‘Who rang you, Feluda?’ I asked, realizing instantly that I shouldn’t have, for Feluda was doing yoga. He never spoke until he had finished every exercise, including sheershasan. He had started this about six months ago. The result was already noticeable. Feluda seemed a lot fitter, and openly admitted that yoga had done him a world of good. I glanced at the clock. Feluda’s reply came seven and a half minutes later. ‘You don’t know him,’ he said, rising from the floor. Really, Feluda could be most annoying at times. So what if I didn’t know the man? He could tell me his name, surely? ‘Do you know him?’ I asked impatiently. Feluda began chewing chick-peas which had been soaked overnight. This was a part of his keep-fit programme. ‘I didn’t know him before,’ he replied, ‘but I do now.’ Our Puja holidays had started a few days ago. Baba had gone to Jamshedpur on tour. Only Ma, Feluda and I were at home. We didn’t plan to go out of town this time. I didn’t mind staying at home as long as I could be with Feluda. He had become quite well known as an amateur detective. So it shouldn’t be surprising at all, I thought, if he got involved in another case. My only fear was that he might one day refuse to take me with him. But that hadn’t happened so far. Perhaps there was an advantage in being seen with a young boy. No one could guess easily that he was an investigator, if we travelled together. ‘I bet you’re dying to know who made that phone call,’ Feluda added. This was an old technique. If he knew I was anxious for information, he never came to the point without beating about the bush and creating a lot of suspense. I tried to be casual. ‘Well, if that phone call had anything to do with a mystery, naturally I’d be interested,’ I said lightly. Feluda slipped on a striped shirt. ‘The man’s called Nilmoni Sanyal,’ he finally revealed, ‘He lives on Roland Road, and wants to see me urgently. He didn’t tell me why, but he sounded sort of nervous.’ ‘When do you have to go?’ ‘I told him I’d be there by nine. It’s going to take us at least ten minutes by taxi, so let’s go!’ On our way to Roland Road, I said to Feluda, ‘But suppose this Mr Sanyal is a crook? Suppose he’s called you over to his house only to cause you some harm? You’ve never met him before, have you?’ ‘No,’ said Feluda, looking out of the window. ‘There is always a risk in going out on a case like this. But mind you, if his sole intention was to cause me bodily harm, he wouldn’t invite me to his house. It would be far more risky for him if the police came to know. A hired goonda could do the job much more simply.’ Last year, Feluda had won the first prize in the All India Rifle Competition. It was amazing how accurate his aim had become after only three months of practice. Now he possessed a revolver, although he didn’t carry it in his pocket all the time, unlike detectives in books. ‘Do you know what Mr Sanyal does for a living?’ I asked. ‘No. All I know about the man is that he takes paan, is probably slightly deaf and tends to say “Er . . .” before starting a sentence.’ I asked no more questions after this.

We soon reached Nilmoni Sanyal’s house. The meter showed one rupee and seventy paise. Feluda gave a two-rupee note to the driver and made a gesture indicating he could keep the change. We climbed out of the taxi and walked up to the front door. Feluda pressed the bell. The house had two storeys. It didn’t appear to be very old. There was a front garden, but it looked a bit unkempt and neglected. A man who was probably the chowkidar opened the door and took Feluda’s card from him. We were then ushered into the living room. I was surprised to see how well-furnished it was. It was obvious that a lot of money had been spent on acquiring the furniture and paintings, flower vases, and old artefacts displayed in a glass case. Someone had arranged these with a great deal of care. Mr Sanyal entered the room a few minutes later. He was wearing a loose kurta over what must have been his sleeping-suit pyjamas. His fingers were loaded with rings. He was of medium height, clean- shaven and looked as if he had been sleeping. I tried to guess his age. He didn’t seem to be more than fifty. ‘You are Mr Pradosh Mitter?’ he asked. ‘I had no idea you were so young.’ Feluda smiled politely. Then he pointed at me and said, ‘This is my cousin. He’s a very intelligent boy, but if you’d rather speak to me alone, I can send him out.’ I cast an anxious glance at Mr Sanyal, but he said, ‘No, no, I don’t mind at all. Er . . . would you like some tea or coffee?’ ‘No, thanks.’ ‘Very well then, allow me to tell you why I asked you to come here. But before I do so, I think I ought to tell you something about myself. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I am reasonably wealthy, and am fond of antiques and other beautiful things. What you may find difficult to believe is that I wasn’t born rich. I did not inherit any money; nor have I got a job, or a business.’ Nilmoni Babu stopped, and looked at us expectantly. ‘Lottery?’ said Feluda. ‘Pardon?’ ‘I said, did you win a lottery?’ ‘Exactly, exactly!’ Nilmoni Babu shouted like an excited child. ‘I won two hundred and fifty thousand rupees in the Rangers Lottery eleven years ago. I have managed—pretty well, I must admit —all