Mr Samaddar’s driver was old, but that didn’t stop him from driving at eighty-five kilometres per hour when we reached VIP Road. Feluda sat fidgeting, as though he would have liked to have driven faster. Soon, we had to reduce our speed as the road got narrower and more congested. However, only a little while later, it shot up to sixty, despite the fact that the road wasn’t particularly good and it had started to get dark. There was no one at the main gate of Radharaman’s house. ‘Perhaps it’s not yet time for those police constables to have arrived,’ Feluda remarked. We found Sadhan in the garden with his airgun. ‘Why, Sadhan Babu, what are you killing in the dark?’ Feluda asked him, getting out of the car. ‘Bats,’ Sadhan replied promptly. There were a number of bats hanging from the branches of a peepul tree just outside the compound. The sound of our car had brought Anukul to the front door. Mr Samaddar told him to light a lantern and began unlocking the German lock. ‘I’m dying to learn how you solved the mystery,’ he said. I could understand his feelings, for Feluda hadn’t uttered a single word in the car. I, too, was bursting with curiosity. Feluda refused to break his silence. Without a word, he stepped into the room and switched on a powerful torch, It shone first on the wall, then fell on the melochord, still resting peacefully on the small table. My heart began to beat faster. The white keys of the instrument gleamed in the light, making it seem as though it was grinning from ear to ear. Feluda did not move his arm. ,‘Keys . . .’ he said softly. ‘Look at those keys. Radharaman didn’t mean a lock and a key at all. He meant the keys of an instrument, like a piano, or—’ He couldn’t finish speaking. What followed a split second later took my breath away. Even now, as I write about it, my hand trembles. At Feluda’s words, Mr Samaddar suddenly sprang in the air and pounced upon the melochord like a hungry tiger on its prey. Then he picked it up, struck at Feluda’s head with it, knocked me over and ran out of the door. Feluda had managed to raise his arms in the nick of time to protect his head. As a result, his arms took the blow, making him drop the torch and fall on the bed in pain. As I scrambled to my feet, I heard Mr Samaddar locking the door behind him. Even so, I rushed forward, to try and push it with my shoulder. Then I heard Feluda whisper, ‘Bathroom.’ I picked up the torch quickly, and we both sped out of the small bathroom door. There was the sound of a car starting, followed by a bang. A confused babble greeted us as we emerged. I could hear Anukul shouting in dismay, and Abani Sen speaking to his son very crossly. By the time we reached the front door, the car had gone, but there was someone sitting on the driveway.

‘What have you done, Sadhan?’ Mr Sen was still scolding his son furiously. ‘Why did do you that? It was wrong, utterly wrong—!’ Sadhan made a spirited reply in his thin childish voice, ‘What could I do? He was trying to run away with Dadu’s instrument!’ ‘He’s quite right, Mr Sen,’ Feluda said, panting a little. ‘He’s done us a big favour by injuring the culprit, though in the future he must learn to use his airgun more carefully. Please go back home and inform the police. The driver of that car must not be allowed to get away. Tell them its number is WMA 6164.’ Then he walked over to the figure sitting on the driveway and, together with Anukul, helped him to his feet. Mr Samaddar allowed himself to be half pushed and half dragged back into the house, without making any protest. A pellet from Sadhan’s airgun had hit one corner of his forehead. The wound was still bleeding. The melochord was still lying where it had fallen on the cobbled path. I picked it up carefully and took it back to the house. Feluda, Mr Sen, Inspector Dinesh Guin from the Barasat police station and I were sitting in Radharaman’s bedroom, drinking tea. A man—possibly a constable—stood at the door. Another sat huddled in a chair. This was our culprit, Monimohan Samaddar. The wound on his forehead was now dressed. Sadhan was also in the room, standing at the window and staring out. On a table in front of us was the melochord. Feluda cleared his throat. He was now going to tell us how he had learnt the truth. His watch was broken, and one of his arms was badly scraped. He had found a bottle of Dettol in the bathroom, and dabbed his arm with it. Then he had tied a handkerchief around his arm. If he was still in pain, he did not show it. He put his cup down and began speaking. ‘I started to suspect Monimohan Samaddar only from this afternoon. But I had nothing to prove that my suspicions weren’t baseless. So, unless he made a false move, I could not catch him. Fortunately, he lost his head in the end and played right into my hands. He could never have got away, but Sadhan helped me in catching him immediately . . . Something he told me about working late on Monday first made me suspicious, not at the time, but later. He said he got very late on Monday evening because he had to work overtime. This was odd since a friend of mine lives in the same area where his press is, and I have often heard him complain that they have long power cuts, always starting in the evening and lasting until quite late at night. So I rang the Eureka Press, and was told