bought a new television, but it didn’t do me any good,’ Lalmohan Babu complained. ‘There’s really nothing worth seeing. I tried watching the Mahabharata, but had to switch it off after just five minutes.’ ‘It’s a pity you’re not interested in sports,’ Feluda said. ‘If you were, you could have watched some good programmes. Tennis, cricket, football . . . everything’s covered, games played both here and abroad.’ ‘Doordarshan had written to me recently, saying they’d like to make a TV serial from one of my stories.’ ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, I suppose so, though I cannot imagine who might play Prakhar Rudra, my hero. Can you think of an actor in Bengal who might suit the part? I mean, it’s not like America, is it? They even found someone to play Superman! He looks as though he’s climbed out of the pages of the comic!’ Durga Puja had started. A song from a Hindi film was being played on a loudspeaker. We could hear it clearly from our living room. When he had finished complaining against Doordarshan, Lalmohan Babu tried singing the same song, but had to give up soon. His grandfather was supposed to have been a classical singer, but he himself could not sing even a single note without going out of tune. We had already had tea, but were wondering whether to have a second round, when a car stopped outside our house. The door bell rang a moment later. I opened the door to find a tall and handsome gentleman. His complexion was as fair as a European’s. ‘Is this where Pradosh Mitter lives?’ he asked. ‘Yes, please come in.’ I showed him into our living room. Dressed traditionally in a dhoti and kurta, he had a sophisticated air about him. ‘Please sit down,’ Feluda offered. ‘I am Pradosh Mitter.’ Our visitor took a sofa and looked enquiringly at Lalmohan Babu. ‘He is my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli,’ Feluda explained. Lalmohan Babu said ‘namaskar’, but our visitor did not respond. He appeared somewhat preoccupied. There was a few seconds’ silence. ‘I heard about you from one of your clients,’ he said finally. ‘Sadhan Chakravarty.’ ‘Yes, I worked for him last year. How can I help you? Is there a particular problem?’ ‘I don’t even know whether it merits being described as a problem. You must decide that. But yes, there is something bothering me.’

He took out an envelope from his pocket. In it was a photograph. He brought it out carefully and handed it to Feluda. I peered over Feluda’s shoulder and saw two young boys—seventeen or eighteen years old—standing together, smiling at the camera. Both were dressed in shirts and trousers. It was an old photo and its colour had faded considerably. ‘Can you recognize any of these boys?’ our visitor wanted to know. ‘The one on the left is you,’ Feluda replied. ‘Yes, that’s the one I can recognize too.’ ‘The other one must be your friend.’ ‘Presumably, but I have no idea who he is. I found this photo only recently, while going through some old papers in a drawer. There’s only one thing I’d like you to do: find out who this boy is. I mean, I need to know where he is now, what he does for a living, how did he and I happen to meet, the lot. I will, of course, pay your fee and any other expenses.’ ‘Haven’t you made enquiries on your own?’ ‘Yes, I’ve shown the photo to a few old classmates who now go to the same club as me, but none of them could remember that other boy. If you look at the photo carefully, you’ll see it’s impossible to tell whether the boy is Indian or not.’ ‘Well, his hair is dark, but his eyes seem light. Why, did you know many foreigners when you were young?’ ‘I spent five years in England as a young boy. Four of those years were spent in school, then I did one year of college. My father was a doctor there. Then we returned to India. The problem is, I had a serious accident before we left. I fell off my bicycle and fractured my skull. As a result, I suffered partial loss of memory. Even today, I cannot recall anything of the years I spent in England.’ ‘Surely you know which school and college you went to?’ ‘My father told me, many years ago. I went to a college in Cambridge. I don’t remember its name, nor could I tell you the name of the school.’ ‘Have you received any treatment to bring back this lost memory?’ ‘Yes. Conventional medicine hasn’t helped. Now I am trying ayurvedic stuff.’ ‘What happened when you returned from England?’ ‘I was admitted to St Xavier’s College here in Calcutta. My father made all the arrangements. I wasn’t fully recovered.’ ‘Which year was that?’ ‘1952. I joined the intermediate year.’ ‘I see.’ Feluda stared at the photo for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Do you think this other boy is related to some special incident? Some particularly significant event in your life?’ ‘Yes, the thought has indeed crossed my mind. Sometimes, I feel as if I can recall a few things vaguely. This boy’s face keeps coming back to me, but for the life of me I cannot remember his name, or where I met him. It’s an extremely awkward situation. We must have been close friends. I’d be very interested to learn if he’s still around somewhere and whether he remembers me, I realize it won’t be a simple task to trace him, but perhaps you won’t mind the challenge?’

‘Very well, I’ll take the job. But obviously, I cannot tell you how long it might take to finish it. Suppose I have to go to England to make enquiries?’ ‘If you do, I will pay for you and your assistant to go and stay there. I will also get you the foreign exchange you’ll