To my surprise, Sunil Tarafdar rang us on Tuesday. Surely the press reporters were not going to report anything for another couple of days? Feluda spoke briefly on the phone, then told me what had happened. ‘The news has spread, you see, Topshe,’ he said. ‘After all, eight hundred people saw his show on Sunday. A lot of them must have talked about Nayan. Anyway, the upshot was that Tarafdar got four telephone calls. Each one of these four people are wealthy and important, and they all want to talk to Nayan. Tarafdar asked them to come after nine tomorrow morning. Each one will be given fifteen minutes, and they’ve been told three other people will be present at the interview—that’s you, me and Lalmohan Babu. Ring him now and tell him.’ ‘I will, but who are these four people?’ ‘An American, a businessman from north India, an Anglo-Indian and a Bengali. The American is supposed to be an impresario. Tarafdar wants us to be around because he’s not sure he can handle the situation alone.’ When I rang Lalmohan Babu, he decided to come over at once. ‘Srinath!’ he yelled as he came in and sat down in his favourite couch. Srinath was our cook. He appeared with fresh tea in just a few minutes. ‘What’s cooking, Felu Babu?’ Lalmohan Babu asked with a grin. ‘Do I smell something familiar?’ ‘You are imagining things, my friend. Nothing’s happened yet for anything to start cooking.’ ‘I’ve been thinking about that boy constantly. What an amazing power he’s got, hasn’t he?’ ‘Yes. But these things are entirely unpredictable. One day, without any apparent reason, he may lose this power. If that happens, there won’t be any difference left between Nayan and other ordinary boys of his age.’ ‘Yes, I know. Anyway, we’re going to Tarafdar’s house tomorrow morning, right?’ ‘Yes, but let me tell you something. I am not going in my professional capacity.’ ‘No?’ ‘No. I will simply be a silent spectator. If anyone has to talk, it will be you.’ ‘Hey, you really mean that?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘Very well, Felu Babu. I shall do my best.’ Mr Tarafdar lived in Ekdalia Road. His house must have been built over fifty years ago. It had two storeys and a small strip of a garden near the front gate. An armed guard stood at the gate. Mr Tarafdar had clearly taken Feluda’s advice. The guard opened the gate on being given Feluda’s name.

As we made our way to the main door, Feluda said under his breath, ‘Within two years, Tarafdar will leave this house and move elsewhere, you mark my words.’ A bearer opened the door and invited us in. We followed him into the drawing room. The room wasn’t large, but was tastefully furnished. Sunil Tarafdar arrived a minute later, accompanied by a huge Alsatian. Feluda, I knew, loved dogs. No matter how large or ferocious a dog might be, Feluda simply couldn’t resist the temptation to stroke its