by Satyajit Ray
‘Yes, but it was made with five different gems. As beautiful as it was valuable. It must be worth more than a hundred thousand rupees. Will you continue to stay here?’
‘Someshwar Babu wants me to. He said to me, “There cannot be any question of asking you to leave. I’m just sorry that your stay couldn’t be more pleasant.”’
‘If you’re going to be around, could I come back and ask you further questions, if need be?’
‘Of course. Any time.’
We thanked him and made our way to Someshwar Burman. He was still looking stunned.
‘I can understand how devastated you must be feeling,’ Feluda said, ‘but since I am here, I must ask you a few questions, if only to satisfy my curiosity.’
‘Go ahead. This is your job, after all.’
‘You just didn’t realize what had happened, did you? I mean, you saw and heard nothing at all?’
‘No. All I can say is that I am very badly shaken by this whole thing. Avinash was a very good man, a good worker. And now I have lost not just him, but also my precious statue. Raja Dayal Singh had given it to me himself. He had picked it up with his own hands, and passed it to me. “You are the artist of all artists, you deserve nothing less,” he had said. Besides . . .’ Mr Burman broke off suddenly, and seemed lost in thought.
A few moments later, he spoke absently: ‘Did I make a mistake? I hope so, because if it turns out to be true, it will be doubly painful for me.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t ask me, please. I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Didn’t you realize . . . or sense . . . anything?’
‘Yes, I did. But even so, I could do nothing.’
‘That sounds quite mysterious, Mr Burman. Do you mind clarifying what you mean? That would make things a lot simpler, you see.’
‘No, Mr Mitter. Please don’t ask me to say anything more. Please . . . may I be left alone now? I’d be very grateful.’
‘Of course, Mr Burman.’
We got to our feet. ‘There’s just one thing I’d like to say,’ Feluda commented. ‘If I were to carry on my own investigation regarding the tragedy here, would you have any objection?’
‘No, no, certainly not. The culprit must be caught, no matter who it is.’
Six
When we returned home, Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Someshwar Burman’s words were most mystifying, weren’t they?’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Feluda replied.
‘I think he suppressed quite a few facts.’
‘Yes, I got that impression, too.’
‘What do you think of the whole thing?’
‘I am not totally in the dark, that much I can tell you. But I need to find out more about the world of magic. There’s the auction house to consider as well. Let me go there and have a look. You two sit and chat here.’
There was something I had to say to Feluda before he disappeared. ‘Feluda,’ I said, ‘did Nikhil Burman’s words . . . or, rather, his voice . . . well, did that strike you as odd?’
‘If it did, that’s hardly surprising. But you have to work out why that is so.’
Feluda left, without adding anything further. Lalmohan Babu was following his own train of thought. ‘I don’t like that artist chap,’ he said. ‘Mind you, I am prejudiced against all men with thick beards.’
‘Did you like Surya Kumar?’
‘He, too, is a little strange. But I don’t think he’d have gone around breaking safes open on his first night. After all, he wasn’t familiar with the house or its occupants, was he? How was he to know who slept where, which room had the safe, and where its key was kept? But what I am sure of is that the thief was ready for murder. I mean, when he came face to face with the bearer, he could simply have knocked him unconscious, couldn’t he? Surely, that’s all he need have done to get away with his loot? No, I think he came clutching a knife, fully prepared to kill.’
‘Yes, you may be right.’
‘I wish we knew what was on Mr Burman’s mind. What did he start to say, and then why did he change his mind? Why did he clam up like that? I think there’s an important clue hidden in what he was saying.’
Before I could say anything, the phone rang. I picked it up and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Is Mr Mitter there?’ asked a voice. Inspector Ghosh.
‘No, he’s had to go out for a while.’
‘Please tell him when he gets back that the culprit has been caught. A thief called Gopchand, recently released from prison. He hasn’t confessed, but we know for sure that he wasn’t home last night. Please tell your cousin. I’ll call him again once we get this man’s confession. Your cousin can relax.’
