The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume I

by Satyajit Ray

  ‘But. . . what sort of a rope could it have been?’ Lalmohan Babu asked. ‘I mean . . . if you had to climb down a hundred feet, you’d need a remarkably strong rope, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. A nylon rope would to the trick. It would be light, but very, very strong.’

  ‘That means there was a second person here,’ I said slowly. ‘I mean, apart from Mr Bose.’

  ‘Right. This second person removed the rope, and the crowbar. We don’t yet know whether he was Bose’s friend or foe, but there is something that indicates he might have been the latter.’

  I looked quickly at Feluda. What did he mean? In reply, he took out a small object from his pocket and placed it on his palm. It was a piece of blue cloth, torn presumably from a shirt. Who was wearing a blue shirt yesterday?

  Mr Jayant Mallik!

  ‘Where did you find it?’ I asked. My voice shook.

  ‘Bose was lying on his stomach. His arms were spread wide. His right hand was closed around this piece of cloth, but a small bit was sticking out between two fingers. He and this other man must have struggled with each other by the cliff. Bose clutched at the shirt the other man was wearing. But then he fell, taking this little piece with him.’

  ‘You mean he was deliberately pushed off the cliff?’ Lalmohan Babu gasped, ‘You m-mean it was m-m-murder?’

  Feluda did not give a direct answer. After a few seconds of silence, he simply said, ‘If the statues in the temple are still intact, we must thank Mr Bose for it. It was because of his presence here last night that the thief couldn’t get away with it.’

  Nine

  When we climbed down eventually and went back to the main entrance to the temple, the members of the film unit had all disappeared. There were knots of local people, curious and excited. The big American car had been replaced by a jeep. An intelligent and smart looking man—possibly in his mid-thirties—saw Feluda and came forward to greet him. It turned out to be Mr Kulkarni, the manager of the Tourist Guest House.

  ‘We realized only this morning that Mr Bose had not returned last night,’ he said, shaking his head regretfully. ‘I sent a bearer to look for him, but of course he couldn’t find him anywhere.’

  ‘What is going to happen now?’ Feluda asked.

  ‘The police in Aurangabad have been informed. They’re sending a van to collect the body. Mr Bose had a brother in Delhi. He’ll have to be informed, naturally. . . It is really very sad. The man was a true scholar. He came once before, in 1968. I believe he was writing a book on Ellora.’

  ‘Isn’t there a police station here?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s only a small outpost. An assistant sub-inspector is in charge, a man called Ghote. He’s inspecting the body at the moment.’

  ‘Could I meet him?’

  ‘Certainly. Oh, by the way—’ Mr Kulkarni stopped, looking doubtfully at Lalmohan Babu and me.

  ‘They are friends, you may speak freely before them,’ Feluda said quickly.

  ‘Oh. Oh, I see,’ Mr Kulkarni sounded relieved. ‘Well, someone rang Bombay this morning.’

  ‘Mallik?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Mr Kulkarni took out a piece of paper from his pocket and read from it: ‘The daughter’s fine. Leaving today.’

  ‘Today? Did he tell you anything about leaving today?’

  ‘He did. He wanted to leave this morning. But I thought of you, Mr Mitter, and had a word with his driver. Mallik has been told there’s something wrong with his car, it’ll take a while to repair it. So he cannot leave immediately.’

  ‘Bravo! Thank you, Mr Kulkarni, you’ve been a great help.’

  Mr Kulkarni looked pleased. Feluda lit a Charminar and asked, ‘Tell me, what kind of a man is this Ghote?’

  ‘A very good man, I should say. But he doesn’t like it here. He longs for a promotion and a posting in Aurangabad. Come with me, I will introduce you to him.’

  Mr Ghote had emerged from the cave. Mr Kulkarni brought him over and introduced Feluda as ‘a very famous private detective’. Mr Ghote’s height was about five feet five inches. His width matched his height and, to top it all, he had a moustache like Charlie Chaplin. But his movements were surprisingly brisk and agile.

  ‘Why don’t you go back to the bungalow?’ Feluda said to me. ‘I’ll have a word with Mr Ghote, and then join you there.’

