Foreign Bodies

by Martin Edwards

  But even such high praise couldn’t convince Mohan. His face reflected the despondency of an angler who fishes through the day in the hope of hooking a big one and then manages to land only a lowly bluegill. He said, ‘All right then, let Ajit come along. But if he isn’t able to—’

  ‘Most certainly, in that case you can count on me.’ Byomkesh called me aside and said, Take good notice of everything—and don’t forget to inquire about incoming mail.’

  I had seen Byomkesh solve many a complex mystery and even aided him in some cases. Observing him over the years, I had even picked up some of his modes of investigation. So, I thought to myself, could it be so difficult to solve this simple problem? As a matter of fact, Mohan’s mistrust of my capabilities had hurt my pride, and I felt a little headstrong urge to solve this mystery all by myself. My mind made up, I followed Mohan away from the lake with resolute steps.

  A bus-ride brought us to our destination. It was already dark. The streetlamps had been lit. Mohan walked ahead, showing the way. We walked down a lane off Circular Road; after a few minutes he pointed to a big house with an iron fence around the compound and said, ‘This is the place.’

  It was an old house, built in the baroque style. In front of the iron gate a watchman sat on a stool. He saluted Mohan and let him through. Then he noticed me and, after casting a suspicious glance my way, said, ‘Sir, you are not—’

  Mohan smiled and said, ‘It’s all right watchman, he is with me.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ The watchman stepped aside. We entered the courtyard of the house. As we crossed it and stepped onto the veranda, a young man of about twenty stepped out, ‘Is that you, doctor? Do come in.’ Then he raised questioning eyes at me, ‘This is…?’

  Mohan took him aside, said something to him and the young man replied, ‘Certainly, of course, do let him come and see.’

  Mohan then introduced us. The young man’s name was Arun; he was Nandadulalbabu’s eldest son. We followed him into the house. After passing two doors, Arun knocked on the third. At once a querulous, hoarse voice answered from within, ‘Who’s there? What is it? Don’t bother me now, I am writing.’

  Arun said, ‘Father, the doctor has come. Abhay, please open the door.’

  The door was opened by a youth—probably Arun’s younger brother—who looked to be about eighteen. All of us filed into the room. Arun asked Abhay quietly, ‘Has he had it again?’ Abhay wanly nodded his head.

  Upon entering the room my eyes fell first on the bed, which was placed in the centre of the room. Upon it, clutching a pen, slouched the gaunt Nandadulalbabu, leaning against a pillow and glaring at us with eyes burning with hostility. There was a fluorescent light overhead and another table-lamp was placed upon a bedside table; so I could observe the man very clearly. His age was probably on the right side of fifty but all the hair on his head had become grey and his skin had taken on a pallid hue. His structure was bony, with not an ounce of extra flesh on his angular face. The cheekbones seemed to be piercing through his skin, and his sharp, slightly crooked nose was jutting out over his lips. The eyes were glittering from an unusual excitement. But within them there lurked the obvious signs that the ebb of the excitement would turn them back into expressionless fish-eyes. His lower lip hung limply. All in all, the entire face had a famished, discontented expression stamped upon every single pore.

  As I stared at this ghostly physiognomy for some time, I noticed that his left hand gave a jerk from time to time, as if it had a life that was independent of the rest of the body and had decided to tango all on its own. Those who have seen a dead frog’s limbs jump up when they come in contact with electric current may perhaps be able to visualize this nervous twitch.

  Nandadulalbabu was staring at me too with vicious eyes, and soon, in that sharp, cackling voice, he ranted, ‘Doctor! Who is this with you? What does the man want? Tell him to buzz off—at once—now…’

  Mohan glanced at me and nodded to indicate that I shouldn’t take my host’s profanities to heart. He then moved the pile of papers that lay scattered on the bed to make some space, sat down and took his patient’s pulse in his hand. Nandadulalbabu sat with a perverted grin stuck on his face and alternated his gaze between me and the doctor. His left hand continued to jerk erratically.

