Byomkesh went out at around three-thirty in the afternoon. I had no idea where he went, or why. It was dark when he returned. I was waiting for him and so was the tea. As soon as he came in, Putiram brought in some snacks. We ate in complete silence. By force of habit, it didn’t feel right if we didn’t have our evening tea together.

Leaning back in his chair and lighting a cheroot, Byomkesh broke the silence first, ‘What kind of person did Ashubabu strike you as?’

A trifle surprised, I said, ‘Why do you ask? I thought he was a decent man—quite mild and amicable—’

Byomkesh said, ‘And his moral character?’

I replied, ‘From his animosity towards his nephew, the alcoholic, I would say he is quite upright. Moreover, he is aging. He isn’t married. He may have sown his wild oats in his youth, but this is hardly the right age for all that.’

Byomkesh smirked, ‘It may not be the right age, but that doesn’t seem to have prevented him. The house in Jorasanko where Ashubabu goes every day for some musical soirée happens to be a woman’s house. Actually, it would be wrong to say that it is her house because it is Ashubabu who pays the rent. It is also probably incorrect to call it a musical soirée— surely it takes more than two people to make a soirée.’

‘What are you saying! So the old man is quite a colourful character, eh?’

‘There’s more. Ashubabu has been supporting this lady for the last twelve or thirteen years and so there is no doubt about his fidelity. And apparently it is reciprocated because other than Ashubabu, no other music-lover is allowed admittance there—the door is strictly guarded.’

I was all agog, ‘Really! Were you trying to sneak in as a music aficionado? Did you see the lady? What does she look like?’

Byomkesh said, ‘I caught a fleeting glimpse of her. But I shall not deprive a die-hard bachelor like you of your precious night’s sleep by describing her beauty to you. In a word, she is stunning. She is perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, but doesn’t look a day over twenty. I cannot help being impressed by Ashubabu’s discriminating taste.’

I laughed as I said, ‘I can quite see that. But why have you developed this sudden interest in Ashubabu’s personal life?’

Byomkesh said, ‘Uncontrollable curiosity is one of my weak points. Besides, the question of Ashubabu’s beneficiary was bothering me.’

‘So this is Ashubabu’s beneficiary?’

‘That is my assumption. I also saw another gentleman there—in his mid-thirties—quite a dandy. He walked up to the guard, hastily tucked a letter into his hands and disappeared with equal speed. But let that be. The topic may be appetizing but is not of much use right now.’

Byomkesh stood up and began pacing the floor.

I realized that he didn’t let the discussion go any further for fear that these redundant deliberations about Ashubabu’s personal life might distract his mind from the more basic path of inquiry that was concerned with the safety of his client. I too was aware that this was how the human mind was inclined to prioritize the insignificant and consequently, unknown to itself, lose sight of the main objective. So I moved on, ‘Did you discover anything from the watch?’

Byomkesh stopped in front of me and said with a short laugh, ‘My examination of the watch has yielded three pieces of information: first, that the gramophone pin is of an ordinary Edison brand; second, that it weighs exactly two grams; and third, that Ashubabu’s watch is an irreparable loss—it is beyond repair.’

I said, ‘Which means you have reached no material conclusions.’

Byomkesh pulled up a chair and sat down, saying, ‘That I cannot agree with. Firstly, I have figured out that at the time of shooting the pin the distance between the killer and his victim could not have been more than seven or eight feet. A gramophone pin is so lightweight that any distance greater than that would not ensure such an accurate bull’s-eye. And you have seen what an excellent marksman the killer is. Every time the missile has hit the target without fail.’

Incredulous, I asked, ‘He has killed from such close quarters and yet no one has been able to catch him red-handed?’

Byomkesh said, ‘That is what poses the greatest conundrum. Just think, after committing the act, the man may have stood among the bystanders, may even have lent a hand in moving the body; and yet nobody has been able to figure out how he has managed to conceal his identity so well.’

I contemplated for a while and then remarked, ‘Well, how about if the killer has an instrument in his pocket which can fire a gramophone pin. When he approaches the victim, he fires it without taking it out of his pocket. A lot of people walk with their hands in their pockets and it doesn’t arouse any suspicions.’

Byomkesh said, ‘If that was the case, he could have accomplished the task on the pavement. Why would he need the victim to get onto the road? Besides, I don’t know of any instrument which can fire noiselessly and yet shoot a projectile through a man’s skin and muscles and hit his heart directly. Have you thought about the kind of force needed for that?’

I remained silent. Byomkesh propped his elbows on his knees, sank his chin into his palms and remained deep in thought for a considerable length of time; at last he said, ‘I can feel that a simple solution to this is close at hand, but it is eluding me. The more I try to grasp it, I feel it slipping away.’

There was no further conversation over this that night. Until he went to sleep, Byomkesh continued to be abstracted and unmindful. Realizing that he was in close pursuit of the solution to the