The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I

by Satyajit Ray

  ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you didn’t recognize the voice?’

  ‘No, all I can say is that it was a most unpleasant voice. Maybe you’d like to think again about taking on this case?’

  Feluda smiled. ‘I have finished thinking,’ he replied.

  We left the drawing room soon after this and made our way to the room of Mr Chowdhury’s nephew, Abanish Babu. We found him closely examining something on a table with a magnifying glass. As we entered the room, he swiftly covered the object with one hand and got to his feet.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ he invited.

  ‘I can see that you are very interested in stamps,’ Feluda remarked. Abanish Babu’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, sir. That’s my only interest in life, my only passion. All I ever think of are stamps!’

  ‘Do you specialize in any one country, or do you collect stamps from all over the world?’

  ‘I used to collect them from wherever they happened to be, but of late I’ve started to concentrate on India. I had to sift through hundreds of old letters to get them.’

  ‘Did you find anything good?’

  ‘Good? Good?’ Abanish Babu began to look ecstatic. ‘Are you interested in this subject? Will you understand if I explain?’

  ‘Try me,’ Feluda smiled, ‘I don’t claim to be an expert, but like most other people, I was once keen on collecting stamps, and dreamt of acquiring the famous ones. You know, the one-penny stamp from the Cape of Good Hope, the two-penny from Mauritius and the 1856 ones from British Guyana. Ten years ago their price was in the region of a hundred thousand rupees. Now they must be worth a lot more.’

  Abanish Babu grew even more excited. ‘Well then,’ he said with gleaming eyes, ‘well then, I’m sure you’d understand. I’d like to show you something. Here it is.’ He took his hand off the table and revealed the object he had been hiding. It turned out to be a very old stamp, detached from an envelope. Its original colour must have been green, but it had faded almost completely. Abanish Babu passed it to Feluda.

  ‘What? What can you see?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘An Indian stamp, about a hundred years old. It has a picture of Queen Victoria. I’ve seen such stamps before.’

  ‘Have you? Yes, I’m sure you have. Now then, take another look through this magnifying glass.’

  Feluda peered through the proffered glass.

  ‘Now what do you see, eh?’ Abanish Babu asked anxiously. ‘There is a printing error.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘The word is obviously POSTAGE, but instead of a “G”, they printed a “C”.’

  Abanish Babu took the stamp back. ‘Do you know how much that stamp is worth because of that error?’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty thousand.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ve checked with the authorities in UK. The catalogue does not mention the error. I was the first person to find it.’

  ‘Congratulations! But . . . er . . . I wanted to discuss something else with you, Abanish Babu. I mean, something other than stamps.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your uncle—Kailash Chowdhury—has a valuable jewel. Are you aware of that?’

  Abanish Babu had to think for a few moments before replying, ‘Oh yes, yes. I did hear about it. I know nothing about its value, but it’s supposed to be “lucky”, or so my uncle said. Please forgive me, Mr Mitter, but of late I have been able to pay no attention to anything except my stamps.’

  ‘How long have you lived in this house?’

  ‘For the last five years. I moved here soon after my father died.’

  ‘Do you get on with your uncle?’

  ‘Which one do you mean? I have two uncles. One of them lives abroad.’

  ‘Oh? I was speaking of Kailash Babu.’

  ‘I see. Well, he is a very nice man, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  Abanish Babu frowned. ‘For the last few days . . . he’s been sort of . . . different.’

  ‘How do you mean? When did you first notice this?’

  ‘Two or three days ago. I told him about this stamp, but he paid no attention at all. Normally, he takes a great deal of interest. Besides, some of his old habits seem to be changing.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He used to take a walk in the garden every morning before breakfast. He hasn’t done that for the last couple of days. In fact, he gets up quite late. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping well.’

  ‘Do you have any particular reason to say this?’

  ‘Yes. My bedroom is on the ground floor. The room directly above mine is my uncle’s. I have heard him pacing in the middle of the night. I’ve even heard his voice. I think he was having an argument.’

