‘All of them?’
‘All of them.’
‘Very strange! Well, what did you do after that? Did you go to bed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then what were you doing out on the street at midnight?’
‘I lay awake for quite some time. Sleep was a long way off. So I went downstairs. I’d thought it would be easier for me to fall sleep after a breath of fresh air.’
‘How long did you stand out on the pavement?’
‘No longer than a couple of minutes or so. I didn’t know that the young master was still at the club. I saw him approaching and rushed inside.’
‘Did you lock the main door?’
‘No sir, I didn’t, because I saw the young master heading home.’
Byomkesh scrutinized Bhola from head to toe once more. Perhaps he was silently admiring the man’s brand of common sense. Finally, he dismissed him with an indifferent, ‘Right. You may go now.’
Bhola left. Once they heard the main door close, Rashomoybabu threw Byomkesh an inquiring glance and asked, ‘What did you think?’
Byomkesh was visibly glum. ‘A very smart man,’ he observed, ‘but he did admit that he went out last evening.’
‘But what does that prove?’
‘Not much, really. But if he did have an accomplice, he must have met up with him before the crime was committed. How else could the necklace simply disappear the way it has?’
‘That’s true.’
The discussion about Bhola could go no further because there was a knock on the door. Monimoy went out of the room and returned shortly, accompanied by a man in a police uniform. Tall and robust, he looked as though he were a man to reckon with. No doubt this was the inspector—Amareshbabu.
Rashomoybabu made motions of rising to his feet and greeted the visitor courteously, ‘Well, hello, Amareshbabu! What’s the matter? What brings you back so soon?’
Amareshbabu sat down on a chair and his words rushed out in a single expulsion of breath: ‘I went to Mechhobazaar to search the place where Bhola’s brothers live, but …’ At this point, his eyes fell on us and he stopped short.
A hint of embarrassment surfaced in Rashomoybabu’s voice as he introduced us. ‘Inspector Mandal, this is … I mean … Byomkesh Bakshi. Perhaps you have heard of him?’
Amareshbabu straightened up in his chair and exclaimed delightedly, ‘But of course! Who hasn’t heard of Byomkesh Bakshi? So that’s who you are! I’ve heard a lot about you from Pramod Barat as well. Remember him? He was in charge of the investigation of Golap Colony. He’s a friend of mine.’
Byomkesh smiled, ‘Of course I remember Pramodbabu! A very intelligent man.’
Amareshbabu said, ‘He’s a diehard fan of yours. I’ve heard so much about your extraordinary talents from him. So … are you involved as well in the investigation of this jewel-thief case? Wonderful! Your participation would be deemed a great honour. I have heard from Pramod that you do not hanker after fame. The truth is all you seek. Ha, ha!’
Byomkesh suppressed a smile as he said, ‘Inspector Mandal, it’s nature’s law that one doesn’t crave for what one has a surfeit of. In this case, you are welcome to all the acclaim. I’d be happy with just the remuneration.’
Rashomoybabu’s voice was full of emotion as he said, ‘Please do not call it a remuneration, Byomkeshbabu. It’s more of a homage. If I really get my necklace back, I shall pay you the highest possible reward.’
‘Anyway,’ Byomkesh turned to Amareshbabu, ‘so you searched the place where Bhola’s brothers live, but found nothing there?’
‘Nothing,’ repeated Amareshbabu. ‘His brothers were at work. Their wives were at home. But even my meticulous search yielded no results.’
Byomkesh gazed at him for a while and asked, ‘So you suspect that Bhola is in cahoots with his brothers and the trio committed the crime together?’
Amareshbabu said, ‘It could be someone other than the brothers, but there’s definitely an accomplice involved in this. How else could the necklace just disappear?’
‘But Monimoybabu and his wife saw no one else.’
‘Perhaps, the accomplice had left with the loot even before Monimoybabu and his wife saw Bhola.’
‘But Monimoybabu’s wife had been standing at the window and gazing at the road for quite some time. If the accomplice had, indeed, come, wouldn’t she have spotted him approaching?’
The two men continued to stare at one another. Finally, when Amareshbabu spoke, his tone was hesitant, ‘Are you suggesting that Bhola might not be the culprit?’
