We passed the night in wakefulness. Fortunately there were no disturbances. Over a cup of tea in the early hours of the morning, Byomkesh’s tongue finally loosened, and I learnt the identity of our unknown bird.

We went out at seven in the morning. Byomkesh wrapped a shawl around himself to ensure that his pistol did not attract attention.

There was no flurry of activity in the shops or on the road yet. Only a bullock cart or two, along with a horse-drawn carriage here and there, were moving about. We entered Badridas the Marwari’s mill.

He was sitting on his haunches outside his house, brushing his teeth, a jar of water by his side. He did not notice us at first, but when we came closer, his eyes began to roll like a trapped bird fluttering its wings desperately in a cage; his rustic toothbrush made of a twig slipped from his fingers.

‘You’ll have to come with us, Sethji,’ said Byomkesh.

‘Wha … at!’ asked Badridas, half-rising from his position before falling back.

‘We’re going to conduct a search,’ explained Byomkesh. ‘As an eminent citizen hereabouts, we want you as a witness.’

‘Oh no …’ he protested, taking the jar of water and retreating rapidly towards a specific destination.

We left again. It took about five minutes to reach Bishwanath Mallik’s mill.

We met chief accountant Nilkantha Adhikari near the gate. ‘So early?’ he enquired, deferentially touching his forehead with joined palms.

‘Where’s your master?’ queried Byomkesh.

‘In his room, having a cup of tea.’

‘Come, let us pay him a visit.’

‘Very well.’

Biswanath Mallik was seated at the table in his room, breakfasting on bread and butter and a half-boiled egg; his jaws ceased their mastication at our sight. An unnatural noise emerged from his throat: ‘Byomkesh-babu!’

‘We had no choice but to be here early in the morning,’ Byomkesh informed him. ‘But there is no hurry, do finish your meal.’

‘What do you want?’ slurred Bishu-babu, pushing his egg away. His gaunt face was slowly losing colour.

‘I had concluded yesterday that it would be pointless to search your mill,’ Byomkesh answered. ‘But today I feel otherwise.’

The veins on Bishu-babu’s temple began to throb—he appeared on the verge of exploding. But he restrained himself with supreme effort, and an expression resembling a smile appeared on his lips. ‘Why did you change your mind suddenly?’ he asked.

‘I have my reasons,’ responded Byomkesh. ‘I did not go to Ramdihi last evening, I was hidden near the cotton tree in that forest of yours. Three of the village lads were with me. What we saw last night has compelled me to change my mind, Bishwanath-babu.’

Bishwanatah-babu’s eyes flared for an instant. Lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand, he lazily extracted a key-ring from his breast-pocket and twirled it around his finger, asking, ‘And what if I do not allow my mill to be searched?’

‘Your willingness is irrelevant,’ said Byomkesh. ‘I have a search warrant.’

‘Let me see your warrant.’

As Byomkesh put his hand in his pocket, Bishu-babu attempted to unlock his drawer in a flash with the key. When Byomkesh brought his hand out of his pocket, it held a pistol. ‘Do not open the drawer,’ he said.

Bishu Mallik turned his head like a cornered wild cat; at the sight of the pistol in Byomkesh’s hand he abandoned his attempt to open the drawer, but a threatening hiss emerged from his throat.

‘Blow the whistle, Ajit,’ ordered Byomkesh.

I was prepared with the police whistle in my pocket—I blew it loudly.

Within a minute the room filled with Inspector Sukhamay Samanta and his followers. ‘Arrest Bishwanath Mallik and handcuff him, Inspector Samanta,’ instructed Byomkesh. ‘He has the key to the drawer, open it. Be careful, the weapons are in there.’

Bishwanath Mallik could not be arrested easily—he bit and scratched like a wild cat. It took five or six people to overcome him eventually and clamp the handcuffs on his wrists. When the drawer was opened, it revealed twenty-six .38 automatics, innumerable cartridges and fourteen hand grenades. They were worth at least twenty thousand rupees in the black market.

Surrounded by the police, Bishwanath Mallik pulsed with impotent rage. Suddenly he said aggressively, ‘All right, I deal in stolen arms. But is there any proof that I murdered Amrito and Sadananda Sur?’

‘The court will decide whether there is,’ answered Byomkesh calmly. ‘One of these pistols is the one with which you killed Amrito. The bullet was found in Amrito’s body. It will not be difficult to prove in a ballistic examination.’

Bishwanath Mallik’s eyes glazed over, striking himself on the forehead with his handcuffs, he collapsed.

At three that afternoon, we were stretched out on two beds in the rest house after lunch. Patal, Dashu and Gopal had departed after repeated acts of homage to Byomkesh’s skills. Having dispatched the accused to headquarters, Inspector Sukhamay Samanta was trying to prove to the other policemen at the police station over a heaped plate of egg fritters that his part in the apprehension of the suspected murderer was not insignificant. After a brief lull in activities, the town was back to its usual bustle: one for one and two for two. A pair of unknowns named Amrito and Sadananda Sur may have faced untimely deaths, but the regular flow of life had not been interrupted. It would not be, either, even if their assailant were to hang at the gallows. One for one and two for two … rest in piece, both of you …

Looking at the ceiling, Byomkesh sighed; ‘I have no regrets over Sadananda Sur’s death,’ he said, ‘but young Amrito died quite unnecessarily.’

‘Tell me the whole story from the beginning,’ I said.

‘This story begins with Sadananda Sur,’ said Byomkesh. ‘Had it not been for him, we would not have succeeded in apprehending the illegal arms dealer. We can start with him.

‘From what I have understood of