rom now on, Felu Babu,’ Lalmohan Babu declared, ‘you needn’t bother about correcting mistakes in my books.’ Feluda was sitting in his favourite sofa, busy twisting and turning a pyramid-shaped Rubik’s cube. ‘Really?’ he asked, without raising his eyes. ‘Yes, sir. I happened to meet a gentleman yesterday, in our park. His name is Mrityunjay Som, and he’s just moved to our neighbourhood. We spoke for nearly half an hour. He’s a great scholar.’ ‘A scholar?’ ‘Yes. A double MA from Herbert University, or some such thing.’ ‘For heaven’s sake, Lalmohan Babu,’ this time Feluda had to look up, ‘it isn’t Herbert. What you mean is Harvard.’ ‘OK. Harvard.’ ‘How do you know that? Was he speaking with an American accent?’ ‘Well no, but he does speak in English most of the time. A very learned man, no doubt about that. He’s actually from Behrampore, but he’s moved to Calcutta to do some research for a book he’s writing. Even his appearance is most impressive . . . I mean, he has a distinct personality. A French beard, glasses with golden frames, smart clothes. I gave him a copy of my book, The Fearsome Foe. He pointed out thirty-four mistakes, but said it made very enjoyable reading.’ ‘Well then, your problems are over. You don’t have to drive all the way to my house every day. Think of the money you’ll save on petrol.’ ‘Yes, but the thing is, you see . . .’ We never got to hear what the thing was, for Lalmohan Babu was interrupted at this point by the arrival of Feluda’s client, Ambar Sen. We were expecting him at nine o’clock. Our door bell rang just as the clock struck nine. Mr Sen was in his mid-forties, clean-shaven, wearing glasses set in thick frames. A jamavar shawl was wrapped round his shoulders. Feluda had taken me to a museum one day and shown me just how many different types of Kashmiri shawls there could be. Mr Sen took a chair opposite Feluda’s and came straight to the point. ‘You’re a busy man, Mr Mitter, and so am I. So let’s not waste any time. But before I tell you anything further, take a look at this.’ He took out a piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to Feluda. It had been crumpled into a ball, then smoothed out again. Written on it in large red letters were these words: You destroyed me. Now you will pay for it, in just seven days. Don’t think you can get away with it this time. Feluda turned the paper over, and asked, ‘How did you find it?’

‘My study is on the ground floor. Last night, someone threw it into the room through an open window. My bearer, Laxman, found it this morning and brought it to me.’ ‘Does your study overlook the street?’ ‘No. There’s a garden outside the study which is surrounded by a compound wall. But I suppose anyone could have climbed