‘Jai Baba Vishwanath!’ I couldn’t see the look on Lalmohan Babu’s face, but I could tell from his voice how he felt. ‘Do you really have a lot of faith in Vishwanath?’ asked Feluda. I couldn’t imagine how he could speak so lightly. ‘Jai Baba Felunath!’ whispered Lalmohan Babu. ‘That’s better!’ We were groping our way upstairs, climbing a series of stairs that were amazingly high. Everything was in total darkness. The man who had come to fetch us hadn’t bothered to bring a light. Lalmohan Babu was still muttering under his breath. I caught the word ‘black hole’ a couple of times. At last, we reached the top floor. Our emissary passed through a door. We followed him. He then took us through a room, a narrow passage, another chamber, and finally stopped before a small door, motioning us to go in. We stepped into the room. At first I could see nothing except some coloured glass. Then I realized I was looking at a window. The light from outside was shining through its colourful panes. ‘Namaskar, Mr Mitter,’ said a deep, gruff voice. A few things became visible. A thick mattress, covered with a white sheet, was spread on the floor. On it were four bolsters, also covered in white. The figure that sat leaning on one of these was that of the man we had seen from the rear at Abhay Chakravarty’s house. With a faint click, a light on the ceiling came on. We were finally face to face with Maganlal Meghraj. The eyes that regarded us solemnly were sunk in, set under thick, bushy eyebrows. A blunt nose, thick lips and a pointed chin completed the picture. He too was wearing a kurta-pyjama. The buttons on his kurta might well have been diamonds. Besides these, on eight of his ten fingers flashed other stones of every possible colour. ‘Why are you standing? Do sit down,’ he invited. ‘Take a chair, if you like.’ There were low, Gujarati chairs placed by the side of the mattress. We took three of these. ‘I wanted to meet you, Mr Mitter. I would have invited you properly, but luckily you came here yourself.’ After a moment’s pause he added, ‘You may not know me, Mr Mitter, but I know all about you.’ ‘I have heard your name,’ Feluda replied politely. ‘You’re pretty well known yourself.’ ‘Well known?’ Maganlal laughed loudly, displaying paan-stained teeth. ‘Not well known, Mr Mitter. What you mean is infamous. Notorious. Come on, admit it!’ Feluda remained silent. Maganlal’s eyes turned towards me. ‘Is this your brother?’ ‘My cousin.’ ‘And who is this? Your uncle?’ Maganlal was smiling.

‘This is my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli.’ ‘Very good! Lalmohan, Mohanlal, Maganlal . . . it’s all just the same, isn’t it? What d’you say, eh?’ Lalmohan Babu had been shaking his legs with an ‘I-don’t-feel-nervous-at-all’ air. Maganlal’s words made his knees knock against each other. At this point, Maganlal suddenly brought his hand down on a bell, making it ring sharply. This startled Lalmohan Babu so much that he choked and began to splutter. ‘Does your throat feel a bit . . . dry?’ queried Maganlal. The man who had brought us upstairs reappeared silently. ‘Bring some sherbet,’ ordered Maganlal. It was now possible to see everything quite clearly. There were two steel almirahs in one corner. Behind Maganlal, the wall was covered with pictures of Hindu gods and goddesses. On the mattress, on his right, were a few papers and files, a small metal cash-box and a red telephone. On his left was a silver box stuffed with paan, and a silver spittoon. ‘Well, Mr Mitter,’ he asked gravely, ‘have you come to Banaras on holiday?’ ‘That was my original plan,’ Feluda replied, looking straight at him. ‘Then . . . why . . . are . . . you . . . wasting . . . your . . . time?’ Maganlal spoke through clenched teeth, uttering each word distinctly. ‘Have you been to Sarnath?’ he went on. ‘Ramnagar? Durga Bari, Man Mandir, Hindu University? No, I know you haven’t seen any of these famous places. You walked past the Vishwanath temple today, but did not go in. Yet, you keep going back to Umanath Ghoshal’s house. Why? Forget what he told you. I can make your stay in Kashi so much more enjoyable. I have my own barge, did you know that? Come any day to the river. I’ll take you on a cruise from one side to the other. You’d love it!’ ‘You seem to be forgetting,’ said Feluda, still speaking calmly, ‘that I am a professional investigator. Mr Ghoshal has given me a specific task. I cannot think about having a holiday or going on a cruise on your boat until that task has been completed.’ ‘What is your fee?’ Feluda was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, ‘That depends—’ ‘Here, take this!’ I gave an involuntary gasp. Maganlal had opened the cash-box and taken out a large fistful of hundred rupee notes. He was now offering these to Feluda. Feluda’s lips became set. ‘I do not,’ he said clearly, ‘accept a fee without having done anything to earn it.’ ‘I see, I see!’ Maganlal bared his paan-stained teeth again. ‘But how will you earn it, Mr Mitter? How can you catch a thief when there has been no theft?’ ‘What do you mean?’ This time even Feluda sounded surprised. ‘If no one stole anything, where has it gone?’ ‘It,’ said Maganlal, ‘was sold to me. I paid Umanath thirty thousand for it.’ ‘What rubbish is this?’ How could Feluda talk like this? My hands began to feel clammy. Lalmohan Babu, too, was looking decidedly pale. Maganlal had started to laugh, but Feluda’s words instantly wiped the laughter from his face. A deep frown creased his brow, his eyes glinted under the light. ‘Rubbish? Maganlal doesn’t talk rubbish, Mr Mitter. Obviously, you don’t know enough about Umanath and his affairs. Did