‘Come in, Mr Sen, we’re all waiting for you,’ Feluda opened the door. Mahim Sen came in with his father. Three lanterns had been lit in the room, the police had clearly worked quite hard at cleaning and dusting. It looked a different room altogether. Father and son took two chairs. ‘Here’s your Kalpasutra,’ said Feluda, offering him the manuscript he had just recovered from Bilas Majumdar. Mr Sen looked visibly relieved as he took it, but asked with considerable anxiety, ‘What about the other one?’ ‘I am coming to that. You’ll have to bear with me. I hope you didn’t take a sleeping pill today?’ ‘No, no, of course not. That’s what led to this disaster. God knows what he put in my glass of water yesterday!’ Mr Sen glared at Laxman Bhattacharya. ‘What I fail to understand is why you went to this humbug in the first place. Didn’t you know there were other much better doctors in town?’ ‘I did, Mr Mitter. But he came to me himself, and everyone else said he was very good. So I thought I should give him a chance. Besides, he said he knew of old manuscripts and scrolls . . . he could get me a few . . .’ ‘That’s your biggest weakness, isn’t it? And he took full advantage of it. Anyway, I hope the Diapid has worked? That’s supposed to be the best among modern drugs to bring back lost memory.’ ‘It’s worked like a charm!’ Mr Sen exclaimed. ‘My memory is coming back to me, exactly as if one door is being opened after another. Thank God Dr Senapati came to me himself and gave me that medicine. You see, I had even forgotten that it was he who used to treat me before!’ ‘Well then, tell me, Mr Sen, can you recognize this gentleman?’ Feluda flashed his torch on Bilas Majumdar. Mr Sen stared at him for a few seconds, then said slowly, ‘Yes, I could recognize him yesterday from the look in his eyes and his voice. But still, I wasn’t sure.’ ‘Can you remember his name?’ ‘Certainly. But he may have changed it here.’ ‘Is his name Sarkar?’ ‘Yes, that’s right. Mr Sarkar. I never learnt his first name.’ ‘Liar!’ Mr Majumdar screamed. ‘Do you want to see my passport?’ ‘No, we don’t,’ Feluda’s voice was ice-cold. ‘A criminal like you may well have a fake passport. That won’t mean anything at all. What’s in it, anyway? It describes you as Bilas Majumdar, right? And states that you have a distinguishing mark on your forehead, a mole? OK. Now watch this.’ Feluda strode over to Mr Majumdar and took out his handkerchief from his pocket. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he struck at his forehead with the handkerchief still in his hand. This made the false mole slip out and hit the dark floor.

‘You made a lot of enquiries about Bilas Majumdar, didn’t you?’ Feluda went on. ‘You knew he had gone to take photos of a snow leopard, and then he had had an accident. You even knew which hospital he had been taken to, the nature of his injuries and that he had been kept in the same hospital until last month. But a tiny news item escaped your notice. I had read it, but hadn’t paid much attention at the time. Yesterday, Dr Bhargav of Veer Hospital in Kathmandu confirmed what I vaguely remembered having read. Bilas Majumdar’s most serious injury was to the brain. He died three weeks ago.’ Even in the dim light from the lanterns, I could see the man had turned white as a sheet. ‘Listen, Mr Sarkar,’ Feluda said, ‘your profession is something that no passport will ever reveal. You are a smuggler. Perhaps you don’t always steal things yourself, but you certainly help in transferring smuggled goods. In Kathmandu, you had come upon the scroll stolen from the palace museum in Bhatgaon. Mr Sen will tell you the rest.’ The look in D.G. Sen’s eyes was cold and hard as steel. He said, ‘This man and I happened to be staying in the same hotel in Kathmandu. One day, I unlocked his door by mistake, and found two other men in his room. One of them was in the process of handing him an object wrapped in red silk. I realized immediately that it was a manuscript. But all I could do at that moment was apologize and come away. God knows what happened to me that night. When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital. Every memory prior to this incident was gone from my mind. But people were very kind. They found my address from the hotel, and eventually managed to inform my family. Nishith went and brought me back. I had to spend three and a half months in hospital.’ ‘I think I can fill the gaps in your memory. If I get anything wrong, perhaps Mr Sarkar will correct me?’ Feluda said coolly. ‘You were obviously given something that made you unconscious. You were then taken by car outside the main city, into the mountains and dropped from a height of five hundred feet. Mr Sarkar was convinced you were dead. However, nine months later, when he came to Puri to transfer the stolen scroll, he saw your nameplate and began to get suspicious. It is my belief that the occupant of your ground floor, Mr Laxman Bhattacharya, supplied him with all the necessary information regarding your present condition. Am I right?’ Laxman Bhattacharya, who had not uttered a single word so far, burst into speech at this. ‘What are you saying, sir? I supplied all the information to him? Why, I saw him for the first time when you brought him to my place!’ ‘Really?’ Feluda walked across to stand directly before Laxman Bhattacharya. ‘Well then, Mr Astrologer, tell me this: when we took him to your place, you asked him to sit on the divan