‘I too climbed the stairs to the third-floor roof. The moment she saw me, Hena panicked, ran toward the parapet, and crashed against it. Then, unable to regain her balance, she toppled over and fell down. Perhaps, seeing me, she was afraid I would harm her!’

Byomkesh gazed at her intently and asked, ‘Why did you never mention this before?’

Shrimati Chameli made a restless gesture with her mouth and said, ‘Would anyone have believed me if I had? On the contrary, they would have suspected that I pushed Hena over.’

Byomkesh bowed his head for a moment, then looked up again. ‘True enough. Tell me, when you went up to the roof by the stairs, did you see Uday?’

Shrimati Chameli replied, her voice tinged with unease, ‘No, Uday was not there.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘No, no one.’

‘The stair door, the door to the roof—they were open, I suppose?’

‘Yes, they were open.’

‘When you saw Hena, what was she doing?’

‘She was standing in the middle of the roof.’

‘Was there anything in her hand?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

Byomkesh exhaled deeply and stood up. He said, “I suppose you have nothing more to say. Very well, then—we’ll take our leave. You may try telling the police your story.”

Sreemati Chameli stood there, rigid and unmoving, as we took our leave.

By the time we returned home, it was already afternoon.

The intricate fiction Sreemati Chameli had spun to save her sons had only left Byomkesh more bewildered and despondent. He stretched himself out on the taktaposh, and in a voice rough with agitation, said, “Nothing is happening—nothing at all. It’s all a sham, all deception. Everyone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

I said, “But why are you so invested, Byomkesh? The police have given up, Santoshbabu has lost interest—so why are you wearing yourself out for nothing?”

Byomkesh replied, his voice weary, “Do you know what the trouble is? I am a satyanweshi—a seeker of truth. Until I know the real story, I cannot find peace. Damn it! If only I had another case at hand right now, perhaps I could forget—”

At that moment, the postman arrived at the front door.

An envelope, registered and insured. The sender’s name—Office of the Government of Orissa. My curiosity was piqued—what could this be? Byomkesh opened the envelope and took out a typewritten letter.

The Chief Secretary of the Government of Orissa had written—

Dear Sir, By order of the Honorable Chief Minister, I write this letter to you. The work you have previously done for the Central Government and the Bombay Government is well known to us. Recently, some mysterious incidents have begun to occur in the offices of the Orissa Government. Valuable and highly confidential documents have been disappearing from the department, but the culprit remains at large. In this matter, the Government of Orissa seeks your assistance. We would be obliged if you could come to Cuttack at once and