B yomkesh spoke into the phone, "Hello?"

The police inspector Rakhalbabu's voice was heard at the other end, "Byomkeshbabu, I am Rakhal. I am calling you up from Netaji Hospital. Could you please come here for a while?"

"What's wrong?"

"Attempt to murder — someone had tried to shoot a man dead — but did not succeed. Now that injured man has been brought to the hospital. He is relating a strange story."

"Really? I am coming."

Byomkesh had moved to his new house in Keyatala — Netaji hospital was not very far from his house. About half an hour later, at about five in the evening, Byomkesh reached the place and found Rakhal standing near the Emergency Ward.

He revealed many details about the case while standing there. The name of the injured person was Gangapada Choudhury. A good man. He was found unconscious on the first floor of a house in a lane off Fraser Road. The part time servant had come in at three in the afternoon and discovered him. It was this servant who had informed the police and the hospital. Gangapada had regained his consciousness but he was weak because he had lost a lot of blood.

Gangapada was looking out of his first floor window, which overlooked a lane, when a bullet grazed his skull and slipped over the skull-bone instead of piercing it.

The bullet was found inside the room. Shot from a revolver it had now been sent for examination. Rakhal took Byomkesh to the man. He had received a blood transfusion and was feeling much better.

Gangapada Choudhury was lying in a small narrow room, on an iron bed. A big bandage covered his head like a turban. His face was thin and longish. He looked pale probably due to the loss of blood. He was about thirty-five. He looked a good and simple person.

Byomkesh and Rakhalbabu pulled up two chairs on either side of his bed and sat down. Gangapada looked once at Byomkesh and then at Rakhalbabu. There was a faint smile on his pale lips. The man had fortunately returned from death's door, but there was no sign of fear in his expression.

Rakhalbabu said, "This is Byomkesh Bakshi. He has come to hear your story."

Gangapada's face lit up, he tried to sit up on his bed quickly. Byomkesh gently pushed him down on his pillows, "Don't get up, lie down."

Gangapada folded his hands in greeting and said in an awestruck voice, "You are the Truth Seeker — Byomkesh Bakshi. My visit to Calcutta has been worthwhile."

Rakhalbabu said, "If you are feeling stronger please relate your story to Byomkeshbabu. But if you are still feeling weak — we will come later."

Gangapada said, "I am not feeling weak anymore — they have pumped a lot of blood into me." He laughed out aloud.

"Then begin your story."

There was a glass of water on the table next to his bed — he lifted himself up on one elbow and drank some water. Then with a smile he began his story with a smile.

"My name is not Gangapada Choudhury — it is Ashoke Maiti. How I became Gangapada after coming to Calcutta is a strange story.

I live in Meerat. My forefathers had settled there even before the Sepoy Mutiny. So I have very little connection with Bengal.

I do a small job in Meerat. I live with my widowed mother and an unmarried sister. I had married but my wife had died about five years ago — I did not remarry. I am trying to get a good boy for my sister.

Whatever it is — a month's leave was due to me from the office. So I thought that I would visit Calcutta. I have no friends or relatives in Calcutta. I had come to Calcutta when I was very young — then I never visited the city again. I thought to myself that I would see my homeland and also try to get a bridegroom for my sister.

I got down at Howrah station. I had got the address of a dharmashala from Meerat — so I thought that I would put up there. After getting down from the train I started moving towards the gate of the station. I suddenly noticed that a bearded man was walking by my side and constantly turning his head and looking at me. I felt that he wanted to tell me something. I wondered who he was — maybe an agent from a hotel, I thought.

When I reached the dharmashala, I was in trouble. There were no vacant rooms there. Now I would have to look for a hotel. But a stay in a hotel would be expensive — how would I manage? I was wondering what to do when that bearded man approached me. He was now wearing dark glasses. He said, "You didn't get a place?"

"No, who are you?"

He said, "My name is Gangapada Choudhury. Where are you coming from?"

I said, "From Meerat. My name is Ashoke Maiti. Are you the agent of a hotel?"

He said, "No, I had seen you at Howrah station — I was amazed — I will tell you why I was amazed later. Now tell me, do you have no place to stay in Calcutta?"

I said, "Why would I look for a room in a dharmashala, if I had anyone here. I can't afford to stay in a hotel. So I am thinking what to do."

Gangapada said, "I have a proposal. I live in Calcutta. My house is in South Calcutta. I am going out of the city for a month. The house will be vacant. If you stay in my house it will be convenient for both you and me. I have a part-time servant — he will look after you — you will have no problem."

I was surprised, "You will hand over your house to a totally