Feluda and I had travelled to so many different places trying to solve mysteries—Sikkim, Lucknow, Rajasthan, Simla, Varanasi—and had had plenty of adventures everywhere. But I had no idea that this time, we would get involved in such a bloodcurdling experience without even stepping out of Calcutta. Lalmohan Babu called the final day a ‘black-letter day’, but changed it later to ‘a black-letter night’. I had to agree, when he asked me, that we had never been in such a fix before. Lalmohan Babu was always punctual, but ever since he’d acquired a car, he’d become more strict about punctuality. That night, when he returned to our house, he knocked smartly on our door instead of rattling the knocker. Feluda and I had had our dinner and were ready. I was wearing my own hunting boots. Mine had been bought only the year before; Feluda’s were eleven years old. Perhaps they were not in very good condition because I saw him fiddling with a sole and making repairs. Now he was limping a little. Perhaps he should have gone to a cobbler. Surely it wouldn’t do to hobble if the night ahead was likely to be full of danger? We got to our feet as soon as we heard the knock on the door. Feluda had a brown leather shoulder bag. A portion of the red envelope from Bourne & Shepherd was peeping out of it. He had instructed us to wear dark clothes. Lalmohan Babu was wearing a black suit. He walked into our living room, saying, ‘You wouldn’t believe what modern medicine can do. My doctor told me about a nerve-soothing pill—it’s got two “x”-s in its name! At his suggestion I took one after dinner, and already I feel charged and ready to take on the world. Dear Tapesh, come what may, we’ll fight to the end, won’t we?’ He had no idea who he was supposed to fight, nor had I. Feluda decided that our car should be parked at some distance from the main gate of the cemetery. ‘If its colour matched your dark clothes, I wouldn’t have worried,’ he said. The driver, Hari, was told to stop the car even before we reached the crossing at Rawdon Street after passing St Xavier’s. ‘You two go ahead,’ Feluda said, ‘I have to leave some instructions with Hari.’ We left the car and walked on. God knows what Feluda’s instructions were, but it was clear from Hari’s general demeanour that he was most intrigued by our activities, and perfectly willing to join in. Feluda came back in a few minutes. ‘You are very lucky to have found such a good driver,’ he told Lalmohan Babu. ‘He seems most reliable. I’m quite relieved, now that I’ve asked him to handle certain responsibilities.’ ‘What responsibilities?’ ‘Nothing, really, if all goes well here. If it doesn’t, a lot will depend on Hari.’ Feluda refused to say any more. The large iron gate was standing open. How come? ‘Normally, at this time of night, it would be closed,’ Feluda whispered back when I asked him. ‘But tonight there’s a special arrangement. There

are pieces of glass fixed to the edge of the compound wall, you see. Climbing over it would have been risky. But where’s Baramdeo?’ A light flickered in the chowkidar’s room, but it didn’t look as if anyone was in there. We searched the area around the room, and found no one. In the faint light that came from Park Street, I could see a frown on Feluda’s face. It meant that the chowkidar should have been in his room. That was the arrangement Feluda had made with him. We decided not to waste any more time, and walked on, but not right down the central path this time. Feluda took a few steps, then turned left. We began moving through the host of tombstones. There was a strong breeze. Ribbons of clouds were flitting across the sky. A pale half-moon was peeping out fleetingly through them. When it did, the names on the marble plaques became visible just for a few moments, then they were gone. When we finally stepped behind a large tomb, the moon came out again, and I saw the name, Samuel Cuthbert Thornhill. This tombstone was not a long, tapering obelisk. There was something like a platform, surrounded by pillars which were covered by a dome. Three people could easily hide behind it. It was totally dark—the light from the main road did not reach that spot. However, if I looked to my right, I could see a portion of the gate through all the other tombstones. Feluda spoke, possibly because he was reasonably sure there was no one in the cemetery except ourselves. But he kept his voice low. ‘Could you please sprinkle this around?’ he asked Lalmohan Babu, offering him a bottle with a stopper. He had taken it out of his shoulder bag. ‘Sp-sprinkle?’ ‘Yes, it’s carbolic acid. Should keep snakes at bay.’ Lalmohan Babu did as he was told, and returned a minute later. ‘Well, that’s a relief! Even a nerve- soothing pill couldn’t take away my fear of snakes,’ he remarked. ‘What about your fear of ghosts? Has that gone?’ ‘Totally.’ Frogs were croaking nearby. Crickets were chirping. One of them seemed to have set up its home right next to Thornhill’s grave. Scattered clouds were still flitting by. Perhaps some of them were thicker than the others, which was why the darkness all around us was growing deeper every now and then. As a result, the tombstones were all dissolving into one black mass. Then, as the moon slipped out, they separated from one another and became dimly visible again. Feluda took out a packet of chewing gum, and offered it to us before putting some in his own mouth. The sound of traffic was growing less. I counted the seconds, and realized that for nearly half a minute, I had heard nothing but the frogs, the