The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (70 page)

Dr Munshi’s brother-in-law arrived almost instantly. From the way he kept mopping his face, it seemed as if he was feeling nervous for some reason.

‘Please sit down,’ Feluda invited. He took a chair.

‘Your name is Chandranath, I gather. What is your surname?’

‘Basu.’

‘You’ve been living here for about fifteen years, is that correct?’

‘Yes, but how did you . . . ?’

‘I have read Dr Munshi’s diary. I know a few things about you, but would like you to confirm everything, if you don’t mind.’

Mr Basu wiped his face again.

‘Did Dr Munshi actually ask you to come and live here?’

‘No. It was my sister’s idea.’

‘Did Dr Munshi agree readily?’

‘No.’

‘So how . . .?’

‘He agreed . . . only when my sister . . . requested him repeatedly.’

‘You haven’t got a job, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Are you given an allowance every month?’

‘Yes.’

‘How much?’

‘Five hundred.’

‘Is that sufficient?’

Mr Basu averted his gaze and looked down at the carpet without making a reply. It was obvious that five hundred rupees a month was inadequate for him.

‘You went to college, didn’t you? You studied up to the intermediate year, I think?’

‘Yes.’

‘How were you as a student? Average? Or worse than that?’

Mr Basu remained silent.

‘You failed in your first year at college, didn’t you? Was that the reason why you never got a job?’

Mr Basu nodded, still looking at the floor.

‘Do you do any work in this house?’

‘Work? Well yes, I help with the shopping . . . I go to the chemist, if need be . . . things like that.’

‘I see. Is your bedroom on the first floor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where exactly is it? How far from Dr Munshi’s room?’

‘Quite close.’

‘Close? You mean your room is right next to his?’

‘Ye-es.’

‘What time do you usually go to bed?’

‘Around ten-thirty.’

‘And when do you get up?’

‘Six o’clock.’

‘Do you have anything to say about this murder?’

‘No, no. Nothing at all.’

‘Very well. You may go now, but please send Radhakanta Mallik. I have some questions for him as well.’

Radhakanta Mallik arrived in a few moments, threw himself
down on a sofa and began shaking his head and waving his hands rather violently. ‘I know nothing about this murder . . . absolutely nothing . . . not a thing! . . .’

‘Please calm down. Have I said that you’re suspected of knowing anything?’ Feluda asked.

‘No, but you
will
say it eventually. I am not a fool. I know you detectives. I hate this whole idea of having to answer endless questions. I am going to tell you all I know. Just hear me out. When I first arrived here with an ailment, I did not know what it was called. Dr Munshi told me it was persecution mania. I had started to suspect everyone around me of being my enemy, and I mean everyone—all family members, neighbours, colleagues, the lot. It seemed as if they were all lying in wait. Each of them would attack me, if only they got the chance. This was something I had never experienced before. I cannot even recall when it started. But what I do know is that it reached a point when I could not sleep at night. I didn’t dare close my eyes, in case I was attacked in my sleep.’

‘Did Dr Munshi’s treatment work?’

‘Yes, but progress was rather slow. He wanted me to stay here for another couple of weeks. Then he said I could go home. But now . . . it’s all over.’

‘Will you go home right away?’

‘Yes, as soon as the police let me leave.’

‘You have a job, presumably?’

‘Yes, I work for Popular Insurance.’

‘All right, you may go now.’

After Radhakanta Mallik left, Feluda went alone to inspect the body and the place of the murder. The murder weapon had not yet been found. The police surgeon had arrived in the meantime and said that Dr Munshi had been killed between four and five in the morning. The manuscript had not been found, but the police were still looking for it. Inspector Shome had offered to let Feluda know immediately if they found it.

‘Is it possible to talk to Mrs Munshi?’ Feluda asked the inspector. ‘Yes, I think so. She’s taken it quite well, I must say. A brave lady!’ The three of us went to Mrs Munshi’s room. She was sitting on her bed with her back to the door, facing a window. She turned her head to look at us when Feluda knocked on the open door. I gave a start. Mrs Munshi looked exactly like her brother. Were they twins?

‘Namaskar,’ Feluda said. ‘My name is Pradosh Mitter. I am a
private investigator. I am here to investigate your husband’s death. I am sorry to disturb you, but—’

‘—You’d like to ask me some questions. Is that it?’

‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’

Mrs Munshi looked away. ‘Go ahead,’ she said in a flat voice. Her face did not bear any traces of tears. Her eyes were expressionless.

‘Do you have anything to say about this whole tragic business?’

‘What can I say? It’s his diary that’s responsible, I am sure of it. I told him so many times not to have it published. People in our society have not learnt to face facts, and live with the truth. Many of them would have been hurt, angry and upset. But he . . .’

‘Mrs Munshi, I have read the book that was going to be published. I don’t think there was anything incriminating in it.’

‘I am pleased to hear that.’

‘Are you and Mr Basu twins?’

‘Yes.’

‘When you suggested he come and live here permanently, what did your husband say?’

‘He agreed, somewhat reluctantly.’

‘Why was that?’

‘He could not accept the idea that my brother didn’t have a job. He himself was so totally devoted to his own job that he couldn’t imagine how anyone could live without one.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Munshi. That’s all I needed to know.’

It was past twelve o’clock by the time we got back home. We invited Lalmohan Babu to have lunch with us, and he agreed.

‘A remarkable woman!’ he said, turning the regulator of our fan to its maximum speed, and stretching out on his favourite couch. ‘So calm and collected even at a time like this—and look at her brother! Just the opposite, isn’t he?’

‘Perhaps that is why she is so fond of her brother,’ Feluda mused. ‘Feelings and emotions are a complex business, Lalmohan Babu. I think what Mrs Munshi feels for her brother is more than just sympathy and compassion. She is protective, like a mother. Don’t forget she has not got children of her own, nor is she close to her stepson. Her brother has probably always been like a child to her.’

‘Besides, they are twins. So naturally they are close.’

‘Right.’

‘Do you think she did not get on very well with her husband?’

‘I couldn’t say, Lalmohan Babu, without a degree of intimacy with the Munshi family. In my job, I have to make my deductions solely from what my eyes and ears tell me.’

‘What did your ears tell you in this case?’

‘Something struck me as odd.’

‘What did?’

‘You should have realized it too. I am surprised you didn’t.’ Now I felt I had to tell him what was bothering me.

‘Could it be that she has read Dr Munshi’s diary? Is that what you mean, Feluda?’

‘Well done, Topshe! That’s the impression I got from what she said.’

‘Why, Felu Babu, Dr Munshi could simply have told her what he had written in his diary. How do you know she read it?’

‘Maybe she didn’t. But it’s the same thing, isn’t it? The point is that she knows what that diary contained.’

‘I realized something when I read that manuscript, Felu Babu. Dr Munshi clearly had a lot of affection for his wife. The very first page proved that. I mean, if he was indifferent to her, why should he have dedicated his book to his wife?’

‘Yes, that’s a good point.’

‘I picked up something else. I use my ears, too, you know. Dr Munshi’s son may feel his father ignored him and was uncaring. But he was kind and generous to his secretary. So he could not have been a totally uncaring man, could he?’

‘Good, good!’ said Feluda somewhat absently and began pacing up and down.

A minute later, Lalmohan Babu asked, ‘What’s bothering you now?’

‘Just this: there is only one name among the three that we don’t know. Who is R? My enquiries would never be complete unless I can find out who he is. But I suppose I’ll just have to . . .’

Feluda was interrupted by the telephone. It was a new instrument. Its ring was louder and sharper than the old one. Feluda answered it.

It was an incredible call, a perfect example of what Feluda refers to as telepathy. The conversation went like this:

‘Hello.’

‘Mr Mitter?’

‘Speaking.’

‘This is R. The R in Munshi’s diary.’

‘What!’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see. But why are you calling me? How do you know about my connection with Dr Munshi?’

‘You went to his house this morning, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I certainly did. He was killed early this morning. That’s why I was there.’

‘You are a pretty well-known figure, Mr Mitter. A neighbour of Munshi’s saw you go into the house and recognized you. This neighbour happens to be one of my patients. Oh, didn’t you know I was a doctor too? Yes, I am; and I visited this patient only about an hour ago. When he mentioned having seen you, I put two and two together and deduced that you must have been employed by Munshi.’

‘Will you tell me your real name, please?’

‘No. That must remain a secret. But I want to know what Munshi said about me.’

‘He said he knew you well, and had told you about the publication of his diary. He said you had no objection to his mentioning your case and referring to you as R.’

