The Complete Adventures of Feluda: Volume II (50 page)

It was a small report, published in one of the dailies. The actor from Apsara Theatre, Mahitosh Roy, had disappeared. Apparently, he used to go for a walk by the lake in the evening, unless there was a show. The day before yesterday—on Monday, that is—he was free, so he went for his walk, but did not return. His bearer informed the police, but he had not been found as yet.

Feluda seemed annoyed when he read the report. ‘I told him to be careful,’ he said, frowning. ‘I said he shouldn’t take any undue risks. Who asked him to leave his house and go out purely unnecessarily?
Still, I suppose I ought to visit his house since he did come to me for help. Do you remember his address?’

‘Five Panditia Place, Ballygunj.’

‘Good. I was just testing your memory.’

Five Panditia Place turned out to be a small house with two storeys. Mr Roy lived on the ground floor. His bearer opened the door. We told him who we were. He stepped aside and asked us to come in.

‘Your master had come to me to ask for help. He was receiving threatening notes. Did you know about that?’ Feluda asked.

‘Yes, sir. I had been with him for twenty-two years. He used to tell me everything. I had told him not to go out of the house unless it was necessary, but he didn’t listen to me. That evening, when he didn’t return even after nine o’clock, I went to look for him myself. I knew the exact spot where he liked to walk and the bench where he often sat. But I couldn’t find him anywhere. Then a whole day passed, he still did not come back. I even went to the police, but they couldn’t find him, either.’

‘Do you think you could come with us now and show us the spot where you think Mr Roy might have been seen last?’

‘Very well, sir.’

‘What is your name?’

‘Dinabandhu.’

We took a taxi and reached the lake. Dinabandhu pointed out a bench under a tree by the lake, where Mr Roy used to sit after he finished walking. Apparently, it was his doctor who had insisted on this daily exercise. At this moment, there was no one in sight. Feluda took this opportunity to inspect the bench and its immediate surroundings closely. Five minutes later, he found a small brass container in the tall and thick grass behind the bench.

‘Why, this used to belong to my master!’ exclaimed Dinabandhu. Feluda opened the container. There were a few pieces of supari in it. Feluda put it in his pocket.

‘Did you go to the Bhawanipore police station?’ Feluda asked. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well. We’ll now drop you at your house, and then have a chat with the police.’

Most OCs in Calcutta knew Feluda. The one in Bhawanipore was Subodh Adhikari. A stern, yet cheerful man, he greeted us with surprise. ‘What brings you here so early in the morning?’ he asked.

We took two chairs. ‘It’s about the disappearance of a Mahitosh Roy,’ Feluda explained.

‘I see. Inspector Ghose was handling that one. Let me call him. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, please. Thank you.’

Our tea and the inspector arrived together. He and Feluda shook hands.

‘I am here to enquire about Mahitosh Roy. I believe he is missing?’ Feluda said.

‘Yes. I think he’s been killed. We found a few threatening letters in his house. All anonymous, of course. If he was killed, and his body thrown into the lake, it would be impossible to find it, especially if something heavy was tied to it. But how come
you
are interested in this case?’

‘Well, Mr Roy had come to see me before he vanished, about those notes, you see. Have you worked out how you are going to proceed?’

‘We are still making enquiries. He used to work for Apsara Theatre. We have spoken to a few people there, but didn’t get very far. There were rivalries between actors, but nothing strong enough to warrant a murder.’

‘How was Mr Roy doing financially?’

‘He was earning twelve hundred rupees a month. He had no family, so he managed to get by. Mind you, we don’t know for sure that he’s been murdered. It may be that he’s simply gone into hiding.’

‘I went to the spot where he used to sit after a walk, by the lake. I found one of his belongings there, hidden in the grass. It is a small brass container. He kept supari in it.’

‘Really? Then perhaps it
is
murder. Perhaps this container fell out of his pocket during a struggle with his assassin.’

‘Yes, that is a possibility.’

