What happened the next day marked the real beginning of this story. But before I talk about it, I must mention the telephone call Feluda received a few hours after Mr Batra’s departure. Lalmohan Babu left at 7 p.m. ‘It looks as though it’s going to rain,’ he said, looking out of the window. ‘I had better be going today. Tell you what, Tapesh, I’ll come back tomorrow. You see, I’ve thought some more about that new plot. I’d like to discuss it with you.’ It began to pour at around eight. The phone call came at 8.45. Feluda took it on the extension in his room. I heard the conversation on the main telephone in the living room. ‘Mr Pradosh Mitter?’ asked a deep, rather refined voice. ‘Speaking.’ ‘You’re the private investigator?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Namaskar. My name is Anikendra Som. I’m calling from the Central Hotel.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘I need to meet you personally. When can I—?’ ‘Is it urgent?’ ‘Yes, very. It’s raining so heavily it might be difficult to go out tonight, but I’d be grateful if you could find some time tomorrow morning. I’ve travelled to Calcutta expressly to meet you. I think you’ll be interested in the reason.’ ‘I don’t suppose you could explain a bit further on the telephone?’ ‘No, I’m sorry.’ ‘All right. How about nine o’clock tomorrow?’ ‘That’s fine. Thank you.’ Mr Som rang off. Two clients in one evening, I thought to myself. At this rate, Feluda would soon have a queue outside our front door! I had recently decided to follow Feluda’s example and started to do yoga in the morning. We were both ready for the day by 8 a.m. Lalmohan Babu rang at half-past eight. ‘I’m on my way to your house,’ he said. ‘I’ll stop on the way at New Market to look at a green jerkin I saw the other day. I need to find out its price.’ He had clearly started making preparations for going to a hill station. More than an hour later, we were still waiting in the living room, but there was no sign of Mr Som. At 9.45, Feluda glanced at his watch and shook his head irritably. I could tell he was about to comment bitterly on Mr Som’s sense of punctuality. But the telephone rang before he could utter a word.

‘Why do I find your phone number in the diary of a murder victim?’ boomed a familiar voice. It was Inspector Mahim Dattagupta, in charge of the Jorasanko police station. Feluda frowned. ‘Who’s been murdered?’ ‘Come to Central Avenue, Central Hotel. Room number 23. All will be revealed.’ ‘Is it Anikendra Som?’ ‘Did you know him?’ ‘No, I was supposed to meet him this morning. How did he die?’ ‘Stabbed.’ ‘When?’ ‘Early this morning. I’ll give you the details when you get here. I arrived about twenty minutes ago.’ ‘I’ll try to get there in half an hour,’ said Feluda. Lalmohan Babu walked in five minutes later, but did not