The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II Read Online Free Page B

who the man was. But Lalmohan Babu said, ‘Don’t touch anything.’ There was actually no need to say this, for I knew from experience what one should or should not do in a case like this.
    ‘We are the first to . . . to . . . discover, I think?’ Lalmohan Babu asked, trying very hard to appear cool and nonchalant. But I could tell his mouth had gone dry. ‘Yes, I think so, too,’ I replied, feeling rather shaken myself. ‘Well, we must report it.’
    ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
    We hurried back to the hotel to find that Feluda had returned. ‘Judging by the fact that you forgot to wipe your feet before coming in and spread a few hundred grams of sand all over the floor, I assume you are greatly perturbed about something,’ Feluda announced, looking at Lalmohan Babu. I spoke hastily before Lalmohan Babu could get the chance to exaggerate what we had seen. Feluda heard me in silence, then rang the police to explain in a few succinct words what had happened. Then he turned to me and asked just one question: ‘Did you see a weapon anywhere near the body? A pistol or something?’
    ‘No, Feluda.’
    ‘But I’m absolutely certain the fellow isn’t a Bengali,’ Lalmohan Babu said firmly.
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘Those eyebrows. They were joined. Bengalis don’t have joined eyebrows. Nor do they have such a strong, firm jaw as this man. I shouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be from Bundelkhand.’
    Feluda, in the meantime, had made an appointment with D.G. Sen. His secretary had asked him to call at 8.30 a.m. and not take more than fifteen minutes of Mr Sen’s time. We left almostimmediately.
    On our way to Mr Sen’s house, we noticed a small crowd near the dead body. It hadn’t taken long for word to spread. This was no doubt a most unusual event. The police were already there. One of the officers spotted Feluda and stepped forward with a smile and an outstretched arm.
    ‘Inspector Mahapatra!’ Feluda exclaimed, shaking his hand warmly. ‘We met over a case in Rourkela, didn’t we?’
    ‘Yes, I recognized you at once. Are you here on holiday?’
    ‘Yes, that’s the general idea. Who is the deceased?’
    ‘No one from this area. His name is Rupchand Singh.’
    ‘How did you find out?’
    ‘There was a driving licence.’
    ‘Where from?’
    ‘Nepal!’
    A gentleman wearing glasses made his way through the crowd, pushing the police photographer to one side. ‘I saw the man yesterday. He was at a tea stall in Swargadwar Road. I was buying paan at the next stall. He asked me for a light, and then lit a cigarette.’
    ‘How did he die?’ Feluda asked Mr Mahapatra.
    ‘Shot dead, I think. But we haven’t yet found the weapon. This was tucked inside the driving licence. You may wish to take a look.’ Feluda was handed a visiting card. Printed on one side was the name and address of a tailor’s shop in Kathmandu. On the other side was written, in an unformed hand, the following words: A.K. Sarkar, 14 Meher Ali Road, Calcutta.
    ‘Do let me know if you hear of anything interesting. We’re staying at the Neelachal,’ Feluda said.
    We walked on, and soon arrived at D.G. Sen’s house. Last evening, it had appeared impressive, even inviting. But now, under an overcast sky, it looked dark and forbidding.
    A young man was standing outside the gate. He was probably a servant. On seeing us arrive, he came forward and said, ‘Mitter Babu?’
    ‘I am Mitter Babu,’ Feluda replied.
    ‘Please come with me.’
    A cobbled path ran towards the garden. But, in order to get to the second floor, it was necessary to go to the rear of the house where there was a separate entrance. A few steps down the passage,Lalmohan Babu suddenly sprang back with a stifled exclamation. It turned out that his eyes had fallen on a long strip of paper. ‘I th-thought it was a s-snake!’ he exclaimed.
    The servant left us at the bottom of the stairs. We saw another man coming down. ‘Mr Mitter?’ he asked with a smile,