st-stomach!’
‘Okay, that's good.’
‘Wh-what!’ Lalmohan babu stared foolishly at Feluda. I, too, found Feluda's remark distinctly odd. Feluda explained quickly, ‘It wasn't enough simply to have that strong perfume every now and then. I mean, it wasn't good enough as a clue. I couldn't be sure whether Sanyal himself had come to Bombay, or someone here was using that scent. Now I can be sure.’
‘But why is he hounding me?’ Lalmohan babu cried desperately.
‘If I knew that, Lalmohan babu, there would be no mystery. If you want an answer to that question, you will have to be a little patient.’
C HAPTER 8
L almohan babu simply toyed with his food that evening, saying he wasn't hungry at all. Feluda said it didn't matter as Lalmohan babu had eaten the most that afternoon at the Copper Chimney.
The previous night, we had all gone out together after dinner to buy paan. Tonight, Lalmohan babu refused to leave the hotel. ‘Who wants to go out in the crowded streets? I bet Sanyal's men are watching the hotel. One of them will plunge his knife straight into me, if I am seen.’
In the end, Feluda went out alone. Lalmohan babu stayed put in our room with me, muttering constantly, ‘Why on earth did I have to accept that packet?’ After a while, he began blaming something else for his present predicament: ‘Why did I have to write a story for a Hindi film?’ Eventually, I heard him say, ‘Why the hell did I ever start writing crime thrillers?’
Feluda returned in a few minutes and offered us the paan he'd bought. ‘Will you be all right sleeping alone in your room?’ he asked Lalmohan babu, who made no reply. ‘Look,’ Feluda said reassuringly, ‘there's a tiny cubby-hole at the end of the passage. You've seen it, haven't you? A bell boy remains in that room, all the time. Besides, some of the hotel staff are on duty all night. This is not Shivaji Castle.’
A mention of Shivaji Castle made Lalmohan babu shiver once more. However, around ten o'clock he mustered enough courage to wish us good-night and return to his room.
I went to bed soon after he left. Pulak Ghoshal's film had caused me a great deal of strain—much more than travelling all over the city. Feluda, I knew, would remain awake. His notebook was lying on a bedside table. He had made several entries throughout the day. Perhaps now he'd make some more.
In the past, I had tried, at times, to make a note of the exact moment when I fell asleep. But I had failed every time. Tonight was no different. I have no idea when I fell asleep, but do remember the moment when I woke. Someone was banging on the door, and pressing the buzzer repeatedly. I sat up in bed. Feluda's bedside lamp was still on; my watch showed quarter to one. Feluda rose and opened the door. Lalmohan babu tumbled into the room.
He was panting, but did not appear to be frightened. When he spoke, his words were curious, but nothing that might cause alarm.
‘A scandal!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is a positive scandal, I tell you!’
‘Come in and sit down,’ Feluda said.
‘No, no, I'm too excited to sit down. Look, here's the famous necklace, the valuable jewels I was supposed to have handed over!’
What Lalmohan babu then held under Feluda's nose was a book. A famous book, written in English. I had seen a copy of it only recently, displayed in a shop window in Lansdowne Road. It was Life Divine by Sri Aurobindo.
Even Feluda could only gape. ‘And look,’ Lalmohan babu went on, ‘the binding is faulty. After the first thirty pages, the next few pages are stuck together. If someone paid good money for this book, every penny has been wasted. How could a binder in Pondicherry do such a shoddy job?’
‘But … if this is the original packet, what did you pass on to Mr Red Shirt the other day?’
‘You're not going to believe this. Can you imagine what I did? I passed on one of my own books! Yes, The Bandits of Bombay ! You see, what I had sent Pulak was a
‘Okay, that's good.’
‘Wh-what!’ Lalmohan babu stared foolishly at Feluda. I, too, found Feluda's remark distinctly odd. Feluda explained quickly, ‘It wasn't enough simply to have that strong perfume every now and then. I mean, it wasn't good enough as a clue. I couldn't be sure whether Sanyal himself had come to Bombay, or someone here was using that scent. Now I can be sure.’
‘But why is he hounding me?’ Lalmohan babu cried desperately.
‘If I knew that, Lalmohan babu, there would be no mystery. If you want an answer to that question, you will have to be a little patient.’
C HAPTER 8
L almohan babu simply toyed with his food that evening, saying he wasn't hungry at all. Feluda said it didn't matter as Lalmohan babu had eaten the most that afternoon at the Copper Chimney.
The previous night, we had all gone out together after dinner to buy paan. Tonight, Lalmohan babu refused to leave the hotel. ‘Who wants to go out in the crowded streets? I bet Sanyal's men are watching the hotel. One of them will plunge his knife straight into me, if I am seen.’
In the end, Feluda went out alone. Lalmohan babu stayed put in our room with me, muttering constantly, ‘Why on earth did I have to accept that packet?’ After a while, he began blaming something else for his present predicament: ‘Why did I have to write a story for a Hindi film?’ Eventually, I heard him say, ‘Why the hell did I ever start writing crime thrillers?’
Feluda returned in a few minutes and offered us the paan he'd bought. ‘Will you be all right sleeping alone in your room?’ he asked Lalmohan babu, who made no reply. ‘Look,’ Feluda said reassuringly, ‘there's a tiny cubby-hole at the end of the passage. You've seen it, haven't you? A bell boy remains in that room, all the time. Besides, some of the hotel staff are on duty all night. This is not Shivaji Castle.’
A mention of Shivaji Castle made Lalmohan babu shiver once more. However, around ten o'clock he mustered enough courage to wish us good-night and return to his room.
I went to bed soon after he left. Pulak Ghoshal's film had caused me a great deal of strain—much more than travelling all over the city. Feluda, I knew, would remain awake. His notebook was lying on a bedside table. He had made several entries throughout the day. Perhaps now he'd make some more.
In the past, I had tried, at times, to make a note of the exact moment when I fell asleep. But I had failed every time. Tonight was no different. I have no idea when I fell asleep, but do remember the moment when I woke. Someone was banging on the door, and pressing the buzzer repeatedly. I sat up in bed. Feluda's bedside lamp was still on; my watch showed quarter to one. Feluda rose and opened the door. Lalmohan babu tumbled into the room.
He was panting, but did not appear to be frightened. When he spoke, his words were curious, but nothing that might cause alarm.
‘A scandal!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is a positive scandal, I tell you!’
‘Come in and sit down,’ Feluda said.
‘No, no, I'm too excited to sit down. Look, here's the famous necklace, the valuable jewels I was supposed to have handed over!’
What Lalmohan babu then held under Feluda's nose was a book. A famous book, written in English. I had seen a copy of it only recently, displayed in a shop window in Lansdowne Road. It was Life Divine by Sri Aurobindo.
Even Feluda could only gape. ‘And look,’ Lalmohan babu went on, ‘the binding is faulty. After the first thirty pages, the next few pages are stuck together. If someone paid good money for this book, every penny has been wasted. How could a binder in Pondicherry do such a shoddy job?’
‘But … if this is the original packet, what did you pass on to Mr Red Shirt the other day?’
‘You're not going to believe this. Can you imagine what I did? I passed on one of my own books! Yes, The Bandits of Bombay ! You see, what I had sent Pulak was a
Similar Books
