The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (46 page)

The telephone in our room began ringing at seven the following day. We were already up, sipping our bed tea. Feluda stretched out an arm and picked it up. I heard him say only two things before he put it down. ‘What!’ he said, and ‘I’ll be ready in five minutes.’ Then he turned to me and added, ‘Go and tell Lalmohan Babu to get ready. We have to go out at once.’

I did as I was told without asking questions. Where were we going? No one told me, until a couple of police jeeps arrived again, and we were told to get into the first one with Inspector Saha. It turned out that the constable who had gone to Nayanpur Villa early this morning to tell them about the meeting had learnt that Samiran Majumdar had received a phone call only fifteen minutes before the constable’s arrival. He had left for Siliguri, apparently on some urgent work. Since Feluda felt there would be no point in having the meeting without him, we were on our way to see if our jeep might catch up with his vehicle.

I had never been driven at such speed on a winding, hilly road. Luckily, the driver seemed to be extremely skilful, and there was no mist today. We passed Ghoom, Sonada and Tung in half an hour. Normally, it would have taken us at least forty-five minutes. Inspector Saha had sent word to Kerseong and Siliguri, but it had not been possible to give the number of the taxi in which Samiran Babu was travelling. Trying to find its number would have taken up a lot of time, Inspector Saha said.

We reached Kerseong fairly soon, but there was no sign of Samiran Majumdar’s taxi. ‘Take the short cut through Pankhabari,’ Inspector Saha said to the driver. Our jeep left the main road. The other one went ahead, following the regular route.

It is impossible to describe just how winding the road to Pankhabari was. Lalmohan Babu shut his eyes, and said, ‘Let me know if you see the taxi. I’m not going to open my eyes if I can help it. I’d feel sick if I did.’

Fifteen minutes later, after going up a road that coiled itself like a snake round the hill, we came round a hairpin bend. Our driver pressed his foot hard on the brake, for there was a taxi standing
almost in the middle of the road. Its driver was trying to change a punctured tyre, and Samiran Majumdar was standing some distance away, smoking impatiently. He seemed both startled and apprehensive at the sudden appearance of our jeep.

All of us got out. Feluda and Inspector Saha strode ahead. ‘What . . . what is it?’ Samiran Babu asked, turning visibly pale. ‘Nothing,’ Feluda replied, ‘it’s just that there’s going to be a meeting in your own house at ten this morning. We feel you must be present there, and really it’s far more important than the one you set off to attend. So could you please pay your taxi driver, and join us? Don’t forget your suitcase.’

In three minutes, we were on our way back to Darjeeling. No one spoke on the way.

By the time we reached Nayanpur Villa, it was a quarter to ten. ‘Since Lokenath is still missing, could you please ask your other servant, Bahadur, to make coffee, for at least a dozen people?’ Feluda asked.

We went to the drawing room. More chairs had been brought from the next room.

The team from the Mount Everest Hotel arrived almost as soon as Bahadur came in with the coffee. Pulak Ghoshal looked openly surprised. ‘What on earth’s the matter, Laluda?’ he asked.

‘Haven’t got a clue. Your guess is as good as mine. But the purpose of this meeting is to throw light on everything that’s been baffling us since the murder. Mr Pradosh Mitter is in charge of the lighting.’

‘Good. Can we start shooting again?’

‘I couldn’t tell you. Just be patient, all will be revealed soon.’

‘I’ll keep my fingers crossed. I’ve been directing films for twelve years, and finished making seventeen films in that time; but never before have I got involved in something so messy.’

I felt sorry for Pulak Babu. The total budget for his film had originally been 5.6 million rupees. God knows how much they’d finally end up spending if the shooting kept getting delayed.

Everyone found chairs and sat down, looking distinctly uneasy. I glanced briefly at the whole group. Feluda was sitting on my left, and Lalmohan Babu on my right. The others, including Mr Saha and Samiran Majumdar, were scattered all over the room. Bahadur and the cook, Jagadish, were also present. Four constables stood near the door.

We finished our coffee. A rather attractive clock on a shelf chimed ten times. Feluda stood up as soon as the last note faded away. He was the only one in the room who appeared perfectly calm. Even Inspector Saha was cracking his knuckles occasionally.

Feluda cleared his throat and began speaking.

