by Satyajit Ray
‘The day after I came to know about his power with numbers. It was the second of December.’
‘Why did you decide to take him to Tarafdar in the first place?’
‘There was only one reason for that, Mr Mitter. As you can see, I am not a rich man. I have four children, and only a small job in a post office. My salary gets wiped out long before a month gets over. I have no savings. In fact, I haven’t been able to put Nayan in a school at all. When I think of the future of my family, it terrifies me. So when I realized Nayan had a special power, I thought that might be put to good use. It may sound awful, but in my situation, anyone would welcome the chance to earn something extra.’
‘Yes, I understand. There’s nothing wrong with what you did. So you took Nayan to see Tarafdar. What happened next?’
‘Mr Tarafdar wanted to test Nayan himself. So I told him to ask him any question that might be answered in numbers. Tarafdar said to Nayan, “Can you tell me how old I am?” Nayan said, “Thirty-three years, three months and three days.” Tarafdar asked two more questions. Then he made me an offer. If I allowed him to take Nayan on the stage with him, he’d pay me a certain amount of money regularly. I agreed. Then he asked me how much I expected to be paid. With a lot of hesitation, I said, “A thousand rupees.” Tarafdar laughed at this and said, “Wrong, you’re quite wrong. Nayan, can you give us the figure that’s in my head?” And Nayan said immediately, “Three zero zero zero.” Mr Tarafdar kept his word. He’s already paid me an advance of three thousand rupees. So when he suggested that Nayan should stay in his house, I couldn’t refuse him.’
‘Was Nayan happy about going and living with a virtual stranger?’
‘Yes, surprisingly enough. He agreed quite happily, and now seems to be perfectly content.’
‘One more question, Mr Sarkar.’
‘Yes?’
‘How did you first learn about his power?’
‘It happened purely out of the blue. One fine morning he just woke up and said to me, “Baba, I can see lots of things . . . they’re running helter-skelter, and some are jumping up and down. Can you see them, too?” I said, “No, I can see nothing. What are these things, anyway?” He said, “Numbers. They’re all numbers, from nine to zero. I’ve a feeling if you asked me something that had anything to do with numbers, these crazy ones would stop dancing around.” I didn’t believe him, of course, but thought a child ought to be humoured. So I said, “All right. What is that big fat book lying in that corner?” Nayan said, “That’s the Mahabharat.” I said, “Yes. Now can you tell me how many pages it’s got?” Nayan smiled at this and said, “I was right, Baba. All the numbers have gone away. I can see only three, standing still. They are nine, three and four.” I picked up the Mahabharat and looked at the last page. It said 934.’
‘I see. Thank you very much, Mr Sarkar. I haven’t got any more questions. We’re all very grateful to you for giving us your time.’
We said namaskar, came out of the house and got into our car. We returned home to find two visitors waiting for us. One of them was Sunil Tarafdar. I did not know the other.
‘Sorry,’ said Feluda hurriedly. ‘Have you been waiting long?’
‘No, only five minutes,’ said Mr Tarafdar. ‘This is my manager, Shankar Hublikar.’
The other gentleman rose and greeted us. He seemed to be of the same age as his friend. His appearance was neat and smart. ‘Namaskar,’ said Feluda, returning his greeting. ‘You are from Maharashtra, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right. But I was born and brought up here in Calcutta.’
‘I see. Please sit down.’ We all did. ‘What brings you here this morning?’ Feluda asked Mr Tarafdar.
‘It’s something rather serious, I’m afraid.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We were attacked last night by a giant.’
My heart skipped a beat. Was he talking about Gawangi?
‘Tell us what happened.’
‘I got up this morning as usual at 5.30 to take my dog Badshah for a walk. I came downstairs to collect him, but had to stop when I reached the bottom of the stairs.’
‘Why?’
‘The floor was covered with blood, and someone’s footprints went from there right up to the front door. I measured these later. Each was sixteen inches long.’
‘Sixt . . .?’ Lalmohan Babu choked.
‘And then?’
