The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (82 page)

Inspector Chaubey returned to our room at 5 p.m. The announcement he made wasn’t altogether unexpected, but nevertheless we were all somewhat taken aback.

‘The mystery is cleared up,’ he said. ‘I was right. Jagannath Chatterjee took the stone. When I searched his house, I didn’t find it at first; but a few threats from the police can often work wonders, as they did in this case. Chatterjee broke down and confessed in the end. He even returned the stone to me. Do you know where he had hidden it? In a flower-pot!’

‘Have you brought it here?’

‘Yes, naturally.’

Chaubey took it out of his pocket. It lay on his palm, glowing softly under the light. It felt strange to look at it.

‘How very odd!’ Feluda exclaimed.

‘What’s odd?’

‘Chatterjee might well be a thief, but somehow I can’t see him lifting a heavy object and striking someone with it. He wouldn’t have the nerve, Inspector. He doesn’t look the type.’

‘Don’t judge anyone by his looks, Mr Mitter.’

‘Yes, you’re right. My own experience has taught me just that. And yet . . .’ Feluda broke off, frowning.

‘Shall we go now and return this stone to its owner?’ Chaubey
asked.

‘Yes, let’s do that.’

We left our room and made our way to Peter’s. Peter himself opened the door. Tom was with him.

‘Well, Mr Robertson,’ said Chaubey, ‘I have a little gift for you.’

‘A gift?’

Silently, Chaubey handed the ruby back to Peter. Peter’s mouth fell open.

‘I don’t believe this! Where—how—?’

‘Never mind all that, Mr Robertson. Just be happy that you’ve got it back. Mr Maxwell,’ I hope you’ll now agree that the Indian police isn’t altogether stupid and incompetent. Anyway, now you must decide what you want to do with it.’

Peter and Tom had both risen to their feet. Now they sank back into their chairs. Peter said softly, ‘Good show, Inspector. Congratulations!’

‘Thanks. May I now take your leave?’ asked Chaubey.

‘I . . . I don’t know how to thank you!’ Tom spoke unexpectedly. ‘You don’t have to. That the thought of saying thanks crossed your mind is good enough for me. Goodbye!’

‘What are you thinking, Felu Babu?’ Lalmohan Babu asked over breakfast the next day.

‘There is something wrong . . . somewhere . . .’ muttered Feluda absent-mindedly.

‘I’ll tell you what’s wrong. For the first time, the police caught the criminal before you. The inspector won, Felu Babu, and you lost. That’s what’s wrong.’

‘No. The thing is, you see, I cannot believe that the case is over, and there’s nothing for me to do.’

Feluda grew preoccupied again. Then he said, ‘Topshe, why don’t you and Lalmohan Babu go for a walk? I need to be alone. I need to think again.’

‘We can sit in my room. Come on, Tapesh.’

‘I don’t like this, Tapesh, my boy,’ Lalmohan Babu said, offering me a chair in his room. ‘We got such a good opportunity to solve a mystery, and yet it just slipped through our fingers. Maybe it’s because my left eye was twitching? No, I mean seriously, is your cousin all right? He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept very
well.’

‘He sat up late reading the book you gave him. I don’t know what time he went to bed, but he was up at five this morning to do his yoga.’

‘Topshe!’ called Feluda from outside. His voice sounded urgent. Why had he followed us? Was anything wrong?

I opened the door quickly. Feluda rushed in and said, ‘We have to go and see Chaubey, immediately.’

‘What happened?’

‘I’ll tell you later.’

‘OK.’

We were both ready to go out in just a few seconds.

‘To Dubrajpur,’ said Feluda to the driver. ‘We need to find the police station there.’

This was not difficult. Our car went straight to the police station and stopped before the main gate. The constable on duty looked up enquiringly as we got out. ‘May we see Inspector Chaubey?’ Feluda asked.

‘Yes, please come this way.’

Chaubey was in his room, going through some files. He looked up with a mixture of pleasure and surprise.

‘Oh, what brings you here?’

‘There is something we need to talk about.’

‘Very well. Please sit down. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No, thanks. We’ve just had breakfast.’

‘I see. So what can I do for you?’

‘There’s just one thing I’d like you to tell me.’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you a Christian?’

Chaubey raised his eyebrows. Then he smiled and said, ‘Why do you suddenly need to know that, Mr Mitter?’

‘There’s a reason. Are you?’

‘Yes, I am a Christian. But how did you guess?’

‘Well, I saw you eat with your left hand, more than once. At first I paid no attention, but later it struck me as odd since Hindus—unless they’re left-handed—prefer using their right hands to eat. I wondered if you were a Christian, but didn’t ask at the time for I didn’t realize it might have a special significance. I think I now know what it means.’

‘Really? So what does it signify, Mr Mitter? You didn’t come all
this way just to tell me you’d guessed my religion, did you?’

