All of us returned to Kailash. With Arun Babu’s permission, Feluda rang someone, though I couldn’t tell who it was. Then he joined us in the drawing room. Neelima Devi sent us tea. Pritin Babu was taking her and Bibi back to Calcutta the very next day, we were told. On hearing about Sultan’s capture, Akhil Chakravarty said, ‘Oh, I wish I had gone with you!’ ‘I think tomorrow I’ll go back, too,’ said Arun Babu, ‘unless you need me here for your investigation.’ ‘No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve finished my investigation and even arranged to fulfil your father’s last wish.’ Arun Babu gave Feluda a startled look over the rim of his cup. ‘You mean you know where Biren is?’ he asked, very surprised. ‘Yes. Your father was right.’ ‘Meaning?’ ‘Biren is here.’ ‘In Hazaribagh?’ ‘In Hazaribagh.’ ‘I find that . . . amazing!’ Arun Babu said, his tone implying that he also found it impossible to believe. ‘Yes, that’s understandable,’ Feluda said. ‘But isn’t that something you yourself had started to believe?’ Arun Babu put his cup down on the table and stared directly at Feluda. ‘Not only that,’ Feluda went on calmly, ‘you were afraid that your father might make a new will and leave you out of it, giving your share to Biren.’ No one spoke for a few seconds. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became charged. Lalmohan Babu, who was sitting next to me, grabbed a cushion and clutched it tightly. Pritin Babu sat in a chair, supporting his head with one hand. Arun Chowdhury slowly rose to his feet. His eyes had turned red and a vein throbbed at his temple. ‘Listen, Mr Mitter,’ he roared, ‘you may be a famous detective, but I am not going to let you sit there and throw totally baseless accusations at me. Jagat Singh! His bearer slipped into the room through an open door. ‘Stop! If you take another step, I will shoot you,’ Feluda threatened coldly, holding his revolver. ‘Jagat Singh, it was you who stole into our room, wasn’t it? I managed to take off a fair amount of your hair. And I know who sent you there, with what purpose.’ Jagat Singh froze. Arun Babu sat down again, his whole body shaking with rage. ‘Wh-what are you trying to say?’ he demanded.

‘Listen very carefully. You knew your father was thinking of changing his will. You didn’t want him to find and destroy the old one. So you hid his key. Bibi saw him looking for it, and he even told her what he was looking for: “a pier . . . that which opens and that which shuts”. By a “pier” he meant a “quay”. Bearing in mind that he liked to play with the sound of words, I realized that the “quay” was really a “key”, something which could be used to open and shut an object. Presumably, the will was kept in a locked drawer. But even after stealing the key, you weren’t satisfied, were you? So, that day in Rajrappa, you seized your chance and played your trump card. You knew it would come as an enormous shock to your father, which might well be enough to kill him. If that happened, you would no longer have anything to worry about.’ ‘You are mad. You’re just raving. You don’t know what you’re saying, Mr Mitter.’ ‘I do, I can assure you; and I can produce witnesses. There are three of them, although none of them might wish to admit what they have seen and heard. Your own brother, Akhil Chakravarty and Shankarlal . . . they all know.’ ‘Well then, Mr Mitter, if your witnesses won’t talk, I think you are wasting your time, don’t you? How are you going to prove your case?’ ‘Very simply. There is a fourth witness who will not hesitate at all in revealing the truth.’ Suddenly, the room was filled with strange noises. Where were they coming from? There were birds calling from somewhere, and a waterfall gushed in the background. Feluda quietly placed a small black object on a table. It was Pritin Chowdhury’s tape recorder. ‘What your brother accidentally saw and heard that day made him drop his recorder near a bush. His wife saw it and picked it up. There is much more on that tape besides the chirping of birds.’ Arun Babu swallowed. His heightened colour had started to recede. In just a few minutes, he turned quite pale. Feluda kept his revolver raised and pointed at him. The tape recorder continued to run. Now there were voices, rising over the sound of the water. ‘Baba, what makes you think Biren has come back?’ asked Arun Babu’s voice. ‘If an old man likes to believe his missing son has returned, why should that bother you?’ Mahesh Chowdhury asked. ‘You must forget Biren. He will never come back. I know that. It simply isn’t possible.’ ‘How can you say that? Who are you to tell me what to believe? You have no right—’ ‘I have every right. I don’t want you to do something wrong and unfair, just because of your stupid belief.’ ‘What is wrong and unfair?’ ‘I will not let you deprive me of what is rightfully mine!’ ‘What are you taking about?’ ‘You know very well. You changed your will once, thinking Biren was not going to come back. Now you’re planning to . . .’ ‘What I am planning is my business. I was going to change my will, in any case,’ Mahesh Chowdhury had raised his voice, sounding angry, as though his old violent temper was about to burst through. ‘How can you expect to be mentioned in my will at all?’ he went on. ‘You are dishonest, you are a gambler, you are a thief! You took Dorabjee’s stamp album from my safe—’

Arun Babu’s voice cut him short, ‘And what about you? If I am a thief, what are you? You think