Dr Munshi’s brother-in-law arrived almost instantly. From the way he kept mopping his face, it seemed as if he was feeling nervous for some reason. ‘Please sit down,’ Feluda invited. He took a chair. ‘Your name is Chandranath, I gather. What is your surname?’ ‘Basu.’ ‘You’ve been living here for about fifteen years, is that correct?’ ‘Yes, but how did you . . . ?’ ‘I have read Dr Munshi’s diary. I know a few things about you, but would like you to confirm everything, if you don’t mind.’ Mr Basu wiped his face again. ‘Did Dr Munshi actually ask you to come and live here?’ ‘No. It was my sister’s idea.’ ‘Did Dr Munshi agree readily?’ ‘No.’ ‘So how . . .?’ ‘He agreed . . . only when my sister . . . requested him repeatedly.’ ‘You haven’t got a job, have you?’ ‘No.’ ‘Are you given an allowance every month?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How much?’ ‘Five hundred.’ ‘Is that sufficient?’ Mr Basu averted his gaze and looked down at the carpet without making a reply. It was obvious that five hundred rupees a month was inadequate for him. ‘You went to college, didn’t you? You studied up to the intermediate year, I think?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘How were you as a student? Average? Or worse than that?’ Mr Basu remained silent. ‘You failed in your first year at college, didn’t you? Was that the reason why you never got a job?’ Mr Basu nodded, still looking at the floor. ‘Do you do any work in this house?’ ‘Work? Well yes, I help with the shopping . . . I go to the chemist, if need be . . . things like that.’ ‘I see. Is your bedroom on the first floor?’

‘Yes.’ ‘Where exactly is it? How far from Dr Munshi’s room?’ ‘Quite close.’ ‘Close? You mean your room is right next to his?’ ‘Ye-es.’ ‘What time do you usually go to bed?’ ‘Around ten-thirty.’ ‘And when do you get up?’ ‘Six o’clock.’ ‘Do you have anything to say about this murder?’ ‘No, no. Nothing at all.’ ‘Very well. You may go now, but please send Radhakanta Mallik. I have some questions for him as well.’ Radhakanta Mallik arrived in a few moments, threw himself down on a sofa and began shaking his head and waving his hands rather violently. ‘I know nothing about this murder . . . absolutely nothing . . . not a thing! . . .’ ‘Please calm down. Have I said that you’re suspected of knowing anything?’ Feluda asked. ‘No, but you will say it eventually. I am not a fool. I know you detectives. I hate this whole idea of having to answer endless questions. I am going to tell you all I know. Just hear me out. When I first arrived here with an ailment, I did not know what it was called. Dr Munshi told me it was persecution mania. I had started to suspect everyone around me of being my enemy, and