When we drove up to the gates of Golap Colony, it was a little short of eight o’clock. But the heat was already growing in intensity. We paid off the taxi and entered the compound.

The garden was deserted. None of the gardeners were at work. The huts too, looked abandoned. We looked around and couldn’t spot a soul anywhere.

When we reached Nishanathbabu’s house, Bijoy stepped out. His hair was dishevelled and his feet were bare. He had a thin shawl draped around him and his eyes were bloodshot. In a hoarse voice, he said, ‘Please come in.’

Once we had entered the drawing room, Byomkesh suggested, ‘Come, let me take a look around first. Then you can give me an account of it all.’

Bijoy led us into the next room. It was the same one in which we had taken our siesta the other day. The window was open. The bed stood at one end. On it lay the corpse, covered with a sheet.

We went and stood by the bed. Carefully, Byomkesh lifted the sheet.

Nishanathbabu looked as if he were sleeping. He wore silk pyjamas. The rest of his torso was bare. His face looked a bit puffy, as though a surfeit of blood had flowed through it. But otherwise his body was unmarked by signs indicating death or its cause.

After examining the body in silence for a few minutes, Byomkesh suddenly pointed and exclaimed, ‘What on earth …! Socks!’

I hadn’t noticed—the soles of Nishanathbabu’s feet were partly covered by the material of his pyjamas—what I now saw: He was wearing socks. Byomkesh bent to examine them closely. ‘Woollen socks,’ he mused. ‘Was he in the habit of wearing socks to bed?’

Bijoy was standing there like one in a trance. He shook his head and replied, ‘No.’

Byomkesh pulled the sheet back over the corpse and said, ‘Okay, I’ve finished. Have you sent for a doctor? You’ll need a doctor’s certificate.’

Bijoy replied, ‘Mushkil has taken the buggy and gone into town. Nagen Pal is a well-known doctor in these parts. But what conclusion have you drawn, Byomkeshbabu?’

‘We can discuss that later. Where is your Kakima?’

‘She is still lying in a faint.’ Bijoy led us to the next room. We parted the curtains at the door and found that this too was a bedroom. Damayanti Devi lay unconscious on the bed. Dr Bhujangadhar sat by it, ministering to her; he was sprinkling water over her face and head and holding an open bottle of ammonia to her nose.

On seeing us, Bhujangadhar came over. His face was dolefully sombre, his natural devil-may-care briskness a trifle subdued. In a low voice, he whispered, ‘She’s still unconscious, but it won’t be long now before she comes to.’

The conversation went on in hushed tones. Byomkesh asked, ‘Since when has she been in this state?’

Bhujangadharbabu said, ‘For nearly three hours now. She was the first to discover him. When she woke up