The next morning, we went for a long walk and explored the whole village. The local club, Jagarani, was rehearsing for a play. We were invited to watch the rehearsal. A lot of people were curious about life in Canada, so Feluda ended up giving a short lecture on the subject. Then we met the only mime artist of Gosaipur, called Benimadhav. He offered to visit us on Friday and show us what he could do. ‘I can climb stairs without any props . . . I can show you what happens to a man caught in a storm . . . change the expression on my face— through six different steps—from sad to happy!’ In the evening, Tulsi Babu took us to a fair in the next village. By the time we returned, having enjoyed ourselves hugely, it was nearly six o’clock. The sun had set, but it wasn’t dark yet. Feluda said he’d like to visit Jeevanlal Mallik. Tulsi Babu went home to wait for us. Jeevanlal came out of his house even before we could reach the front door. ‘I saw you coming from my bedroom window,’ he explained. ‘Has there been any new development?’ Feluda asked. ‘No.’ ‘May I look at your garden?’ ‘Of course.’ The ‘garden’ was not really a garden: that is to say, there were no flower beds or a lawn. It was simply a large, open area in which stood a number of tall trees. Feluda began inspecting it carefully. I had no idea what he was looking for. I saw him stop at one point and stare at the ground for a few minutes. After a while, a voice cried out from a balcony on the first floor: ‘Who’s there? What are you doing among the trees?’ It was Jeevanlal’s grandmother. ‘It’s all right, Grandma!’ he shouted back. ‘It’s only me, and my friends.’ ‘Oh. I keep seeing people roaming about in the garden. God knows what they do.’ ‘Can she see well?’ Feluda asked. ‘No, not very well; nor can she hear unless one shouts.’ ‘I don’t suppose anyone looks after the garden?’ ‘No, not really. Bholanath Babu does what he can, but obviously that’s not enough.’ ‘Do the guards keep an eye on it at night?’ ‘At night? You’ve got to be joking. No guard here would dream of staying awake to do their duty.’ ‘The front door is locked, surely?’ ‘Oh yes. That’s Bholanath Babu’s job. But when I am here, I lock the front door and keep the key with me.’ ‘I haven’t yet met Bholanath Babu. Could you call him, please?’ Jeevanlal asked one of his bearers to call Bholanath Babu, and bring us some lemonade. We were sitting outside by the pond. The recent

monsoon rains had filled it to its brim. It was now covered with shaluk flowers. Bholanath Babu arrived in a couple of minutes. He was wearing a dhoti and a shirt, but his appearance was really no different from an ordinary