The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I (15 page)

‘Are you . . . the . . .?’ he asked feebly, staring at Feluda.

‘Yes, sir. I am Pradosh Mitter, the detective. I suppose it was you who had written me that letter, but of course I never got the chance to meet you. Abanish Babu, could you get him some warm milk, please?’

I stared at the man in amazement. So this was the real Kailash Chowdhury! He propped himself up on a pillow and said, ‘I was physically strong, so I managed to survive somehow. Otherwise . . . in these four days . . .’

Feluda interrupted him, ‘Sh-sh. You mustn’t strain yourself.’

‘No, but I have to tell you a few things. Or you’ll never get the whole picture. There was no way I could meet you personally, you see, for he captured me the day I wrote to you. He dropped something in my tea, which made me virtually unconscious. He could never have overpowered me in any other way.’

‘And he began to pass himself off as Kailash Chowdhury from that day?’

Kailash Babu nodded his head sadly, ‘It is my own fault, Mr Mitter. I cannot blame anyone else. Our entire family suffers from one big weakness. We are all given to exaggerating the simplest things, and telling tall stories for no reason at all. I had bought that
stone in Jabalpore for fifty rupees. I have no idea what possessed me to tell Kedar a strange story about a temple in a jungle, and a statue with that stone fixed on its forehead. He swallowed the whole thing, and began to eye that stone from that day. He envied me for many reasons. Perhaps he could not see why I should be so lucky, so successful in life, when he appeared to fail in everything he did. After all, we were identical twins, our fortunes should not have been so very different. Kedar had always been the black sheep—reckless and unscrupulous. Once he got mixed up with a gang that made counterfeit money. He would have gone to jail, but I managed to save him.

‘Then he went abroad, after borrowing a great deal of money from me. I was glad. Good riddance, I thought. But only about a week ago, I came back home one day and found the stone missing. I never imagined for a moment that Kedar had come back and stolen it from my room. I rounded up all the servants and shouted at them, but nothing happened. Two days later, I wrote to you. Kedar turned up the same evening, and returned the stone to me. He was absolutely livid, for by this time, he had learnt that it had no value at all. He had been dreaming of getting at least a hundred thousand for it. He said he needed money desperately, would I give him twenty thousand? I refused. So he waited till I ordered a cup of tea, then managed to drug me and carry me up to the attic. When I woke, he told me he’d keep me there until I agreed to do as told. In the meantime, he’d pretend to be me, and he’d tell my office I was on sick leave.’

‘He obviously did not know you had written to me,’ Feluda added, ‘So when we turned up, he took ten minutes to write a fake anonymous note and then gave us a cock-and-bull story about an imaginary enemy. If he didn’t, he knew I’d get suspicious. At the same time, my presence in this house or in his life was highly undesirable. So he tried a threat on the telephone, then got in a car and tried to run us over.’

Kailash Chowdhury frowned. ‘That makes perfect sense,’ he said. ‘What doesn’t is why he left so suddenly. I did not agree to give him a single paisa. So why did he leave? Surely he didn’t leave empty-handed?’

‘No, no, no!’ Shouted a voice at the door. None of us had seen Abanish Babu return with a glass of milk. ‘Why should he leave empty-handed?’ he screamed, ‘He took my stamp! That precious,
rare Victorian stamp has gone.’

Feluda stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘What! He took your stamp?’

‘Yes, yes. Kedar Mama has ruined me!’

‘How much did you say it was worth?’

‘Twenty thousand.’

‘But—’ Feluda turned to Abanish Babu and lowered his voice, ‘according to the catalogue, Abanish Babu, it cannot possibly fetch more than fifty rupees.’

Abanish Babu went visibly pale.

‘The Chowdhurys are prone to exaggerate everything to make an impression,’ Feluda continued, ‘and you are their nephew. So presumably, you inherited the same trait. Am I right?’

Abanish Babu began to look like a child who had lost his favourite toy. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ he said with a tragic air. ‘I spent three years going through four thousand stamped envelopes. Not one of them was any good, except that one. Oh, all right, it wasn’t much, but people believed my story. I got them interested!’

Feluda started laughing. ‘Never mind, Abanish Babu,’ he said, thumping his back, ‘I think your uncle is going to be suitably punished, and that should give you some comfort. Let me ring the airport. You see, I had guessed he might try to escape this morning. So I rang Indian Airlines, and they told me he had a booking on their morning flight to Bombay. I began to suspect your uncle only when he said he couldn’t remember having bought a new bottle of Dettol just a few days ago.’