‘There is a collapsible gate at my front door, which stays locked at night. That gate was half open, the lock was broken, and outside that gate was lying my chowkidar, Bhagirath. The bloody footprints went past him up to the main compound wall. Well, I washed Bhagirath’s head with cold water and brought him round. He began screaming, “Demon! Demon!” the minute he opened his eyes and nearly fainted again. Anyway, what he then told me was this: in the middle of the night, he happened to be standing just outside the collapsible gate, under a low power bulb that’s left on all night. Bhagirath looked up at a sudden noise and, in the semi-darkness, saw a huge creature walking towards him. It had obviously jumped over the wall, for outside the main gate was my armed guard, who had not seen it. Bhagirath told me he had once been to the zoo and seen an animal called a “goraila”. This creature, he said, looked very much like a “goraila”, except that it was larger and more dangerous. I couldn’t learn anything more from Bhagirath because one look at this “demon” made him lose consciousness.’
‘I see,’ said Feluda, ‘the demon then presumably broke open the collapsible gate and got inside. Your Badshah must have attacked him after that and bitten his leg, which forced him to run away.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t spare my Badshah, either. Badshah’s body was found about thirty feet from the main gate. This horrible creature had wrung his neck.’
The only good thing about this whole gruesome story, I thought, was that TNT had failed in his attempt. Nayan, thank God, was still safe.
Feluda fell silent when Mr Tarafdar finished his tale. He simply sat staring into space, frowning deeply.
‘What’s the matter, Mr Mitter?’ Mr Tarafdar said impatiently. ‘Please say something.’
‘The time has come to act, Sunil. I can no longer sit around just talking.’
‘What’re you thinking of doing?’
‘I have decided to accompany you and Nayan—all over south India, wherever you go, starting with Madras. He’s in grave danger, and neither you nor your friend here could really give him the protection he needs. I must do my bit.’ Mr Tarafdar smiled for the first time.
‘I can’t tell you how relieved I feel, Mr Mitter. If you now start working in your professional capacity, I will naturally pay your fee and all expenses for the three of you to travel together. I mean, my sponsor will meet all costs.’
‘We’ll talk about costs later. Which train are you taking to Madras?’
‘Coromandel Express, on 19 December.’
‘And which hotel are you booked at?’
‘The Taj Coromandel. You’ll travel by first class AC. Just let me have your names and ages. Shankar will make the reservations.’
‘Good,’ said Feluda. ‘If you have any problems, let me know. I know a lot of people in the railway booking office.’
Seven
Mr Tarafdar and his friend left at a quarter to ten. Just five minutes after they had gone, Feluda received a phone call that came as a complete surprise. He took it himself, so at first we had no idea who it was from. He spoke briefly, and came back to join us for a cup of tea.
‘I checked in the directory,’ he said, raising a cup to his lips, ‘there are only two such names listed.’
‘Look, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu said, a little irritably, ‘I totally fail to see why you must create a mystery out of every little thing. Who rang you just now? Do you mind telling us simply, without making cryptic remarks?’
‘Hingorani.’
‘The same Hingorani we read about this morning?’
‘Yes, sir. Tiwari’s partner.’
‘What did he want?’
‘We’ll find that out when we visit him in his house. He lives in Alipore Park Road.’
‘Have you made an appointment?’
‘Yes, you ought to have realized it while I was speaking to him. Obviously, you were not paying enough attention.’
‘I heard you say, “Five o’ clock this evening”,’ I couldn’t help saying. This annoyed Lalmohan Babu even more. ‘I don’t listen in on other people’s telephone conversations, as a matter of principle,’ he declared righteously. But he was much mollified afterwards when Feluda asked him to stay to lunch, and then spent the whole afternoon teaching him to play scrabble. This did not prove too easy, since it turned out that Lalmohan Babu had never done a crossword puzzle in his life, while Feluda was a wizard at all word games, and a master at unravelling puzzles and ciphers. But Lalmohan Babu’s good humour had been fully restored; he didn’t seem to mind.
We reached Mr Hingorani’s house five minutes before the appointed time.
There was a garage on one side of his compound in which stood a large white car. ‘A foreign car?’ asked Lalmohan Babu.