  Finally Mohan let go of his wrist and said, ‘So you have taken it again?’

  ‘You bet I have—what bloody business is it of yours?’

  Mohan bit his lip and then continued, ‘You are only doing yourself harm with this. But you wouldn’t understand that. You have let the venom addle your brain.’

  Nandadulalbabu made a diabolical face and mocked, ‘Is that so? I have addled my brain, eh? But you still have a lot of grey matter in there, don’t you? So why can’t you catch me out? You have placed your guards all around me—so how is it that you can’t get to me?’ He laughed in a vicious and obscene fashion.

  Exasperated, Mohan stood up and said, ‘It is impossible to have a conversation with you. I suppose I should just leave you to yourself.’

  Nandadulalbabu continued cackling in that irritating manner and said, ‘Shame on you, doctor, you call yourself a man? Catch me if you can, or suck on one of these and let me have my fun.’ And he waved both his thumbs right under our noses.

  Such gross and crude behaviour in front of his sons began to seem unbearable to me. Mohan had probably reached the end of his tether too because he said, ‘All right Ajit, look around and take whatever notes you need to take. This is becoming impossible to tolerate.’

  All of a sudden the victory-dance of the thumbs came to a stop. Nandadulalbabu raised his reptilian eyes towards me and demanded sourly, ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?’ When he got no answer from me, he continued, ‘A smart alec, are you? Well, you better listen—your tricks won’t work on me, you get it? Better get out of here as fast as you can or else I’ll call the police. Bunch of rogues, scoundrels and thieves, every single one of them!’ He included Mohan in his sweeping glance as well. Although he couldn’t quite figure out Mohan’s reasons for bringing me there, he was obviously deeply suspicious of my presence.

  Quite embarrassed, Arun whispered into my ear, ‘Please ignore all that he says. Once he consumes the drug, he is completely out of his mind.’

  How terrible is the venom that aggravates and brings to the foreground all that is mean and ugly in a person’s nature, I thought. And how would anyone check the moral degeneration of a person who consumes this venom willingly and of his own accord?

  Byomkesh had instructed me to take note of everything carefully. So I tried to quickly make a mental inventory going round the room. The room was quite large and sparsely furnished. There was just the bed, a few chairs, an almirah and a bedside table. There was a lamp and some blank sheets of paper and a few other writing accessories on the table. The written sheets were scattered all over the place. I picked up a sheaf. But after reading a few lines I shuddered and had to put them down. Mohan was right. The writing would have made Emile Zola blush. To make matters worse, Mr Litterateur had actually underscored the ‘juicier’ sections of the material in red ink to draw attention to them. In truth, I could not recall ever having come into contact with a dirtier or a more repugnant mind.

  Revolted, I looked up at the man and found that he had gone back to his penmanship. The Parker pen was rapidly filling up the sheet of paper with scrawls. In a little penstand which stood on the bedside table, another crimson Parker fountain pen rested, probably awaiting a lull in the writing when the underscoring would begin.

  This is exactly what happened. As soon as he reached the end of the page, Nandadulalbabu laid down the black pen and picked up the red one, only to find that it had run out of ink. He filled it from a bottle of red ink that stood on the table, and went back to underscoring his sparkling gems with a solemn expression.

  I turned away and began to inspect the oth
er sections of his room. The almirah contained nothing except for a few half-empty bottles of medicine. Mohan said they had been prescribed by him. The room had two windows and two doors. We had entered through one of these doors and I was told that behind the other lay the bathroom. I inspected that too; there was just the usual bath-linen, soap, oil, toothpaste etc. My queries about the windows revealed that they did not open out into the courtyard; in fact, they remained shut most of the time.

  I tried to visualize how Byomkesh would have gone about it had he been there, but I drew a blank. I was just wondering whether to knock on the walls or not—might there be a secret vault or something?—when I suddenly noticed a silver essence-holder in one corner of a shelf in the wall. I examined it eagerly; it held some cotton wool and attar in some of the tiny compartments. I asked Arun in a whisper, ‘Is he in the habit of using essence?’