The police had no problem in arresting Kedar Chowdhury; and Abanish Babu’s stamp was duly returned to him. Feluda was paid so handsomely by Kailash Babu that, even after eating out three times, and seeing a couple of films with me, he still had a substantial amount left in his wallet.

Today, as we sat having tea at home, I said to him, ‘Feluda, I have been thinking this through, and have reached a conclusion. Will you please tell me if I am right?’

‘OK. What have you been thinking?’

‘It’s about Kailash Chowdhury’s father. I think he knew what Kedar had done. I mean, maybe a father can tell the difference between identical twins. Perhaps that’s the reason why he was throwing such murderous glances at his son.’

‘That may or may not be the case. But since your thoughts appear to be the same as mine on this subject, I am hereby rewarding you for your intelligence.’

So saying, Feluda coolly helped himself to a jalebi from my plate.

‘W
ho rang you, Feluda?’ I asked, realizing instantly that I shouldn’t have, for Feluda was doing yoga. He never spoke until he had finished every exercise, including
sheershasan.
He had started this about six months ago. The result was already noticeable. Feluda seemed a lot fitter, and openly admitted that yoga had done him a world of good.

I glanced at the clock. Feluda’s reply came seven and a half minutes later. ‘You don’t know him,’ he said, rising from the floor. Really, Feluda could be most annoying at times. So what if I didn’t know the man? He could tell me his name, surely?

‘Do
you
know him?’ I asked impatiently. Feluda began chewing chick-peas which had been soaked overnight. This was a part of his keep-fit programme.

‘I didn’t know him before,’ he replied, ‘but I do now.’

Our Puja holidays had started a few days ago. Baba had gone to Jamshedpur on tour. Only Ma, Feluda and I were at home. We didn’t plan to go out of town this time. I didn’t mind staying at home as long as I could be with Feluda. He had become quite well known as an amateur detective. So it shouldn’t be surprising at all, I thought, if he got involved in another case. My only fear was that he might one day refuse to take me with him. But that hadn’t happened so far. Perhaps there was an advantage in being seen with a young boy. No one could guess easily that he was an investigator, if we travelled together.

‘I bet you’re dying to know who made that phone call,’ Feluda added. This was an old technique. If he knew I was anxious for information, he never came to the point without beating about the bush and creating a lot of suspense. I tried to be casual. ‘Well, if that phone call had anything to do with a mystery, naturally I’d be interested,’ I said lightly.

Feluda slipped on a striped shirt. ‘The man’s called Nilmoni Sanyal,’ he finally revealed, ‘He lives on Roland Road, and wants to see me urgently. He didn’t tell me why, but he sounded sort of nervous.’

‘When do you have to go?’

‘I told him I’d be there by nine. It’s going to take us at least ten minutes by taxi, so let’s go!’

On our way to Roland Road, I said to Feluda, ‘But suppose this Mr Sanyal is a crook? Suppose he’s called you over to his house only to
cause you some harm? You’ve never met him before, have you?’

‘No,’ said Feluda, looking out of the window. ‘There is always a risk in going out on a case like this. But mind you, if his sole intention was to cause me bodily harm, he wouldn’t invite me to his house. It would be far more risky for him if the police came to know. A hired goonda could do the job much more simply.’

Last year, Feluda had won the first prize in the All India Rifle Competition. It was amazing how accurate his aim had become after only three months of practice. Now he possessed a revolver, although he didn’t carry it in his pocket all the time, unlike detectives in books.

‘Do you know what Mr Sanyal does for a living?’ I asked.

‘No. All I know about the man is that he takes paan, is probably slightly deaf and tends to say “Er . . .” before starting a sentence.’ I asked no more questions after this.

We soon reached Nilmoni Sanyal’s house. The meter showed one rupee and seventy paise. Feluda gave a two-rupee note to the driver and made a gesture indicating he could keep the change. We climbed out of the taxi and walked up to the front door. Feluda pressed the bell. The house had two storeys. It didn’t appear to be very old. There was a front garden, but it looked a bit unkempt and neglected. A man who was probably the chowkidar opened the door and took Feluda’s card from him. We were then ushered into the living room. I was surprised to see how well-furnished it was. It was obvious that a lot of money had been spent on acquiring the furniture and paintings, flower vases, and old artefacts displayed in a glass case. Someone had arranged these with a great deal of care.

Mr Sanyal entered the room a few minutes later. He was wearing a loose kurta over what must have been his sleeping-suit pyjamas. His fingers were loaded with rings. He was of medium height, clean-shaven and looked as if he had been sleeping. I tried to guess his age. He didn’t seem to be more than fifty. ‘You are Mr Pradosh Mitter?’ he asked. ‘I had no idea you were so young.’ Feluda smiled politely. Then he pointed at me and said, ‘This is my cousin. He’s a very intelligent boy, but if you’d rather speak to me alone, I can send him out.’

