The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (18 page)

In the end, we had to give up and admit defeat.

Sadhan Babu had gone—vanished into thin air.

Parvaticharan had been struck on the head with a heavy instrument. The Haldars’ family physician said his death must have been instantaneous. He wasn’t in very good health, apparently. His blood pressure often fluctuated and his heart wasn’t in good condition either.

The police arrived soon afterwards. The inspector in charge of the case turned out to be Inspector Hajra, who knew Feluda. Unlike some other police officers, he did not look down upon private investigators. He seemed to like and respect Feluda a great deal. ‘We’ll make all the usual enquiries, and let you know if we find anything useful,’ he offered.

‘Thank you. Have you formed any idea regarding the weapon?’

‘No, there’s nothing in the room that might have been used, is there? The murderer must have taken it with him.’

‘Paperweight.’

‘What? You think it was a paperweight?’

‘Come with me.’

We followed Feluda and Inspector Hajra into the study. Feluda
pointed at a portion on Parvaticharan’s desk. There was a thin layer of dust on the green felt that covered its surface. In one corner, there was a circular mark, free of dust. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, unless one looked carefully.

‘I checked with Amitabh Haldar,’ Feluda said. ‘He said there used to be a large and heavy Victorian glass paperweight in that corner. Well, it’s missing now.’

‘Well done, Mr Mitter.’

‘But what about the chief suspect? Did he really vanish into thin air?’ Feluda asked as he came out of the study.

‘We have his name and a good description. It shouldn’t take us long to find him. Besides, he had applied for a job here, hadn’t he? So we can easily get his address. No, my own suspicion is that the chowkidar isn’t telling us the truth. Maybe he had left his seat for a few moments, and that’s when the culprit slipped out. But then, who is the real culprit, anyway? Didn’t the victim see a visitor before Sadhan Babu turned up? This other person is just as likely to have killed him.’

‘How can you say that? If the old Mr Haldar was already dead when Sadhan Babu walked into the room, surely he’d have raised an alarm?’

‘You have seen the room, haven’t you? Doesn’t it look like a curio shop? Assuming that Sadhan Babu is dishonest and a crook, what do you think he’d do if he walked in there and found the owner dead? Wouldn’t he simply help himself to whatever he could and disappear with it?’

Feluda turned to Parvaticharan’s present secretary, Hrishikesh Datta. We had been introduced by this time. He said he had gone out to the post office just before ten o’clock to send a couple of cables abroad. On his return, he had found us rushing down the stairs. ‘If something valuable was missing from that room, would you be able to tell us what it was?’ Feluda asked him.

‘Yes, probably. I have a good idea of what is displayed outside. Mr Haldar had once given me a list of things he kept locked away in a glass case. Maybe he took some of those things out to show Pestonji. Pestonji came at nine-thirty.’

‘Did they know each other?’

‘Oh, yes. Pestonji is also a collector. They had known each other for more than ten years. He used to come occasionally to look at a certain letter Mr Haldar had here.’

‘Napoleon’s letter?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was Mr Haldar thinking of selling it?’

‘Certainly not. Pestonji was very keen to buy it, but Mr Haldar used to get a kick out of refusing his offer. But then, it wasn’t just Pestonji he refused. Once an American offered twenty thousand dollars. All Mr Haldar did was shake his head. After much persuasion, the American eventually lost his temper and began using foul language, but even so Mr Haldar remained totally unmoved. In fact, I think he quite enjoyed having the power to disappoint a prospective buyer. Today, Pestonji seemed to have got rather cross with him. I heard him raise his voice.’

‘Where was this famous letter kept?’

‘In an Alkathene envelope.’

‘Then it’s probably still safe. I saw an Alkathene envelope on his desk, and there was a folded piece of paper in it.’

‘Good. That certainly is a relief.’

There was no way to check immediately if the letter was there, for the police were still working in the room. The police surgeon had just arrived, and was examining the body.

‘What beats me completely is that I returned about the same time Sadhan Babu left. Why didn’t I see him anywhere?’

