The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II Page 19

  ‘Can you catch the thief who took my bird?’ said the boy, sounding as though he was throwing him a challenge. Before Feluda could reply, a gentleman of about the same age as Feluda walked over to us quickly, carrying a longish object wrapped in brown paper. He looked both pleased and slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Tell Feluda your own name,’ he said to the boy.

  ‘Aniruddha Haldar,’ the boy declared solemnly.

  ‘One of your many young admirers,’ the gentleman laughed. ‘His mother has read out to him all the stories about your adventures.’

  ‘What’s this about a bird?’

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing. He said he wanted to keep a bird, so I bought him a chandana. Someone took it out of its cage the day it arrived.’

  ‘There’s just one feather left,’ Aniruddha told us.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. It was there in the cage when I went to bed, but was gone in the morning. Great mystery?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what it looks like, doesn’t it? Can’t Aniruddha Haldar shed any light on the mystery?’

  ‘Why, I am not a detective! I’m only in the second standard in school.’

  The child’s father intervened. ‘Come along now, Anu, we have to go to New Market. What you might do is ask Feluda to come to our house.’

  Anu looked very pleased at this, and shyly repeated his father’s invitation. ‘My name is Amitabh Haldar,’ the gentleman said, offering his card. Feluda took it and looked at it briefly. ‘I see you live in Barasat,’ he remarked.

  ‘Yes. You may have heard of my father, Parvaticharan Haldar.’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve even read some of his articles. He’s got a large collection of antiques, hasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. He used to be a barrister, but now he’s retired. His chief passion in life is collecting ancient artefacts. He’s travelled very widely, all over the world, to add to his collection. I think you’ll enjoy seeing some of it—he’s got an ancient gramophone, a chessboard from Mughal times, Warren Hastings’s snuff box, Napoleon’s letter . . . you know, things like that. Our house itself is quite interesting, it’s a hundred and fifty years old. If you’re free one day, I mean on a Sunday or something . . . ? You just need to give me a ring—no, I’ll ring you myself. Your number will be in the directory, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but here you are,’ Feluda handed him one of his own cards. It was then decided that we would visit Mr Haldar later in the month. Going to Barasat wouldn’t be a problem, since Lalmohan Babu’s car was always at our disposal. He wasn’t with us today, but I knew he’d love to go with us. Of late, he had been in a particularly good mood, since a giant Jatayu omnibus had come out only recently, containing ten of his best novels. It was apparently ‘selling like hot kachauris’, even at twenty-five rupees.

  We returned home. I noticed much later that Feluda was looking a little depressed. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, ‘It’s that young admirer of mine. I can’t forget what he told me.’

  ‘You mean about that chandana?’

  ‘Have you ever heard of a bird being stolen out of its cage?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I have. But does it really strike you as a big mystery?’

  ‘Well, it’s not the kind of thing that happens every day. A chandana is not a bird of paradise. No one would wish to steal it for its beauty. Why, then, did it disappear?

  ‘Of course, it could be that someone had forgotten to shut the door properly, and it was really no more than negligence . . .’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘There’s no way to find out, is there?’

  ‘Of course there is. All we have to do is go there and ask a few questions. As far as I can make out, no one took the matter seriously. But obviously that little boy is upset, or he wouldn’t have told me straightaway. I wish I could go.’

  ‘Where is the problem with that? Mr Haldar invited us, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but that may well have been simply out of politeness, just because he happened to run into us. He may have already forgotten all about it. After all, we didn’t fix a date or anything. It wouldn’t matter, and normally I wouldn’t care, but . . . it was something a small child asked me to do, so I feel I shouldn’t ignore it.’

  Mr Haldar rang in less than a week, on a Saturday morning. I transferred the call to Feluda’s extension, and heard the whole conversation from the main phone in the living room.

  ‘Mr Mitter?’ said Mr Haldar.

  ‘Yes, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, but my son is driving me crazy. When are you coming to our house?’

  ‘Did the bird come back?’

  ‘No. I don’t think there’s any chance of getting it back.’

