Byomkesh sat up with a start and said, "Do you know how much it costs to go to Kashmir?"

"How much?"

"At least a thousand rupees. Where would I get that kind of money?"

Satyabati, her temper flaring, stood up and said, "I don’t know about all that. Just tell me if you’ll go or not."

"I told you, I don’t have the money."

At that moment, there was a knock at the outer door. What promised to be a most enjoyable marital quarrel was thus abruptly interrupted. Satyabati, having scorched Byomkesh with a few sharp, half-spoken barbs, retreated into the inner rooms.

I lit the lamp and opened the door. The man standing outside appeared, at first glance, to be little more than a youth. Not very tall, slim and wiry, with a fair, handsome face marked by the faintest trace of a moustache. His attire was immaculate, from the deerskin shoes on his feet to the sheer muslin panjabi draped over his frame—everything about him was impeccable.

"Whom do you seek?"

"The satyanweshi, Byomkesh Babu."

"Come in," I said, stepping aside from the door.

The man entered and stood beneath the bright electric light, allowing me a better look at his features. Not as young as I had first thought; there was a subtle ripeness to his complexion. His eyes bore the imprint of worldly experience, with fine shadows etched at their corners, and beneath the outward delicacy of his face, the bones had already begun to harden with age. Yet he could not have been more than twenty-five.

Byomkesh, who had been observing the visitor from beside the takhtposh, now rose and took a seat in a chair. Indicating the chair opposite, he said, "Sit. What brings you to me?"

The man did not answer at once. He sat down, studied us both with careful attention for a moment, and then said, "You’ll do for my purpose."

Byomkesh raised his brows. "Is that so? And what is this purpose?"

The young man drew a bundle of notes from his side pocket and, with an air of indifference, tossed them onto the table before Byomkesh. "If I should die suddenly, you are to investigate the cause of my death. That is the task. Since I may not be able to pay you later, I am giving you your fee in advance. Count it—one thousand rupees."

Byomkesh gazed at the youth with narrowed eyes for a moment, then counted the bundle. Ten crisp notes of one hundred rupees each. Setting the notes to one side of the table, Byomkesh lazily glanced at me; a glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes. Then, fixing a grave look upon the young man’s face, he said, "I have a few questions for you. Whether I accept your case will depend on your answers."

The youth opened a gold cigarette case and offered it to Byomkesh, who shook his head in refusal. Lighting a cigarette for himself, the young man exhaled a plume