I cast an anxious glance at Mr Sanyal, but he said, ‘No, no, I don’t mind at all. Er . . . would you like some tea or coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Very well then, allow me to tell you why I asked you to come
here. But before I do so, I think I ought to tell you something about myself. I’m sure you’ve already noticed that I am reasonably wealthy, and am fond of antiques and other beautiful things. What you may find difficult to believe is that I wasn’t born rich. I did not inherit any money; nor have I got a job, or a business.’

Nilmoni Babu stopped, and looked at us expectantly. ‘Lottery?’ said Feluda.

‘Pardon?’

‘I said, did you win a lottery?’

‘Exactly, exactly!’ Nilmoni Babu shouted like an excited child. ‘I won two hundred and fifty thousand rupees in the Rangers Lottery eleven years ago. I have managed—pretty well, I must admit—all these years on the strength of that. I built this house eight years ago. Now you may wonder how I fill my time, do I not have an occupation at all? The thing is, you see, I have only one main occupation. I spend most of my time going to auction houses and buying the kind of things this room is filled with.’ He waved his arms about to indicate what he meant. Then he continued, ‘What happened recently may not have a direct connection with these objects of art in my collection, but I cannot be sure about that. Look—’ he took out a few pieces of paper from his pocket and spread them out. There were three pieces in all, with something scribbled on them. A closer look showed me that instead of words, there were rows of little pictures. Some of them I could recognize—there were pictures of owls, snakes, the sun and the human eye. Others were more difficult to figure out. But the whole thing seemed familiar somehow. Where had I seen something like this before? In a book?

‘These look like hieroglyphics,’ said Feluda.

‘What?’ Nilmoni Babu sounded amazed.

‘The form of writing used in ancient Egypt. That’s what it looks like.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, but it is extremely doubtful that we can find someone in Calcutta who might be able to tell us what it means.’

Nilmoni Babu’s face fell. ‘In that case, what shall I do? Someone has been mailing a note like that to me fairly regularly over the last few days. If I cannot have these read or decoded, it’s going to be really worrying . . . what if these are warnings? What if it’s someone threatening to kill me?’

Feluda thought for a while. Then he said, ‘Is there anything from Egypt in your collection?’

Nilmoni Babu smiled slightly. ‘I wouldn’t know, and that’s the truth. I bought these things only because they were beautiful, rare and expensive. I have very little idea of where they originally came from before they reached the auction house.’

‘But all these things appear to be perfectly genuine. Nobody’ll believe you’re not a true connoisseur!’

‘Er . . . that is simple enough. Most auction houses do their homework properly and have every item valued by an expert. So if something is expensive, you can safely assume that it is genuine. My greatest pleasure lies in outbidding my rivals, and why not, since I do have the means? If, in the process, I happen to collect something really valuable, so much the better.’

‘But you wouldn’t know if any of this stuff is Egyptian?’ Nilmoni Babu rose and walked over to the glass case. He brought out a statuette from the top shelf and gave it to Feluda. It was about six inches long. Made of some strange green stone, it was studded with several other colourful stones. What was most striking was that although its body had a human shape, its head was that of a jackal.

‘I bought this only ten days ago at an auction. Could this be Egyptian?’

Feluda glanced briefly at the statuette, and said, ‘Anubis.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Anubis. The ancient Egyptian god of the dead. It’s a beautiful piece.’

‘But,’ Nilmoni. Babu sounded apprehensive, ‘do you think there’s a connection between this. . . this Anubis and those notes I’ve been receiving? Did I make a mistake by buying it? Is someone threatening to snatch it away from me?’

Feluda shook his head, returning the statuette to Nilmoni Babu. ‘That is difficult to say. When did the first letter arrive?’

Last Monday.’

‘You mean just after you bought it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you keep the envelopes?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. Perhaps I should have kept them, but they were ordinary envelopes and the address was typewritten. The post mark said Elgin Road. That I did notice.’

‘All right,’ Feluda rose. ‘I don’t think we need do anything right
now. But just to be on the safe side, I suggest you keep that statue somewhere else. Someone I know got burgled recently. Let’s not take any chances.’

We came out of the living room and stood on the landing. ‘Can you think of anyone who might wish to play a practical joke on you?’ Feluda wanted to know.

Nilmoni Babu shook his head. ‘No. I’ve lost touch with all my friends.’

‘What about enemies?’

‘Well . . . most wealthy people have enemies, but of course it’s difficult to identify them. Everybody behaves so well in my presence. What they might do behind my back, I cannot tell.’

