In the end, Lalmohan babu did not shave off his moustache. When I asked him the following morning if he had slept well, he told me he hadn’t because each time he began nodding off, it seemed to him as if his entire room was moving up and down like a lift, and he woke with a start. Mr Ghoshal had called us the previous night and told us that he’d collect us at ten o’clock to take us to his studio. We finished our breakfast at eight, then went for a walk down Peddar Road, where we found a paan shop. We bought some paan filled with sweet masala, and returned to the hotel. As soon as we entered the lobby, we could all feel an air of suppressed excitement. The reason was simple. The local police had decided to pay a visit to our hotel. A man in uniform, who looked like an inspector, was standing at the reception desk. One of the men behind the counter made a gesture as we approached. The inspector wheeled around and glanced at Lalmohan babu. Although the look in his eyes wasn’t even remotely hostile, I heard a faint click beside me, which meant that Lalmohan babu’s knees were knocking against each other. The inspector came forward, a smile on his face. Feluda placed a hand on Lalmohan babu’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, to let him know that there was nothing to worry about. ‘I am Inspector Patwardhan from the CID. You are Mr Ganguli?’ ‘Ye-ye-yess.’ Patwardhan looked at Feluda. ‘And you are—?’ Feluda took out one of his cards and handed it to Patwardhan. The inspector read it, then looked inquiringly at Feluda again. ‘Mitter? Are you the same Mitter who helped save that statue in Ellora?’ Feluda gave his famous lopsided smile and nodded. ‘Glad to meet you, sir,’ Patwardhan said, offering his hand, ‘you did a very good job there.’ Lalmohan babu could now relax a little. As Feluda’s friend, his status had certainly improved. Nevertheless, he had to answer a number of questions. We went to the manager’s room to have a chat. Patwardhan told us that various fingerprints had been found on the body, but the police hadn’t yet made any arrests. The man in the red shirt had been traced back to the airport. The police had tracked down the taxi he had used, but did not know who the man was. They believed the murder had been committed by the same man, and the piece of paper with Lalmohan babu’s name on it had slipped out of his pocket. What Lalmohan babu told him simply confirmed this belief. Patwardhan said, ‘It was clear that he had gone to the airport to meet a Mr Ganguli. We checked the passenger list of every plane that landed at Santa Cruz yesterday, until we found your name on the Calcutta flight. Then we made enquiries at all the hotels, and finally learned that a Mr L. Ganguli had checked in at the Shalimar.’ What Patwardhan really wanted to do, of course, was find out how Lalmohan babu was connected to the whole business, and why his name and description appeared on that piece of paper. Lalmohan

babu explained about Mr Sanyal. ‘Who is this Sanyal? How well do you know him?’ asked Patwardhan. Lalmohan babu told him what little he knew, but had to admit, when asked, that he did not have Sanyal’s address. Finally Inspector Patwardhan gave a little lecture, exactly as Feluda had done. ‘This is how,’ he said, ‘innocent people are being used these days to transfer smuggled goods. We’ve learned that some valuable jewels have arrived in India from Kathmandu, including the famous naulakha necklace that once belonged to Nanasaheb.’ I knew of one Nanasaheb who had fought against the British during the sepoy mutiny of 1857. Was Patwardhan talking of the same man? ‘It is my belief that the packet you were given contained some stolen object,’ Patwardhan told us. ‘Two gangs must be after the same thing. One sent it from Calcutta. Someone from the other gang, I suspect, learnt about its arrival and was hanging around Shivaji Castle. He attacked red shirt, and red shirt killed him.’ Lalmohan babu had assumed that he would either be hanged, or put behind bars for life, simply because the possible murderer was known to be carrying his name and description in his pocket. When all he got from the police was a piece of advice to be careful in future, Lalmohan babu’s demeanour changed at once. He perked up and his eyes sparkled once more. Mr Ghoshal arrived at eleven o’clock instead of ten. When we told him about our encounter with the police, he said, ‘Yes, I was afraid of this. My heart sank the minute I read the evening papers yesterday. That piece of paper they found seemed to have every description that fits Laluda—yet the whole thing is a complete mystery to me!’ Lalmohan babu then told him about Mr Sanyal. ‘Which Sanyal is this?’ Mr Ghoshal asked, ‘Is it Ahi Sanyal? Medium height, sunken eyes, cleft on his chin?’ ‘Don’t know. Didn’t see his chin, he had a beard. Perhaps he was clean shaven before.’ ‘I saw him two years ago. God knows if it was the same man. He worked in Bombay for a while, even produced a couple of films. As far as I can remember, both films were flops.’ ‘What was he like as a man?’ ‘I have no idea, but I never heard anyone say anything bad about him.’ ‘In that case, perhaps there was nothing wrong with that packet he gave me.’ ‘Look, Laluda, we are all told to be careful only because these days you often hear about cases of smuggling. But in the past, didn’t we carry packets and parcels for other people? I mean, even people we didn’t know that well? There were never any problems, were there?’