‘Very well, we’ll continue with our investigation and keep you informed, Mr Mitter.’

‘Thank you, I’ll be in touch.’

We finished our tea and left the police station.

‘I think we ought to visit Apsara Theatre,’ said Feluda as we came out. ‘Go and ring Lalmohan Babu from that chemist’s shop and tell him to join us.’

I made the phone call and then we took a taxi. Apsara Theatre was in Shyambazar.

We found Lalmohan Babu waiting for us outside Apsara Theatre.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Haven’t you seen the papers today?’

‘Yes, of course. Mahitosh Roy has vanished, hasn’t he?’

‘Not just vanished from his house, Lalmohan Babu. He may well have vanished from this earth.’

‘What!’

Feluda quickly filled him in.

‘So what are we going to do now?’ Lalmohan Babu demanded. ‘Let’s start by speaking to the manager here.’

We had been standing outside on the pavement. Now we entered the building. The chowkidar at the gate told us that the manager, Kailash Banerjee, was in his office.

There was an antechamber before one could get to Mr Banerjee’s room. We were asked to wait there while one of the staff took Feluda’s card in to inform the manager. He returned a minute later and said, ‘You may go in now.’

We stepped into the manager’s room. Kailash Banerjee was short, dark and stout. A thin moustache graced his upper lip. He appeared to be about fifty.

‘I have heard of you, Mr Mitter, but I cannot quite understand why you wish to see me,’ he said when we were all seated.

‘I need some information about one of your actors. The one who is missing,’ Feluda told him.

‘Who, Mahitosh? But the police have been here already. They asked a lot of questions.’

‘Yes, I know. I am interested because Mahitosh Roy had come to me shortly before he disappeared. He was worried about the threats he had received.’

‘Written threats? My God, does that mean he’s been killed? I thought he was simply hiding from his creditors.’

‘No, it is not as simple as that.’

‘I see. Mind you, his absence has not caused us too many problems. I’ve found a temporary replacement already. The police came yesterday, but we couldn’t really help. Mahitosh did not have a single close friend here. He was rather aloof and reserved. A reasonably good actor, I’d say, but not good enough to play the lead. It was his ambition to play the hero in the same play we are staging
now.’

‘Are you telling me he had no enemies?’

‘I just told you, sir, that he had neither friends nor enemies.’

‘Didn’t you once have an actor called Jaganmoy Bhattacharya?’

‘Yes, but he was asked to leave a long time ago.’

‘Mahitosh Roy replaced Bhattacharya, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s right. I had totally forgotten about it.’

‘Do you have Bhattacharya’s address?’

‘I do, but it’s his old address. He may well have moved from there.’

‘Never mind. That’s a chance we’ll have to take.’

‘Very well.’

Mr Banerjee rang a bell. A young man of about twenty-five appeared.

‘Get Jaganmoy Bhattacharya’s address and give it to Mr Mitter,’ Mr Banerjee said to him.

The young man returned in a couple of minutes with the address:
27 Nirmal Bose Street. Lalmohan Babu said he knew where it was. Apparently, it wasn’t far from Apsara. We thanked Mr Banerjee and left.

Luckily, it turned out that Jaganmoy Bhattacharya had not moved from his old address. His servant took Feluda’s card in, and then returned to take us to his master.

We found Jaganmoy Bhattacharya sitting on a divan. He looked
ill. He made no attempt to rise even when he saw us trooping in. ‘What does a detective want from me?’ was his first question. ‘Information. Did you once know an actor called Mahitosh Roy?’

‘Know him? Not really. All I know is that he arrived, and my own career was destroyed. But I hear he’s disappeared.’

‘Not just disappeared. He’s probably been killed.’

‘Killed? Oh. Well, frankly, I can’t say I am greatly distressed to hear this. He put an end to my livelihood. That’s the only thing I remember about him.’

‘Mr Roy had received anonymous notes threatening him. Do you think you might be able to tell us who—?’

‘You mean you want to know if
I
had sent them to him?

