The doctor on duty at the clinic was called Dr Bardhan. He examined Feluda thoroughly, and confirmed his injuries were not serious. But he was naturally curious to know what had happened, and we were obliged to tell him. ‘But who should want to attack you like this?’ he asked, puzzled. In order to explain that, Feluda had to tell him who he was. Dr Bardhan grew round-eyed. ‘You are the most famous investigator, the Pradosh Mitter? I have read so much about your cases, but never thought I’d get to meet you in person. Are you here to look into the death of Mr Majumdar?’ ‘I am involved in it now, yes.’ ‘He was one of my patients.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yes. A man with the most extraordinary will power. No one could tell how much he had suffered and, in fact, was still suffering. He kept himself busy with his hobby, and went about riding everywhere.’ ‘What do you mean by suffering? Do you mind telling me?’ ‘Well, to start with, his health wasn’t very good. Then he lost his wife seven years ago. She died of cancer. Apart from all that, there were problems with his son.’ ‘You mean Samiran Babu?’ ‘Yes. He was quite a gifted young man, but speculation in the stock exchange ruined him totally. He’s now up to his neck in debt. I felt very sorry for Mr Majumdar. Samiran was, after all, his only son. Since I was his doctor, he used to tell me many things, share his worries with me that he wouldn’t with anyone else. I am sure Samiran decided to visit this time only to ask his father for more money. But Mr Majumdar, I know, was so angry and disappointed with his son that he wouldn’t have helped him out. He may even have given him an ultimatum. The whole thing is so unpleasant, so shameful, I really fee! sad to think about it. Particularly ever since the murder. I feel afraid it isn’t over, something else might happen. I couldn’t tell you what, but I cannot shake off this feeling.’ ‘Do you know if he made a will?’ ‘No. But if he did, I’m sure he left everything to his son, unless he changed it recently.’ ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said Feluda, ‘you have no idea how much you’ve helped me. I came here to get first aid. But you’ve given me aid of a very different kind. It’s an added bonus. I cannot thank you enough.’ Dr Bardhan waved his thanks aside and refused to accept a fee. When we came out of the clinic, Feluda said, ‘If you two wish to have a little rest, you can go back to the hotel. I must go to Nayanpur

Villa. I have to begin my investigation all over again, keeping in mind every new thing I’ve learnt today. In my eyes, the whole case seems entirely different now.’ Lalmohan Babu and I both said we had no intention of returning to the hotel. If Feluda could carry on working in spite of his brush with death, there was no reason for us to retire quietly. I couldn’t stop marvelling at his stamina. He had rolled at least a hundred feet down the hill. By the time we reached Nayanpur Villa, the mist had almost totally gone. The house had a rather sombre air about it, but the beauty that surrounded it was as breathtaking as ever. Rajat Bose came out as we got closer to the front veranda. Perhaps he had heard our footsteps on the cobbled driveway. ‘Namaskar,’ Feluda greeted him, ‘I can see that you’re feeling at a loose end. I need your help, Mr Bose.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Do you think I might see Mr Majumdar’s study? I’d like to see your room as well, if I may, and ask some questions.’ ‘Very well. Please come in.’ ‘Where is Samiran Babu?’ ‘He is probably having a bath.’ ‘OK, let’s sit in the study.’ We followed Mr Bose to the rear portion of the northern wing. Mr Majumdar’s study was large, tidy and comfortable. The pine wood behind the house was partially visible through a window. A heavy mahogany table stood before the window, together with two chairs. At the far end were other chairs and sofas for visitors. We walked over to this side. Feluda did not come with us. He took his time inspecting the room, occasionally picking up objects from the table. I saw him pick up a paper- knife and look at it closely. ‘It’s got quite a sharp blade,’ he remarked, ‘one could even kill with a small knife like this!’ ‘I think it’s one of a pair, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu piped up. ‘Pulak has used the other one on his set. In one of the scenes, the villain uses it to scratch his back.’ Even from a distance the knife looked sharp and sort of lethal. Feluda put it back on the table. Rows of shelves stood on one side, packed with long, thick ledgers—Mr Majumdar’s scrapbooks. We had seen two of these already. Feluda took out a couple more and glanced idly through them. ‘Who used to cut out and paste these before you came?’ he asked Mr Bose. ‘Mr Majumdar used to do it himself.’ ‘Did he leave this job entirely to you after your arrival?’ ‘More or less. Lokenath helped me sometimes.’ ‘You mean the bearer?’ ‘Yes. He had finished school. He could read and write very well indeed.’ ‘That’s unusual in someone working as a bearer. Could you tell us why he had chosen such a job?’ ‘Mr Majumdar paid him well.’ ‘I see. He chose a fine way to show his gratitude, didn’t he?’ Mr Bose said nothing. Feluda continued to walk around the room, looking at and touching objects as he asked his questions.

‘What did you do before coming here?’ ‘Work in a private firm.’ ‘Where?’ ‘In Calcutta.’ ‘How long did you stay in that