The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II

by Satyajit Ray

  ‘Oh yes, the police made that very clear.’

  ‘If you leave, who will work as Keertinarayan’s secretary?’

  ‘I’ll get someone else to replace me, that shouldn’t be a problem. Once I get busy writing that biography, I won’t have time for anything else.’

  Feluda got up and began pacing, inspecting the room and occasionally staring out to check what else could be seen from it. I followed his gaze and realized that one could see the door to Indranarayan’s study. From the library, however, neither his study nor his bedroom was visible. Through another window in Mr Mallik’s room one could get a view of the lane that ran behind the house. It was called Jodu Naskar Lane, I remembered.

  Feluda finished his questions. Leena had already told her father about us. Now she took us to meet him in a sitting room on the first floor. It was a fairly large room, tastefully furnished and full of antiques and curios. On a shelf was hi-fi equipment for playing records and cassettes, flanked by two stereo speakers.

  There were striking resemblances between father and daughter. Harinarayan was a good-looking man, with a very fair complexion like all the other men in his family. But he seemed larger and fatter than the others.

  ‘I have heard of you both,’ he said, looking at Feluda and Lalmohan Babu. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Feluda did not come straight to the point. ‘You’ve got quite a collection,’ he said, looking at the records and cassettes stacked on one side.

  ‘Yes, I love western classical music. Indian music does not appeal to me.’

  ‘Who’s your favourite composer?’

  ‘I like Tchaikovsky very much; and Schumann, Brahms and Chopin.’

  ‘That means you’re more fond of the Romantic era than any other.’

  ‘Yes, you could say so.’

  ‘Your younger brother used to play the violin. But he wasn’t interested in western music, was he?’

  ‘No. He was very different. I hear he had a lot of talent, but I never felt like going to a jatra. My wife and my daughter went a few times.’

  ‘Do you happen to have a theory of your own regarding your brother’s murder?’

  ‘Theory? Well, I think he died because of the company he kept. People who work in jatra companies are often . . . well, they’re not always educated and from good backgrounds, are they? Who knows who Indra had got involved with? He may have had a disagreement with one of his cronies. It’s impossible to say what might have happened. Since nothing valuable was stolen from his room, one can only assume the motive was revenge. If you must make enquiries, go and speak to the people he used to hobnob with. I don’t think you’ll get much from any of us.’

  ‘Was it your elder brother who informed the police?’

  ‘Yes, but I was in full agreement with him. Isn’t that the obvious thing to do when there’s been a murder? How many people would call in a private investigator without first going to the police? I know my father wanted to do that, but then he’s always been somewhat eccentric. God knows how he managed to work as a barrister.’

  ‘He was very fond of Indranarayan, wasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s another instance of his eccentric behaviour. He doesn’t like anything traditional, or anyone who conforms to accepted norms. In this respect he is very much like our ancestor, Kandarpanarayan.’

  Feluda did not ask him anything more. He thanked him and we rose. It was clear Harinarayan Acharya was not going to tell us anything useful.

  The oldest of the Acharya brothers, Devnarayan, was sitting in a cane chair on the veranda that faced the west. In front of him was a table with cold beer standing on it. He offered it to us after greetings had been exchanged, but we refused.

  ‘Was it my father’s idea to employ a private detective?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ Feluda laughed, ‘no one else seems to have any faith in my abilities.’

  ‘A private investigator is all right in a novel or a film. This is real life.’

  The words were spoken in a dry tone. I had seldom seen a man look so serious.

  ‘You have come to ask me about Indra, haven’t you?’ he went on. ‘Well, what can I say? In my view, he was the black sheep of our family. He brought us great dishonour. We became the laughing stock among our friends. People in my club used to come up to me and ask me how Indra was doing in his jatra company, how many songs he had written, were they popular, was he still playing the violin . . . and I hardly knew where to look. It was so embarrassing. And then this awful thing happened. Who could have dreamt something like this would happen to my own brother? But I’d say he brought it on himself. Frankly, I have no sympathy for him. And let me tell you, Mr Mitter, I am not greatly impressed by you, either. It’s obvious a jatra company hired a killer and got him to steal into our house to kill my brother. Try and catch him. Why are you wasting your time here? Mind you, anyone associated with jatra might be a potential criminal. You may well find yourself looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  There was no point in asking anything further. We said goodbye to Devnarayan and came down. Feluda turned to Mr Mallik.

