e had been watching Sherlock Holmes on television. Feluda seemed greatly impressed. ‘Don’t Holmes and Watson both seem as though they have stepped straight out of the pages of a book? If Holmes hadn’t shown us the way, taught us about method and observation, what would modern detectives have done? We owe so much to his creator, Conan Doyle.’ Jatayu was in full agreement. ‘What amazes me is the number of stories the man wrote. How could he have thought up so many different plots? I have had to pull at my hair so frequently to get together even a rough outline for a story that I have actually gone bald!’ Lalmohan Babu, I thought, was being unusually modest. He had written forty-one novels so far. Even if his plots did not show a great deal of originality or variety, it was no mean achievement to be one of the most popular writers in Bengal. Yet one had to admit that his stories had improved considerably since he had come to know Feluda. It was raining outside and we had just finished having tea and daalmut. ‘Dear Tapesh,’ said Lalmohan Babu, ‘do you think Srinath could be asked to make us another cup of tea?’ I rose and went inside to tell Srinath. When I returned, there was the sound of a car stopping outside our house, followed by the ring of the doorbell. I opened the door to find a man of medium height, clean shaven, possibly in his mid-forties standing there. ‘Is this where Pradosh Mitter lives?’ he asked me. ‘Do come in,’ Feluda invited, ‘and you can put that by the door,’ he added, indicating the umbrella our visitor was carrying. The man did as he was told, then sat down on a sofa. ‘I am Pradosh Mitter, and this is my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli,’ Feluda said. ‘Namaskar. Thank goodness I found you at home. I did try to ring you, you know, but couldn’t get through.’ ‘I see. What can I do for you?’ ‘I’m coming to that. First let me introduce myself. My name is Mahitosh Roy. I don’t expect you to recognize my name, but I am an actor—in the theatre, not films—and a few people know about me.’ ‘You are in Apsara Theatre, aren’t you?’ ‘Yes, that’s right. I am currently acting in a play called Prafulla.’ ‘Yes, I had heard that.’ ‘I have come to you, Mr Mitter, because I think I may be in danger.’ ‘Oh? Why do you say that?’ ‘I have been receiving threats. I have no idea who might be sending these, but they are all in writing. I brought them with me.’

Mahitosh Roy took out four pieces of paper from his pocket and placed them on a table. One of them said ‘WATCH OUT!’ The second one said ‘YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED’. The third and the fourth said ‘PAY FOR YOUR SINS’ and ‘THIS IS THE END. SAY YOUR LAST PRAYERS’. The messages had all been written in capital letters. It was impossible to tell if the same hand had written each one. ‘Did these arrive by post?’ asked Feluda. ‘Yes, in the last seven days.’ ‘Can’t you even take a guess as to who might have sent them?’ ‘No, I honestly can’t imagine who’d bother to do such a thing.’ ‘Can’t you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?’ ‘Look, I work in the theatre. There are always petty jealousies among actors. I’ve been with Apsara for two years. Before that I was with Rupmanch. When I joined Apsara, I was asked to replace another actor. He didn’t like it, naturally, and is probably still angry.’ ‘What is this man called?’ ‘Jaganmoy Bhattacharya. He had started to drink very heavily. That’s why he had to go. I couldn’t tell you where he is now.’ ‘Can you think of anyone else?’ ‘I have a younger brother, who I don’t get on with. He fell into bad company and was led astray . . . Our father got fed up with him after a while, and eventually left whatever assets he had, solely to me. My brother was naturally upset by this. He lives separately, we hardly see each other. But I can’t think of anyone else who might hold anything against me.’ ‘All right. But do you know what the problem is? In a situation like this, I can’t really do anything except ask you to be careful about where you go and who you see. Where do you live?’ ‘Ballygunj. My address is Five Panditia Place.’ ‘Do you live alone?’ ‘Yes. I have a cook and a bearer. I am not married.’ ‘I see. I’m sorry, Mr Roy, but I really can’t do anything at this stage. All these notes were posted in different places, so I can’t even start an enquiry in any particular place. Usually, people who send threatening notes do not actually carry them out. All they want to do is cause fear and anxiety, and that is what this person—or persons—is doing to you. I think it would be better for you to go to the police.’ ‘The police?’ Mr Roy sounded a little dismayed. ‘Why, do you have anything against them?’ ‘No, no, of course not.’ ‘Well then, I suggest you go straight to your local station and lodge a complaint. Tell them exactly what you have told me.’ Mr Roy rose. Feluda went to the front door to see him out. Then he returned to his seat and said, ‘There was a white mark on one of his fingers. He used to wear a ring until recently. I wonder what happened to it?’ ‘You mean he might have sold it?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.

‘Yes, that’s highly likely. His shoes were in pretty poor shape too. He has only a small role in Prafulla. The lead is played by the star of Apsara Theatre, Nepal Lahiri.’ ‘But who could be harassing him like this?’ ‘Impossible to tell.