‘No, it’s Indian. A Contessa,’ Feluda replied.
A bearer stood at the front door. He looked at Lalmohan Babu and asked, ‘Mitter sahib?’
‘No, no, not me. This is Mr Mitter.’
‘Please come with me.’
We followed him to the drawing room. ‘Please sit down,’ said the bearer and disappeared. Lalmohan Babu and I found two chairs. Feluda began inspecting the contents of a book case.
A grandfather clock stood on the landing outside. Mr Hingorani entered the room as the clock struck five, making a deep yet melodious sound. Mr Hingorani was middle-aged, thin and perhaps ailing, for there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. We rose as he came in. ‘Please, please be seated,’ he said hurriedly. We sat down again.
Mr Hingorani began talking. I noticed that the strap of his watch was slightly loose, as it kept slipping forward when he moved his arm.
‘Have you read what’s been published in the press about T H Syndicate?’ he asked.
‘Yes indeed.’
‘My partner’s gone totally senile. At least, I can’t think of any other explanation. Nobody in his right mind would behave like this.’
‘We happen to know your partner.’
‘How?’
Feluda explained quickly about Tarafdar and Nayan. ‘Mr Tiwari went to Sunil Tarafdar’s house to meet Jyotishka,’ he added, ‘and we happened to be present. That little wonder boy told him the right numbers for the combination and said there was no money in the chest.’
‘I see . . .’
‘You told me on the phone you were being harassed. What exactly has happened?’
‘Well, you see, for well over a year Tiwari and I hadn’t been getting on well, although once we were good friends. In fact, we were classmates in St Xavier’s College. We formed T H Syndicate in 1973, and for a few years things worked out quite well. But then . . . our relationship started to change.’
‘Why?’
‘The chief reason for that was Tiwari’s memory. It began to fail pretty rapidly. At times, he couldn’t even remember the simplest of things, and it became very difficult to have him present during meetings with clients. Last year, I told him I knew of a very good doctor who I thought he should see. But Tiwari was most offended at my suggestion. That was when our old friendship began to disintegrate. I was tempted to dissolve the partnership, but stayed on because if I hadn’t, the whole company would have had to close down. Still, things might have improved, but . . . but Tiwari’s recent behaviour really shook me. He came straight to me when he found his chest empty and said, “Give me back my money, this minute!”’
‘Is it true that he had once told you what numbers made up the combination?’
‘No, no, it’s a stinking lie! He kept his own money and personal papers in that chest. There was no reason for him to have told me the combination. Besides, he seems to think that I stole his money while he was at his dentist’s. Yet, I can prove that I was miles away during that time. As a matter of fact, I had gone to visit a cousin who had had a heart attack, in the Belle Vue clinic at 11 a.m. and I returned at half past three. Tiwari, however, doesn’t believe me and has even threatened to set goondas on me if I don’t return his money. He’s lost his mind completely.’
‘Do you have any idea as to who might have stolen the money?’
‘To start with, Mr Mitter, I don’t believe there’s been a theft at all. Tiwari himself must have kept it elsewhere or spent it on something that he’s now forgotten. I wouldn’t put it past him, really. Have you ever heard of anyone who forgets the numbers of his own combination lock, having used it for over twenty years?’
‘I see what you mean. Let’s now come to the point, Mr Hingorani.’
‘Yes, you wish to know why I called you here, don’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Look, Mr Mitter, I need protection. Tiwari himself might be forgetful, but I’m sure his hired hooligans would never forget their task. They’d be cunning, clever and ruthless. Now, protecting a client from criminals does form a part of a private detective’s job, does it not?’
‘Yes, it does. But I have a problem. You see, I am going to be away for about five weeks. So I cannot start my job right away. Do you think you can afford to wait until I get back?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘South India, starting with Madras.’
Hingorani’s eyes began shining. ‘Excellent!’ he said, slapping his thigh. ‘I was going to go to Madras, in any case. Someone told me of a new business opportunity there. I’ve stopped going to our local office here, you see. After the way Tiwari insulted me, I just couldn’t face going back there. But obviously, I can’t stay at home all my life. So I thought I’d try and find out more about the offer in Madras. Are you going by air? We could all go together, couldn’t we?’
