Brojodas protested, ‘But … I …’

‘You may go back to the farm now,’ Byomkesh told him, ‘but there’s no need to tell the others about all that has transpired.’

‘Right, sir.’

Brojodas headed for the farm while we returned to the station. On the way, Byomkesh remarked, ‘We were wearing blinkers, it seems. It hadn’t even occurred to us that Damayanti wasn’t a common name in Bengal. And we never paused to think that a complexion so bright, along with those chiselled features, could seldom be found in this part of the country. All we surmised from the difference in their ages was that it might be a second marriage for the couple. We failed to consider the possibility of there being another angle to it. The fact that Damayanti went to the school to chat with Punjabi women didn’t arouse our suspicions either. But it most certainly should have. It is difficult to accept that at the age of forty-seven, Nishanathbabu would marry a Bengali girl of around nineteen, particularly in the Bombay region. Ajit … my grey matter is obviously on the decline. It’s time I retired from this profession and took up cattle-breeding or something similar.’

His indignation made me burst out laughing. ‘You’re welcome to do so later,’ I told him, ‘but for now, you need to solve this case. What did you infer from the information that Damayanti was not Nishanathbabu’s lawfully wedded wife?’

A miffed Byomkesh did not deign to reply.

The waiting room at the station was locked. We got the staff to open it up and went in and made ourselves comfortable. We had a coolie buy us some puris and sweets from the market to appease our hunger pangs.

Meanwhile, the clouds in the sky had gathered in a mass, occasionally releasing a few fat drops of rain that startled passers-by. It looked as though a violent storm were brewing and would unleash its fury that evening.

We stretched out on two armchairs with extended armrests. Outside, trains could be heard drawing into the platforms and pulling out. I nodded off from time to time as a subtle thread of thought teased my mind: Damayanti Devi wasn’t Nishanath’s lawfully wedded wife; she was Lal Singh’s spouse … What kind of thought processes could drive a respectable gentleman to do something of this nature? In truth, what sort of a person was Damayanti? … A tease? … A seductress? But she didn’t seem to fit any of these descriptions …

At five-thirty that evening, Barat arrived at the station in the police van. The heavily overcast sky gave the impression of imminent dusk. Clouds had covered it like a thick blanket, seeming to shut out even the slightest chink of sunlight.

Barat said, ‘I have sent Bikash to check out No. 19 Mirza Lane as you’d suggested. We’ll get some news by tomorrow.’

‘Bikash,’ Byomkesh mused, ‘well, that’s good. Is he one of your men? I mean, is he in the