I replaced the receiver, feeling a little let down. This was too easy. This was not what I wanted.
Feluda returned in an hour and a half. I told him at once about the inspector’s call. He appeared quite unperturbed. ‘I learnt a few things,’ he said, hardly paying any attention to what I had just told him. ‘Surya Kumar’s shows aren’t doing all that well. The same goes for Nikhil Burman’s business and his auction house. And Ranen Tarafdar never went to the Government College of Art. Whether he went to Paris or not, I don’t know.’
‘So what do we do now?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.
‘I’ve nearly finished my investigation. All that remains to be done is revealing the truth. Let me call Inspector Ghosh.’
When he got through, the first thing Feluda said to the inspector was, ‘I can’t accept the solution you’re offering me, Mr Ghosh.’ After a pause, I heard him say, ‘I think the killer is one of the residents of that house. Let’s do one thing. I know who the real culprit is. I’d like to announce it to everyone in Someshwar Burman’s house. Why don’t you come there, too? Hear me out, then say what you have to say. Please do this for me. And come prepared to arrest the murderer. Thank you.’
He put the phone down. ‘The inspector agreed. Gopchand—ha! How could he even think—? Honestly, when the police do something like this, I begin to lose my faith in them.’
Feluda picked up the phone again and rang Someshwar Burman, to tell him that we would be calling on him in the evening, and that we would like everyone in the house to be present.
We reached Mr Burman’s house at five o’clock, to find that Inspector Ghosh had already arrived with two constables.
When everyone was seated, Feluda began speaking.
‘The first question that arose in this case was whether the burglar had come from outside or not. Someone had stolen into Mr Burman’s bedroom a few days before the final tragedy. I happened to visit this house the next day. I went round the house and inspected the grounds. It seemed to me that breaking into the house was really quite difficult. One might climb up a pillar on the veranda to gain access to the first floor, but climbing down that way, particularly if one was carrying anything, would be extremely tricky. So my suspicions fell on those who lived in the house, and I had no doubts about the object the thief had his eye on.
‘After what happened yesterday, I met everyone and asked a lot of questions. From what Someshwar Babu told me, I could gather that he had seen the thief, but had done nothing to stop him from stealing. Perhaps the sight of the thief had left him totally stunned. But he could not have known that the theft would be followed by murder. There could be only one motive behind the theft—whoever took the statue was suddenly in need of a great deal of money.
‘Now, let’s look at the people who live in this house. Ranen Tarafdar had a commission, and was working on it. His financial position, at least temporarily, was sound. There was no reason for him to steal. Animesh Babu had been here for years, well looked after by his friend. He, too, could be ruled out.
‘Let’s now consider Nikhil Burman. He runs an auction house, but I have learnt that his business is not doing very well. If he could lay his hands on that statue of Krishna and sell it, he could easily get enough money to settle his debts. It is my belief that the first attempt at removing th
e statue had been made by Nikhil Burman. But he failed.’
‘You are making an allegation without any evidence!’ Nikhil Babu cried.
‘I haven’t finished,’ said Feluda. ‘You did not succeed, even if you tried. So why are you getting all worked up? I am not claiming that my reasoning is totally faultless. All I am doing at the moment is guessing. You are free to raise objections, but please remember that what happened the first time is not important. We must concentrate on the real theft and murder.
‘A new person arrived in this house between the first failed attempt at theft, and the second successful one. It was the magician, Surya Kumar. I know for a fact that his shows are not drawing as much attention as he’d like. Many seats were lying empty even on the day we had been to it. Could Surya Kumar be the thief? He was clearly in need of money.’
Surya Kumar broke in: ‘You are forgetting, Mr Mitter, that I knew absolutely nothing about Mr Burman’s safe, or the statue of Krishna in it!’
‘Surya Kumar, allow me to ask you a question,’ Feluda went on, ‘Someshwar Burman appeared to like you a lot, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, certainly. He would hardly have invited me to stay here, if he did not like me.’