‘Well, you still appear to bear him a grudge.’

‘No, sir. You mentioned Mahitosh Roy, and so I was reminded of what his arrival had done to me. All that is now in the past, Mr Mitter. I don’t spend my days planning revenge, I assure you. I am
now working somewhere else, and I’ve given up drinking. What I earn isn’t much, but I manage. My only problem now is asthma. Apart from that, I am fine. If you hadn’t reminded me of Mahitosh, I would not have thought of him at all. Honestly.’

‘Did you ever see him after you left Apsara?’

‘No, not even on the stage. I never went back to Apsara after they got rid of me.’

Three months had passed since then. There was no trace of Mahitosh Roy, so there didn’t seem to be any doubt that he had been killed. We went back to Apsara Theatre one day to see if they had heard anything, but drew a blank. All we learnt was that a new actor had been employed to replace Mahitosh Roy. His name was Sudhendu Chakravarty. He was said to be a good actor.

Feluda had managed to contact Mahitosh’s brother, Shivtosh. It turned out that the two brothers had not been on speaking terms for many years.

‘Why is that?’ Feluda had asked. ‘Was your family property the only reason?’

‘What other reason do you need to look for? My brother used to try very hard to please our father. I am not like that at all. I went my own way, did my own thing. My father didn’t like it. Both he and my brother thought I didn’t count, just because I was the younger one. So my father cut me out of his will. Naturally I resented this, and Mahitosh and I drifted apart. That’s not surprising, is it?’

Shivtosh Roy spoke with considerable bitterness. It seemed to me that he still held a big grudge against his brother.

‘Would you like to say anything about his disappearance? If he really has been killed, surely you realize that you could be a prime suspect?’

‘Look, I didn’t see my brother at all in the last five years. I had absolutely nothing to do with him. I didn’t even go to the theatre.’

‘Can you remember what you were doing the day Mahitosh Roy disappeared, say between 6 and 8 p.m.?’

‘I was doing what I do every evening—playing cards with my friends.’

‘Where?’

‘Sardar Shankar Road. Number eleven. It is the house of one Anup Sengupta. You can go and speak to him, if you like.’

Feluda did, and Mr Sengupta confirmed that Shivtosh Roy had most certainly been at his house at that particular time. He was a regular visitor there. Feluda was therefore obliged to drop him as a suspect.

Lalmohan Babu turned up the next day and said, ‘Look, Felu Babu, this case isn’t a case at all. I can’t see why you’re losing sleep over this one. Why don’t you take a short break? I can feel a new plot taking shape in my mind, and you need a change of air to clear your head, so let’s go out.’

‘Where to?’

‘Digha. We’ve never been to Digha, have we?’

‘Very well. In all honesty, I can’t see this case being successfully concluded. Mahitosh Roy’s killer is never going to be captured.’

We left for Digha the next day, having booked ourselves at the tourist lodge. It was a very comfortable place to be in, and the sea wasn’t far. I noticed Lalmohan Babu had brought a pair of new red swimming trunks.

The first two days passed quietly. On the third day, Feluda picked up the newspaper in the evening, as they took all day to reach Digha from Calcutta. He glanced at it and gave a sharp exclamation.

‘I don’t believe this!’

‘What’s the matter?’ Lalmohan Babu and I cried in unison. ‘Someone else from Apsara Theatre has been killed. Nepal Lahiri . . . he was their hero, he always played the lead. What is going on?’

I took the paper from Feluda and read the report quickly. Nepal Lahiri, it said, was returning home in a taxi on the evening of the murder. He stopped it on the way to see a friend. This friend’s house happened to be in a small alley. Someone stabbed Mr Lahiri as he stepped into the alley. The police had started their investigation. Mr Lahiri’s wife and twelve-year-old son had been unable to shed any light on the matter.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Lalmohan Babu.

‘We return to Calcutta, and you go back to Apsara to ask some questions.’

‘Me? Why me?’