‘In the last few days, a few mishaps have occurred in this house. Perhaps they would not have happened if the usual routine of the house hadn’t been upset totally by the arrival of the film unit. Most people had their attention taken up by the shooting, so it became easier for the culprit to do what he wanted.

‘The first among the tragedies was the death of Mr Birupaksha Majumdar, the owner of this house. His death struck me as very mysterious. It seemed obvious to everyone that his bearer, Lokenath, had killed him to steal a valuable statue, and disappeared the same afternoon. But I could not accept this. I am going to explain the reason in a few minutes. Before I do so, I’d like to tell you two things involving the deceased.

‘The first is related to embezzlement of funds. While Mr Majumdar was working as the managing director of the Bengal Bank in Calcutta, a young employee called V. Balaporia vanished with 150,000 rupees. He has not yet been traced.

‘The second incident took place in Neelkanthapur, Madhya Pradesh. The local Raja, Prithvi Singh, invited Mr Majumdar to go on shikar. They wanted to kill a tiger. Mr Majumdar went to the forest with the Raja, and saw something moving behind a bush.

‘Mistaking it for a tiger, he fired his gun and realized that he had actually hit a man, not a tiger. The man was called Sudheer Brahma. He was a professor of history, but his interest in ayurveda had brought him to the forest to look for herbs. He died on the spot. Raja Prithvi Singh went to a lot of trouble to keep this quiet, to save his friend’s reputation.

‘Sudheer Brahma had a sixteen-year-old son called Ramesh. Deeply distressed by his father’s death and the way in which his killer was allowed to get away with it, Ramesh vowed to take revenge. Somehow, when he grew up, he would find the killer and pay him back. I heard this from Mr Majumdar’s neighbour, Harinarayan Mukherjee, who was present in Neelkanthapur at the time and knew the Brahmas. There is no way to prove this story; but Mr Majumdar himself had hinted to me that there was a scandal in his past that had somehow been kept from the press. It was for this
reason that I believed what Mr Mukherjee told me.

‘Allow me now to return to the death of Birupaksha Majumdar. The person who had the best motive and opportunity to kill him was his own son, Samiran. He had lost heavily in the stock market and was in debt. Do you deny this, Mr Majumdar?’

Samiran Majumdar shook his head mutely, staring at the floor. ‘Do you also deny that you stood to gain all your father’s assets if he died?’

Again, Samiran Babu shook his head without looking up.

‘Very well. Let me now examine the way in which he was murdered. Mr Majumdar used to take a sleeping pill with a glass of milk every day after lunch. His bearer Lokenath used to prepare the drink. Two days before his death, he had bought a whole month’s supply. When he died, there should have been twenty-eight pills left. But the bottle containing the pills could not be found. So naturally we all assumed he had been poisoned. Besides, we found a piece of paper with the word “vish” written on it, which removed any lingering doubt. But that wasn’t all. He had also been stabbed. It seemed therefore that his killer had returned a few minutes after Mr Majumdar had drunk his milk, and finished his job with a knife, in case the pills didn’t work.

‘The question that now arose was, what might have been the motive for this gruesome murder? The answer was simple: the statue of Krishna made of
ashtadhatu
was missing. The killer had clearly run off with it.

‘I had my doubts about this theory, as I’ve said before. Nevertheless, the police were convinced Lokenath was the murderer as well as the thief. Yesterday, we realized how utterly wrong it was to blame Lokenath. My friend and my cousin discovered, purely by accident, Lokenath’s dead body in the pine wood behind this house. He, too, had been stabbed to death. Beside his body lay a broken bottle, and scattered around were the remaining pills. This could only mean that not only was Lokenath innocent, but he had actually tried to save his employer from being poisoned by running away with the whole bottle of pills. Someone killed him on the way. This could only mean one thing: Mr Majumdar’s death was caused by his stab wounds, not by poison.

‘Let me now tell you of certain things I experienced myself.

‘I was curious about one of the inhabitants of Nayanpur Villa, although initially I had no reason to suspect him. It was Mr Rajat
Bose. He told me in answer to my questions that he had a degree in commerce, and had finished his graduation in 1957.

‘My enquiries revealed that no one by the name of Rajat Bose had obtained a degree in commerce that particular year.’

I quickly glanced at Mr Bose. He was looking both upset and tense.

