Vishwanath temple. Anyone will show you the way.’

Niranjan Babu told us one more thing. Machchli Baba was going to be in Banaras for another six days. Feluda’s famous lopsided smile peeped out at this, but he said nothing.

We arrived at the Ghoshal residence on the dot of eight. Trilochan opened the gate for us with a bright smile and a smart salute. He must be about seventy, I thought; but he certainly did not look it. His back was ramrod straight, and the size of his moustache most impressive.

Vikas Babu came out to greet us. ‘I saw you arrive,’ he said. He had probably just finished shaving, for there was a little soap stuck under his right ear.

‘Would you like to come in? Old Mr Ghoshal is waiting for you. You wanted to see him in particular, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but before we do that, do you mind telling me a few things?’

‘No, not at all.’

Feluda asked a few rapid questions and noted the answers in his notebook. The following points emerged:

1. Maganlal came to meet Mr Ghoshal at his house on the 10th of October.

2. Mr Ghoshal took his wife and child to see Machchli Baba on the 15th, at 7.30 p.m. He returned a little more than an hour later. The figure of Ganesh was stolen during that time.

3. In the house between 7.30 and 8.30 p.m. were Umanath Ghoshal’s father, Ambika Ghoshal, Vikas Sinha, Trilochan, two bearers, a maid, a cook, a mali and the two artists. Assuming that no one came in from outside, it had to be one of these people who had taken the Ganesh out of the chest in Ambika Ghoshal’s room.

Feluda put his notebook away and said, ‘You must forgive me for this, but I cannot possibly leave anyone out, not even you.’

‘Yes, I understand that. I’ve already had to face the police. I suppose you want to know what I was doing in the house during that time?’

‘Yes, but there’s something else I’d like to ask first.’

‘All right. But let’s go to my room.’

We went into the house. A staircase went up from the front hall. Vikas Babu’s room was on the left on the ground floor.

‘You must have known about the Ganesh,’ Feluda remarked, taking a chair.

‘Yes, of course. I’ve known about it for ages.’

‘Were you at home when Maganlal came to visit Umanath Babu?’

‘Yes. In fact, I received Maganlal and took him to the living room. Then I got one of the bearers to go upstairs and inform Mr Ghoshal.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I returned to my room.’

‘Did you know the two had an argument?’

‘No. You cannot hear from my room anything that’s said in the living room. Besides, I was playing the radio.’

‘Were you in your room the evening the Ganesh got stolen?’

‘Yes, for most of the time. When Mr Ghoshal left with his wife and Ruku, I walked with them up to the gate. From there I went to look at Shashi Babu and his son working in the veranda. Shashi Babu appeared a little unwell. So I came back to my room to fetch some medicine for him.’

‘Homoeopathic medicine? I can see a couple of books on homoeopathy on that shelf.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I gave him a dose of Pulsetilla 30.’

‘And then did you return to your room?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I listened to the radio. The Lucknow station was playing records of Begum Akhtar.’

‘How much time do you think you spent listening to the radio?’

‘Well, the radio had been left on for some time. I was reading a magazine—the
Illustrated Weekly
—and was listening to the music at the same time.’

‘Did you stay in your room until Mr Ghoshal returned?’

‘Yes. You see, a few members of the Bengali Club were supposed to be calling to invite Mr Ghoshal to their play,
Kabuliwala
. I was waiting for them.’

‘Did they come?’

‘Yes, but much later; well after 9 p.m.’

Feluda pointed at the staircase. ‘Can you remember seeing anyone going up or coming down those stairs?’

‘No. But there is another staircase at the back of the house. If anyone came in or went out using this other staircase, I could not have seen them.’

‘Thank you,’ said Feluda and rose. Vikas Sinha then took us to meet Ambika Ghoshal.

We found him sitting by the window in an easy chair, reading the
Statesman
. The sound of our footsteps made him look up and peer at us over the golden frame of his glasses. His head was quite bald, except for a few strands of snowy white hair around his ears. Knitted in a frown were dark, bushy eyebrows, flecked with grey.

