‘What do you think, Mr Mitter?’ asked Mr Samaddar on our way back from Bamungachhi. ‘Is there any hope of unravelling this mystery?’ ‘I need to think, Mr Samaddar. And I need to read these papers I took from your uncle’s room. Maybe that’ll help me understand the man better. Besides, I need to do a bit of reading and research on music and musical instruments. Please give me two days to sort myself out.’ This conversation was taking place in the car when we finally set off on our return journey. Feluda had spent a lot of time in searching the whole house a second time, but even that had yielded nothing. ‘Yes, of course,’ Mr Samaddar replied politely. ‘You will have to help me with some dates.’ ‘Yes?’ ‘When did Radharaman’s son Muralidhar die?’ ‘In 1945, twenty-eight years ago.’ ‘How old was his son at that time?’ ‘Dharani? He must have been seven or eight.’ ‘Did they always live in Calcutta?’ ‘No, Muralidhar used to work in Bihar. His wife came to live with us in Calcutta after Muralidhar died. When she passed away, Dharani was a college student. He was quite bright, but he began to change after his mother died. Very soon, he left college and joined a theatre group. A year later, my uncle moved to Bamungachhi. His house was built in—’ ‘—Nineteen fifty-nine. Yes, I saw that written on the main gate.’ Radharaman Samaddar’s papers proved to be a collection of old letters, a few cash memos, two old prescriptions, a catalogue of musical instruments produced by a German company called Spiegler, musical notation written on pages torn out of a notebook, and press reviews of five plays, in which mention of a Sanjay Lahiri had been underlined with a blue pencil. ‘Hm,’ said Feluda, looking at the notation. ‘The handwriting on these is the same as that in Surajit Dasgupta’s letter.’ Then he went through the catalogue and said, ‘There’s no mention of a melochord.’ After reading the reviews, he remarked, ‘Dharanidhar and this Sanjay Lahiri appear to be the same man. As far as I can see, although Radharaman refused to have anything to do with his grandson, he did collect information on him, especially if it was praise of his acting.’ Feluda put all the papers away carefully in a plastic bag, and rang a theatre journal called Manchalok, to find out which theatre group Sanjay Lahiri worked for. It turned out that the group was called the Modern Opera. Apparently, Sanjay Lahiri did all the lead roles. Feluda then rang their

office, and was told that the group was currently away in Jalpaiguri. They would be back only after a week. We went out after lunch. I had never had to go to so many different places, all on the same day! Feluda took me first to the National Museum. He didn’t tell me why we were going there, and I didn’t ask because he had sunk into silence and