After the manager left, Byomkesh began to inspect the furniture in the room. Nearly all the rooms in this boarding- house were quite large—two or three people shared each one. But this was a smaller room, designed for a single occupant. The rent was also higher than the norm. As a result, the room stayed empty most of the time. It was ideal for someone who wished to live in a mess and yet maintain his privacy.

There was nothing in the room except for a couple of trunks and bedding. Byomkesh scrutinized the bed and remarked, ‘It is winter and yet he hasn’t taken either the blanket or the pillow with him. Do you know what that means?’

‘No. What does it mean?’

‘He must have another set waiting elsewhere.’

Byomkesh turned the bed upside down, but it yielded nothing.

I asked, ‘Are you expecting to find the matchbox here? You think he would leave it behind in his room?’

‘No—he wouldn’t have come back then. I am looking for his present address—something that will indicate his real name and address. I suppose even you have figured out by now that his real name isn’t Byomkesh Bose?’

‘Er ... I mean... yes, of course I have. But what is the reason for adopting that particular alias?’

Byomkesh flopped down upon the bed and began to look around him as he said, ‘The reason is revenge. Ajit, the psychology of revenge is very strange. Since you are a writer, you know a lot about human psychology. So you probably know that revenge accomplished from behind the scenes brings no joy to the avenger; with each and every blow he wants to announce that he is having his revenge. If the enemy fails to discern the source of the blow, half the fun of revenge is gone. That is why this gentleman had to announce his presence to me. If this had been the stone age instead of the civilized twentieth century, such dissimilation would not have been necessary—he could have simply come and bludgeoned me with a rock. But in this day and age that doesn’t work—it can earn him the death penalty. But, though the mode of revenge may have changed, the mindset remains the same. It was this emotion that had made him rush to Srirampore for a glimpse of my dead visage. ‘ Byomkesh gave a whimsical laugh, ‘Do you remember the letter? It was meant for me—he had written it himself. Behind the words dripping with gratitude was a simple message. He made it as clear as possible that he had not forgotten anything and was eager to repay my debt. We, of course, misread the letter—but I had a doubt. Perhaps you remember.’

I saw the words in the letter in a new light. I said, ‘I do remember. But who knew then that... tell me, the man is an old enemy of yours, right?’

‘There is no doubt about that.’

‘But you cannot figure