Eight

As we reached the bottom, we saw old Shasthibabu wandering about the stairwell, broom and dustpan in hand. He shot us a sidelong, sardonic glance. The fierce expression I’d seen on our first meeting was gone; now, his crumpled face seemed almost softened by a keen curiosity.

Byomkesh paused and asked, “Your name is Shasthibabu?”

He scrutinized Byomkesh carefully, then replied, “Yes. And you—who are you—?”

Byomkesh offered no introduction, only said briefly, “Don’t ask, my friend. I was owed money by Anadi Halder, and it seems that money is lost for good. You’ve probably heard the man is dead.”

The suspicion and caution faded from Shasthibabu’s face. With great satisfaction, he said, “I’ve heard. Last night—”

Byomkesh Samagra

—I’ve been hearing since then. “How did he die?” This last question he asked, craning his neck so that his words were almost whispered into Byomkesh’s ear.

Byomkesh replied, “Haven’t you heard? Someone murdered him. I heard you were sitting out on the veranda until quite late last night—”

With a gesture of irritation, Shasthibabu said, “What could I do? The boys from the para started bursting firecrackers right in front of the house. Just look there, how many spent tubri shells are lying around. And not just tubri! The din from those Chinese firecrackers was enough to split my ears. I thought, there’s no hope of sleep, might as well watch the fireworks. So, how was he killed? Was it with a knife?”

Byomkesh sidestepped the question and said, “So, you were sitting on the veranda from evening till late at night. Did anyone come to see Anadi Halder during that time?”

“No one. Not until after midnight, when that boy and his mother arrived and started banging on the door. Then Napa came. Then Kesto Das.”

“No one else in between?”

“No one entered the house. Though—I did see one of Anadi Halder’s nephews loitering by the footpath, near the hotel.”

“Is that so? And then?”

“Didn’t see him after that. At least, he didn’t come into this house.”

“What time did you see him?”

“I didn’t really note the time. But early on, the babus were still upstairs in the hotel, sitting by the window, playing dice. Must have been around ten, maybe half past ten. So, have you found out who killed him?”

Byomkesh lowered his head and thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Did you have any quarrel with Anadi Halder?”

Shasthibabu started, “Eh! Quarrel? Well, it’s not as if there wasn’t any.”

“You didn’t go upstairs last night?”

“Me! Why would I go upstairs? You’re quite a character, aren’t you? What are you getting at?” Shasthibabu was beginning to bristle.

“You don’t know who killed Anadi Halder?”

“How would I know! The one who killed him knows, how would I? You’re a dangerous man, sir! I’m an old man, keep to myself, and now you want to frame me?”

Byomkesh laughed. “I don’t want to frame you. You’re doing that yourself. You’re so pleased at Anadi Halder’s death, you can’t even hide it. Come, Ajit, let’s go have another cup of tea at that hotel.”

Shasthibabu was left speechless. We stepped down onto the footpath. Across the street, above the hotel, hung a large signboard: Srikanta Panthnibas. Srikanta was probably the owner’s name. On the ground floor, the tea-thirsty crowd had already settled in the restaurant; on the second floor, a row of windows, a few open. Byomkesh stepped forward to cross the road, then suddenly stopped and said, “Wait, let’s take a look down the alley.”

“What’s there to see in the alley?”

“Come on.”

We entered the alley that ran between Anadi Halder’s house and the new building. The alley was already terribly narrow, and now, with scattered bricks and rubble from the new construction, and the bamboo scaffolding poles—

Adimriphu 463

…have only made it more impenetrable! Byomkesh, eyes fixed on the ground, advanced slowly.

The lane was a blind alley, it did not go very far. Reaching its end, Byomkesh turned back, once more walking with his gaze intent on the earth. Then, upon reaching the side of Anadi Halder’s house, he suddenly bent down and picked something up.

I asked, “What did you find?”

He opened his fist to show me—a shiny, new key. I said, “A key! But to what?”

Byomkesh glanced once at the window above, slipped the key into his pocket, and said, “I can’t swear to it, but I suspect it’s the key to Anadi Halder’s almirah.”

“But—”

“I had a hunch we’d find something in the lane. Now come, let’s have some tea.”

“But, the almirah key—”

“Is at Anadi Halder’s waist. Yes, it is. But what’s to stop there being another key?”

“But how did the key end up in the lane?”

“Through the window. —Come.” Byomkesh took my hand and pulled me along.

We entered Srikanta Panthnibas and sat down at a table. A servant brought tea and biscuits. On questioning him, we learned that the hotel’s proprietor, Srikanta Goswami, was in a room nearby. Finishing our tea and biscuits, we entered the designated room.

It was Srikanta Babu’s office; a table in the center, a few chairs. Srikanta Babu was a middle-aged man, round-faced, clean-shaven; his countenance bore the tranquil air of a Vaishnava. He was having tea with last night’s leftover fowl cutlet, and seemed a little flustered at our sudden appearance.

Byomkesh said politely, “Excuse me, are you the proprietor, Srikanta Goswami?”

Goswami Mahashay’s mouth was full of fowl cutlet; he took a sip of tea and managed to swallow, then said, “Come in. You are—?”

Byomkesh replied, “We’ve come on a small matter. Perhaps you’ve heard—a murder took place last night in the house across the street?”

“Murder!” Srikanta Babu pushed aside his plate of fowl cutlet. “Who was murdered?”

“Anadi Halder, who lived at 172/2.”

Srikanta Babu’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Anadi Halder murdered! Is that so!”

“You knew him?”

“Of course I did. He lived