W ith a dejected sway of the hand Byomkesh deposited the newspaper on my lap and said, ‘Nothing anywhere, absolutely nothing. The press people could try bringing out blank sheets instead. At least it would save them the printing costs.’

I couldn’t resist a dig, ‘Isn’t there anything in the advertisements? Don’t you always say that all the news in the world is crammed into the classified columns?’

With a downcast expression Byomkesh lit a cheroot and said, ‘No, there isn’t much even in the personal notices. Someone has placed an advertisement seeking to marry a widow. Why the insistence on a widow when there is no dearth of unmarried females? I am sure he is up to no good.’

‘Oh, of course. Anything else?’

‘An insurance company has placed a huge notice saying that they will jointly insure the husband and the wife and if, for some reason, one of the pair were to die, the other would get all the money. These insurance companies can make life so difficult—they won’t even let people die in peace.’

‘Why is that so? Do you see an ulterior motive here as well?’

‘The insurance company may not stand to gain anything, but it isn’t good to breed criminal intentions in people’s minds either.’

‘Sorry? What was that again?’

Byomkesh did not reply. He released a deep, mournful sigh, put his feet up on the table, raised complaining eyes to the beams overhead and continued to smoke in silence.

It was winter. The Christmas vacations were under way. Calcuttans were celebrating by going on excursions away from the city, while those who lived elsewhere were celebrating by visiting Calcutta. This was a few years ago, when Byomkesh was still unmarried.

As was our daily practice, the two of us were having our morning tea together and dissecting the newspaper. After three long months of sitting idle, even Byomkesh’s iron-strong patience had begun to wear thin. Time seemed to hang loosely on our hands. Each day passed in looking the newspapers up for possible leads; but the humdrum and colourless information that filled the dailies had proved entirely useless thus far. Boredom sat heavy on my heart. I could only guess what Byomkesh’s state of mind was like, deprived of all food for thought. I had not helped his misery much by chaffing continuously at him, as if to imply that it was he who was responsible for our dreary state of inaction.

This morning, the resigned look on his face made me feel sorry. It was bad enough for him to have to deal with the cul de sac that his mind was caught in; he could do without my pushing and prodding which only made matters worse. I decided not to plague him with any more questions and quietly withdrew to the pages of my newspaper.

At this time of the year there was always a surfeit of conferences and conventions. This year was no exception. The newsmongers made up for