‘No. Allow me to ask you another question.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Who was the first in your family to become a Christian?’

‘My grandfather.’

‘What was his name?’

‘Anant Narayan.’

‘What was his son called?’

‘Charles Premchand.’

‘And his son?’

‘Richard Shankar Prasad.’

‘That’s you, isn’t it?’ ·

‘Yes.’

‘Was your great-grandfather called Hiralal?’

‘Yes, but how did you—?’

Chaubey had stopped smiling. He only looked amazed and bewildered.

‘It was the same Hiralal who used to pull the
punkha
for Reginald Maxwell. Am I right?’

‘Yes, but you have to tell me how you learnt all this.’

‘From a book written by a Rev. Pritchard. He took charge of Anant Narayan after Hiralal’s death, made him a Christian and helped him build a new life and find new happiness.’

‘I didn’t know there was such a book!’

‘Indeed there is, though it’s not easily available.’

‘But if you know all that, you must have . . .’

‘What?’

‘You must know . . .’

‘What, Inspector? What should I know?’

‘Why don’t you tell me yourself, Mr Mitter? I would find it extremely awkward to say anything myself.’

‘All right,’ said Feluda slowly, ‘I’ll tell you what happened. You grew up hearing tales of Reginald Maxwell’s cruelty. You could never forget that he was responsible for your great-grandfather’s death. But there was nothing you could do about it. However, when you heard Reginald’s great-great-grandson Tom was here and saw that Tom had inherited Reginald’s arrogance and hatred for Indians in full measure, you . . .’

‘Stop, Mr Mitter! Please say no more.’

‘Does that mean I am right in thinking that it was you who struck
Tom at the dance, just because you felt like settling old scores? And then you took the stone so that the suspicion fell on the others?’

‘Yes, Mr Mitter, you are absolutely right. Now you must decide how I ought to be punished. If you wish to report the matter—’

‘Inspector Chaubey,’ Feluda suddenly smiled. ‘I wish to do no such thing. That is what I came to tell you.’

‘What!’

‘Yes, sir. I thought the whole thing over and realized that had I been in your shoes, I’d have done exactly the same. In fact, I think Tom’s behaviour called for something much worse than what you did to him. Relax, Inspector. Nobody’s going to punish you.’

‘Thank you, Mr Mitter, thank you!’

‘Which one of your eyes is twitching now, Mr Know-All Ganguli?’

‘Both, Felu Babu, both. They’re dancing with joy. But we mustn’t forget one thing.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘What do I mean?’

‘We mustn’t forget to thank your friend Shatadal Sen.’

‘Correct. If he hadn’t lent us that book—’

‘—We couldn’t have solved this case—’

‘—And Jagannath Chatterjee would have remained a criminal’

‘At least in our minds.’

‘Yes. To Mr Sen’s house, please driver, before you take us back to the lodge.’

Robertson’s Ruby eventually went to the Calcutta Museum. Needless to say, Feluda played an important role in the actual transfer. He pointed out to Peter that Tom was simply being greedy. If he could get sponsorship from a famous journal like the
National Geographic,
he couldn’t, by any means, be lacking in funds.

Tom Maxwell did his best to influence his friend’s decision again, but this time Peter was adamant.

Patrick Robertson’s last wish was finally fulfilled.

I have been an avid reader of crime fiction for a very long time. I read all the Sherlock Holmes stories while still at school. When I revived the children’s magazine
Sandesh
which my grandfather launched seventy-five years ago, I started writing stories for it. The first Feluda story—a long-short—appeared in 1965. Felu is the nickname of Pradosh Mitter, private investigator. The story was told in the first person by Felu’s Waston—his fourteen-year-old cousin Tapesh. The suffix ‘da’ (short for ‘dada’) means an elder brother.

Although the Feluda stories were written for the largely teenaged readers of
Sandesh,
I found they were being read by their parents as well. Soon longer stories followed—novelettes—taking place in a variety of picturesque settings. A third character was introduced early on: Lalmohan Ganguli, writer of cheap, popular thrillers. He serves as a foil to Felu and provides dollops of humour.

When I wrote my first Feluda story, I scarcely imagined he would prove so popular that I would be forced to write a Feluda novel every year. To write a whodunit while keeping in mind a young readership is not an easy task, because the stories have to be kept ‘clean’. No illicit love, no
crime passionel,
and only a modicum of violence. I hope adult readers will bear this in mind when reading these stories.

Calcutta
February 1988

Satyajit Ray

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First published by Penguin Books India 2000
This rejacketed edition published 2015

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Copyright © The Estate of Satyajit Ray 2000, 2004
This translation copyright © Penguin Books India 2000, 2004

Cover illustration by Sukanto Debnath
Cover design by Aparajita Ninan

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ISBN: 978-0-143-42504-5

This digital edition published in 2015.
e-ISBN: 978-9-352-14116-6

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