  ‘An argument? With whom?’

  ‘Probably Grandfather. Who else could it be? I’ve even heard footsteps going up and coming down the stairs. One night, I got up and went to the bottom of the stairs to see what was going on. I saw my uncle coming down from the roof, with a gun in his hand.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’

  ‘Around two o’clock in the morning, I should think.’

  ‘What’s there on the roof?’

  ‘Nothing except a small attic. It was full of old papers and letters, but I took those away a month ago.’

  Feluda rose. I could see he had no further questions to ask. Abanish Babu said, ‘Why did you ask me all this?’

  Feluda smiled. ‘You uncle has a lot on his mind at this moment. But you don’t have to worry about it. Once things get sorted out, I’ll come and have a look at your stamps. All right?’

  We returned to the drawing room to say good-bye to Mr Chowdhury.

  ‘I cannot guarantee anything, obviously, but I would like to say one thing,’ Feluda told him. ‘Please stop worrying and leave everything to me. Try to sleep at night. Take a sleeping pill, if necessary; and please do not go up to the roof. The houses in your lane are so close to one another that, for all we know, your enemy might be hiding on the roof of the house next door to keep an eye on you. If that is the cast, he may well jump across and attack you.’

  ‘You think so? I did go up to the roof one night, but I took my gun with me. I’d heard a strange noise, you see. But I couldn’t see anyone.’

  ‘I hope you always keep your gun handy?’

  ‘Oh yes. But mental tension and anxiety can often affect one’s aim. If this business isn’t cleared up soon, God knows what’s going to happen to mine.’

  The next day was Sunday. Feluda spent most of his time pacing in his room. At around four, I saw him change from his comfortable kurta-pyjama into trousers and a shirt.

  ‘Are you going out?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I thought it might be a good idea to take a look at the lilies in the Victoria Memorial. You can come with me, if you like.’

  We took a tram and got off at the crossing of Lower Circular Road. Then we walked slowly to the south gate of the Memorial. Not many people came here. In the evening, particularly, most people went to the front of the building, to the north gate.

  We slipped in through the gate Twenty yards to the left, there stood rows of lilies. The blue beryl was supposed to be kept the next day under the first row of these. The sight of these flowers—beautiful though it was—suddenly gave me the creeps.

  ‘Didn’t your father have a pair of binoculars, which he’d taken to Darjeeling?’ Feluda asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s still got them.’

  ‘Good.’

  We spent about fifteen minutes walking in the open ground surrounding the building. Then we took a taxi to the Lighthouse cinema. I got out with Feluda, feeling quite puzzled. Why did he suddenly want to see a film? But no, he was actually interested in a bookshop opposite the cinema. After leafing through a couple of other books, he picked up a fat stamp catalogue and began thumbing through its pages. I peered over his shoulder and whispered, ‘Are you suspecting Abanish Babu?’

/>   ‘Well, if he’s so passionately fond of stamps, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind laying his hands on some ready cash.’

  ‘But. . . remember that phone call that came when we were still at Mr Chowdhury’s? Abanish Babu could not have made it, surely?’

  ‘No. That was made by Akbar Badshah. Or it may even have been Queen Victoria.’

  This made me realize Feluda was no longer in the right mood to give straight answers to my questions, so I shut up.

  It was eight o’clock by the time we got back home. Feluda took off his jacket and threw it on his bed. ‘Look up Kailash Chowdhury’s telephone number in the directory while I have a quick shower,’ he said.

  I sat down with the directory in my lap, but the phone started ringing before I could turn a single page. Considerably startled, I picked it up.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Who is speaking?’

  What a strange voice! I had certainly never heard it before. ‘Who would you like to speak to?’ I asked. The answer came in the same harsh voice: ‘Why does a young boy like you go around with a detective? Don’t you fear for your life?’

  I tried calling out to Feluda, but could not speak. My hands had started to tremble. Before I could replace the receiver, the man finished what he had to say, ‘I am warning you—both of you. Lay off. Or the consequences will be . . . unhappy.’