  Neither of us had the slightest wish to return without Feluda, but there was no point in arguing. So we went back. On reaching the bungalow, we realized we were both quite hungry; so I stopped to tell the chowkidar to send us toast and eggs. Then I walked into our room, to find Lalmohan Babu sitting on his bed, looking a little foolish.

  ‘Tell me, Tapesh,’ he said on seeing me, ‘did we lock our room before going out this morning?’

  ‘Why, no! There was no need to. We have nothing worth stealing. Besides, the cleaners usually come in the morning, so I thought . . . why, has anything been taken?’

  ‘No. But someone has been through my things. Whoever did it sat on my bed and opened my suitcase. In fact, when I came in, the bed was still warm. See if he touched your suitcase as well?’

  He had; I realized this the minute I opened the case. Nothing was in place. Not only that, one of my pillows was lying on the floor. Judging by the way my chappals had been thrown in two different directions, the intruder had even looked under the bed.

  ‘I was most worried about my notebook,’ Lalmohan Babu confided, ‘but he didn’t take it, thank God.’

  ‘Did he take anything else?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. What about you?’

  ‘The same. Whoever came in was looking for something specific, I think. He didn’t find it here.’

  ‘Let’s ask the chowkidar if he saw anything.’

  But the chowkidar could not help. He had gone out shopping for a while, so if anyone stole in while he was out, he couldn’t have seen him. Normally, theft was a rare occurrence in these parts. The chowkidar seemed most puzzled by the thought that anyone’s room should be broken into and their belongings searched.

  Had Feluda’s room been similarly ransacked? I went to have a look, but saw that his room was locked. He had to be extra careful because of his disguise. ‘Should we try asking Raxit?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.

  Having seen the flashing light in his room the night before, I was feeling rather curious about the man. So I agreed and we both went up to his room. I knocked softly. The door opened almost at once.

  ‘What is it? Come in.’

  Mr Raxit did not seem very pleased to see us; but we went into his room, anyway.

  ‘Did anyone break into your room as well?’ Lalmohan Babu asked as soon as he had stepped in.

  From the way Mr Raxit looked at Lalmohan Babu, it was obvious that he was not in a good mood. He spoke in a low voice, but his tone was sharp. ‘What’s the use of speaking to you?’ he said. ‘You can’t hear a word, can you? Let me speak to your nephew. Not only did someone get into my room, but he actually removed something valuable.’

  ‘What. . . what was it?’ I asked timidly.

  ‘My raincoat. I had bought it in England, and had been using it for the last twenty-five years.’ Lalmohan Babu looked at me silently. He wasn’t supposed to have heard anything. I repeated the words to him, speaking loudly, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Could it have been stolen last night?’ Lalmohan Babu suggested. ‘We saw you looking for something. I mean, we saw your torch . . .’

  ‘No. A small bat had somehow got into my room last night. I switched the main lights off and used my torch to get rid of it. Nothing was stolen yesterday. It happened this morning. I believe the culprit is that young boy of the chowkidar’s.’

  I had to shout once more and repeat the whole thing to Lalmohan Babu.

  ‘I am very sorry to hear this,’ Lalmohan Babu said gravely. ‘We must keep an eye on the boy.’

  There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. We apologized for disturbing hi
m and came away.

  The chowkidar had served us breakfast in the dining hall. We began eating. I had no idea what American fried eggs tasted like, but what I had been given here was quite tasty. I kept wondering who might have broken into our room, but decided in the end that it must have been the chowkidar’s son. I had seen him walking in the backyard and throwing curious glances in the direction of our rooms.

  Feluda had told us to go back to the bungalow, but hadn’t said that we had to stay in. So after breakfast, we locked our room, and went out in the street.

  The guest house was not clearly visible from the main gate of our bungalow, the view being partially obstructed by a large tree. The sudden noise of a car starting made us go forward quickly. Now the guest house was fully visible. The taxi that had brought Mr Raxit and Lewison from Aurangabad was now ready to leave. The luggage-rack on its roof was loaded. Mr Sam Lewison, the American millionaire, was giving a tip to one of the bearers.

  But who was that?

