All the rooms, both downstairs and upstairs, came under the most vigilant scrutiny—but none of them revealed anything that went towards clearing up the mystery of the sudden death. Ashwinibabu’s room was duly inspected too, but it yielded nothing more than a few ordinary letters. The empty case of the razor lay beside the bed. We all knew that Ashwinibabu had been in the habit of doing his own shaving and it wasn’t difficult to identify the case either. The body had already been removed. Now his room was locked and sealed off. Having done his bit, the inspector left the premises at around one-thirty in the afternoon.

Ashwinibabu’s family had been informed of the tragedy by telegram. In the evening his sons and other close relatives arrived. They were all in a complete state of shock. Although we were not related to Ashwinibabu, each of us was deeply affected by his death as well. Moreover, there was some concern for our own lives too. If such a thing could happen right next door, what was to prevent it from happening to us? The distressing, unfortunate day passed in a haze of ragged, apprehensive gloom.

At night, before going to bed, I dropped in on the doctor and found him sitting still with a sombre look on his face. The events of the day had etched deep grooves on his usually calm, unruffled countenance. I took a seat beside him and said, ‘I believe everyone in the mess is planning to shift somewhere else.’

With a wan smile Anukulbabu said, ‘They are not to blame, Ajitbabu! Who wishes to stay in a place where such incidents take place? But what I am wondering is whether this is really a murder or not. For, if it is indeed one, it couldn’t have been committed by someone from outside the boarding- house. First, how would the killer reach the first floor? You are all aware that the staircase door remains locked at night. Even if we assume that the man accomplished the impossible and reached upstairs, how did he come to lay his hands on Ashwinibabu’s razor to slit the poor man’s throat? Isn’t that too much of a coincidence? So, it is evident that the crime wasn’t committed by an outsider. Then who could it be but someone who lives in the mess? Is there anyone among us who could kill Ashwinibabu? Of course, Atulbabu has joined us very recently—we do not know much about him...’

I started in alarm, ‘Atul? Oh no, no, that is not possible. Why would Atul kill Ashwinibabu?’

The doctor said, ‘There you are, your reaction makes it quite clear that it couldn’t have been someone from the mess. What is the other option? Only the possibility that he took his own life, isn’t it?’

‘But there should be a motive for suicide as well.’

‘I too have wondered about that. Do you remember, a few days ago I had told you that there is a secret web of cocaine- traffickers in this area? That nobody knows who the leader of the gang is?’

‘Yes, I remember.’

Slowly, the doctor continued, ‘Now suppose, if it was Ashwinibabu who was the ringleader?’

I exclaimed in astonishment, ‘What? How can that be?’

He said, ‘Ajitbabu, nothing in this world is impossible. On the contrary, my suspicions in this regard deepen when I consider all that Ashwinibabu was telling me last night— he seemed to be scared out of his wits. When a man is that terrified, he often loses his mental balance. Who knows, perhaps it was this that drove him to suicide! Just think about it—doesn’t this seem like a possible explanation?’

My brains were addled by this ingenious theory. I said, ‘I don’t know Anukulbabu, I cannot really make anything out of all this. Perhaps you should talk about your suspicions to the police.’

The doctor stood up and said, ‘I shall do that tomorrow. I am unable to rest until this matter is resolved.’

Two or three days passed after this. The endless comings and goings of the various members of the CID and their repeated interrogations added to our already distressed state of mind and made life a living hell. Almost everyone in the boarding- house couldn’t wait to move out bag and baggage. But then again, no one wanted to be the first to leave. After all, a hasty departure might cause the police to suspect foul play on the part of the evacuee.

It was becoming quite clear that the noose of suspicion was tightening gradually around one individual in the mess. But we were unable to guess who that person might be. Sometimes a sudden fear made the heart skip a beat—they weren’t suspecting me, were they?

One morning Atul and I were going through the newspaper in the doctor’s office. Some medicines had arrived for Anukulbabu in a mid-sized packing case. He was unpacking them and carefully arranging them on the shelf. The case bore American stamps. The doctor never used Indian-made drugs—whenever he needed a new stock, he had them shipped from America or Germany. Nearly every month he would receive a shipment of drugs.

Atul folded his newspaper, put it down and said, ‘Anukulbabu, why do you import your medicines from abroad? Aren’t the domestic ones any good?’ He picked up a large bottle of sugar-of-milk and read the manufacturer’s name on the label, ‘Eric and Ha veil—are these the best in the market?’

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me, does homeopathy truly cure diseases? I am a bit sceptical. How can a drop of water cure an ailment?’

Smiling, the doctor said, ‘I suppose all these people who come for treatment are merely playing at being sick?’

Atul replied, ‘Perhaps the cure is natural while they ascribe it to the drugs. Faith can be a great healer.’

The doctor merely smiled and did not deign to respond. After a while he inquired, ‘Have they mentioned anything about our house in