A shower and a cup of tea refreshed me physically, but I felt too restless to sit still. Feluda had now officially begun his investigation. Puri, like so many other places we had gone to on holiday, had given us a mystery to work on. Knowing Feluda’s calibre and his past performance, I was sure we would not go back disappointed. But, I wondered, would Feluda get paid for his pains? After all, no one had actually hired him in this case. Not that it mattered. If the case was challenging enough and if he got the chance to exercise his brain, Feluda did not really care about money. ‘Who do you suspect, Tapesh?’ asked Lalmohan Babu. Unable to remain in his own room, he had joined me in mine and was pacing up and down, holding his hands behind him. I said, ‘Well, Nishith Bose had free access to the manuscripts, so he ought to be the prime suspect. But for that reason alone, I don’t think he did it. Then there’s Mr Hingorani. Didn’t he say he wouldn’t give up easily? And there’s Bilas Majumdar. He might have stolen it to settle old scores. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to forgive and forget, after all. But Laxman Bhat—’ ‘No, no, no!’ Lalmohan Babu interrupted, protesting violently, ‘Don’t drag Laxman Bhattacharya into this, please. He couldn’t possibly be involved in theft. Why should he even dream of it? Just think of his special power!’ ‘Well then, what are your own views on this?’ I asked him. ‘I think the most important man is missing from your list.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Mr Sen himself.’ ‘What! Why should he steal his own property?’ ‘No, I’m not saying he stole anything. I mean, not this time. That manuscript was stolen, anyway, as Mr Hingorani said. So Mr Sen has sold it to him, for twenty-five thousand; and he’s saying it’s been stolen, to remove suspicion from himself. Don’t you see, now if anyone asks for that particular manuscript, he has a valid reason for saying he hasn’t got it?’ Could this be true? It seemed “a bit far-fetched, but . . . I could think no further, for a room boy arrived at this moment and said there was a phone call for us. It had to be Feluda. I ran downstairs and took the call. ‘Yes?’ ‘Did Mr Barik give you my message?’ asked Feluda’s voice. ‘Yes. But have you been able to work anything out?’ ‘Mr Bose has disappeared.’ ‘Really? Who informed the police?’ ‘I’ll tell you everything when I get back, in half an hour. How was Bhubaneshwar?’

‘Fine. We—’ I couldn’t finish. Feluda had put the phone down. I returned to my room and told Lalmohan Babu what Feluda had just said. He scratched his head and said, ‘I would like to visit the scene of the crime, but I don’t think your cousin would like that.’ We waited for another hour, but Feluda did not return. I began to feel rather uneasy. A little later, I ordered a fresh pot of tea, just to kill time. Then I did something Feluda had told me many times not to do. In my present state of mind, I simply could not help it. I opened his notebook and read the few entries he had made: Diabid—gout—snake?—what will return?—why doesn’t he know his son?—blackmail?—who?— why?—who walks with a stick?— None of this made any sense. We waited for another twenty minutes, then our patience ran out. Lalmohan Babu and I left the hotel to look for Feluda. If he was going to return from Sagarika, we thought, he would probably take the road that ran by the sea. We turned right as we came out of the hotel. As we began walking, it struck me once more how different the sea looked in the dark. The waves roared with the same intensity as they did during the day, but now they looked kind of eerie. It was the phosphorous in the water that did it. How else could I have watched them lashing the shore even under a cloudy sky? In the far distance, the sky looked a shade brighter, possibly because of the lights from the city. The rows of flickering lights by the beach meant there was a colony of Nulias. Lalmohan Babu had a torch, but there was no need to use it. My feet kept sinking in the sand. Lalmohan Babu was wearing tennis shoes, but I had chappals on my feet. Suddenly, one of these struck against something. I stumbled and fell flat on my face. I must have cried out, for Lalmohan Babu turned quickly with ‘Why, Tapesh, whatever—’ A second later, he went through the same motions and joined me on the ground. ‘Help! Help!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Lalmohan Babu,’ I whispered, ‘I can feel something under my tummy . . . I think it’s a body, I can feel its legs!’ ‘Oh, my God!’ Lalmohan Babu managed to struggle to his feet, pulling me up with him. Then he switched his torch on, only to discover it wasn’t working. He turned it upside down and began hitting the rear end in the hope of getting the batteries to work. At this moment, a human figure slowly sat up on the sand. I felt, rather than saw, it move. ‘Give me your hand!’ it said. Feluda! Oh God, was it Feluda? Yes, it was. I offered him my right hand. Feluda grabbed it and stood up, swaying from side to side. Luckily, Lalmohan Babu got the torch to work. He shone it briefly on Feluda’s face, holding it in an unsteady hand. Feluda raised a hand and touched his head, wincing in pain. When he brought his hand down, we could see, even in the dim light from the torch, that it was smeared with blood. ‘D-did they c-crack open your sk-skull?’ Lalmohan Babu stammered. Feluda ignored him. I had never seen him look so