‘We are travelling by train, Mr Hingorani. In fact, I am going simply in order to protect somebody else—a little boy of eight. He’s the child called Jyotishka who helped Tiwari. Three different men want to use him for their own purpose. Mr Tarafdar and I must ensure no one gets near him and puts his power to misuse.’
‘Of course. But why don’t you kill two birds with one stone?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘If you start working for me, I’ll pay you your fee as well. So you can keep an eye both on me and Jyotishka.’
Feluda accepted this offer. But he gave a word of warning to Mr Hingorani. ‘I’ll do my best, of course, but please remember that may not be sufficient. You yourself must be very careful indeed in what you do and where you go.’
‘Yes, naturally. Where will you be staying in Madras?’
‘Hotel Coromandel. We’ll reach there on the 21st.’
‘Very well. I’ll see you in Madras.’
We left soon after this. On our way back, I said to Feluda, ‘I noticed two empty spaces on the wall in the drawing room, rectangular in shape. It seemed as though a couple of paintings had once hung there.’
‘Good observation. They had probably been oil paintings.’
‘And now they are missing,’ Lalmohan Babu remarked. ‘Could that have any special significance, do you think?’
‘It’s obvious that Mr Hingorani got rid of them.’
‘Yes, but why? What does it imply?’
‘It can have a thousand different implications, Lalmohan Babu. Would you like a list?’
‘I see. You are not treating this matter very seriously, are you?’
‘I see no reason to. I’ve noted the fact and stored it away in my memory. It will be retrieved, if need be.’
‘And what about this second case you have just taken on? Will you be able to manage both?’
Feluda did not reply. He looked out of the window of our car with unseeing eyes and began muttering under his breath.
‘Doubts
. . .’ I heard him say, ‘Doubts . . . doubts . . .’
Eight
Many of the leading papers next morning carried reports of Tarafdar’s forthcoming visit to Madras. His first show there would be held on 25 December, they said.
Feluda had gone to have a haircut. When he returned, I showed him the reports. ‘Yes, I’ve already seen them,’ he said, frowning. ‘Clearly, Sunil Tarafdar couldn’t resist a bit of publicity. I rang him before I left to give him a piece of my mind, but he refused to pay any attention to what I said. He told me instead how important it was for him to make sure the media took notice of what he was doing. When I pointed out that those three people would now come to know about Nayan’s movements and that wasn’t desirable at all, he said quite airily that they wouldn’t dare do anything now, not after the way he had handled them the other day. I put the phone down after this since he obviously wasn’t gone to change his mind. But this means my job is going to get a lot more difficult and I have to be ten times more alert. After all, I know Nayan is still in danger.’
A car stopped outside and, a few seconds later, someone rang the bell twice. This had to be Lalmohan Babu. He was late today. It was almost ten-thirty.
‘Have I got news for you!’ he said as he walked in, his eyes wide with excitement.
‘Wait!’ Feluda said, smiling a little. ‘Let me guess. You went to New Market this morning, right?’
‘How do you know?’
‘A cash memo of Ideal Stores in New Market is peeping out of the front pocket of your jacket. Besides, that big lump in your side pocket clearly means that you bought a large tube of your favourite toothpaste.’
‘All right. Next?’
‘You went to a restaurant and had strawberry ice cream—there are two tiny pink drops on your shirt.’
‘Shabash! Next?’
‘Naturally, you didn’t go into a restaurant all alone. You must have run into someone you knew. You didn’t invite him to have an ice cream. He did. I am aware that you don’t have a single close friend—barring ourselves—with whom you’d want to go to a restaurant. So presumably, this person was someone you met recently. Now, who could it be? Not Tarafdar, for he’s far too busy. Could it be one of the four greedy people? Well, I don’t think it was Hodgson. He hasn’t got money to waste. TNT? No, he wouldn’t travel all the way to New Market to do his shopping. That leaves us with—’