‘What time did you go out of the house?’

‘Exactly at five minutes to ten. It takes five minutes to reach the post office. I wanted to send those cables as soon as the post office opened.’

‘That should not have taken you more than a few minutes. Why were you so late coming back?’

‘I was looking around in the local shops for a new strap for my watch. It suddenly became loose. It’s so annoying, I can’t tell you. I’m having to wear the watch on my right wrist. You see, my left wrist is thinner than my right. So I get this problem frequently. But none of the shops had what I was looking for. Now I think I’ll have to try in New Market.’

I had already noticed he was wearing his watch on his right wrist. ‘Do you live here?’ Feluda asked. Amitabh Haldar was busy with his family and was naturally very upset by what had happened, so Feluda was trying to get as much information from Hrishikesh Datta as he could.

‘Yes. I have a room on the ground floor. Since I had no family, Mr
Haldar told me I could stay in the same house. God knows they have plenty of rooms. I believe Sadhan Babu used to live here as well.’

‘But you were going to leave this job, weren’t you? Weren’t you happy working here?’

‘I was getting thoroughly bored. Mr Haldar was a good employer, I have nothing against him personally. But opportunities for a promotion or anything like that were non-existent here, so obviously I grabbed the first good offer that came along.’

By this time, we had met another gentleman in addition to Hrishikesh Datta. It was Amitabh Haldar’s younger brother, Achintya. There had been no time to talk to him properly. He was being questioned by the police at this moment, since he was in the house at the time of the murder. Feluda continued talking to Mr Datta.

‘What does Achintya Haldar do?’

‘He’s in the theatre.’

‘Theatre? You mean professional theatre?’

All of us were considerably taken aback. Hrishikesh Datta took his time before making a reply. ‘It’s a family matter,’ he said finally. ‘Really, I shouldn’t be talking about it, for it’s none of my business at all. But if Achintya has joined the theatre, I think it’s because he was unhappy with his family. Old Mr Haldar had four sons. Only Achintya amongst them was not sent abroad to study. Sometimes, the youngest in a large family gets neglected. Perhaps that’s what happened in this case. At least, that’s the impression I’ve got from what little he’s told me. His father had found him a job, but he gave it up quite soon. For a while, I believe he was happy working for the local dramatics club, but now he’s trying to get work from a theatre company in Calcutta. I think it’s called Nobo Rangamanch. He’s played the lead role in a couple of plays. Even yesterday, I saw him learning his lines.’

Inspector Hajra emerged from an inner room, followed by Achintya Haldar, who came out looking morose and depressed. He left without even looking at us.

‘The murder took place between ten and ten-thirty,’ the inspector told us. ‘Pestonji arrived at nine-thirty, and stayed until about five past ten. Sadhan Dastidar came at ten-fifteen, and left at ten-thirty. A passage runs straight from Achintya’s room to his father’s study. He could have gone to his father between five past ten, and ten-fifteen, although he maintains he was in his room all morning,
learning his lines. The only time he left it was at ten-thirty, and that was because little Anu called him to his room to show him his new toy machine-gun. At this time, he had no idea his father was dead. Anyway, all three had a likely motive to kill Parvaticharan. Pestonji was his rival, Sadhan Dastidar might want revenge, and Achintya didn’t get on with his father. That’s how it stands at present. Could you come back with me, Mr Datta, and tell us if you think there’s anything missing?’

All of us went back to the study. Mr Datta ran his eyes quickly over the whole room. Parvaticharan must have been fond of mechanical gadgets, for in the drawing room downstairs I had noticed a cylindrical gramophone, and here in his study was an ancient magic lantern. Besides these were statuettes, plates, inkstands, pens, old firearms, pictures, maps and books. Mr Datta took out a key from a drawer, opened a glass case and examined its contents. Then he opened a few more wooden boxes, and pulled out more drawers, each of which was stashed with similar objects. Finally, he heaved a sigh of relief and said he didn’t think anything had been stolen.