Vikas Babu made the introductions. Ambika Ghoshal looked straight at Lalmohan Babu and asked, ‘Are you from the police?’

Taken aback, Lalmohan Babu began to stammer, ‘No-no, I . . . I’m nothing!’

‘Nothing? You’re nothing? Is that just modesty, or . . . ?’

‘No, what I mean is, I am not the d-d-d . . .’

Vikas Babu came to his rescue. ‘This is Pradosh Mitter,’ he said, pointing at Feluda, ‘a well-known private investigator. Since the police couldn’t catch the thief, Mr Ghoshal felt. . .’

Ambika Ghoshal turned his eyes on Feluda. ‘What did my son tell you? Did he say our whole family is going to be destroyed because the Ganesh has gone? Nonsense! How old is he? Not even forty. And I am seventy-three. Does he think he knows more than me about the history of the Ghoshal family? Pooh! How have we survived all these years? How did we manage to do so well? Not because the Ganesh protected us, but because of our own intelligence and hard work. My son is a shrewd businessman all right, but I fear he should have been born a hundred years ago. I hear he’s even thinking of adopting a guru!’

‘Does that mean you have no regrets about the Ganesh’s disappearance?’

Ambika Babu took off his glasses and trained his pale eyes on Feluda once more. ‘Did Umanath tell you there was a diamond on the figure of that Ganesh?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Did he tell you what diamond it was?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘There you are, you see? He didn’t tell you because he didn’t know! Have you ever heard of the Vanaspati diamond?’

‘You mean the one that has a greenish tinge?’

Ambika Babu sat up. When he spoke again, his tone had softened. ‘Oh, I see. So you do know about these things, then. That kind of diamond is extremely rare. But that doesn’t worry me so much; nor do I believe that the Ganesh brought us luck, or watched over us, or any such thing. What I am sorry about is that it was a work of art. And, as such, it is a pity—a great pity—to have lost it.’

‘Was the key kept in the drawer of that table over there?’ asked Feluda. A few yards away from where Ambika Babu was sitting, between two windows was a table. The chest was in the opposite corner. Between the two was a large, old-fashioned bed.

Instead of giving Feluda an answer, Ambika Babu asked another question.

‘Did my son also tell you that I take opium?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Very seldom had I heard Feluda speak to anyone so politely.

‘I am generally dead to the world in the evening. So if anyone came into my room after seven, I wouldn’t know.’

Feluda walked over to the table and pulled at the drawer carefully. It opened smoothly, without making a sound. Feluda pushed it back and made his way to the chest. Like the bed, it was a huge affair.

‘The police searched it thoroughly, I presume?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Vikas Babu replied. ‘They even looked for fingerprints, but found nothing.’

We took our leave and came out of Ambika Babu’s room. We passed through a smaller room on the right, and found ourselves on a large veranda with a marble floor. From here, I could see the river in the distance through a number of neem and tamarind trees. The skyline was dotted with several temple-tops.

I had started to count these, and Feluda and Vikas Babu had both lit cigarettes, when something came floating down from the roof. Lalmohan Babu reached out and caught it. It proved to be a chewing gum wrapper.

‘Mr Rukmini Kumar appears to be on the roof,’ said Feluda. ‘Where else could he play? He’s now a prisoner in his own house.’ Vikas Sinha smiled. ‘He has a room of his own on the roof, you see.’

‘Could we see it?’

‘Of course. Come with me, please. I can show you the other staircase as well.’

It turned out to be a spiral staircase that went straight up to the roof. Ruku’s room was on one side where the stairs ended. We found him kneeling on the floor, getting a kite ready for flying. He dropped the kite and sat back as he saw us arrive.

It was obvious that his room was really an old storeroom, filled with rusted trunks, packing cases, torn mattresses and piles of old newspapers and magazines.

‘Are you a detective?’ asked Ruku, looking at Feluda steadily. From the way his jaw moved, it was obvious that he had chewing gum in his mouth.

‘How did Captain Spark get this information?’ Feluda said with a smile.

