I had heard chiming clocks before, but as soon as we stepped into Mahadev Choudhury’s house at six o’clock, various clocks began striking the hour. The sound that came from one clock after another was quite extraordinary. I had never heard anything like it. ‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Lalmohan Babu. ‘Are we slipping through the gates of heaven? What an incredible reception!’ We could not meet Mr Choudhury straightaway. One of his employees took us to a small office and told us we would have to wait, as Mr Choudhury was busy. There were two fancy clocks even in that small room—one on the wall, and the other on a bookshelf. When the last chime had died away, a somewhat eerie silence gripped the whole house. It was a huge, modern building. The marble floor shone so brightly that, if I looked down, I could see my own face reflected in it. After a few moments, I became aware of a voice. It was coming from somewhere within the house. Feluda said it was Mahadev Choudhury’s, though it was difficult to tell whether or not it could be termed as velvety. However, when it suddenly rose and began shouting, all traces of velvet disappeared. Mahadev Choudhury was scolding someone furiously. The three of us held our breath and were more or less forced to eavesdrop. The second person was still speaking gently, so we could not hear what he was saying. But soon, Choudhury’s voice boomed out again: ‘I never pay an advance in matters like this, but I paid you because you insisted. And now you’re telling me you’ve already spent that money? Honestly, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Besides, why should I have to pay such a lot of money for such a small job? I don’t understand at all! But . . . all right, I’ll pay. I want that stuff within two days. No excuses this time. Is that clear?’ Complete silence followed these remarks. Then we heard footsteps, which seemed to be going towards the front door. A minute later, Mr Choudhury’s employee came back. ‘Please follow me,’ he said. Mr Choudhury’s appearance—from head to toe—was truly like velvet. Even at six in the evening, his cheeks were smooth and shiny. ‘I bet he shaves twice a day!’ I thought to myself. Lalmohan Babu told us later, ‘If a fly had gone and sat on his cheek, it would have slipped off!’ The huge living room we were in was as shiny and polished as its owner. There was not even a speck of dust anywhere, and its nooks and corners certainly seemed free of ants and cockroaches. Mr Choudhury raised a gold cigarette holder to his lips, inhaled and glanced at Feluda. ‘Well? Have you brought that clock?’ he asked. We were all startled by the question. ‘Clock? What clock?’ Feluda said.

‘Didn’t you say you wanted to see me regarding a clock? I thought you had seen my ad in the papers and that’s why you were calling.’ ‘Forgive me, Mr Choudhury,’ Feluda told him, ‘I did not see your advertisement. I need some information. It may be related to a clock. I was told you know a lot about the subject, so I . . .’ Creases appeared on the velvety surface. Mr Choudhury shifted in his chair, looking faintly irritated. ‘I haven’t got a lot of time, Mr Mitter. I am about to leave town. Please try to be brief.’ ‘What is a Perigal repeater? That’s all I want to know.’ The velvet suddenly turned to stone. The cigarette-holder was poised a couple of inches from his mouth. Mr Choudhury’s eyes were still, fixed unblinkingly on Feluda. ‘Where did you find that name?’ ‘In a nineteenth-century English novel.’ There were times when Feluda did not hesitate to lie, if it helped in getting results. I had seen him do it before. ‘I know that a repeater can be either a gun or a clock. I saw that in a dictionary. But no one can tell me anything about Perigal.’ Mr Choudhury was still staring at Feluda. When he spoke, the velvet in his voice had taken on a sharp edge. ‘If you come across an unfamiliar word, Mr Mitter, do you always visit complete strangers just to learn its meaning?’ ‘Yes, if need be.’ I thought Mr Choudhury would want to know what the pressing need was in this particular case. But, instead of asking such a question, he continued to stare at Feluda. The remark he made a few seconds later made my heart race faster, thudding loudly in my ears, matching the loud ticking of the clock kept on a side table. ‘You are a detective, aren’t you?’ I had to marvel at Feluda’s steady nerve. There was a delay of about five seconds before his reply came. But when he spoke, his own voice sounded perfectly smooth. ‘I see that you are well informed!’ ‘I have to be, Mr Mitter. I have people who gather information and pass it on to me.’ ‘You seem to have forgotten the question I just asked you. Perhaps you don’t know the answer. If you do know it, but do not wish to tell me, I will take your leave. There’s no point in wasting your time any further.’ ‘Sit down, Mr Mitter!’ Feluda had risen to his feet, hence that command. I glanced quickly at Lalmohan Babu. He looked as if he had no strength left in his body, and would need assistance to get up. ‘Sit down, please,’ said Mr Choudhury Feluda sat down. ‘A repeater is a gun,’ Mahadev Choudhury informed us. ‘However, if you add “Perigal” to it, it becomes a watch. A pocket watch. Francis Perigal. An Englishman. Towards the end of the eighteenth century, there were few watchmakers in the world as skilled as Perigal. Two hundred years ago, the best watches were made in England, not Switzlerland.’ ‘How much would a Perigal repeater