Five days later, Feluda’s little advertisement came out in the Statesman in Delhi and Calcutta. Nothing happened on the first day. ‘It can’t be anyone from Calcutta, I guess. If it was, we’d have heard by now,’ Feluda said to me. On Wednesday, Feluda got a call from a tourist staying in the Grand Hotel. His name was John Dexter. He was travelling with a group of Australians, and had seen the photo—purely by chance—in Delhi. This made him come to Calcutta to talk to Feluda. Since he was leaving for Kathmandu in the evening, he would have to see us in the afternoon, he said. ‘Would it be all right if I called at your house at one o’clock?’ he asked. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you for taking so much trouble.’ Feluda sounded excited. He had not really expected the little notice to work. A taxi drew up at our front door a little before one. Feluda opened the door and admitted a middle- aged white gentleman. ‘Mr Mitter?’ he said, offering his hand, ‘I am John Dexter.’ ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Feluda shook his hand. ‘Please sit down.’ Mr Dexter sat on our settee. His face and arms had a deep tan. He had clearly been travelling in India for some time. ‘You saw that photo in the Statesman?’ ‘Yes, that’s why I am here. I told you on the phone. I was amazed to see a photo of my cousin, Peter Dexter, after such a long time and in a foreign country.’ ‘Are you sure it was your cousin?’ ‘Absolutely. Peter and I are first cousins. But I left England and went to Australia when I was quite young. Then I lost touch with Peter and his family. In fact, I am no longer in touch with my own family in England. So I couldn’t tell you where Peter is at present, or what he does. All I can tell you is that Peter’s father, Michael Dexter, used to be in the Indian Army. I think he went back to England after 1947.’ ‘Was Peter his only son?’ ‘Oh no. Michael Dexter had seven children. Peter was his sixth. His eldest son, George, was also in the army.’ ‘Where did Michael Dexter live in England?’ ‘In Norfolk. I couldn’t give you the whole address, not even the name of the town. Sorry.’ ‘Never mind. You have been most helpful.’ Mr Dexter rose. His companions were waiting for him in the hotel. Feluda thanked him again and saw him off to his taxi. We went to see Ranjan Majumdar the next day. ‘Did your plan work?’

‘Yes, that’s what I have come to tell you. That boy was English, called Peter Dexter.’ ‘How did you find out?’ Feluda told him about John Dexter’s visit. Mr Majumdar grew a little thoughtful. ‘Dexter?’ he muttered, ‘Dexter . . . Dexter . . .’ ‘Can you remember anything?’ ‘Only vaguely. Something unpleasant happened, I think . . . but no, it’s