Feluda left at eight o’clock the following day and returned at half past two. I didn’t dare ask him whether his mission had been successful, but I did notice a suppressed excitement in his movements. Was it a sign of success, or failure? ‘Yes, I’ve had my lunch,’ he said in reply to my question, ‘and now I must make a couple of phone calls.’ He rang Shankar Munshi first, and then Inspector Shome. Both were given the same message: everyone concerned in this case should gather in the living room of Dr Munshi’s house at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Feluda rang off, lit a Charminar and stretched his legs. ‘Like Munshi, I feel like saying: how utterly mistaken I had been! Every key to the mystery was staring me in the face, and yet I couldn’t see anything.’ ‘Is . . . is the culprit someone we know?’ I asked a little hesitantly. ‘Sure,’ Feluda replied. ‘Since you are clearly feeling very curious, let me ask you a few questions. If you can answer them correctly, maybe you can solve the mystery yourself. ‘Question one: what did you think of the entries I read out to you? Was there anything special?’ ‘Well, I found it a little odd that he wrote in his diary until the night before he died, but there was no mention of R’s phone call, or his arrival.’ ‘Excellent. Question two: what does the word “immersion” suggest to you?’ ‘Water. Something thrown into water?’ ‘Good. Three: what is nemesis?’ ‘Nemesis?’ ‘Yes. It’s a Greek word.’ ‘How should I know Greek?’ ‘You’ll find it in any English dictionary. Nemesis is retribution. One may commit a crime and avoid punishment somehow, for the time being, or even a few years . . . but one day, the criminal gets what he deserves. That is called nemesis. It was this nemesis that A, G and R were afraid of.’ I found the idea very interesting, so when Feluda asked nothing further, I prompted him: ‘Is there anything else?’ ‘I will tell you only one more thing. If I say any more, you won’t enjoy the drama I’ve planned for tomorrow.’ ‘All right.’ ‘Have you heard the saying, “physician, heal thyself”?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then that’s all you need to know.’ This made no sense, but before I could ask anything, Jatayu turned up.

‘What stage have we reached, Felu Babu?’ he asked. ‘The penultimate.’ ‘Penalty—what?’ ‘Oh, is that word too big for you? Penultimate means last but one.’ ‘I see. When are we going to reach the final stage?’ ‘Tomorrow morning. The curtain rises at ten o’clock at Munshi Palace.’ ‘And when does it come down?’ ‘Say, half an hour later.’ ‘We’ve got four suspects, right?’ ‘Yes—eeni, meeni, meini, mo.’ ‘Be serious, Felu Babu. There’s Shankar, Sukhamoy, Radha—’ Feluda raised a hand. ‘Stop, Lalmohan Babu. Say no more. All further discussion on this subject is closed.’ ‘Really? Well, let me just say this, Felu Babu. I am going to provide the climax to the drama tomorrow. It cannot be you.’ ‘Now you’ve got me intrigued; even a little apprehensive.’ ‘No, there’s nothing to feel apprehensive about. You will still get most of the applause, I assure you. You will certainly be the star attraction. But I am going to be a mini-star and claim a mini-applause for myself. That’s a promise!’ A heavy shower in the morning left our street partially waterlogged, but even so, Lalmohan Babu arrived at half past nine with an umbrella under his arm, a bag hanging from his shoulder and a grin on his face. ‘Tapesh bhai,’ he said to me upon coming in, ‘do tell your cook to make khichuri this afternoon. I think I’ll eat with you again, once this morning’s drama is over.’ ‘Certainly, you’d be most welcome,’ I said and went off to tell Srinath. We left after a quick cup of tea, and reached Swinhoe Street at five to ten. The police were already there. Inspector Shome greeted us with a smile. ‘Good morning!’ he said. ‘I know your style, Mr Mitter. So I told everyone to go straight to the living room. The only thing I was not sure of is whether you’d like Mrs Munshi to be included in your audience.’ ‘No. In fact, I’d much rather she remained absent.’ A big wall clock on the ground floor announced it was ten o’clock as soon as everyone was seated. Feluda rose, glanced around the room, waited until the last chime died away. Then he began speaking. ‘First of all, I’d like to ask Shankar Munshi a question.’ Mr Munshi was sitting on the other side of the room. He turned his eyes on Feluda without saying anything. ‘The other day,’ Feluda went on, ‘when I said your father had mentioned you in his diary, you seemed surprised. And when I said he must have written what he felt to be true where you were concerned, you got irritated and said, “I cannot see how my father got to know me when all he ever thought of was his patients!” Tell me now, Mr Munshi, why did you assume your father had written only unpleasant things about you? I didn’t say anything.’ ‘My father never ever praised me, or spoke a good word about me, in my presence.’ ‘Did he openly criticize you? Find fault with whatever you did?’

‘No. He did not do that, either.’ ‘Then how can you be so sure about what he really thought of you?’ ‘Because it is not difficult for a son to realize how his father feels about him. I could guess, easily enough.’ ‘Very well. Let me now speak of something else. I came here alone yesterday afternoon, and spoke to some of your servants. Among them was your mali, Giridhari. I asked him if he had seen you leave the house early in the morning before Dr Munshi’s body was discovered. Giridhari told me that he had. Then I asked