  ‘What if your son assumes I’ve come just to retrieve his chandana? When he realizes I cannot help him, isn’t he going to be very disappointed?’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry about that. He’ll be thrilled if you spend some time with him. Actually, I’d like you to meet my father. I am free today. Are you doing anything special?’

  ‘No. Will it be all right if we reach your house by ten o’clock?’

  ‘Certainly. See you later then. Goodbye.’

  We were expecting Lalmohan Babu to join us shortly. He turned up at our house, every Saturday and Sunday, at nine o’clock. Naturally, the traffic being what it is, he couldn’t always arrive on the dot, but seldom did he keep us waiting for more than ten minutes. Today, he walked in at five past nine.

  ‘This is really nice,’ he said, seating himself in an easy chair. ‘I do enjoy the winter, when I’m under no pressure to go on writing. Only a couple of months ago, just before Durga Puja, I thought I’d go mad meeting my publisher’s deadlines! Now I don’t even feel like looking at a pen and paper.’

  He certainly was in a good mood, for he had brought a large packet of hot, crisp kachauris. ‘Are hot kachauris still selling well?’ Feluda asked with a smile.

  ‘Oh, more than ever. If you saw the queue outside Mohan’s sweetshop in Bagbazar, you might mistake it for a cinema showing a superhit Hindi film. Now if you just taste one of these, you’ll realize how appropriate the comparison is.’

  We took the kachauris and a flask of water with us. Lalmohan Babu had not heard of Pravaticharan Haldar, but was most impressed to hear that in his collection he had a letter written by Napoleon. ‘When I was in school, Napoleon used to be my hero,’ he informed us. ‘Great man, Bonaparte.’ He repeated this last remark three times, pronouncing ‘Bonaparte’ as ‘Bonaparty’. I caught Feluda trying to hide a smile, but he said nothing.

  The traffic got better only after we reached VIP Road. By the time we got to Barasat, it was nearly half past ten. The home of the Haldars was on the main road, but because it was surrounded by large trees, it wasn’t easy to see it. One had to pass through the main gate and go up a cobbled drive before the main house became visible. There was no doubt that it had been built during British times, but it had obviously been very well maintained. At least, the walls on the front portion looked clean and freshly painted. There was a pond on one side, around which stood tall supari trees.

  Amitabh Haldar was waiting for us in the living room. Feluda introduced Lalmohan Babu. ‘I’m afraid I have read none of your novels, but my wife has devoured each one of them,’ he said to Jatayu. Then he took us upstairs, where his father liked to keep his collection. The stairs, I noticed, were made of marble.

  ‘Before you meet my father, please say hello to my son,’ Mr Haldar requested. ‘Baba has a visitor right now. He prefers having visitors in the morning.’

  ‘I’m surprised people come and disturb him even here!’

  ‘Most of his callers are other collectors. They come frequently to exchange notes, with offers to buy or sell. Recently, Baba had advertised for a secretary. Today he’s interviewing candidates.’

  ‘Doesn’t he have a secretary at the moment?’

  ‘He does, but he is leaving next week. Apparently, he’s got a much better offer in Delhi. It’
s a pity, for he was quite good in his work. Baba appears to be rather unlucky in the matter of secretaries. He’s had four in the last ten years. One of them died of meningitis, the second one suddenly decided to renounce the world and join Sai Baba’s ashram. The man who’s talking to Baba right now was, in fact, his third secretary. He had been sacked seven years ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was a good worker, but extremely superstitious. Baba use to get furious with him at times. Once, he went to Egypt and acquired an Egyptian statue made of jade. On his return to Calcutta, Baba happened to fall ill . . . Sadhan Babu told him in all seriousness that the statue was of a goddess, and her curse had fallen on Baba. This annoyed my father so much that he sacked him the same day.’

  ‘Well, if the same Sadhan Babu has returned with the hope that he might get his old job back, I must say he is very optimistic; and your father must have a very forgiving nature, if he decides to take him back.’

  ‘The thing is, you see, Baba felt quite bad after Sadhan Babu left. He didn’t have any money, nor did Baba write him a recommendation.’

