I gave a violent start as I opened the newspaper. Indranarayan Acharya had been killed in his own house, the day before yesterday. How strange! He had come to visit us only ten days ago. Feluda had already read the news. He shook his head with deep regret. ‘I couldn’t save him even after he came to me for help. But at that stage there was nothing for me to work on. How could I have given him any help?’ A small thing was bothering me. ‘First he was attacked in an alley,’ I said, ‘and then someone broke into his house to kill him. I must say the killer has enormous daring.’ ‘You can’t say that without looking at the victim’s house and seeing for yourself which room he stayed in. Besides, if someone was desperate to kill him, he wouldn’t hesitate to steal into his house, would he?’ ‘I guess not. But they didn’t ask you to make an investigation, did they?’ ‘No, they obviously decided to go to the police. But I happen to know the local inspector, Monilal Poddar. He might be able to give us some information.’ I had met Monilal Poddar before. Plump and heavily moustached, he was a cheerful man who often teased Feluda, but at the same time, respected him a great deal. As it happened, we didn’t have to wait for the police to tell us anything. Indranarayan’s father, Keertinarayan, himself sent word to Feluda. Three days after the murder took place, our door bell rang at nine in the morning. The visitor turned out to be a man in his early forties, his appearance smart and polished. I found him wiping his face when I opened the door. Although it was October, it was still pretty warm. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for barging in like this,’ he said, ‘but I simply couldn’t get through on the telephone. I have been sent here by the old Mr Acharya—Keertinarayan. You may have heard of the murder in his house. He’d like your assistance in the matter.’ ‘I see. And you are—?’ ‘Oh, sorry. I should have introduced myself first. My name is Pradyumna Mallik. I am currently writing the biography of Kandarpanarayan Acharya, the one who had gone to England. I used to work for a newspaper, but I gave that up and became a full-fledged writer. At this moment, I am working as Keertinarayan’s secretary and collecting material for my book. Keertinarayan, as you may know, used to be a barrister. He retired four years ago. His health isn’t very good.’ ‘Why does he want my help? Haven’t they told the police?’ ‘Yes, his sons informed the police. But the old man himself has different views. He’s very fond of crime fiction. He feels this is a job for a private investigator. He’ll pay your fee, naturally.’ ‘Have you learnt anything further about the murder?’

‘No, not really. Someone stood behind Indranarayan and struck him on the head with a