Feluda knew a chartered accountant called Dharani Mukherjee. He rang him the same day. Mr Mukherjee said he knew Ranjan Majumdar very well since both were members of the Saturday Club. On being asked what kind of a man Mr Majumdar was, Mr Mukherjee said he was quiet and reserved, and did not speak to many people. Usually, he was seen sitting alone. He drank occasionally, but never in excess. Mr Mukherjee knew that he had spent a few years in England in his childhood, but could tell us nothing more. The next day, Feluda got hold of a list of students who had attended the intermediate year at St Xavier’s in 1952. ‘I think I’ve heard of one of them. He’s a homeopath,’ said Feluda, quickly scanning the list. ‘Topshe, see if you can get me the telephone number of Dr Hiren Basak.’ I found his number in two minutes. Feluda rang up and made an appointment to see him the next morning at half past eleven. Lalmohan Babu turned up the next day to find out if we had made any progress. We went to Dr Basak’s chamber in his car. The crowded waiting room bore evidence of the doctor’s popularity. His assistant greeted us and took us straight into the consulting room. Dr Basak rose as he saw us, a smile on his face. ‘What brings you here, Mr Mitter? You don’t fall ill often.’ ‘No, no, it isn’t illness that’s brought me here today, Dr Basak. I’ve come only to ask you some questions as a part of my investigations.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Were you a student at St Xavier’s?’ ‘Yes, I was.’ ‘Will you please look at this photo and tell me if you can recognize these boys?’ Feluda took out the photo from its cellophane wrapper and gave it to Dr Basak. He had already returned the original to Mr Majumdar. This was a copy he had had made. The doctor frowned as he looked at it. ‘I seem to recognize one of them,’ he said after a while. ‘He used to be in my batch. I think his name was Ranjan. Yes, that’s right. Ranjan Majumdar.’ ‘And the other one? I am more interested in him.’ ‘No, sorry, Mr Mitter. I never saw the other boy in my life.’ ‘Didn’t he go to St Xavier’s? I mean, wasn’t he in your batch as well?’ ‘No, I am certain of that.’ Feluda put the photo away. ‘Would there be any point in speaking to any of your other batchmates?’ ‘No, I don’t think so. It’ll only be a waste of time.’ ‘Even so, I’d be very grateful if you could do something for me.’

‘I am willing to do what I can.’ Feluda took out the list of students. ‘Please go through this and tell me if you know how any of these men might be contacted.’ Clearly, he was not going to give up easily. Dr Basak ran his eyes over the list and said, ‘I know one of them. He’s a doctor, too; but he practises orthodox medicine. Dr Jyotirmoy Sen. He lives in Hastings. You’ll get his address from the telephone directory.’ ‘Thank you. Thank you very much, sir.’ We came out and got into the car. ‘Look, Felu Babu, why are you assuming that the other boy was a classmate?’ Lalmohan Babu asked as we drove off. ‘One can make friends anywhere, surely? Not one of my present set of friends had ever studied with me.’ ‘You’re right. I think in the end we’ll have to put in an advertisement in the press with the photo, but in the meantime let’s see what this other doctor has to say.’ Dr Jyotirmoy Sen was not available for the next three days. But he agreed to see us in his house on the fourth day, at half past nine. He normally left for his clinic at ten, he said. He had heard of Feluda, and appeared duly impressed. Lalmohan Babu collected us in his car, and we reached Dr Sen’s house on the dot of nine-thirty. His house was large and well kept, so presumably here was another doctor with a thriving practice. A bearer showed us into his drawing room. ‘The doctor will be with you shortly,’ he said and disappeared. ‘Who will you ask him about? Ranjan Majumdar, or the other boy?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, lowering his voice. ‘Let’s see if we can get anything more on Ranjan Majumdar. We don’t know a great deal about our client, do we? As for the other boy, I don’t think Dr Sen can help.’ The doctor arrived as soon as Feluda finished speaking. ‘You must be Pradosh Mitter,’ he said, taking a chair, ‘although you’re better known as Feluda, aren’t you? And you two must be Tapesh and Jatayu. Everyone in my family devours the stories Tapesh writes, so all of you are quite familiar to me. How may I help you?’ ‘Take a look at this photograph. Can you recognize either of these boys?’ ‘Yes, one of them is Ranjan Majumdar. I remember him pretty well. I don’t know the other one.’ ‘He wasn’t in your class?’ ‘No. I’d have remembered him if he was.’ ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about Ranjan Majumdar.’ ‘Go ahead. We were close friends in college. We attended lectures together, went to movies together. If he missed a class, I stood in for him at roll-call, and he often did the same for me. But now we’ve lost touch.’ ‘What was he like as a person?’ Dr Sen frowned slightly. ‘A little eccentric. But we didn’t really mind that.’ ‘Eccentric? Why do you say that?’ ‘Well, he had very strong nationalistic feelings. I mean, no young man of that age ever spoke or felt like that about the country. Perhaps this was something he had inherited from his grandfather, Raghunath Majumdar, who was a terrorist once. He fought very hard against the British. Ranjan’s

father