  There was a veranda on the first floor where the stairs ended, across which was a sitting room and Parvaticharan’s study. Behind these were bedrooms belonging to various members of the household. Feluda’s little client was standing in front of his room. We were about to go and join him, when the sound of footsteps made us look toward the sitting room. We saw a man wearing a blue jacket and carrying a briefcase come out of there and march down the stairs.

  ‘That was Baba’s ex-secretary. He didn’t seem very happy, did he?’ remarked Mr Haldar.

  ‘This is the cage my bird was in,’ Aniruddha said as soon as we reached him.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I came to look at,’ Feluda replied.

  An empty cage was hanging from a hook over the railing on the veranda. It looked brand new. Maybe it had been bought together with the bird. Feluda went to inspect it. Its door was still open.

  ‘Are any of your servants allergic to birds?’

  Mr Haldar laughed at Feluda’s question. ‘No, not that I know of. All our servants are old, we’ve had them for twenty years or more. Besides, we used to have a couple of grey parrots once. Baba himself had bought them. They remained with us for many years. Then they died.’

  ‘Have you seen this?’ Feluda frowned, holding the cage and turning it around.

  ‘Seen what?’ Mr Haldar took the cage from Feluda. Lalmohan Babu and I walked over to get a closer look. Feluda pointed at a red stain on the door of the cage.

  ‘I see what you mean. Could it be—?’

  ‘Yes. It’s blood.’

  ‘The Chandana Murder Case?’ Lalmohan Babu exclaimed. ‘Well, it’s impossible to say whether the blood is that of a bird or a man without doing a chemical analysis. But it’s obvious the bird did not fly out simply because the door was open. Someone deliberately took it out, and there was a struggle. Where did you buy it?’

  ‘New Market,’ said Aniruddha immediately.

  ‘Yes, we got it from Tinkori Babu’s shop. It’s a very well known pet shop. Many of my friends have bought birds from him.’

  ‘Come and look at my toys. I’ve got a new machine-gun,’ Aniruddha tugged at Feluda’s sleeve.

  ‘Later, Anu,’ his father stopped him. ‘I promise you I’ll bring these people back to your room before they go. Then you can show them all your toys, and they can meet your mother, and have a cup of tea. Right now, I think I ought to take them to meet your Dadu.’

  We turned and made our way to Parvaticharan’s study.

  But we were not destined to meet him. Lalmohan Babu told me afterwards about the effect of receiving an enormous shock. ‘Sometimes, it is impossible to overcome it, even if you try all your life!’ he said. After what happened in Mr Haldar’s house a few seconds later, I found myself in full agreement.

  We had to pass through the sitting room to get to the study. The whole room was packed with curios. But we ignored these for the moment, and went towards the communicating door that let to the study. Amitabh Haldar lifted the curtain, and said, ‘Please come in’. However, before any of us could take another step, he shouted, ‘Baba!’ in a choked voice and would probably have fallen, if Feluda hadn’t rushed forward to grab his arms. A second later, Lalmohan Babu and I entered the room.

  Parvaticharan was sitting in a revolving chair behind a massive mahogany table. His head was tilted back, his lifeless eyes stared straight at the ceiling, his arms hung loosely by his sides.

  Feluda ran across to take his pulse. Then he said to me, ‘Go quickly and see if you can find that man called Sadhan. Ask the chowkidar. Go out and search the main road if need be.’

  Lalmohan Babu and I began sprinting towards the staircase. In my heart I knew the chances of finding the man were virtually nil. He had left the house at least ten minutes ago.

  On our way down, we nearly collided with another gentleman. We learnt later that he was Parvaticharan’s present secretary, Hrishikesh Datta. There was no time then to ask for or offer explanations.

  We found no one outside the house, or on the main road. What was most surprising was that the chowkidar assured us no one had stepped out of the gate in the last ten minutes. He knew there would be visitors this morning, he said, and was therefore being extra vigilant. He couldn’t possibly have made a mistake.