  Another man had come out of the guest house and was speaking to Lewison. Lewison nodded twice, which clearly meant that he had agreed to do something for the other man. The latter went back to the guest house and reappeared with a suitcase. The driver opened the boot of the car, and placed the suitcase in it. My heart began beating faster. Lalmohan Babu clutched my sleeve. There could be no doubt about the implication of what we had just seen. Mr Jayant Mallik was not going to wait for his own car to be repaired. He was trying to escape with Sam Lewison.

  The driver took his seat.

  ‘The cycle!’ I cried. ‘The chowkidar’s cycle!’

  The car started. I ran back to the bungalow and managed to drag the cycle out. Luckily, no one saw me.

  ‘Come on!’ I said to Lalmohan Babu. He stood there looking as though he had never ridden on the crossbar of a cycle before. But there was no time to argue, our culprit was running away. He jumped up a second later, and I began pedalling as fast as I could. Feluda had taught me to cycle when I was seven. Now I could put it to good use.

  If we had walked, it would have taken us twenty minutes to get back to the temple. I covered that distance in five. There was Feluda, and Ghote, and Kulkarni!

  ‘Feluda!’ I panted. ‘Mr Mallik went off . . . in that American’s car . . . five minutes ago!’

  Just that one remark from me set so many things in motion that the whole thing now seems almost like a blur. Mr Ghote jumped into his jeep, with Feluda beside him, and Lalmohan Babu and myself at the back. I had no idea even a jeep could travel at 60 kmph. Very soon, we saw Lewison’s taxi, overtook it and made it stop. Lewison got out, looking furious and giving vent to his anger by uttering a range of specially chosen American swear words. These had no effect on Mr Ghote. He ignored Lewison completely and approached Mallik, who turned visibly pale. Mr Ghote then opened his suitcase, quelling an abortive attempt by Mallik to stop him, and took out an object wrapped heavily in a large Turkish towel. With one swift movement, he removed the towel and revealed the yakshi’s head. Sam Lewison shut up immediately, gaped in horror and stammered, ‘B-b-but . . . b-but I . . . I . . . !’ Lalmohan Babu heaved a sigh of relief and proclaimed, ‘End’s well that all’s well!’ Finally Lewison was allowed to travel back to Aurangabad. We returned to Khuldabad with the culprit, caught red-handed.

  Mr Ghote took Mallik away, to keep him somewhere in the police outpost. He went quietly, too dazed to say anything.

  We were dropped at the guest house, for Mr Kulkarni was waiting anxiously for our return. He appeared very pleased on being told that our mission had been entirely successful. However, Feluda seemed to pour cold water over his enthusiasm by saying, ‘We haven’t yet finished our job, Mr Kulkarni. There’s plenty more to be done. Don’t forget to make enquiries about that number in Bombay, and let me know as soon as you hear anything.’

  I didn’t understand what this last instruction meant, but thought no more about it.

  Mr Kulkarni had ordered coffee for all of us. When it arrived, I suddenly remembered we had not told Feluda about our room being searched. He sipped his coffee quietly as I quickly explained what had happened. Then he frowned and asked Mr Kulkarni, ‘What sort of a man is that chowkidar?’

  ‘Who, Mohanlal? A very good man, most trustworthy. He’s been doing this job for the last seventeen years. I have never heard anyone complain against him.’

  Feluda thought for a second, then turned to me. ‘Are you sure nothing was stolen?’

  ‘Yes. We are both absolutely sure. Mr Raxit thinks it was the chowkidar’s boy who did it.’

  ‘Very well. Let’s go and have a look, especially since Lalmohan Babu says the intruder actually sat on his bed and kept it warm for him. See you soon, Mr Kulkarni; perhaps you had better keep this with you.’ He passed the yakshi’s head—still wrapped in the towel—to Mr Kulkarni, who put it in a safe in his office and locked it.

  We returned to the bungalow. Feluda came into our room with us, bolted the door and then went through our belongings with meticulous care. Apart from his clothes, Lalmohan Babu’s suitcase contained a small box of homoeopathic pills, two books on criminology, one on Baluchistan and his own notebook. For some reason, Feluda spent a long time going through this notebook, but did not tell us what was so intriguing about it. Finally, he put everything away and said, ‘If my guesses turn out to be correct, this whole business is going to be settled tonight, one way or the other. If that happens, you will both have to play an important role. Please remember, at all times, that I am with you, keeping an eye on you, even if you cannot see me. Don’t tell anyone about Mallik’s arrest. And don’t leave your room. In any case, I don’t think you can, for it looks like it’s going to rain.’