  I sat still in my chair, quite unable to move. Feluda walked into the room a few minutes later, and said, ‘Hey, what’s the matter? Why are you sitting in that corner so quietly? Who rang just now?’

  I swallowed hard and told him what had happened. His face grew grave. Then he slapped my shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry. The police have been informed. A few men in plain clothes will be there. We must be at Victoria Memorial tomorrow.’

  I didn’t find it easy to sleep that night. It wasn’t just the telephone call that kept me awake. I kept thinking of Mr Chowdhury’s house and all that I had seen in it: the staircase with the iron railing that went right up to the roof; the long, dark veranda with the marble floor on the first floor, and the old Mr Chowdhury peering out of a half-open door. Why was he staring at his son like that? And why had Kailash Babu gone to the roof carrying his gun? What kind of noise had he heard?

  Feluda said only one thing before switching off his light, ‘Did you know, Topshe, that people who send anonymous notes and threaten others on the telephone are basically cowards?’ It was perhaps because of this remark that I finally fell asleep.

  Feluda rang Kailash Chowdhury the following morning and told him to relax and stay at home. Feluda himself would take care of everything.

  ‘When will you go to Victoria Memorial?’ I asked him.

  ‘The same time as yesterday. By the way, do you have a sketch pad and pens and other drawing material?’

  I felt totally taken aback. ‘Why? What do I need those for?’

  ‘Never mind. Have you got them or not?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I have my school drawing book.’

  ‘Good. Take it with you. I’d want you to stand at a little distance from the lilies, and draw something—the trees, the building, the flowers, anything. I shall be your drawing teacher.’

  Feluda could draw very well. In fact, I knew he could draw a reasonable portrait of a man after seeing him only once. The role of a drawing teacher would suit him perfectly.

  Since the days were short in winter, we reached the Victoria Memorial a few minutes before four o’clock. There were even fewer people around today. Three Nepali ayahs were roaming idly with their charges in perambulators. An Indian family—possibly Marwaris—and a couple of old men were strolling about, but there was no one else in sight. At some distance away from the gate, closer to the compound wall, stood two men under a tree. Feluda glanced at them, and then nudged me quietly. That meant those two were his friends from the police. They were in plain clothes, but were probably armed. Feluda knew quite a lot of people in the police.

  I parked myself opposite the rows of lilies and began sketching, although I could hardly concentrate on what I was doing. Feluda moved around with a pair of binoculars in his hands, occasionally grabbing my pad to make corrections and scolding me for making mistakes. Then he would move away again, and peer through the binoculars.

  The sun was about to set. The clock in a church nearby struck five. It would soon get cold. The Marwaris left in a big car. The ayahs, too, began to push their perambulators towards the gate. The traffic on Lower Circular Road had intensified. I could hear frequent horns from cars and buses, caught in the evening rush. Feluda returned to me and was about to sit down on the grass, when something near the gate seemed to attract his attention. I followed his gaze quickly, but could see no one except a man wrapped in a brown shawl, who was standing by the road outside, quite a long way away from the gate. Feluda placed the binoculars to his eyes, had a quick look, then passed them to me. ‘Take a look,’ he whispered.

  ‘You mean that man over there? The one wearing a shawl?’

  ‘Hm.’

  One glance through the binoculars brought the man clearly into view, as if he was standing only a few feet away. I gave an involuntary gasp. ‘Why . . . this is Kailash Chowdhury himself!’

  ‘Right. Perhaps he’s come to look for us. Let’s go.’

  But the man began walking away just as we started to move. He was gone by the time we came out of the gate. ‘Let’s go to his house,’ Feluda suggested, ‘I don’t think he saw us. He must have gone back feeling worried.’

  There was no chance of finding a taxi at this hour, so we began walking towards Chowringhee in the hope of catching a tram. The road was heavily lined with cars. Soon, we found ourselves outside the Calcutta Club. What happened here was so unexpected and frightening that even as I write about it, I can feel myself break into a cold sweat. I was walking by Feluda’s side when, without the slightest warning, he pulled me sharply away from the road. Then he leapt aside himself, as a speeding car missed him by inches.