‘Because I sprained my ankle while bathing in the sea this morning. I can tell that by tomorrow I’ll be in considerable pain.’

‘Well then, I suggest we go back to Calcutta tonight. You can rest
your ankle far better if you’re at home.’

‘Do you think you can manage to take my place?’

‘Heh, Felu Babu, I ought to have learnt something of your style after spending so many years with you!’

We returned to Calcutta the same evening. Lalmohan Babu agreed to come to our house the following morning, so that Feluda could brief him properly. Then he and I would go to Apsara Theatre.

Lalmohan Babu arrived punctually, and we were able to leave by ten. Feluda had given us clear instructions on what to do. Lalmohan Babu seemed very pleased with this development. ‘I often felt sorry that I couldn’t help your cousin more actively,’ he told me, ‘but now I think I’ve got the chance to make amends. Look!’ He took out a card from his pocket. ‘I had this printed last night. What do you think of it?’

I looked at the card. It said:
LALMOHAN GANGULI
,
WRITER
.

‘This is good. Very smart!’ I told him. He nodded happily.

By this time we had reached Apsara Theatre. We gave the chowkidar one of these new cards and asked him to take it in to the manager. Three minutes later, we were told to go in.

Kailash Banerjee failed to recognize us. ‘Look,’ he said a little impatiently, ‘we’ve got a lot of problems today. If you’ve come here about a new play, I’m afraid I cannot discuss it right now. Can you come back in a few days, please?’

Lalmohan Babu raised a hand in protest. ‘No, no. I haven’t brought you a new play. I am here representing Pradosh Mitter, the investigator. He’s not well, so he couldn’t come himself. We were with him when he came here to investigate the disappearance of Mahitosh Roy.’

‘Yes, yes, now I remember. What do you want to know? It’s all been reported in the press. I have nothing further to add.’

‘I have only one question, sir—was Nepal Lahiri also getting anonymous letters, like Mahitosh Roy?’

‘Yes, but he ignored the first few and didn’t tell anyone. Then, about three days ago, he showed me one of them. Said he had got the first one ten days ago.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Just the usual, making unspecified threats. Written in capital letters. I told Nepal to take care, but he fancied himself as a real-life hero, just because he played the hero on stage. So he said, “Pooh, this kind of stupid stuff doesn’t bother me!” And now look what
happened to him.’

‘Where did he live?’

‘Twenty-seven, Nakuleshwar Bhattacharya Lane.’

‘He was married, wasn’t he?

‘Yes.’

‘Who is this friend he had stopped to see? Do you have any idea?’

‘Well, if he stopped to go into an alley, it may have been Sasadhar Chatterjee. He lives in a small alley. He’s an actor, too. Works for Rupam Theatre.’

‘Did Nepal Lahiri have any enemies here in Apsara?’

‘How should I know? Every successful actor is bound to have enemies, and people who’d envy him. Nepal was envied by people in our rival companies as well. They knew how badly Apsara was going to be affected if Nepal left us.’

‘Does that mean your productions have come to a standstill?’

‘We’ve had to cancel the last show of
Prafulla,
which was scheduled for tonight. Then we were going to work on a new play called
Alamgeer.
Nepal was to play the main role. Now we’re trying out another actor. He’s new, but he’s already got a heavy beard and seems very well suited to the part. He won’t need any make-up at all. His acting isn’t bad, either. We’ll have to manage somehow, won’t we?’

Now I suddenly remembered something Feluda had asked us to get.

‘Do you think we could have the names and addresses of all your main actors? Mr Mitter might wish to speak to some of them,’ I said.

Mr Banerjee called his secretary, who gave us a list of the necessary names and addresses.

‘Where does this friend live? I mean, the one he was going to see? Sasadhar Chatterjee, did you say?’ Lalmohan Babu asked.

‘It was mentioned in the press report. Moti Mistri Lane. That’s where he was killed.’

‘Thank you.’

There didn’t seem to be any point in staying any longer. We said ‘namaskar’ and took our leave.