Five

Before the clock struck four in the afternoon, Pandeyji arrived with the car. He said, "Let’s go, we’ll stop by the thana first. The post-mortem report might have come in."

The three of us reached the police station. It stood in the heart of the city. Ratikanta was present, and with due courtesy, he led us in and seated us in his office. He said, "I’ve just received the post-mortem report—curare has been found. There’s no doubt about the cause of death."

Pandeyji glanced over the report and asked, "And the report on the medicines?"

"That hasn’t come yet. I’ve sent an urgent reminder. Most likely, we’ll have it tonight. Without the medicine report, we can’t begin a proper investigation. Still, I’ve set men to inquire if anyone is smuggling curare."

Pandeyji nodded. "You’ve done right. The thief from whom a vial of curare was once seized—he’s still in jail, isn’t he? If we press him, perhaps we’ll learn who’s running the curare racket."

"Yes, sir. I’ve checked—he’s not in Patna jail now, but in Buxar jail. I’m arranging a meeting with him. Meanwhile, I’ve interrogated Dr. Palit’s compounder."

"Did you get anything?"

"Nothing at all. On the other front, I’ve ordered everyone in Dipnarayanji’s house to remain at home. No outsiders are allowed in, and no one is to leave, except for the manager Gangadhar and his son Liladhar."

Pandeyji said, "We’re heading there now. Will you join us?"

Ratikanta hesitated a moment, then said, "You go ahead. I have an urgent matter to attend to." Then, smiling at Byomkesh, he asked, "Have you formed any impression?"

Byomkesh replied, "No. But it seems to me that no one in the house can be excluded from suspicion."

Ratikanta said, "Not just the family—even the State’s employees cannot be ruled out. Everyone must be examined under a microscope."

Byomkesh asked quietly, "What do you make of Dr. Palit?"

Ratikanta shot a glance at Byomkesh. "Dr. Palit! But he—if he had any motive, would he have done it with his own hands?"

Byomkesh smiled faintly. "Precisely because he did it with his own hands, suspicion will fall on him the least."

We returned to the car and took our seats. Byomkesh asked, "Is Dr. Palit’s dispensary nearby?"

Pandeyji replied, "Just a little way off, on this very road. Shall we stop there?"

"Let’s. We should see the real scene of the crime."

Within two or three minutes, we reached Dr. Palit’s clinic. It, too, stood on the main road, surrounded by shops—no residences nearby. On a winter’s night, by eight o’clock, all the shops are shuttered. Then, for a thief, breaking a lock and slipping inside would be no trouble at all.

The doctor’s chamber was utterly unremarkable. Two rooms, one in front and one behind; in the front, patients would come and sit, while the doctor sat in the inner room. The compounder prepared medicines in that same inner room.

Both the compounder and the doctor were present, and a few patients were seated in the outer room. When we arrived, we saw the doctor in the inner room, pressing the stomach of a patient who lay stretched out on a long, narrow table. Turning his head and seeing us, he smiled slightly. “What is it, have you come to arrest me?”

Pandeyji replied, “No, no, just came to have a look.”

“Please, sit.”

We gathered around the doctor’s table and took our seats. The doctor finished examining the patient, then sat at the table and wrote out a prescription, which he handed to the compounder. In the meantime, we observed the compounder—a thin, hollow-cheeked Bihari youth. Though his name was Khublal, his skin was very dark. At the sight of Pandeyji in his uniform, the darkness of his face seemed to deepen further.

The doctor said, “What would you like to see?”

Pandeyji glanced at Byomkesh, who said, “Where is the lock that the thief broke to get in?”

The doctor said, “Khublal, bring the lock.”

Khublal had been standing at one end of the room before a shelf crowded with bottles and vials, preparing medicines. We could see only his back, but even without seeing his face, it was clear from his posture that he was listening intently to our conversation. At the doctor’s command, he came over and, with trembling hands, placed the lock on the table, then returned to his medicines.

The lock was cheap and ordinary; one could break it instantly by inserting an iron rod and twisting—no great strength required. That’s exactly what had happened—the hinge of the lock had snapped and come off. Byomkesh turned the lock over in his hands, examined it, then set it down.

“They broke the lock on your desk drawer as well, didn’t they?”

“There was no need to break the drawer; it’s always left open. The key’s been lost for ages.”

Palit opened the drawer to show us—there was nothing inside but a few scraps of paper. Palit said, “A thief grows wiser after a theft. I’m being careful now—someone will sleep here in the dispensary every night from now on. I’ve thrown out all the old medicines and brought in new stock. You never know.”

Pandeyji nodded in approval. Byomkesh said, “May I ask Khublal a few questions?”

The doctor replied, “Go ahead. Though he’s already been questioned once—Inspector Chowdhury grilled him thoroughly. Khublal!”

Khublal came and stood nearby. Licking his lips, he said in a broken voice, “Huzoor, I am innocent.”

Byomkesh spoke in a reassuring tone, “Why are you afraid? If you’ve done nothing wrong, what is there to fear? No one will harm you.”

Khublal said, “Sir, I am a poor man—”

Byomkesh asked, “How much salary do you get?”

Khublal cast a furtive glance at the doctor and replied, “Sixty rupees, sir. And a ten-rupee allowance.”

“Nothing extra?”

Bohni - Patanga 527

Khublal, wide-eyed with fear, replied, “No, sir.”

“Who lives in your house?”

“My wife and a child.”

“How much rent