  ‘What the devil—!’ Feluda exclaimed. ‘I missed the number of that car.’

  It was too late to do anything about that. Heaven knew where the car had come from, or what had possessed its driver to drive so fast in this traffic. But it had disappeared totally from sight. I had fallen on the pavement, my sketch pad and pencils had scattered in different directions. I picked myself up, without bothering to look for them. If Feluda hadn’t seen that car coming and acted promptly, there was no doubt that both of us would have been crushed under its wheels.

  Feluda did not utter a single word in the tram. He just sat looking grim. The first thing he said on reaching Mr Chowdhury’s house was: ‘Didn’t you see us?’

  Mr Chowdhury was sitting in a sofa in the drawing room. He seemed quite taken aback by our sudden arrival. ‘See you?’ he faltered. ‘Where? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You mean to say you didn’t go to Victoria Memorial?’

  ‘Who, me? Good heavens, no! I didn’t leave the house at all. In fact, I spent all afternoon in my bedroom upstairs, feeling sick with worry. I’ve only just come down.’

  ‘Well then, Mr Chowdhury, do you have an identical twin?’

  Mr Chowdhury’s jaw fell open. ‘Oh God, didn’t I tell you the other day?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘About Kedar? He’s my twin.’

  Feluda sat down quickly. Mr Chowdhury’s face seemed to have lost all colour.

  ‘Why, did you . . . did you see Kedar? Was he there?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. It couldn’t possibly have been anyone else.’

  ‘My God!’

  ‘Why do you say that? Does your twin have a claim on that stone?’

  Mr Chowdhury suddenly went limp, as though all the energy in his body had been drained out. He leant against the arm of his sofa, and sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘yes, he does. You see, it was Kedar who found the stone first. I saw the temple, but Kedar was the one who noticed the stone fixed on the statue.’
/>
  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Well, I took it from him. I mean, I pestered and badgered him until he got fed up and gave it to me. In a way, it was the right thing to do, for Kedar would simply have sold it and wasted the money. When I learnt just how valuable the stone was, I did not tell Kedar. To be honest, when he left the country, I felt quite relieved. But now . . . perhaps he’s come back because he couldn’t find work abroad. Maybe he wants to sell the stone and start a business of his own.’

  Feluda was silent for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Do you have any idea what he might do next?’

  ‘No. But I do know this: he will come and meet me here. I have stopped going out of the house, and I did not keep the stone where I was told to. There is no other way left for him now. If he wants the stone, he has to come here.’

  ‘Would you like me to stay here? I might be able to help.’

  ‘No, thank you. That will not be necessary. I have now made up my mind, Mr Mitter. If Kedar wants the stone, he can have it. I will simply hand it over to him. It’s simply a matter of waiting until he turns up. You have already done so much, putting your life at risk. I am most grateful to you. If you send me your bill, I will let you have a cheque.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re right about the risk. We nearly got run over by a car.’

  I had realized a while ago that one of my elbows was rather badly grazed, but had been trying to keep it out of sight. As we rose to take our leave, Feluda’s eyes fell on it. ‘Hey, you’re hurt, aren’t you?’ he exclaimed, ‘your elbow is bleeding! If you don’t mind, Mr Chowdhury, I think Tapesh should put some Dettol on the wound, or it might get septic. Do you—?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Mr Chowdhury got up quickly. ‘You are quite right. The streets are filthy, aren’t they? Wait, let me ask Abanish.’

  We followed Mr Chowdhury to Abanish Babu’s room. ‘Do we have any Dettol in the house, Abanish?’ Mr Chowdhury asked. Abanish Babu gave him a startled glance.

  ‘Why, I saw you bring a new bottle only a week ago!’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me it’s finished already?’

  Mr Chowdhury gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Yes, of course. I totally forgot. I am going mad.’