  Hesitantly he shook his head and said, ‘I don’t think so; if he had, we would have smelt it on him.’

  ‘How long has this been here?’

  ‘Oh, for as long as I can remember. It was Father who had it brought.’

  I turned around and noticed that Nandadulalbabu had stopped writing and was gazing in my direction. Excited, I dipped some cotton wool in the attar and dropped it in my pocket.

  Then I took one last look around the room before walking out. Nandadulalbabu’s eyes followed me; he had that mocking, grotesque smile pinned on his face.

  We came out on the veranda and sat down. I said, ‘I would like to ask you all a few questions. Please give me honest answers without hiding anything.’

  Arun said, ‘Certainly, please go ahead.’

  I asked, ‘Do you keep a constant vigil on him? Who are the ones on guard?’

  ‘Abhay, Mother, and I take turns in staying with him. We don’t let any of the servants or outsiders go near him.’

  ‘Have you ever seen him consume the stuff?’

  ‘No, we haven’t seen him actually putting it in his mouth; but we have found out every time he has ingested it.’

  ‘Has anybody seen what it actually looks like?’

  ‘When he used to take it openly, I did see it—it is a transparent liquid which used to be kept in a bottle for homeopathic medicine. He used to dilute a few drops of it in a glass of fruit juice.’

  ‘Are you certain that no bottles of that kind are still there in the room?’

  ‘Absolutely certain. We have turned the place upside down.’

  ‘Then it obviously comes in from somewhere. Who brings it?’

  Arun shook his head, ‘We don’t know.’

  ‘Is there anybody else other than the three of you who enters that room? Please think carefully.’

  ‘No, there’s nobody else. Just the doctor.’

  My inquisition ended. What else could I ask? As I sat there trying to come up with something else, Byomkesh’s advice came to my mind and I started afresh, ‘Does he receive any letters?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any parcels or anything else like it?’

  Now Arun said, ‘Yes, once a week he receives a registered letter.’

  I leaned forward eagerly, ‘Where does it come from? Who sends it?’

  Arun hung his head in embarrassment and spoke softly, ‘It comes from within Calcutta. A woman called Rebecca Light sends it.’

  I said, ‘Oh, I see. Has any one of you seen what it contains?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arun said, looking towards Mohan.

  I asked impatiently, ‘Well, what does it contain?’

  ‘Blank paper.’

  ‘Blank paper?’

  ‘Yes—just a few blank sheets of paper are stuffed into the envelope—there’s nothing else.’

  Dumbly, I repeated, ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No.’

  I was speechless for a few moments and then asked again, ‘Are you absolutely sure that the envelopes contain nothing else?’

  Arun gave a slight smile and said, ‘Yes. Although Father signs and takes the letters from the postman, I open them myself. There is never anything but white sheets inside.’

  ‘Do you open the letter each and every time? Where do you do this?’

  ‘In Father’s room. That is where the postman brings the letter.’

  ‘But this is extremely strange. What is the meaning of sending empty sheets of paper by registered post?’

  Arun shook his head and said, ‘I don’t know.’

  I sat there a little longer like a dimwit and finally, with a great big sigh, I rose to leave. The first mention of the registered letters had raised my hopes to think that perhaps I had hit upon the solution; but no, that particular door seemed locked and sealed. I understood that although the problem appeared to be quite simple, it was beyond my acumen. Appearances can be very deceptive. It was beyond my capabilities to take on the old geezer with his body riddled with poison and paralysis. What was required here was the razor-edged, crystal-clear intelligence of Byomkesh.

  As I was leaving with a crestfallen look, promising to report everything to Byomkesh, something else occurred to me. I asked, ‘Does Nandadulalbabu write letters to anyone?’

  Arun said, ‘No, but he sends a money order every month.’

  ‘To whom?’

  With shame writ all over his face, Arun murmured, ‘To the same Jewish woman.’

