‘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