  ‘There’s something I am sorely tempted to take a look at,’ he said. ‘I mean the diaries Kandarpanarayan had kept while he was in England. How many are there?’

  ‘Two. He spent a year there.’

  ‘May I borrow both for a few days?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Mr Mallik got the diaries and gave them to Feluda. ‘Thank you very much,’ said Feluda, placing them in his shoulder bag. Then we came back home.

  Seven

  ‘How do you find things, Felu Babu? What conclusions have you drawn?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, helping himself to a large handful of daalmut. We had returned from Bosepukur about fifteen minutes ago, and Srinath had just brought in tea and daalmut for all of us.

  Feluda lit a Charminar. ‘What has become clear is that it’s not just a case of one jatra company trying to harm another. There’s much more to it than that. We cannot eliminate the two brothers, although we’ve learnt nothing about them except that neither cared for Indranarayan. If one of them was in need of money, he might well have had a motive to kill. If their father has made a will, he will now have to change it. Naturally, the two remaining brothers will get much more now than they’d have got otherwise.’

  ‘I didn’t like Devnarayan. Have you ever seen anyone so cold and unfriendly?’

  ‘We shouldn’t judge anyone simply after one meeting in their house. I’d like to see both brothers in their clubs. At least, I want to find out what they do there.’

  ‘How will you manage that?’

  ‘Easy. Two of my old classmates are members. They’ll be able to tell me. The one who goes to the Saturday Club is called Bhaskar Deb. The other’s a member of the Bengal Club. He’s called Animesh Som.’

  ‘I’ve only heard of these clubs. Never been inside any of them.’

  ‘You wouldn’t find anything in there that might amuse or interest you, Lalmohan Babu. You don’t drink or play cards or billiards, do you? What would you do in a club?’

  ‘Yes, that’s very true.’

  Feluda stood up and got to work, although it took seven attempts to get through to Animesh Som. After a few minutes of conversation, he put the phone down and told us what his friend had said. Apparently, Devnarayan went to his club regularly and spent most of his time drinking. He didn’t seem interested in either playing a game or in meeting people. But he read all the newspapers that came from London. And rumour had it that there was labour unrest in his office. The workers might go on strike any day.

  Feluda picked up the phone again and rang Bhaskar Deb. This time, he got through at once. This is how his conversation went:

  ‘It that Bhaskar? This is Felu, Pradosh Mitter.’

  ‘You are a member of the Saturday Club, aren’t you?’

  ‘I wonder if you can tell me something about one of your members, Harinarayan Acharya?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he’s the one whose brother was killed. What kind of
man is Harinarayan? You must know him.’

  ‘What? A gambler? Plays poker, does he, on high stakes? Have you ever played with him? He must have got that trait from his great grandfather.’

  ‘In debt? And that debt is increasing every day? Why doesn’t he stop? Good heavens, it must be a serious problem if . . . anyway, thanks a lot, you’ve been most helpful. I’ve been asked to investigate, you see, so I thought I’d get a few details. Thanks again and goodbye.’ Feluda replaced the receiver. ‘Just imagine!’ he said to us, ‘Harinarayan Acharya is up to his neck in debt, but doesn’t let on. A real cool customer, I must say. But would he kill his own brother for that? Wouldn’t he be more likely to steal or embezzle funds from somewhere?’

  ‘Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu said excitedly, looking as though a new idea had suddenly dawned on him, ‘this is getting more and more complex. If he killed to get a bigger share in his father’s will, he’d obviously have to wait until his father died. So . . . that means Keertinarayan’s life is now at risk!’

