Byomkesh munched on a savoury for a few minutes, then suddenly asked after a sip of tea, ‘Does anyone in the village own a horse?’

Balaram-babu’s eyes began to protrude, while the young men exchanged glances. ‘No one in the village owns a horse,’ Balaram-babu answered eventually.

‘Anyone have a gun-licence?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I’ve been told of a young man named Nadu, I don’t know what his full name is. I’d like to ask him a question or two.’

Balaram-babu looked at the young men, who exchanged glances again. Then Patal said, ‘Nadu left for his wife’s parents’ house with her yesterday.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘In Kailashpur. You have to take a train; it’s three or four stations from Santalgola.’

Byomkesh finished his tea, lost in thought. Nadu may have been innocent, but why had he fled? Was he afraid? Not surprising—who would not be apprehensive if their name were dragged into a murder?

Suddenly one of the young men said, ‘There’s Sadananda-da.’

We turned our heads as one. A gentleman was approaching along the road. Although he looked rustic, his attire was far from rustic; he was dressed in a silk kurta and a warm shawl, with burnished shoes on his feet and a canvas bag in his hand.

‘Have you seen how nattily Sadananda-da’s dressed?’ whispered one of the young men to another. ‘He must have been to Calcutta.’

As he was passing us, Patal called out, ‘Have you heard what’s happened, Sadananda-da?’

Sadananda-babu stopped, observed Byomkesh and me, and asked, ‘What’s happened?’

‘Amra’s died,’ answered Patal.

‘Died!’ Unadulterated surprise surfaced in Sadananda-babu’s eyes. ‘Died of what?’

‘He wasn’t ill,’ Patal told him. ‘He was shot dead. No one knows who killed him.’

Sadananda-babu’s face turned to stone, he stared fixedly. ‘You’d better go home now since you’ve only just arrived, you can hear the whole story later,’ Patal said.

Sadananda-babu hesitated for a few moments before proceeding on his way slowly.

After he had disappeared from sight, Byomkesh asked Patal, ‘Didn’t Sadananda-babu have a canvas bag and a steel trunk when he left?’

‘You’re right,’ replied Patal, ‘that’s what Hiru the headman had said. Where did he leave his trunk?’

No one had a suitable answer. Looking around him, Byomkesh rose to his feet. ‘It’s getting on for evening, we’ll be on our way now. It would have helped to have had a word with Sadananda-babu, but he’s only just returned …’

Before Byomkesh could finish, a loud explosion shook us momentarily. Then Byomkesh leapt on to the road and raced towards Sadananda Sur’s house. We followed. That was where the sound had come from.

Arriving at Sadananda Sur’s house, we discovered that the main door had collapsed on the front terrace, on which lay Sadananda Sur’s blood-soaked body. The stench of gunpowder was spreading on the evening breeze.

Byomkesh and I climbed on the terrace, while those following us gathered at one corner and stared in round-eyed silence.

It was clear at a glance that