We had been in Lucknow for the last three days. My mind kept going back to our first visit—Emperor Aurangzeb’s diamond ring, Dr Srivastava, Bonobihari Babu’s amazing zoo, Haridwar and, finally, our spine-chilling adventure on the way to Laxmanjhoola. On that occasion we had stayed with a friend, not in a hotel. Clarks Avadh had probably not even been built at that time. It was a really good hotel. We had been given a double and a single room. Both overlooked the river. When the sun set every evening on the other side of the Gomti, it was a sight worth seeing. The food, too, was excellent. We had stayed in many hotels in various parts of the country, but I couldn’t recall a single place where the food had been quite so delicious. Lalmohan Babu had seen most of the important sights in these three days. We had begun with the Bara Imambara. Its huge hall—unsupported by pillars—made my head reel once more. Lalmohan Babu was speechless. All he said, as we left, was: ‘Bravo, nawabs of Lucknow!’ The Bhulbhulaiya nearly made him faint. When Feluda told him the nawabs used to play hide-and- seek with their begums in this maze, he grew totally round-eyed. The Residency was another surprise. ‘This . . . this is like going back in time, Felu Babu! I can almost hear the cannons and smell the gunpowder. My word, did the sepoys really cause such a lot of damage to this strong and sturdy building?’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed. On the fourth day, we went out to the local market to buy bhoona peda, a sweetmeat Lucknow is famous for. On our return to the hotel, we found an invitation to dinner. It had been sent by Hector Jayant Biswas, inviting us to attend his silver wedding anniversary in two days time. There was a map enclosed with the invitation, which showed clearly where his house was located. We already knew it was on the other side of the river. With a map like that, we should have no difficulty in finding it. Mr Biswas rang us in the evening. ‘All of you must come,’ he said. ‘You’ll get to meet some other people, and of course I’ll show you Shakuntala’s necklace.’ We spent the next two days looking at the Chhota Imambara, Chattar Manzil and the zoo. Lalmohan Babu was most impressed to find animals in the open and not locked in cages. ‘The Calcutta zoo should also be like this!’ he proclaimed. In the evening, we took a taxi to Mr Biswas’s house. The map we had been sent was a very good one. Our driver found his house quite easily. It was a bungalow, large and sprawling. Flowers bloomed in the big front garden. A cobbled driveway led to the front door. When we rang the bell, a bearer in uniform opened the door. We could hear voices from the living room. Mr Biswas came out quickly. ‘I am so glad you could come!’ he said warmly. ‘Do come in and meet the others.’ We followed him into the room where a few other people had assembled. Perhaps many more were expected. The first person we were introduced to was Mr Biswas’s wife, Pamela Suneela. She had clearly been good-looking at one time. Her daughter—Mary Sheela—was attractive and smart. Her

son, however, was just the opposite: he sported long, thick, unruly hair untouched by a comb, an unkempt beard and a moustache. His name was Victor Prasenjit. Mrs Biswas’s sister and brother-in-law—Mr and Mrs Saldanha were also present. Mrs Saldanha may have been pretty once, but had now put on a lot of weight. Her husband, on the contrary, was very thin. He seemed to be about sixty. I remembered being told he sold musical instruments. There was no one else in the room apart from these family members. The room was fairly large. I was surprised to find that a screen had been put up in one corner. Opposite it stood a projector. I looked enquiringly at our host. ‘We have got a print of the last film in which Shakuntala Devi appeared. We’d like to show one reel from it before dinner,’ he explained. ‘You’ll see her wearing that famous necklace.’ That should be quite interesting, I thought. Mary Sheela came up to speak to Feluda. ‘I am a fan of yours. I would love to have your autograph but, right now I haven’t got an autograph book. I’ll buy one and call on you at your hotel before you leave,’ she said. A bearer came in with a tray of drinks. We picked up three glasses of orange juice. Samuel Saldanha approached us. ‘My shop is in Hazratganj,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come and see it one day? I should be very pleased if you did.’ ‘Thank you. Do you sell Indian instruments?’ ‘Yes, we sell sitars, as well as western instruments.’ At this moment, we were joined by another gentleman. Judging by the resemblances between him and Mrs Biswas, he was her brother. But his skin and his eyes were lighter, which made him look more European than Indian. He picked up a glass of whisky and turned to us. ‘I am Albert Ratanlal Banerjee, Jayant’s brother-in-law,’ he said. ‘You are—?’ Mr Biswas stepped forward and quickly introduced us. ‘Private detective?’ Ratanlal raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you here working on a case?’ ‘No, no,’ Feluda smiled. ‘I am here purely on holiday.’ Another man emerged from the house. He seemed to be about the same age as Mr Saldanha. Perhaps he lived here. I looked at him in surprise. His clothes were dirty, he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and his hair hung down to his shoulders. He was a total misfit among the other people. Mr Biswas laid a hand on his shoulder and brought him over to us. ‘Meet Mr Sudarshan Som,’ he said. ‘He is an artist, a well-known painter of