  ‘You’re getting very good at this, Lalmohan Babu. Yes, what you just said could well be true.’

  ‘In that case, shouldn’t we warn Keertinarayan?’

  ‘Look, Lalmohan Babu,’ Feluda said, pulling his chair closer, ‘I have said this before, and I will say it again. Murder isn’t easy. A police constable is guarding that house every day. Everyone knows the victim was Keertinarayan’s favourite child. Now if Keertinarayan himself is killed, suspicion will fall immediately on the two brothers. Neither will be able to escape. The police will naturally do their job, but so will I. Both brothers will be in big trouble, and they know it. Besides, Keertinarayan is old and ailing. He’s not going to live very long, in any case. So I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger of being killed. What we have to remember is what Bhaskar just told me about Harinarayan. His behaviour at home was so normal that I don’t think anyone could ever guess what he was really up to. I used to think people fond of music were always gentle and straightforward. But this man . . . well, obviously I was mistaken. It’s weird!’

  ‘That whole family is weird, if you ask me,’ said Lalmohan Babu somewhat irritably, and picked up the Statesman from the centre table. Feluda watched him, then suddenly seemed to notice something on the back page of the newspaper. He snatched it from Lalmohan Babu, and read the whole page carefully. Then he put it down and said, ‘I see.’ A minute later, he said, ‘Now I understand.’ Another thirty seconds later, he added, ‘Now it’s clear.’

  Lalmohan Babu lost his patience. ‘What is clear?’ he demanded. ‘It’s quite clear to me, my friend, that my knowledge is sadly limited. There’s a lot I still have to learn.’

  I could tell Feluda was trying purposely to create a mystery, to lead us on. A few moments later when he suddenly remarked, ‘We’re going to have a new experience today,’ I knew it was a part of a deliberate plan.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lalmohan Babu asked innocently.

  ‘We’re going to the races.’

  ‘What! The races? Why?’

  ‘I’ve wanted to, for many years. We’re free this evening, so let’s go. Just think, this extraordinary event takes place every Saturday in our own city, and yet we’ve never seen what it’s like. It’s time we witnessed it. One should experience everything in life, at least once.’

  ‘Well said, Felu Babu!’ Lalmohan Babu’s voice held suppressed excitement. ‘I’ve often thought of going to the races myself. The reason why I didn’t was my fear of being spotted by an acquaintance, and then getting the reputation of being a gambler.’

  ‘That won’t happen.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘All of us will be in disguise.’

  Lalmohan Babu jumped to his feet. ‘Oh, what a good idea! Can you give me a French beard?’

  ‘Yes, it would suit you.’

  ‘Great.’

  Feluda had always been very good at putting on disguises, but so far we had seen him use make-up only on himself. Today, by the time he finished working on us, we were startled to see our own reflection in the mirror. Lalmohan Babu had a beard and long wavy hair; I had a moustache and an untidy beard. My hair looked overgrown and unruly. Feluda himself had a thick, military-style moustache and was wearing a wig that made his hair look as though it had been cut very short. Even a close friend would have found it difficult to recognize any of us.

  Soon, we arrived at the race course. I had never expected to find myself there. If there was any place where millionaires would stand rubbing shoulders with beggars from the street, it was here. Nowhere else in Calcutta could anyone hope to see a scene like this.

  The race hadn’t yet started. We took this opportunity to roam around in the crowd. A large area had been fenced off and all the horses were being walked in it. Feluda told me this area was called a ‘paddock’. There was a building in the distance with rows and rows of windows. All bets were being placed through these windows. Like everyone else, we had bought little booklets. Lalmohan Babu was turning its pages with grave concentration, in order to make his acting more authentic.

  We spent about half an hour at the race course. The first race started quite soon. We watched the horses run, and heard the crowd call desperately to the horses they had placed their money on; and then, suddenly Feluda said, ‘Our purpose has been served, so why bother any more? Let’s go back.’