‘Can you explain this, Mr Bose? Did you tell me a lie, or is my information wrong?’ Feluda was looking straight at him.

Rajat Bose cleared his throat a couple of times. Then he took a deep breath, and spoke very rapidly. ‘I did not murder Birupaksha Majumdar, but God knows I wanted to. Oh yes, I did, a thousand times. He killed my father, and then he paid and bribed people to hush it all up. He was a criminal!’

‘Believe me, Mr Bose, I have every sympathy with you on that score. But now I’d like you to answer a few more questions, and I want the truth.’

‘What do you want to know?’ Mr Bose was still breathing hard. ‘On the day of the murder, Lokenath had mixed a single pill in a glass of milk—as he did every day—and went to call Mr Majumdar, who was watching the shooting. The glass of milk as well as the bottle of pills were both lying in the empty dining room. You tried to seize this opportunity to pour the remaining pills into the milk, didn’t you?’

‘Look, I already told you I wanted to avenge my father’s death.’

‘Yes, but Lokenath came back before you could actually put your plan to action. Isn’t that right? He saw what you were about to do, and you decided he should never get the chance to open his mouth.’

‘He was a fool! I wanted him to help me. I told him everything—but he refused.’

‘So you attacked him, didn’t you? He managed to struggle free, and ran towards the pine wood with the bottle of pills. You followed him with a weapon in your hand—that sharp paper-knife in Mr Majumdar’s study. You did manage to catch him, but before you actually struck him with your weapon, he threw the bottle on a rock, and it broke to pieces. Tell me, isn’t that exactly how it happened?’

Mr Bose didn’t reply. His sudden burst of courage had petered out completely. Now he broke down, and covered his face with his hands. Two constables walked over to him and stood behind his chair.

‘I have another little query. The initials “R.B.” on your suitcase
stand for Ramesh Brahma, don’t they? You started calling yourself Rajat Bose simply to keep the same initials?’

Mr Bose nodded silently.

After a brief pause, Feluda resumed speaking.

‘Yesterday, something else happened. There was an attempt on my own life. Someone took advantage of the thick fog, and tried to push me into a gorge.’

This piece of information was greeted with complete silence from his audience.

Everyone was staring at Feluda, simply hanging on to his words. ‘I couldn’t see his face, but could make out that he was wearing a false beard. When he actually pushed me towards the edge of the cliff, I caught a faint whiff of a scent. It was Yardley Lavender. It wasn’t altogether an unfamiliar scent. I had smelt it before, sitting in the restaurant in Dum Dum airport.’

Rajen Raina spoke unexpectedly, ‘I use that scent myself, Mr Mitter. But if you think no one uses it except me, you couldn’t be making a bigger mistake.’

Feluda smiled. ‘I knew you would say that. I haven’t yet finished speaking, Mr Raina.’

‘Very well. What else do you have to say?’

Instead of giving him a reply. Feluda looked at Inspector Saha, who quietly passed him a briefcase. Feluda took out an envelope from it, and the framed group photo of all the employees of Bengal Bank.

‘Do you recognize this photograph, Mr Raina?’ Feluda asked.

‘I have never seen it before.’

‘No? But you yourself are present in the group!’

‘What do you mean?’

Feluda opened the envelope and took out another photo. It was the enlargement of a single face.

‘I have to admit I had to work in this one,’ Feluda said. ‘I drew the beard, for when the photo was taken, you didn’t have it. Now can you recognize the fellow? It’s a photo of Mr V. Balaporia, who used to work in the accounts department of Bengal Bank.’

Mr Raina didn’t bother to ask for the photo to get a closer look. He began wiping his face nervously. I peered at it and saw that the face staring at the camera was of Raina himself.

‘How were you to know the person in whose house you were going to shoot would turn out to be an ex-boss? Much less did you
anticipate that he would recognize you instantly. But it took you no time to judge just how badly your film career was going to be affected if any scandal from your past got to be known. Mr Majumdar had told you you had been recognized, hadn’t he? You denied it, to which he said, “You are a liar. I do not believe a single word you say.”

‘Well, that takes care of the motive. If we now look for an opportunity to kill, remember there was a forty-five-minute break during lunch. You could easily have slipped into Mr Majumdar’s room during that time. When he had taken you and Mr Verma to look at that statue of Krishna, you must have noticed the dagger lying next to it on the shelf.’