‘Didn’t you say you bought that piece at an auction?’

‘Yes. At Aratoon Brothers.’

‘Was anyone else interested in it?’

Nilmoni Babu suddenly grew agitated at this question. ‘Mr Mitter,’ he said excitedly, ‘you have just opened a whole new aspect to this case. You see, I have a particular rival with whom I clash at most auctions. He was bidding for this Anubis, too.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A man called Pratul Datta.’

‘What does he do?’

‘I think he was a lawyer. Now he’s retired. He and I were the only ones bidding for that statue. He stopped when I said twelve thousand. When I was getting into my car afterwards, I happened to catch his eye. I did not like the look in it, I can tell you!’

‘I see.’

By this time, we had come out of the house and were walking towards the gate.

‘Do a lot of people live in this house?’ Feluda asked.

‘Oh no. I am quite alone in this world. I live here with my driver, mali and two old and trusted servants, that’s all.’

‘Isn’t there a small child in this house?’ Feluda asked totally unexpectedly.

Nilmoni Babu stared for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. ‘Just look at me! I forgot all about my nephew. Actually, I was thinking only of adults in this house. Yes, my nephew Jhuntu happens to be visiting me. His parents are away in Japan. His father runs a business. Jhuntu has been left in my charge. But the poor child has been suffering from influenza ever since he arrived. But what
made you think there might be a child in my house?’

‘I noticed a kite peeping out from behind a cupboard in your living room.’

A taxi arrived for us at this moment, crunching gravel under its tyres. It was thoughtful of Nilmoni Babu to have sent his servant out to fetch it. ‘Thank you,’ said Feluda, as we got in. ‘Please let me know if anything suspicious occurs. But at this moment there’s nothing to be done.’

On our way back, I said, ‘There’s something rather sinister about that statue of Anubis, isn’t there?’

‘If you replace a human head with the head of an animal, any statue would look sinister.’

‘It’s dangerous to keep statues of old Egyptian gods and goddesses.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Why, you did! A long time ago.’

‘No, never. All I told you was that some of the archaeologists who dug up old Egyptian statues ran into a lot of trouble afterwards.’

‘Yes, yes, I remember now . . . there was a British gentleman, wasn’t there . . . what was his name?’

‘Lord Carnarvon.’

‘And his dog?’

‘The dog wasn’t with him. Lord Carnarvon was in Egypt. His dog was in England. Soon after he helped dig the tomb of Tutankhamen, he fell ill and died. It was discovered later that his dog, who was thousands of miles away, died mysteriously at the same time as his master. He had been in perfect health, and no one could ever figure out the cause of his death.’

Any mention of Egypt always reminded me of this strange story I had heard from Feluda. That figure of Anubis might well have come from the tomb of some Egyptian pharaoh. Didn’t Nilmoni Babu realize this? Why did he have to take such a big risk?

At a quarter to six the next morning, the phone rang just as I heard our newspaper land on our balcony with a thud. I picked up the receiver quickly and said ‘hello’, but before I could hear anything from the other side, Feluda rushed in and snatched it from me. I heard him say ‘I see’ three times, then he said, ‘Yes, all right,’ and put the phone down.

‘Anubis disappeared last night,’ he told me, his voice sounding hoarse. ‘We’ve got to go there, at once!’

Since there was a lot less traffic so early in the morning, it took us only seven minutes to reach Nilmoni Babu’s house. He was waiting for us outside his gate, looking thoroughly bemused. ‘What a nightmare I’ve been through!’ he exclaimed as we jumped out of our taxi. ‘I’ve never had such a horrible experience.’

We went into the living room. Nilmoni Babu sank into a sofa before either of us could sit down, and showed us his wrists. It was obvious that his hands had been tied. The rope had left red marks on his skin.

‘Tell me what happened,’ said Feluda.

Nilmoni Babu took a deep breath and began, ‘I took your advice and kept that Egyptian statue with me last night, right under my pillow. Now I feel it might have been simpler if I’d left it where it was. At least I might have been spared this physical pain. Anyway, I was sleeping peacefully enough, when suddenly I woke—no, I couldn’t tell you the time—feeling quite breathless. I realized instantly that I had been gagged. I tried to resist my assailant with my arms, but he was far too strong for me. He tied my hands behind my back, took the statue of Anubis from under my pillow and disappeared—in just a few minutes! I didn’t get to see his face at all.’ Nilmoni Babu stopped for breath. After a brief pause, he resumed, ‘When my bearer came in with my morning tea, he found me in my room, my hands still tied behind my back, my mouth gagged. By that time I had pins and needles all over my body. Anyway, he untied me, and I rang you immediately.’