  I had no idea what purpose had been served, but knew that Feluda wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. So without another word, we came out, found Lalmohan Babu’s car and climbed back into it.

  Eight

  Inspector Monilal Poddar rang us on Sunday. ‘Have you made any progress?’ he asked Feluda.

  ‘No. I’m trying to get to know the people in that house, without which I’m not going to get very far. It’s a rather complicated case.’

  From what Inspector Poddar then told us, it appeared that there was even now a great risk of the Acharya household being burgled. Since it was known that there were loads of new and original plays and songs still in existence, it was highly likely that whoever had had Indranarayan killed would also try to steal his works. There was an area in Bosepukur where notorious miscreants lived. It was the inspector’s belief that the bearer, Santosh, was in league with these people and might actually help them break into the house.

  ‘Is that little lane behind the house being watched?’ asked Feluda. ‘You mean Jodu Naskar Lane? Oh yes.’

  ‘Do you think you could ask your men to withdraw just for one night?’

  ‘So that a potential burglar might feel tempted?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Very well. Just tell me when you’d like me to remove my men, and I’ll do it.’

  Mr Poddar rang off. It was half past seven in the morning. Only a few minutes later, the phone rang again. This time, it was Pradyumna Mallik. ‘I have been trying your number for half an hour!’ he said breathlessly. ‘Something terrible has happened. Last night, at around midnight, a thief got into Indranarayan’s study. One of the servants must have helped him get in for the constable guarding the rear entrance didn’t see him at all. I heard a noise, and came out of my room to look. At this, the man tried running away. I ran after him and even managed to catch him, you see, but he gave me such a hard push that I fell down and hurt my knee. He escaped, and now I’m walking with a limp!’

  Feluda put the phone down.

  ‘It does seem that the main motive behind the murder was to steal Indranarayan’s works,’ he said to me. ‘If a writer’s songs are so very popular and if it gets to be known that he left behind as many as five new plays and nearly twenty unused songs, obviously all jatra companies would wish to lay their hands on these. Strictly speaking everything should go to Bharat Opera. But, of course, their rivals would like to make sure they get nothing.’

  ‘But,’ I ventured to say, ‘how could anyone have learnt about all these songs and plays unless Indranarayan himself had told them? Maybe he wasn’t as loyal to Bharat O
pera as people seem to think. Maybe he had made up his mind about joining some other group.’

  ‘In that case, who killed him? And why?’

  ‘Perhaps he had given his word to Binapani, and so a third group decided to step in and remove him altogether.’

  Feluda nodded silently. Clearly, he had already thought of this possibility, but was nowhere near finding a solution. He took out his famous blue notebook and began scribbling in it. What was he thinking of now? Why was he looking so serious? I simply couldn’t tell.

  Lalmohan Babu arrived as usual at nine o’clock.

  ‘May I keep your encyclopaedia for another couple of days?’ Feluda asked him.

  ‘Of course. You may keep it for two months, I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve learnt a lot from it about melody, harmony, polyphony, counterpoint. Even in the history of music there have been mysteries and unsolved crime. Mozart had apparently been fatally poisoned by another composer called Salieri. But no one ever really got to the bottom of it.’

  ‘I see. What are you plans for today?’

  ‘You haven’t heard the latest. Someone got into Indranarayan’s study last night, but thanks to Mr Mallik, he couldn’t steal anything. I think that house should be kept under observation tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes, say around half past eleven.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Remember that back lane? The rear door of the house opens on to it. We could sit on the pavement and keep an eye on that door.’

  ‘Sit on the pavement? What will people think if they see three gentlemen sitting on a pavement in the middle of the night? It’ll look decidedly fishy.’

  ‘No, it won’t, for the three men won’t look like gentlemen at all.’ My heart leapt suddenly. Was Feluda talking of disguises again? What kind of disguise? Feluda provided the answer even before I could ask.

  ‘Have you ever played cards?’ he asked Lalmohan Babu. ‘Cards? Why, yes. I’ve played as a child, simple games. . .’