‘Do you have any idea why he seemed to have grown so fond of you?’
‘No.’
‘What if I said you reminded him of his first son? In fact, I think he believed that you were his elder son. Am I wrong, Mr Burman?’
‘But . . . but . . . how could my own son do this to me?’ Someshwar Burman cried in dismay.
Feluda continued to speak relentlessly. ‘Surya Kumar’s voice is quite thin, which affects his overall personality. Nikhil Burman’s voice is also similarly thin. One might change one’s appearance by wearing a wig and a beard, but it’s more difficult to alter one’s voice. Your voice gave you away.’
‘You’re right, Mr Mitter. I recognized Akhil from his voice,’ Someshwar Babu admitted.
‘Right. Does that mean Surya Kumar knew about the statue?’
‘I might have known about it,’ said Surya Kumar, alias Akhil Burman, ‘but the statue was not there in the safe. I stole nothing.’
At these words, a babble broke out in the room. Everyone began talking at once. I felt totally taken aback myself. If the statue was not there in the safe when Surya Kumar opened it, where had it gone?
‘The statue was missing all right,’ Feluda declared. ‘You could not steal it. So you are not a thief, Mr Akhil Burman. But you are a murderer.’
‘I don’t understand. Where’s my Krishna gone?’ Someshwar Burman demanded.
‘Here it is.’
Feluda took the statue out of his pocket and placed it on a table. ‘A thief broke into your house, not twice but thrice. I decided to take precautions as soon as I heard that Surya Kumar was going to stay in this house. When I noticed the similarity between his voice and Nikhil Burman’s, I could tell that Surya Kumar was none other than his brother, Akhil. But he made no attempt to tell the truth about himself. That could only mean that he had some evil designs. Then I discovered that his income was far from satisfactory. He was steeped in debt, and his shows were running at a loss. So I felt that the statue of Krishna should not be allowed to remain in the safe. I had to bribe your chowkidar pretty heavily to get into your house. Then I climbed a pillar to get to the first floor, before I could find Someshwar Babu’s bedroom. Getting the key from under his pillow might have been difficult, but I have practised card tricks, too. So I know something about removing objects quietly, without disturbing anything else. Mr Burman did not wake up. So I could do my job and leave in the same manner. Sadly, I could not prevent the murder.’
Inspector Ghosh, by this time, had reached Surya Kumar and was standing by his side. ‘In this particular case, Akhil Burman, your magic or your hypnotism is not going to work,’ Feluda told him.
Someshwar Burman rose and gripped Feluda’s hand. ‘If my Krishna is safe today, it is only because of you. I don’t know how to thank you, Mr Mitter!’
Lalmohan Babu had the last word, when we returned home. ‘Felu Babu,’ he said, ‘until today, I used to admire you. Now, I have to say my admiration is mixed with fear. Who knew you were such an ace burglar?’
The Case of The Apsara Theatre
One
We had been watching Sherlock Holmes on television. Feluda seemed greatly impressed. ‘Don’t Holmes and Watson both seem as though they have stepped straight out of the pages of a book? If Holmes hadn’t shown us the way, taught us about method and observation, what would modern detectives have done? We owe so much to his creator, Conan Doyle.’
Jatayu was in full agreement. ‘What amazes me is the number of stories the man wrote. How could he have thought up so many different plots? I have had to pull at my hair so frequently to get together even a rough outline for a story that I have actually gone bald!’
Lalmohan Babu, I thought, was being unusually modest. He had written forty-one novels so far. Even if his plots did not show a great deal of originality or variety, it was no mean achievement to be one of the most popular writers in Bengal. Yet one had to admit that his stories had improved considerably since he had come to know Feluda.
It was raining outside and we had just finished having tea and daalmut. ‘Dear Tapesh,’ said Lalmohan Babu, ‘do you think Srinath could be asked to make us another cup of tea?’