‘Not exactly. You have carried out the necessary raids and taken care of the interrogation. Now it just needs to be thought through.’ Byomkesh stood up. ‘I’ll be on my way now,’ he said. ‘If I can think up a solution, I’ll get back to you.’
Once we arrived home, I asked him, ‘So whom do you suspect?’
As he peeled off his shirt, Byomkesh replied, ‘Three of them, actually.’
I was startled. ‘Which three?’
‘Bhola, Monimoy and Monimoy’s wife …’ Byomkesh headed for the bathroom to take a shower.
I pondered over his words. In terms of opportunity, all three could be suspects. It was possible for each of them to have removed that necklace from Rashomoy’s desk drawer. And motive? The sons of wealthy men were invariably short of cash. Monimoy played cards at the club. Obviously, he played for money. Perhaps he was heavily in debt and too apprehensive about his father’s possible reaction to own up. And Monimoy’s wife? She looked harmless enough, but her face bore the mark of stress and anxiety. A woman could easily give in to the temptation of jewellery.
But whosoever the perpetrator might be, how had the person managed to get rid of the loot so conveniently?
That afternoon, Byomkesh stretched himself out in the armchair, staring at the wooden beams across the ceiling and admiring them for all they were worth. Not a word did he utter. Once he had finished drinking his tea, he suddenly rose to his feet and invited me, ‘Come on, let’s go for a stroll.’
‘And where do you wish to stroll?’
‘On the pavement in front of Rashomoybabu’s house. I didn’t get to check it out thoroughly.’
It took us exactly twenty minutes to reach the pavement in front of Rashomoybabu’s house. As we neared the spot, Byomkesh began to look around him. The shops on either side of the main entrance to the house were now open. One sold homeopathic medicine, the second sold watches. The other two sold garments. Every shop had a steady stream of customers. Pedestrians thronged the pavement.
From the second floor of Rashomoybabu’s house, four windows overlooked the street. Monimoy’s wife had been gazing out of one of them. As I brought my glance back to street level, I realized that Byomkesh had come to a sudden halt and was staring long and hard at the main door to Rashomoybabu’s house. As I followed his gaze, I saw Monimoy step out. He was clad in a dhoti and shirt. He held an envelope in his hand. He went and dropped the letter into the postbox that was affixed to the wall right next to the main door, then made to go back into the house.
‘Hello there, Monimoybabu. Whom are you writing to?’
Monimoy was startled to hear Byomkesh call out to him. He turned to us and answered in his courteous manner, ‘Well, hello there. Any news?’
Byomkesh said, ‘My news can wait. Whom did you write to?’
Monimoy looked downcast. ‘I gave the news to Ma. I asked her to come back home soon. But the letter won’t go today. The mail has already been cleared today. It’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning’s clearance. But do tell me your news. I’m sure there’s something positive there.’
Byomkesh said, ‘Well, there wasn’t when I left home. But now I do have some news.’
‘What is it? Do you know where the necklace is?’
‘I do. I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I have some urgent work to do.’
‘Won’t you come up once? Baba is anxious to hear from you.’
Byomkesh gave it some thought, then said, ‘No, I need to finish the job first. Ajit, why don’t you go on upstairs? Please tell Rashomoybabu on my behalf that he’ll get his necklace back tomorrow morning.’
Byomkesh strode away purposefully.
I accompanied Monimoy upstairs. Rashomoybabu was clearly despondent. But when I conveyed Byomkesh’s message to him, he could not help asking me, again and again, ‘Will I really get it back? Truly?’
‘I’ve never known Byomkesh to make empty promises,’ I replied. ‘If he has said you’ll get it back, you will.’
Thereafter, I was plied with tea, pastries and 555 cigarettes which I did not refuse before being driven home in the Cadillac.
It was well past sundown when I arrived home. But Byomkesh still hadn’t returned. He came back after an hour or so.
I asked him, ‘Where did you go off to?’
‘To the police station,’ he answered. ‘I had some work with Amareshbabu.’
‘What work?’
‘Very urgent work. Please have an early dinner and go to bed. We have to get up early tomorrow morning.’