‘Nonsense! That’s a complete lie. How could he have spoken to me? I wasn’t even here! I got back to Calcutta only the day before yesterday after a long absence. While going through old copies of the
Telegraph,
I came across a report that said Penguin was going to publish his diary. This worried me. I knew how well-informed he was about the intimate details of his patients’ lives, including my own. So I rang him and asked him straightaway if he had mentioned my case. He tried to reassure me by saying it did not matter since he had only used the first letter of my name. But that wasn’t good enough. I was a doctor twenty-four years ago, when I had to consult Munshi. The patients I used to treat then still come to me. Where is the guarantee that they will not recognize me if they read Munshi’s book?’

‘I have read the book,’ Feluda interrupted, ‘and I do not think you have anything to fear.’

‘I would never take anyone’s word for it, Mr Mitter. I told Munshi I wanted to read his manuscript and judge for myself whether I stood
in any danger or not. I said if he did not hand it over to me, I would reveal everything about his murky past.’

‘What! What are you talking about?’

‘Yes, sir. Munshi and I went to London together to study medicine. Our subjects were different, but we were good friends. I have seen a side to Munshi’s character that no one here has ever seen. He began to drink, fell into bad company, and would have ruined both himself and his career; but I made him see sense. Eventually, after coming back to Calcutta and starting his practice, he got back on the right track.’

‘You went to Dr Munshi’s house to get the manuscript?’

‘Yes, sir. Last night, at eleven o’ clock. I told him I would return it in two days. But now I can see that would not be necessary.’

‘Why not? What do you mean? That manuscript will be published the instant it is handed to the publishers. Haven’t you heard of posthumous publications?’

‘Of course I have. But in this case, that will not happen. I have read the whole thing Mr Mitter. I do not want it to be printed, and it will stay with me. Goodbye.’

Feluda put the receiver down slowly. His face looked grim. ‘That . . . that was a total knock-out, wasn’t it? I don’t believe this! That man’s got the manuscript, and I can’t do anything about it. Apart from anything else, it was such a well-written book. Now it’ll never see the light of day.’

‘Never mind about the book Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu said a little crossly. ‘Surely the murder is more important?’

‘But you have read the book, you ought to know . . .’

‘Yes, yes, I know you are right. But where a murder has been committed, nothing else should matter.’

Srinath arrived to announce that lunch had been served. Lalmohan Babu ate his meal with great relish. ‘Your cook is a marvel!’ he said, taking a second helping of the prawn curry. Feluda remained silent throughout the meal.

Afterwards, we helped ourselves to paan and returned to the living room. The phone began ringing again. It was Inspector Shome. I handed the receiver to Feluda. Before replacing the receiver, he said only two things: ‘In that case, it appears to be an inside job!’ and ‘Very interesting, I’ll be there shortly’.

‘Where are you off to?’ I asked him as he put the phone down and picked up his packet of Charminar and his lighter.

‘Munshi Palace,’ he replied.

‘Why did you say it’s an inside job?’ Lalmohan Babu asked. ‘Because a maid has discovered that the heavy iron rod of their hand-grinder is missing. A perfect weapon for murder.’

‘And what’s so interesting?’

‘The police have found another diary. It began on 1 January this year, and the last entry was made the day before Dr Munshi died. Come on, let’s go!’

The diary Penguin was going to publish ended in December 1989. The one the police had just discovered in Dr Munshi’s bedroom ran from 1 January 1990 to 13 September, which meant that he had made the last entry a few hours before he was killed. The diary was probably kept on a bedside table, and had somehow slipped between the bed and the table. A constable had found it lying on the floor.

Feluda took it from the inspector, opened it and found something on the very first page that seemed to intrigue him greatly. He frowned, staring at the page, then shut it and turned to Shankar Munshi. ‘Did you know your father had continued to maintain a diary?’

‘No, but it does not surprise me. After all, he had made entries in his diary every day for forty years. There was no reason for him to have stopped.’

‘Did Mr Chakravarty know about this diary?’

‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?’

We were all sitting in the living room. Mr Chakravarty arrived a minute later. On being asked about the new diary, he said, ‘Dr Munshi used to write in his diary each night just before going to bed. That explains why it was found in his bedroom. No, I had never seen it before.’

‘Please sit down, Mr Chakravarty.’

Sukhamoy Chakravarty sat down, looking faintly taken aback. Feluda obviously had more questions for him.