‘What about that envelope with Napoleon’s letter in it?’ Feluda pointed out.

‘But it looks as though the letter’s still in there, quite intact!’

‘Yes, but there’s no harm in checking, is there?’

Mr Haldar shook his head, and opened the envelope. My heart missed a beat as he pulled the paper out. An old letter could never look so clean and white.

‘Oh my God!’ Mr Datta screamed. ‘This is only a sheet torn from Mr Haldar’s letter pad!’

Napoleon’s letter had gone.

We spent another half an hour in Mr Haldar’s house. Feluda examined the compound carefully. He went into the garden with us, checked the compound wall to see if parts of it were broken, and finally ended up near the pond. His eyes were on the ground, looking for footprints. The ground being dry, I didn’t think he’d find any prints; but even so, something seemed to attract his attention, and he stopped. I glanced at him quickly, to find him staring at a tiny
flowering plant. Something heavy had crushed it, and it had happened obviously in the last few hours. Feluda examined the ground around the plant, then stood looking at the pond. It was not used by the Haldars, so most of it was covered by weed and water hyacinth. Only a small portion looked as if it had been disturbed, for the thick growth of weed had parted to reveal the water underneath.

Could it be that something had been thrown into the water? Feluda made no comment on this, so I didn’t venture to say anything either. We turned to go back to the house.

‘I thought I saw a chandana in the garden,’ Lalmohan Babu confided as we began walking, ‘it flew from a guava tree and disappeared into another.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us immediately?’ Feluda sounded cross. ‘Well . . . because I wasn’t sure. It might well have been an ordinary green parrot. It’s not easy to tell the difference, is it? But this bird can talk.’

‘What, you heard it say something?’

‘Yes. You two were at the far end, inspecting the ground. I had just seen a scorpion and jumped aside, when this bird flew over my head and said something. I mean, I heard these words, looked up and found it was a bird that had spoken them.’

‘Oh? And what did it say?’

‘It said, “fake hair, babu; fake hair, babu”!’

Feluda gave him a level look. ‘The bird said, “fake hair”? What a rude bird! Casting aspersions on the absence of hair on your head?’

‘See, that’s why I didn’t tell you anything!’ Lalmohan Babu returned, sounding peeved. ‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and make fun of me instead.’

We said nothing more, since neither of us could really take it seriously.

But the fact remained that in spite of the murder and the theft, Feluda continued to be intrigued by the disappearance of the bird. Two days after the murder, on the following Monday, he said to me, ‘A man gets murdered, and an old valuable letter gets stolen—now, unfortunate it may be, extraordinary it is not. But why should a small chandana vanish from its cage? I just cannot figure it out!’

Amitabh Haldar had called us the day before. Feluda had told him he didn’t think there was any reason for him to go back to their house, especially as the police were making their own enquiries. Lalmohan Babu had given us a ring a few minutes ago, to say that he
would drop by to find out about the latest developments, although he didn’t normally visit us on Mondays.

‘Feluda,’ I said, ‘we didn’t find out whose blood it was on the cage, did we?’

‘Well, I don’t really think a chemical analysis is necessary. Those stains were left there by a man, I am sure of it. Whoever had tried to take the bird out by force would have been injured. I mean, the bird would naturally have thought it was being attacked, wouldn’t it? So it would have used its claws and its beak to defend itself, and most certainly it would have left its mark on the hand of its attacker.’

‘Did you notice any such mark on anyone in Mr Haldar’s house?’

‘No. I looked at everyone very closely, including all the servants, but I found nothing. It would have been a fresh injury, it should have shown on someone. To be honest, I cannot focus my attention on anything else—I keep thinking of that bird!’

‘Didn’t you make a list of people who had had the opportunity to kill?’

‘Yes, the opportunity as well as the motive.’

Feluda’s notebook was lying next to him on the sofa. He picked it up and opened it. ‘Sadhan Dastidar. Our suspect number one. Everything we’ve learnt about him is pretty straightforward. The mystery lies in his disappearance. The only likely explanation is that he bribed the chowkidar adequately, and the chowkidar is lying through his teeth. If that is the case, I’m sure the police can handle that. They have means of dealing with liars.