  Mohan explained, ‘Once she was Nandadulalbabu’s…’

  ‘I see. How much does he send her?’

  ‘Quite a hefty sum. I don’t know why, though.’

  The reply drifted to my lips, ‘Pension.’ But I held my tongue and quietly walked out. Mohan stayed back.

  It was almost eight o’clock when I reached home. Byomkesh was in the library. He answered my knock immediately and held the door open, saying, ‘How was it? Is the mystery solved?’

  ‘No.’ I walked into the room and sat down. Byomkesh had been examining a piece of paper through the thick lens of a magnifying glass. He gave me a piercing look and said, ‘Since when have you become this fashionable? Are you using attar nowadays?’

  ‘I’m not wearing it, merely carrying it.’ I reported everything to him in great detail. He listened attentively. In conclusion I said, ‘I couldn’t solve it, my friend, so now you have to have a go at it. But I have a feeling that an analysis of this attar may reveal something—’

  ‘Reveal what—the spider venom?’ Byomkesh took the piece of cotton wool from my hands and held it to his nose. ‘Ah, wonderful essence. Pure, unadulterated amburi attar. Yes, you were saying something,’ he continued as he rubbed some of the attar onto his wrist. ‘What may be revealed?’

  A little hesitantly I said, ‘Perhaps under the pretence of using attar Nandadulalbabu…’

  Byomkesh laughed out loud, ‘Is it possible to hide the use of something that, by its smell alone, can alert people for miles around? Have you got any indication to believe that Nandadulalbabu actually wears this attar?’

  ‘Well, no, I haven’t—but…’

  ‘No, my dear, you’re barking up the wrong tree; try looking elsewhere. Try to think about how the stuff is smuggled into the room and how Nandadulalbabu consumes it in everyone’s presence. Why do blank sheets of paper arrive by registered post? What is the reason for sending money to that woman? Have you figured that out?’

  Dejected, I said, ‘I have thought about all these things, but the solution is beyond me.’

  ‘Think again, harder—nothing will come from nothing, you know. Think deeply, think intensely, think relentlessly,’ and so saying, he picked up the lens again.

  I asked, ‘What about you?’

  ‘I am thinking too. But it is going to be impossible to think intensely. My forger…’ He leaned over the table.

  I left the room and stretched out in the armchair in the living room and started to think again. For God’s sake, th
is couldn’t be all that difficult to solve. I was sure I could do it.

  To begin with, what was the significance of sending blank sheets by registered post? Was there something written on the sheets with invisible ink? If that were so, how would Nandadulalbabu benefit from it? His quota of venom could not be reaching him that way.

  All right, let us assume that the venom somehow managed to get smuggled into the room from outside. But where did Nandadulalbabu hide it? Even a bottle of homeopathic medicine wasn’t easy to conceal. He was constantly under surveillance by vigilant eyes. There was even the occasional raid on his room. How then did he do it?

  All this intense thinking heated up my brain; five cheroots were burnt to ashes; but I still could not find an answer to even one of these questions. I had almost given up hope when suddenly a marvellous idea occurred to me. I sat up straight in the armchair. Could this be possible? And yet—why ever not? It did sound a bit odd, but what other solution could there be? Byomkesh always said that if there was a logical inference that could be made, even if it appeared improbable, one had to take it to be the only possible solution. In this case too, this had to be, absolutely, the only possible explanation.

  I was just going to go to Byomkesh when he himself came in. He took one look at my face and said, ‘What is it? Have you figured it out?’

  ‘I just may have.’

  ‘Good. Tell me about it.’

  When it came to spelling it out, I felt some pangs of hesitancy, but I brushed them aside and proceeded, ‘Look, I just remembered seeing some spiders on the walls of Nandadulalbabu’s room. I believe that he—’

  ‘Just grabs them off the wall and gobbles them down?’ Byomkesh burst out laughing. ‘Ajit, you are an utter—genius. You are matchless. Those house spiders on the wall—if someone ate those there would be some abrasive rashes on the body, but no addictive surges. Understand?’