When I realized he had no intention of satisfying my curiosity, I got up abruptly. At the dinner table, Satyaboti took one look at my face before asking me, ‘And why are you sulking?’
I replied, ‘That husband of yours is a turtle.’
I noticed Satyaboti hide a smile as she asked, ‘Why a turtle, of all living creatures?’
‘Turtles don’t talk.’
As she grasped the nature of my grouse, her eyes brimmed with sympathy and she said, ‘Oh, dear! It’s so very frustrating, isn’t it? Our intelligence may not be quite on par, but that doesn’t necessarily put brakes on our curiosity, does it?’
I finished my dinner hastily and went to bed.
Before the sun came up next morning, I was roused by Byomkesh who was shaking me and calling out, ‘Ajit, get up! We must leave right away.’
Tea was ready. I gulped it down and followed Byomkesh. The streetlights were still burning bright, guarding the slumbering city with a thousand watchful eyes.
I had no idea where we were off to. Having walked some distance, I realized we were headed in the direction of Rashomoybabu’s house.
I asked Byomkesh, ‘What do you want with Rashomoybabu at this ungodly hour?’
‘I have no work with him,’ he replied.
‘Well, then? Why did you have to be out so early in the morning?’
‘I had to. You know what they say about the early bird.’
‘You won’t give me a straight answer, will you? All you can do is make wisecracks.’
Byomkesh permitted himself a sly smile and said, ‘The first clearance of the mail from the postbox that’s affixed to the wall of Rashomoybabu’s house is at five o’clock. I want to be there when that postbox is being opened today.’
A few light bulbs flashed in my head, but the main issue was still shrouded in mystery. I said, ‘So it’s …’
Byomkesh raised a hand to silence me and urged, ‘Patience, my friend, patience.’
After traversing a few more lanes and alleyways, we stood in front of Rashomoybabu’s house. At the spot where the lane met the main road, two men were standing in plain sight of anyone who might care to look. Byomkesh spoke to them in whispers. Then we too took up our position at the junction, visible to anyone who might be watching.
I checked the time by my watch. Ten minutes to five o’clock. The streets were still empty of people. The odd truck carrying vegetables to the market whizzed past with a sombre purr of its engine. The interior of Rashomoybabu’s house lay in darkness. The main door, lit up by the streetlight on the pavement, was clearly visible. Next to the door, the crimson of the postbox was obscured by the countless handbills that had been slapped on it. One hardly noticed that there was a postbox there.
The minutes dragged by with excruciating slowness. My heartbeat seemed to echo the light footfalls of each passing minute. The clock struck five. My nerves were tautly alert.
Like an apparition, a man had silently materialized in front of the postbox. He wore a khaki uniform and carried two huge bags on his shoulders. He set the bags down on the footpath, extracted a bunch of keys from his pocket and made to open the postbox. At Byomkesh’s signal, we began to move in on the man with the stealth of predators. As we left the lane behind us and came up to the junction, I noticed four more men advancing in pairs on the postman. They were obviously policemen, but in mufti.
The man had barely unlocked the postbox when we closed in on him. He looked up, startled. When he saw the eight of us encircling him, he turned around to face us, his back to the open postbox, and asked in a tremulous voice, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’
Byomkesh addressed him sternly. ‘Is your name Bhootnath Das and are you Bhola’s elder brother?’
Bhootnath’s face caved in. The colour drained out of it. His eyes started out of his head. Trembling violently, he asked, ‘Who … who are you?’
Amareshbabu roared, ‘Police!’
That was when I first noticed Amareshbabu’s presence in the group. He stepped up and placed a firm hand on Bhootnath’s shoulder. I gathered it was an attempt at scaring him out of his wits in a melodramatic fashion. The attempt bore fruit. Bhootnath lost his nerve and suddenly screamed out loud, ‘Bhola, my brother, what have you brought me to … I’ll lose my job … they’ll put me in prison!’
As soon as he had stopped ranting, Amareshbabu shook him slightly and asked, ‘Where is the stolen loot? Bring it out, fast!’
Bhootnath prostrated himself before Amareshbabu and confessed, ‘Sir, I have not touched the hideous piece of sin; it’s right there in the postbox.’
I was speechless with shock. Since the night of the theft, until this morning, the necklace had stayed in the postbox affixed to the wall of Rashomoybabu’s house!