‘Pestonji—suspect number two. He is seventy years old. It doesn’t seem likely that an old man would commit a crime that requires physical strength. Parvaticharan had been struck with a great deal of force. But then, age doesn’t always affect one’s strength. We cannot make a final decision about Pestonji without actually seeing him.

‘Achintya Haldar—the third suspect. He wasn’t fond of his father, but did he really dislike him so much that he’d want to kill him? We don’t know that for certain. All I can say is that if he could get hold of that letter written by Napoleon and sell it, that might make him rich. At a guess, Pestonji would buy it readily. I’m sure Achintya knew that. The fourth . . .’

I interrupted him, ‘You mean there is a fourth suspect?’

‘Not exactly a suspect, but we need to know what exactly he was doing that morning. I am talking of our friend, Amitabh Haldar. In his statement to the police, he said he came down to the drawing
room at nine o’clock to ring me, then went straight to the garden to tend to his flowers. He stayed there until ten o’clock, then left the garden and went to a side veranda on the ground floor. A servant brought him a cup of tea here. According to Amitabh Haldar, this is where he was sitting when he heard us arrive. He went back upstairs together with us.

‘The last person to be considered is Hrishikesh Datta. He left the house at five to ten. The chowkidar remembers seeing him go out, but cannot recall having seen him return. I don’t think the chowkidar makes a very reliable witness. He’s faithful, but he’s old. He’s been with the Haldar family for over forty years. So perhaps his memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be. We don’t know if Mr Datta really did spend all that time looking for a strap for his watch. But even if he lied about that, I’m not sure that he had a suitable opportunity. His motive is also questionable. Why should he want to kill his employer, unless it was simply to be able to steal that letter and sell it elsewhere?’

Feluda shut his notebook.

‘I suppose all the servants are above suspicion?’ I asked.

‘They are all old and trusted. One of the bearers called Mukundo had brought coffee for Parvaticharan and Pestonji just before ten. Apparently, Parvaticharan used to have a cup of coffee after nine. The other members of the household are Amitabh Haldar’s wife, Aniruddha, Parvaticharan’s mother who’s more than eighty years old, a mali and his son, a driver and the chowkidar. Achintya Haldar isn’t married.’

Feluda stopped speaking, and lit a Charminar. The phone rang the same instant. It was Inspector Hajra.

‘Good morning,’ said Feluda, ‘what’s the latest?’

‘We found the address Sadhan Dastidar had given.’

‘Very good.’

‘Very bad, because no one by that name has ever lived there.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. So we’re back to square one. This Dastidar appears to be quite a cunning crook.’

‘What about Hrishikesh Datta? Did you check his alibi?’

‘He did go to the post office and sent those telegrams. But no one in the local stationery shops can actually remember having seen him. So we can’t be sure, one way or the other.’

‘And Pestonji?’

‘A most bad-tempered man. Terribly wealthy. I believe his family has lived in Calcutta for a hundred and fifty years. He appears pretty well-preserved for his age, but suffers from arthritis. He cannot raise his right hand even up to his shoulder. Every morning, he goes to a clinic in Lord Sinha Road for physiotherapy. This is true, I checked with the clinic.’

‘In that case, I guess all we can do is try and find Sadhan Dastidar.’

‘Oh we’ll find him, don’t worry. I think he’s hiding somewhere in Barasat. The envelope his application came in had a mark from the Barasat post office.’

‘I see. This is most interesting.’

‘By the way, a thief broke into that little boy’s room.’

‘What? Again?’

‘What do you mean, again?’

Inspector Hajra didn’t know about the missing chandana. Feluda decided not to enlighten him. ‘No, I mean there’s been a theft already. That letter’s gone. And now someone steals into the boy’s room?’ he said hurriedly.

‘Yes, but nothing was taken.’