‘My assistant told me,’ Ruku replied gravely, picking up his kite once more.

‘Who is your assistant?’

‘Captain Spark’s assistant is Little Raxit, didn’t you know? What kind of a sleuth are you?’

Lalmohan Babu cleared his throat. ‘Khudiram Raxit,’ he explained. ‘Height: four-and-a-half feet. Captain Spark’s right hand. He calls him Little Raxit.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Feluda said quickly. ‘Yet another creation of Akrur Nandi?’

‘Yes.’

Feluda turned to Ruku. ‘Where is your assistant?’

Vikas Babu replied this time. ‘Er . . . I am playing that role for the moment,’ he said, looking somewhat embarrassed.

‘Do you have a revolver?’ Ruku asked suddenly.

‘Yes,’ Feluda answered.

‘What kind?’

‘Colt.’

‘And a harpoon?’

‘No, I haven’t got a harpoon.’

‘Don’t you go looking for prey under water?’

‘No, I haven’t had to do that yet.’

‘Do you have a dagger?’

‘No, I haven’t got a dagger, either. Not even one like this.’ Feluda pointed at a plastic dagger that hung on the wall. We had seen it dangling from Ruku’s waist the day before.

‘I will kill Shaitan Singh with that dagger.’

‘Very well,’ Feluda sat down on the floor beside Ruku. ‘But what about your Ganesh? Did Shaitan Singh take it? Or was it someone else?’

‘Shaitan Singh could never get into this house.’

‘If Captain Spark hadn’t gone to visit Machchli Baba that evening, the Ganesh would still be safe, wouldn’t it?’

‘Machchli Baba is as dark as Gongorilla of Congo.’

‘Well done!’ Lalmohan Babu spoke suddenly. ‘Have you read
The Gorilla’s Grasp
, Ruku Babu?’

Gongorilla was the name of a ninety-foot-high gorilla in Lalmohan Babu’s book
The Gorilla’s Grasp
. He freely admitted to having pinched the idea from King Kong. ‘That book, you see,’ he continued eagerly, ‘was written by—’ He broke off at a stern glance from Feluda.

But Ruku paid no attention. ‘Our Ganesh is with a king,’ he declared. ‘Shaitan Singh couldn’t find it, ever. No one could. Not even Daku Ganderia.’

‘Oh no!’ sighed Lalmohan Babu. ‘Akrur Nandi again!’

Vikas Babu laughed. ‘You’d need to read every book in the adventure series to follow his conversation,’ he said.

Feluda was still sitting on the floor, gazing thoughtfully at Ruku, as though he was trying to make some sense out of his apparently meaningless chatter.

‘Which king are you talking about, Ruku? Where does he live?’ he asked softly. Ruku’s reply came at once.

‘Africa,’ he said.

We spoke to one other person before leaving Mr Ghoshal’s house. It was Shashi Bhushan Pal, the artist. He was painting the statue of Kartik when we found him. A man in his mid-sixties, he said he had spent nearly fifty years making idols of Durga and other gods and goddesses.

‘We heard about your illness,’ said Feluda. ‘I hope you’re feeling better now?’

‘Yes, thank you. Sinha Babu’s medicine helped a lot,’ Shashi Babu replied, without stopping his work.

‘When do you think you can finish the whole thing?’

‘Puja begins the day after tomorrow. I hope to get everything ready by tomorrow evening. I’m getting old, you see, I can’t work as fast as I used to.’

‘Even so, your work is exquisite.’

‘Thank you, babu. People only look at the goddess. Who thinks of the poor artist’s hard work?’

‘Something from this house got stolen the day Vikas Babu gave you the medicine. Are you aware of that?’

The brush in Shashi Babu’s hand trembled a little. His voice had a slight catch in it as he made his reply. ‘I have been working in this house for so many years. Never did I think one day I would be questioned by the police! When I do my work, babu, I forget everything else. Ask Sinha Babu, ask the little boy, ask anyone who’s seen me at work. I don’t leave this veranda for a minute!’