‘Bring it out,’ Amareshbabu ordered.
Bhootnath stood up and turned to face the postbox. It was crammed to overflowing with letters. He reached inside and pulled out from the depths a parcel the size of the large book we’d seen earlier. It was wrapped in white cloth and sealed into its shroud with stitches. Bhootnath handed it to Amareshbabu and pleaded desperately, ‘Here you are, sir; as God is my witness, I swear I have never set eyes on whatever is inside this.’
At this moment, the main door to Rashomoybabu’s house opened. There stood Rashomoy, leaning on his stick. Behind him were Monimoy and his wife. Each bleary-eyed face bore a hint of anxious surprise.
Rashomoy exclaimed, ‘Amareshbabu! Byomkeshbabu! What’s the matter? My necklace …?’
Byomkesh took the packet from Amareshbabu and handed it to Rashomoybabu. ‘Here you are—your necklace. Please open the parcel and check the contents.’
It was around nine-thirty in the morning and we were seated in the living room, awaiting the next round of tea that Satyaboti had gone to prepare. The post-mortem of the jewellery case was under way.
‘Needless harassment,’ Byomkesh muttered. ‘If only I’d noticed the postbox by the door in the first place, the matter could have been resolved in five minutes flat. There are thousands of postboxes affixed to walls all over the city, but they seldom draw the eye. Their crimson colour is layered over with leaflets and flyers. Those who know where the postboxes are located have no trouble spotting them. But those who don’t, have a difficult time even finding them.
‘When I first heard the details of the theft, I suspected three people: Bhola, Monimoy and his wife. One of the three was the culprit. It was also possible that two of these three people were accomplices. It could have been Monimoy and Bhola, or Monimoy and his wife. The likelihood of a conspiracy between Monimoy’s wife and Bhola could perhaps be ruled out.
‘But whosoever it might have been, what was puzzling was the disappearance of the necklace. Within an hour of the theft being discovered, the police had come in, searched the two floors of the house and found nothing. Bhola was the only one who had left
the house that night, but he was standing at the door and hadn’t gone far. He hadn’t met anyone else either. If Bhola had indeed stolen the necklace, what had he done with it? The same question applied to Monimoy and his wife—what had they done with the necklace?
‘Although there were three of them, the prime suspect was obviously Bhola. He was present when Monimoy brought the necklace and gave it to his father. Bhola could have guessed that the case contained some expensive jewellery. He had gone out in the evening under the pretext of buying a towel; this was the one step on his part that had aroused the greatest suspicion. If he had been hand in glove with an outsider, it would have been natural for him to go out and alert his partner in crime. But how had he managed to hand over the stolen object to his accomplice?
‘Let us consider Monimoy. Just suppose that Monimoy and his wife were in this together. He could have come home at eleven o’clock, stolen the necklace and left the house again.
Perhaps he had hidden it somewhere and come back finally at a quarter to twelve. Not an impossibility. But if that were the case, wouldn’t Bhola have seen something and if he had, would he have kept it to himself?’
At this point, Satyaboti came in with the tea. She placed it before us and smiled warmly. ‘I see that the turtle is now talking his head off,’ she remarked.
Byomkesh glared at her. Satyaboti coolly ignored him and said, ‘Go ahead and pour it all out. But I am too busy to listen to it now. So you’ll have to tell me about it all over again.’ With that, she left the room.
We drank our tea in silence for some time. I gathered from Byomkesh’s reaction that the turtle simile hadn’t gone down too well. The realization warmed the cockles of my heart, because now I could use it whenever I had the chance.
After a long pause, Byomkesh took up where he had left off. ‘My suspicions about Monimoy and his wife were merely based on the opportunity they had of carrying out the theft. I had not paid much mind to the motive. Monimoy could be in debt; his wife could have an eye for pretty jewellery. But from what I witnessed of their lifestyle, it seemed unlikely that they’d need to stoop to theft. Rashomoybabu was a generous father and a loving father-in-law. There was nothing that he wouldn’t give his son and his daughter-in-law. Why would someone steal what was theirs for the asking?
Menagerie & other Byomkesh Bakshi Mysteries Page 18