‘How did the boy realize there was someone in his room?’

‘He heard a noise. I went to his room this morning. He sleeps alone in the room next to his parents’. I must say he’s a brave lad, for instead of feeling scared, he shouted, “Who’s there?” and so the thief ran away. I asked him how come he didn’t feel scared, and he said it was because he had been sleeping with his machine-gun under his pillow ever since he heard about his grandfather’s death.’

Lalmohan Babu arrived at ten. ‘Why are you looking so grim, Felu Babu?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Haven’t you seen the light yet?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. What am I to do if a new mystery comes up every day?’

‘A new mystery?’

‘A thief broke into Aniruddha’s room last night.’

‘What! This thief is mad. He’s already got Napoleon’s letter, hasn’t he? What was he expecting to get in a little boy’s room?’

‘I don’t know. Do you have any ideas?’

‘Who, me? Heh heh, Felu Babu, how do you suppose my brain’s going to work when yours has failed? But I’ll tell you one thing. This business of the stolen bird keeps haunting me. I think a thorough investigation is needed. I’m prepared to do this for you. You see, I used to visit Tinkori Babu’s shop in New Market pretty frequently in
the past.’

‘Why, you never mentioned this before!’

‘No, but I used to be quite fond of birds myself. I had a mynah that could speak. I taught it a line from Shakespeare.’

‘Shakespeare? Good heavens! That was rather ambitious, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t nursery rhymes have been simpler?’

Lalmohan Babu ignored this jibe, and turned to me. ‘What do you say, Tapesh, to a trip to New Market?’

‘If you leave right way, I can meet you there in an hour,’ Feluda said.

‘Where?’

‘Right in the centre of the market, where there’s that cannon. There’s a lot that I have to do today; and then we’re eating out, don’t forget.’

I hadn’t forgotten. We ate out once every week.

Lalmohan Babu and I left in his car almost immediately. Tinkori Babu’s shop was packed with birds of an amazing variety. But he failed to recognize Lalmohan Babu. This was not surprising as he had not visited the shop since 1968. However, this seemed to distress him so much that, in the end, I had to do all the talking.

‘Have you sold a chandana in the last ten days, to someone in Barasat?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know about Barasat, but yes, I’ve sold a couple of chandanas in the last ten days. One of them went to a film company. They wanted to hire it just for a day, but I told them the days of hiring birds for a day’s shooting were gone. If they had to have a bird in a cage, they’d have to buy it. And if they didn’t know what to do with it afterwards, they could always give it to their heroine!’

‘What about the other one? How did it come to your shop?’

‘Why, what’s it to you? Why are you asking so many questions?’ Tinkori Babu sounded openly suspicious.

‘That bird has disappeared from its cage under mysterious circumstances,’ Lalmohan Babu joined the conversation. ‘We have got to find it.’

‘Well then, put an advertisement in the papers.’

‘Yes, we might do that. But if you could tell us how you had found it . . .’

‘No, I’m going to tell you no such thing. Just write an ad, and send it in.’

‘Did that bird talk?’

‘Yes, but don’t ask me what it could say. I have seventeen talking birds in my shop. Some say “Good morning”, some say “I’m hungry”, other say “Jai Guru”, or “Hare Krishna”. It’s impossible to remember what a particular bird’s been taught to say.’

We thanked Tinkori Babu and came out of the shop. There was half an hour left before our appointment with Feluda. Lalmohan Babu spent that time buying a nailcutter and some toothpaste, and looking at shoes in Chinese shops. Then we made our way to the cannon that stands in the very heart of New Market. Feluda arrived a couple of minutes later.

‘Where are we going now?’ Lalmohan Babu demanded.

‘Did you know the Parsis have been living in Calcutta for two hundred years?’

‘What! You mean right from the time of Siraj-ud-daula? No, I certainly did not know that.’

‘We are going to visit an ancient Parsi household today. Their address is . . .’ Feluda took out a notebook from his pocket and consulted it, ‘ . . .133/2 Bowbazar Street.’