When I came round, the first thing I thought was that I was lying on the beach in Puri. It was only by the sea that one could hope to feel such a strong breeze. My ears felt cold, as did my nose. My hair was blowing in the wind. But where was the sea? The water? Sand? Roaring waves? There was a sound . . . but it was certainly not the sea. I was in the back seat of a car, being driven in the dark, down an empty road. On my right was Lalmohan Babu. A complete stranger was sitting on my left. I had never seen the man before. The driver was wearing a turban. There was another man sitting next to him. No one was talking. As soon as I raised my head, the man on my left looked at me. He looked a bit like a crook. But he didn’t say anything. Why should he? We were unarmed, and offered him no threat. Feluda had a weapon. He was not in this car. I had no idea where he might be. He had handed me his bag. Where was it? There it was, behind my head, in the space in front of the rear windscreen. Its strap touched my cheek. ‘Midnight!’ said Lalmohan Babu. I gave him a sidelong glance. His eyes were still closed. ‘Midnight! Ma! Jai Ma, Ma Santoshi! . . . Midnight . . .!’ ‘Shut up!’ threatened the man on my left. My eyes grew heavy again. Everything went dark once more. The sound of the car faded away. When I opened my eyes again, I expected to find myself in a temple. No, not a temple. It had to be a church. These bells were not made of brass. They were ringing a foreign melody. But it was neither a temple nor a church. It was, in fact, someone’s drawing room. A chandelier was hanging from the ceiling, but it hadn’t been lit. There wasn’t a great deal of light in the room. All it had was a table lamp kept by the side of a settee with velvet upholstery. I was sitting on another settee, also covered with velvet. No, not sitting. Reclining. By my side was Lalmohan Babu. His eyes were still closed. Feluda was seated in a chair on the other side. His face looked grim. The right side of his forehead was bruised and swollen. On our left stood a man, who we knew as Pyarelal. In his hand was a revolver, a Colt .32. Presumably, it was Feluda’s. There were three other men standing in the room. All were looking at us, but saying nothing. Perhaps the man who would do all the talking hadn’t yet arrived. The largest settee in the room— upholstered in black velvet—was still empty. Maybe it was waiting for someone. Probably Mr Choudhury. But this was not the smart modern house in Alipore. It was a very old house. The ceiling appeared to be about thirty feet high. Its beams were all made of iron. The door was so enormous that a horse could have passed through it.

There was more. Clocks. Some were standing upright, others were hanging on the wall. One of the standing clocks was as high as a man of medium height, or maybe even higher than that. It was these clocks that had chimed a little while ago. It was two o’clock in the morning. I had caught Feluda’s eyes only once. The look in them said, ‘Don’t worry. I’m here to deal with things.’ I had learnt to read Feluda’s face. So I was feeling somewhat reassured. ‘Good morning, Mr Mitter!’ It took me a few seconds to find the man who had spoken those words. He had come in through a door directly behind the lamp. His voice still had a velvety texture. In fact, it sounded smoother than before. There was reason for that. Now it was he who had the upper hand, not Feluda. ‘What’s that? Have you searched it thoroughly, Pyarelal?’ he asked, looking at Feluda’s shoulder bag. Somehow, it had made its way back to Feluda. Pyarelal informed his master that the bag contained nothing but papers, a notebook and pictures. They had found a bottle, but it had been removed. ‘I’m sorry you had to be dragged here, Mr Mitter, please don’t mind,’ Mr Choudhury said, oozing charm. ‘Since you were so interested in that Perigal repeater, I thought you might be pleased to be present when it came into my hands. Balwant, have you finished cleaning the watch?’ One of the men nodded and told him that they were nearly done with the cleaning, it would soon be brought into the room. ‘It has been lying in a grave for two hundred years,’ Mr Choudhury continued, ‘William did not tell me at first. All he told me was that he had a Perigal, but he was taking a very long time to bring it. Then, when I put pressure on him, he admitted that it was buried underground, hence the delay. As it was buried with a corpse, I told my men to dust and clean it properly before they brought it to me. I even told them to wipe it with Dettol.’ Feluda was looking straight at Mr Choudhury. It was impossible to tell from his face what he was thinking. Lalmohan Babu and I had been chloroformed. Feluda had been hit on the head and knocked unconscious. ‘How did you learn about this particular watch, Mr Mitter?’ ‘From a diary written by someone in the nineteenth century. It was the daughter of the man who owned the watch.’ ‘A diary? Not a letter?’ ‘No. It was a diary.’ Mr Choudhury had taken out a packet of foreign cigarettes, together with a gold lighter and holder. ‘Don’t you know William?’ he asked, inserting a cigarette into his holder. ‘No, I don’t know anyone called William.’