Mr Tarafdar and his friend left at a quarter to ten. Just five minutes after they had gone, Feluda received a phone call that came as a complete surprise. He took it himself, so at first we had no idea who it was from. He spoke briefly, and came back to join us for a cup of tea. ‘I checked in the directory,’ he said, raising a cup to his lips, ‘there are only two such names listed.’ ‘Look, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu said, a little irritably, ‘I totally fail to see why you must create a mystery out of every little thing. Who rang you just now? Do you mind telling us simply, without making cryptic remarks?’ ‘Hingorani.’ ‘The same Hingorani we read about this morning?’ ‘Yes, sir. Tiwari’s partner.’ ‘What did he want?’ ‘We’ll find that out when we visit him in his house. He lives in Alipore Park Road.’ ‘Have you made an appointment?’ ‘Yes, you ought to have realized it while I was speaking to him. Obviously, you were not paying enough attention.’ ‘I heard you say, “Five o’ clock this evening”,’ I couldn’t help saying. This annoyed Lalmohan Babu even more. ‘I don’t listen in on other people’s telephone conversations, as a matter of principle,’ he declared righteously. But he was much mollified afterwards when Feluda asked him to stay to lunch, and then spent the whole afternoon teaching him to play scrabble. This did not prove too easy, since it turned out that Lalmohan Babu had never done a crossword puzzle in his life, while Feluda was a wizard at all word games, and a master at unravelling puzzles and ciphers. But Lalmohan Babu’s good humour had been fully restored; he didn’t seem to mind. We reached Mr Hingorani’s house five minutes before the appointed time. There was a garage on one side of his compound in which stood a large white car. ‘A foreign car?’ asked Lalmohan Babu. ‘No, it’s Indian. A Contessa,’ Feluda replied. A bearer stood at the front door. He looked at Lalmohan Babu and asked, ‘Mitter sahib?’ ‘No, no, not me. This is Mr Mitter.’ ‘Please come with me.’ We followed him to the drawing room. ‘Please sit down,’ said the bearer and disappeared. Lalmohan Babu and I found two chairs. Feluda began inspecting the contents of a book case. A grandfather clock stood on the landing outside. Mr Hingorani entered the room as the clock struck five, making a deep yet melodious sound. Mr Hingorani was middle-aged, thin and perhaps

ailing, for there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. We rose as he came in. ‘Please, please be seated,’ he said hurriedly. We sat down again. Mr Hingorani began talking. I noticed that the strap of his watch was slightly loose, as it kept slipping forward when he moved his arm. ‘Have you read what’s been published in the press about T H Syndicate?’ he asked. ‘Yes indeed.’ ‘My partner’s gone totally senile. At least, I can’t think of any other explanation. Nobody in his right mind would behave like this.’ ‘We happen to know your partner.’ ‘How?’ Feluda explained quickly about Tarafdar and Nayan. ‘Mr Tiwari went to Sunil Tarafdar’s house to meet Jyotishka,’ he added, ‘and we happened to be present. That little wonder boy told him the right numbers for the combination and said there was no money in the chest.’ ‘I see . . .’ ‘You told me on the phone you were being harassed. What exactly has happened?’ ‘Well, you see, for well over a year Tiwari and I hadn’t been getting on well, although once we were good friends. In fact, we were classmates in St Xavier’s College. We formed T H Syndicate in 1973, and for a few years things worked out quite well. But then . . . our relationship started to change.’ ‘Why?’ ‘The chief reason for that was Tiwari’s memory. It began to fail pretty rapidly. At times, he couldn’t even remember the simplest of things, and it became very difficult to have him present during meetings with clients. Last year, I told him I knew of a very good doctor who I thought he should see. But Tiwari was most offended at my suggestion. That was when our old friendship began to disintegrate. I was tempted to dissolve the partnership, but stayed on because if I hadn’t, the whole company would have had to close down. Still, things might have improved, but . . . but Tiwari’s recent behaviour really shook me. He came straight to me when he found his chest empty and said, “Give me back my money, this minute!”’ ‘Is it true that he had once told you what numbers made up the combination?’ ‘No, no, it’s a stinking lie! He kept his own money and personal papers in that chest. There was no reason for him to have told me the combination. Besides, he seems to think that I stole his money while he was at his dentist’s. Yet, I can prove that I was miles away during that time. As a matter of fact, I had gone to visit a cousin who had had a heart attack, in the Belle Vue clinic at 11 a.m. and I returned at half past three. Tiwari, however, doesn’t believe me and has even threatened to set goondas on me if I don’t return his money. He’s lost his mind completely.’ ‘Do you have any idea as to who might have stolen the money?’ ‘To start with, Mr Mitter, I don’t believe there’s been a theft at all. Tiwari himself must have kept it elsewhere or spent it on something that he’s now forgotten. I wouldn’t put it past him, really. Have you ever heard of anyone who forgets the numbers of his own combination lock, having used it for over twenty years?’ ‘I see what you mean. Let’s now come to the point, Mr Hingorani.’

‘Yes, you wish to know why I called you