  ‘Let’s search the whole compound. There’s a garden behind the house, I think. Perhaps that’s where he’s hiding?’ Lalmohan Babu said. This sounded like a good idea, so we combed the whole place. We looked behind bushes, we searched the rose garden, went behind the supari trees near the pond, checked the compound wall to see if there was any evidence of someone having scaled it—but still we found nothing. The wall was nearly eight feet high. Scaling it in a hurry would have been pretty difficult, anyway.

  In the end, we had to give up and admit defeat.

  Sadhan Babu had gone—vanished into thin air.

  Two

  Parvaticharan had been struck on the head with a heavy instrument. The Haldars’ family physician said his death must have been instantaneous. He wasn’t in very good health, apparently. His blood pressure often fluctuated and his heart wasn’t in good condition either.

  The police arrived soon afterwards. The inspector in charge of the case turned out to be Inspector Hajra, who knew Feluda. Unlike some other police officers, he did not look down upon private investigators. He seemed to like and respect Feluda a great deal. ‘We’ll make all the usual enquiries, and let you know if we find anything useful,’ he offered.

  ‘Thank you. Have you formed any idea regarding the weapon?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing in the room that might have been used, is there? The murderer must have taken it with him.’

  ‘Paperweight.’

  ‘What? You think it was a paperweight?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  We followed Feluda and Inspector Hajra into the study. Feluda pointed at a portion on Parvaticharan’s desk. There was a thin layer of dust on the green felt that covered its surface. In one corner, there was a circular mark, free of dust. It wasn’t immediately noticeable, unless one looked carefully.

  ‘I checked with Amitabh Haldar,’ Feluda said. ‘He said there used to be a large and heavy Victorian glass paperweight in that corner. Well, it’s missing now.’

  ‘Well done, Mr Mitter.’

  ‘But what about the chief suspect? Did he really vanish into thin air?’ Feluda asked as he came out of the study.

  ‘We have his name and a good description. It shouldn’t take us long to find him. Besides, he had applied for a job here, hadn’t he? So we can easily get his address. No, my own suspicion is that the chowkidar isn’t telling us the truth. Maybe he had left his seat for a few moments, and that’s when the culprit slipped out. But then, who is the real culprit, anyway? Didn’t the victim see a visitor before Sadhan Babu turned up? This other person is just as likely to have killed him.’

  ‘Ho
w can you say that? If the old Mr Haldar was already dead when Sadhan Babu walked into the room, surely he’d have raised an alarm?’

  ‘You have seen the room, haven’t you? Doesn’t it look like a curio shop? Assuming that Sadhan Babu is dishonest and a crook, what do you think he’d do if he walked in there and found the owner dead? Wouldn’t he simply help himself to whatever he could and disappear with it?’

  Feluda turned to Parvaticharan’s present secretary, Hrishikesh Datta. We had been introduced by this time. He said he had gone out to the post office just before ten o’clock to send a couple of cables abroad. On his return, he had found us rushing down the stairs. ‘If something valuable was missing from that room, would you be able to tell us what it was?’ Feluda asked him.

  ‘Yes, probably. I have a good idea of what is displayed outside. Mr Haldar had once given me a list of things he kept locked away in a glass case. Maybe he took some of those things out to show Pestonji. Pestonji came at nine-thirty.’

  ‘Did they know each other?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Pestonji is also a collector. They had known each other for more than ten years. He used to come occasionally to look at a certain letter Mr Haldar had here.’

  ‘Napoleon’s letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was Mr Haldar thinking of selling it?’

  ‘Certainly not. Pestonji was very keen to buy it, but Mr Haldar used to get a kick out of refusing his offer. But then, it wasn’t just Pestonji he refused. Once an American offered twenty thousand dollars. All Mr Haldar did was shake his head. After much persuasion, the American eventually lost his temper and began using foul language, but even so Mr Haldar remained totally unmoved. In fact, I think he quite enjoyed having the power to disappoint a prospective buyer. Today, Pestonji seemed to have got rather cross with him. I heard him raise his voice.’

  ‘Where was this famous letter kept?’

  ‘In an Alkathene envelope.’

  ‘Then it’s probably still safe. I saw an Alkathene envelope on his desk, and there was a folded piece of paper in it.’

  ‘Good. That certainly is a relief.’