‘Mr Chakravarty,’ said Feluda, ‘you do want Dr Munshi’s murderer to be caught and punished, don’t you? My duty is to find that culprit. I now have reason to believe that the killer is present in this house. I have already spoken to all of you. But that did not tell
me everything I needed to know. Perhaps I didn’t ask the right questions, or perhaps not all of you told me the truth. I did not ask you something before. I would like to do so now.’

‘Yes?’

‘Something has struck us all as rather strange.’

‘What?’

‘According to Shankar Munshi, all his father cared about was his patients and his writing. You are not his patient; but he had always been extremely kind to you. I read in his manuscript that five years ago, you had appendicitis and had to have surgery. Then you went to Puri for ten days to convalesce. Dr Munshi paid your medical bills, as well as costs for your stay in Puri. Why? Why should he have been so partial to you?’

‘I don’t know.’

There was a second’s pause before Mr Chakravarty’s reply came. Feluda did not fail to notice it. ‘Please, Mr Chakravarty, if you tell me the truth, or at least stop hiding it from me, my work will become a lot easier,’ he repeated.

This time, Mr Chakravarty’s reply came at once. ‘I am telling you the truth, Mr Mitter,’ he said.

Feluda had no more questions. Lalmohan Babu dropped us home, and left with a wave and a brief ‘Tomorrow morning!’

Feluda went straight into his room and shut the door. He was now going to read the new diary and was not to be disturbed. It was half past three. I spent the next hour in the living room, lying under the fan which was rotating at full speed, and going through a very interesting article on the Antarctic in the
National Geographic.
It had some lovely photos.

At four-thirty, Srinath came in with two cups of tea. He gave me one, and took the other to Feluda. But Feluda came out as soon as Srinath knocked on his door, saying, ‘It’s all right, Srinath, I’ll have my tea in the living room.’

He had obviously finished reading the diary. ‘Did you find anything useful?’ I asked. Feluda sat down on a couch, took out the diary and his packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and then took a sip from his cup.

‘Listen to these sections,’ he said. ‘It might give you food for thought.’

I noticed that he had marked some of the pages. With unhurried movements, Feluda lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and opened the
diary.

‘Listen to this. This entry was made three weeks ago:

A new patient arrived today. Radhakanta Mallik. The first thing he did on entering my room was to take out a piece of paper from his pocket, stare alternately at my face and that paper a few times, then crumple it and throw it away into a wastepaper basket. When I asked him what it was, he said it was a report on me, including my photograph, published in the Telegraph. I said, “Was it to make sure you had come to the right person?” Mallik nearly exploded. “I don’t trust anyone. No one at all. Of course I had to make sure. I must make sure each time, all the time!” he said. I think it is a case of persecution mania.

The second entry had been made four days later:

Radhakanta Mallik has become a problem. He cannot live in his own house. He is terrified of his father, his brother, his neighbours, practically everyone he knows. It’s a difficult case. I have told him to come and stay here until he’s better. There are two spare rooms on the first floor. He can stay in one of them.

The third entry, made a few days later, said:

RM continues to cause problems. He came into my office this morning before our session. I was reading an important letter at the time, so at first I paid no attention. But when I happened to look up, I found him holding a heavy paperweight in his hand and staring at me with a strange look in his eyes. If he starts to think of me also as his enemy, how am I going to treat him?

The fourth entry said:

I had left my bottle of pills in my office. When I went to fetch it before going to bed tonight, I saw that the light was on. At first, I thought Sukhamoy was working late. But it turned out to be Shankar. When I entered the room, I found him bending low in order to close the bottom drawer of my table. He seemed very
embarrassed when he saw me, and said he had been looking for airmail envelopes. I gave him a couple of envelopes . . . I keep my manuscript in the same drawer.’

The fifth entry Feluda read out was the last one. It did not mention Radhakanta Mallik, but it was quite mysterious:

How utterly mistaken I was! Thank goodness I know the truth now. But is this business with R going to continue forever? Or am I worrying unnecessarily?

Feluda closed the diary and sighed. ‘What a strange case!’ he exclaimed.

‘Does that mean you haven’t been able to unravel the mystery?’

‘Yes, that’s what it means. But now I think I know how to proceed. Well, I must get moving and make some routine enquiries. Ring Jatayu and tell him to come tomorrow evening. I am not going to be home in the morning.’