ello can I speak to Mr Mitter, please?’ ‘Speaking.’ ‘Namaskar. My name is Shankarprasad Chowdhury. I live in Panihati. You don’t know me, but I am calling you to make a special request.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘I’d like you to visit my house here in Panihati. It is by the Ganges. It’s about a hundred years old and is called Amaravati. Locally it’s quite well-known. I’m aware of the kind of work you do, and that you’re normally accompanied by your cousin and your friend, so I’m inviting all three of you. Do you think you could come next Saturday, say around ten in the morning? You could stay the night and go back the following morning.’ ‘Are you in trouble of some kind? I mean, you said you knew about my profession, so I wonder . . . ?’ ‘Yes, why else would I need to seek your help? But I’m not going to talk about it on the phone. I think you’ll enjoy staying in my house. You’ll be well looked after—I can guarantee that—and you’ll get a chance to exercise your brain.’ ‘Well, I must confess I am free this weekend.’ ‘In that case, please say yes. But I must mention something else.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘There will be a few other people here. I don’t want them to know who you are—at least, not right away. There’s a special reason for this.’ ‘You mean we should come in disguise?’ ‘No, no, that will not be necessary. After all, you’re not a film star, so I don’t think the others are familiar with your appearance. All you need to do is choose yourselves three different roles. I can even suggest what roles you might play.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘My great-grandfather Banwarilal Chowdhury was a strange man. I’ll tell you about him when we meet, but you could pretend you have come to collect information about him to write his biography. In fact, I really think it’s time his biography was written.’ ‘Very well. What about my friend, Mr Ganguli?’ ‘Do you have a pair of binoculars?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then why don’t you turn him into a bird-watcher? I get plenty of birds in my garden. That’ll give him something to do.’ ‘All right; and my cousin could be the bird-watcher’s nephew.’

‘Good idea. So I’ll see you on Saturday, at around ten?’ ‘Yes, I’ll look forward to that. Thank you and goodbye!’ Feluda put the phone down and repeated the whole conversation to me. He ended by saying, ‘Some people speak with such genuine warmth and sincerity that it becomes impossible to turn down their request. This Mr Chowdhury is such a man.’ ‘But why should you even think of turning him down? From what he told you, there’s a case waiting in Panihati for you. Surely you have to think of earning some money, at least occasionally?’ Over the last couple of months, Feluda had refused to accept a single case. He did this often after a spate of great activity, during which he might have had to work on more than one case. Then he would take some time off and spend his days studying different subjects. His current passion was the primitive man. He found an article by an American scientist called Richard Leaky in which it was suggested that the actual process of evolution took far longer than is generally believed. This got Feluda terribly excited. He paid five visits to the museum, went three times to the National Library and once to the zoo. ‘Do you know what the latest theory says?’ he told me once. ‘It says man came from a particular species of apes called the “killer ape”. That’s why there is an inherent tendency towards violence in man.’ The chances of encountering violence in Panihati seemed remote, but I knew Feluda would welcome the opportunity to get out of Calcutta for a couple of days. In fact, we all enjoyed short trips to neighbouring towns. We left for Panihati on Saturday morning in Lalmohan Babu’s Ambassador. His driver being away, Feluda took his place. ‘What a responsibility you’ve thrust upon me, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked as we set off. ‘A bird-watcher? Me? I’ve never seen anything except crows and sparrows where I live. What use are these binoculars to me, and these two books you have told me to read?’ The two books in question were Salim Ali’s Indian Birds and Ajoy Hom’s The Birds of Bengal. ‘Don’t worry,’ Feluda reassured him. ‘Just remember a crow is Corvus splendens, and a sparrow is Passer domesticus. But you needn’t try to learn the Latin names of all the birds you might see—that’ll only make you stutter. All you need do is throw in ordinary English names like drongo, tailor-bird or jungle babbler. If even that is difficult, just keep peering through your binoculars. That’ll do.’ ‘I see. And what about a new name for me?’ ‘You are Bhabatosh Sinha. Topshe is your nephew. His name is Prabeer. And I am Someshwar Roy.’ We reached Mr Chowdhury’s house in Panihati at five minutes to ten. The Gurkha at the gate opened it as he saw our car approach. Feluda drove gently up a cobbled driveway. The house was huge, and it had a massive compound. Whoever designed it must have been impressed by English castles, for the general pattern of the house reminded me instantly of pictures of castles I had seen. There was a garden on one side in which grew a number of flowers. It had a greenhouse in one corner, behind which an orchard began. Mr Chowdhury was waiting for us at the door. ‘Welcome to Amaravati!’ he said, smiling, as we got out. He appeared to be about fifty, was of medium height and had a clear complexion. He was dressed in a pyjama-kurta and carried a cheroot in one hand.

‘My cousin Jayanta arrived yesterday. I’ve told him everything, but he’s not going to tell the others who you really