I rose and went inside to tell Srinath. When I returned, there was the sound of a car stopping outside our house, followed by the ring of the doorbell. I opened the door to find a man of medium height, clean shaven, possibly in his mid-forties standing there.
‘Is this where Pradosh Mitter lives?’ he asked me.
‘Do come in,’ Feluda invited, ‘and you can put that by the door,’ he added, indicating the umbrella our visitor was carrying.
The man did as he was told, then sat down on a sofa.
‘I am Pradosh Mitter, and this is my friend, Lalmohan Ganguli,’ Feluda said.
‘Namaskar. Thank goodness I found you at home. I did try to ring you, you know, but couldn’t get through.’
‘I see. What can I do for you?’
‘I’m coming to that. First let me introduce myself. My name is Mahitosh Roy. I don’t expect you to recognize my name, but I am an actor—in the theatre, not films—and a few people know about me.’
‘You are in Apsara Theatre, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I am currently acting in a play called Prafulla.’
‘Yes, I had heard that.’
‘I have come to you, Mr Mitter, because I think I may be in danger.’
‘Oh? Why do you say that?’
‘I have been receiving threats. I have no idea who might be sending these, but they are all in writing. I brought them with me.’
Mahitosh Roy took out four pieces of paper from his pocket and placed them on a table. One of them said ‘WATCH OUT!’ The second one said ‘YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED’. The third and the fourth said ‘PAY FOR YOUR SINS’ and ‘THIS IS THE END. SAY YOUR LAST
PRAYERS’. The messages had all been written in capital letters. It was impossible to tell if the same hand had written each one.
‘Did these arrive by post?’ asked Feluda.
‘Yes, in the last seven days.’
‘Can’t you even take a guess as to who might have sent them?’
‘No, I honestly can’t imagine who’d bother to do such a thing.’
‘Can’t you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you?’
‘Look, I work in the theatre. There are always petty jealousies among actors. I’ve been with Apsara for two years. Before that I was with Rupmanch. When I joined Apsara, I was asked to replace another actor. He didn’t like it, naturally, and is probably still angry.’
‘What is this man called?’
‘Jaganmoy Bhattacharya. He had started to drink very heavily. That’s why he had to go. I couldn’t tell you where he is now.’
‘Can you think
of anyone else?’
‘I have a younger brother, who I don’t get on with. He fell into bad company and was led astray . . . Our father got fed up with him after a while, and eventually left whatever assets he had, solely to me. My brother was naturally upset by this. He lives separately, we hardly see each other. But I can’t think of anyone else who might hold anything against me.’
‘All right. But do you know what the problem is? In a situation like this, I can’t really do anything except ask you to be careful about where you go and who you see. Where do you live?’
‘Ballygunj. My address is Five Panditia Place.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘Yes. I have a cook and a bearer. I am not married.’
‘I see. I’m sorry, Mr Roy, but I really can’t do anything at this stage. All these notes were posted in different places, so I can’t even start an enquiry in any particular place. Usually, people who send threatening notes do not actually carry them out. All they want to do is cause fear and anxiety, and that is what this person—or persons—is doing to you. I think it would be better for you to go to the police.’
‘The police?’ Mr Roy sounded a little dismayed.
‘Why, do you have anything against them?’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Well then, I suggest you go straight to your local station and lodge a complaint. Tell them exactly what you have told me.’
Mr Roy rose. Feluda went to the front door to see him out. Then he returned to his seat and said, ‘There was a white mark on one of his fingers. He used to wear a ring until recently. I wonder what happened to it?’
‘You mean he might have sold it?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.
‘Yes, that’s highly likely. His shoes were in pretty poor shape too. He has only a small role in Prafulla. The lead is played by the star of Apsara Theatre, Nepal Lahiri.’
‘But who could be harassing him like this?’
‘Impossible to tell. It could be one of the two people he mentioned, who knows? I didn’t really think I could take this case. Anonymous threats—written or spoken—seldom come to anything. Why, I have received any number of threats ever since I started working. If I were to take them seriously, I’d never be able to step out of the house!’
