It was at this moment that I first noticed the bicycle. We were pacing along the edge of the road, when I saw, about fifty yards ahead, a bicycle approaching. The cycle bore no light; in the streetlamp’s glow, the rider appeared only as a vague silhouette. A solar topee was pulled low, shadowing his face. As we watched, the bicycle drew up to us, and the rider tossed a pale object at our feet before pedaling away at speed, vanishing into the darkness.

Byomkesh seized my arm and pulled me back with lightning speed. We retreated ten paces and turned, staring fixedly at the whitish object. But nothing happened. The thing, about the size of a tennis ball, lay inert on the ground. It never occurred to me that it could be a bomb; but seeing Byomkesh’s tense posture, my heart began to thud in my chest.

Byomkesh said, “Ajit, run to the house and fetch a torch, quickly.”

He stood his ground while I hurried back to the house. Phanish and Manish Babu, having heard the commotion, came out with me.

“What’s the matter?”

Byomkesh said, “Don’t come any closer. It’s probably nothing, but better to be careful. Ajit, hand me the torch.”

Taking the torch, he shone its beam on the object lying on the ground. I craned my neck to see—a paper-wrapped parcel was slowly coming undone. Byomkesh stepped closer, observed it a moment, then picked it up. Smiling, he said, “A lump of coal, wrapped in paper.”

Manish Babu exclaimed, “Coal—!”

Byomkesh replied, “The coal isn’t important—the paper is. Let’s go inside and have a look.”

Standing under the bright light in the drawing room, Byomkesh carefully unwrapped the parcel. He placed the lump of coal on the table, then held the crumpled paper up to the light, gripping it by both edges. The paper was the size of an ordinary letter, and on it, in large, ink-black letters, two lines were written: “Byomkesh Bakshi, if you do not leave the city at once, you will not return alive.”

“How dreadful—they know your name,” said Manish Babu, reaching out. “Let me see that paper.”

Byomkesh shook his head. “No, best not to touch it. There may be fingerprints.”

Holding the paper carefully, Byomkesh went to the bedroom. I followed. On the table lay an illustrated British magazine; he opened it and tucked the paper carefully inside. I said, “Which side is this from? Of course, seeing the coal, it seems the coal mine people have found out.”

Byomkesh replied, “That could be a ruse. Govinda Haldar knows I’m here about the coal mine.”

Returning to the drawing room, I saw that Surapati Ghatak, the office manager, had arrived and was speaking with the master of the house.

Byomkesh Samagra

Most likely, they were discussing some office matter. Seeing us, he greeted us politely with a respectful namaskar.

When he had finished his conversation and departed, Byomkesh said to Manishbabu, “You haven’t said anything to Surapati Babu, have you?”

Manishbabu replied, “No. —But those scoundrels are frightened.”

Byomkesh said, “If they weren’t afraid, they wouldn’t have tried to scare me.”

Manishbabu, pleased, said, “I don’t know what you’re up to behind the scenes, but you’re certainly doing something—those rascals are rattled. —Anyway, you weren’t alarmed when you received the letter, were you?”

Byomkesh smiled faintly and said, “Not too much. Still, tonight I’ll sleep with the door locked.”

In the morning, Phanish dropped us off at the thana and said, “I need to go to the market for a bit—Indira needs something. I’ll be back within the hour. Will that be all right?”

“No. We’ll be here for about an hour.”

Phanish drove off in the motorcar, and we entered the thana.

Promodbabu was seated at his desk, busy with papers. Byomkesh placed the illustrated British magazine before him and said, “There’s a slip of paper inside—there might be fingerprints on it. Do you have a fingerprint expert?”

Lifting the pages of the magazine and seeing the slip, Barat said, “Of course we do. What’s the matter?”

Byomkesh recounted the events of the previous night. Hearing this, Barat said, “It seems to be about the coal mine. I’ll arrange for it right away. You’ll have the report by this afternoon.”

He called someone and sent the magazine and the slip of paper off to the experts. Then he said, “You haven’t come for three days—any news from your end?”

Byomkesh said, “As before, so now—no new developments. But there’s something that bothers me.”

“What is it?”

“Mohini was paid fifteen rupees a month by Pranahari. But in the account book, there’s no mention of Mohini’s salary.”

Barat pondered and said, “Hmm. I see plenty of discrepancies in Pranahari’s accounts. What will you do now?”

Byomkesh said, “I’d like to question Mohini. She’s still here, isn’t she?”

Barat replied, “She’s very much here, hasn’t budged an inch. I can’t let her go either, not until this case is settled—”

“In that case, let us go see her.”

“Go ahead.”

“No, no, you have other work—please stay. Ajit and I will go. Will we find that young constable of yours there?”

Barat smiled, “You certainly will.”

We left the thana. Phanish hadn’t returned yet, so we made our way toward the taxi stand.

Not far from the thana, by the roadside, under the vast shade of a pakur tree, was the spot where taxis waited. As we walked in that direction, I said, “Byomkesh, what is the connection between Pranahari and the coal mine affair?”

Kohen K Bi Kalidas

“Is there any connection?” He replied, “Nothing at all. I am the only link.” As we approached the taxi stand, we saw that beneath the trees stood just a single taxi, and by the roadside, a massive black motorcar was parked with its rear facing us. The taxi driver, Bhuban Das, was standing by the window of the black car, conversing with its chauffeur. As we drew a little