  Feluda peered out of the window as he spoke, then got up silently and went and stood by it. I followed him. We were looking out of the western side. There was a lawn, across which stood a number of tall trees. I could recognize eucalyptus amongst them. A man came out of the trees, crossed the lawn and went to the front of the bungalow. A minute later, he entered the dining hall. This was followed by the sound of a room being unlocked, and then locked again from inside.

  Feluda nodded and muttered ‘Yes, yes!’ almost to himself. The man who had come in was Mr Raxit.

  ‘Wait until you hear from me,’ Feluda said, ‘and then simply do as you’re told. Don’t be afraid.’

  He opened the door and went out.

  We remained in our room. Thunder rumbled outside. The sky was overcast.

  Staring at the walls, thinking things over, it suddenly occurred to me that the man who was probably the most mysterious was Mr Raxit. We did not know anything about him.

  And Mallik? How much had we learnt about Jayant Mallik? Not much. Not enough. Suddenly, it seemed to me that we had made no progress at all.

  Ten

  It began pouring soon after twelve o’clock. The rain was accompanied by frequent thunder. Lalmohan Babu and I sat in our room trying—in vain—to work out what possible role we might have to play later in the day. Mallik had been arrested, the yakshi’s head was safely locked away. As far as we were concerned, that was the end of the story. What else could Feluda be thinking of?

  The chowkidar told us at one o’clock that lunch was ready. We went into the dining hall without Feluda. He was probably having lunch with Mr Kulkarni in the guest house.

  Mr Raxit joined us. He had seemed extremely cross this morning when we had spoken to him, but now he appeared cheerful once more. ‘On a day like this,’ he said, ‘a Bengali ought to have kedgeree, pakoras and fried hilsa. I have lived out of Bengal for many years, but haven’t forgotten Bengali habits.’

  The meal we were served here was different, but no less tasty. I finished my bowl of daal, and had just helped myself to the meat curry, when a car drew up outside the front door and a thin, squeaky voice cried: ‘Chowkidar!’ The chowkidar rushed out, clutching an umbrella. Mr Raxit soaked a piece of his chapati in the curry, put it in his mouth and said, ‘A tourist? In
this weather?’

  A tall man walked in, taking off his raincoat. Most of his hair was grey. He had a short moustache and goatee, and he wore glasses. ‘I’ve already had my lunch,’ he told the chowkidar, who was carrying his aged leather suitcase. Then he turned to us and asked, ‘Who has been arrested?’

  Feluda had told us not to say anything about Mallik’s arrest, so we simply stared foolishly. Mr Raxit gave a start and said, ‘Arrested?’

  ‘Yes. Some vandal. He was apparently trying to steal a statue from one of the caves, and was caught. At least, that’s what I’ve just heard. I only hope they won’t decide to close the caves because of this. I’ve travelled quite far simply to see the statues here. Why, haven’t you heard anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m glad the fellow was caught. I must say the police here are quite efficient.’

  The man was given the third empty room. He disappeared into it, but we could hear him talking to himself. Perhaps he was slightly mad.

  The rain stopped at around two-thirty. Half an hour later, I saw the new arrival walking towards the eucalyptus trees. He came back in five minutes.

  The chowkidar brought us our tea at four-thirty. I noticed a small piece of paper on the floor as he left. It turned out to be another message from Feluda: ‘Go to cave number fifteen at seven o’clock. Wait in the south-eastern corner on the first floor.’

  He was still running a campaign, totally unseen. This had never happened before.

  Fortunately, it did not rain again. When we left the bungalow at six-thirty, both Mr Raxit and the man with the goatee appeared to be in their rooms, for their lights were on. Lalmohan Babu muttered a short prayer as we set out. My own feelings were so confused that I am not even going to try to describe them. My hands felt cold. I thrust them into my pockets.

  We reached Kailash ten minutes before seven. The western sky was still quite bright since the sun did not set here at this time of year until after six-thirty. The caves and hills seemed darker, but the sky had cleared.