eluda had been quiet and withdrawn for many days. Well, I say he was withdrawn. Lalmohan Babu had used at least ten different adjectives for him, including distressed, depressed, lifeless, listless, dull, morose and apathetic. One day he even called him moribund. Needless to say, he didn’t dare address his remarks directly to Feluda. He confided in me, but like him, I had no idea why Feluda was behaving so strangely. Today, quite unable to take it any longer, Lalmohan Babu looked straight at Feluda and asked, ‘Why do you seem so preoccupied, Felu Babu? What’s wrong?’ Feluda was leaning against a sofa, his feet resting on a small coffee table. He was staring at the floor, his face grim. He said nothing in reply to Lalmohan Babu’s question. ‘This is most unfair!’ Lalmohan Babu complained, a trifle loudly. ‘I come here only to have a good chat, to laugh and to spend a few pleasant moments with you both. If you keep behaving like this, I’ll have to stop coming. Do give us at least a hint of what’s on your mind. Who knows, maybe I can help find a remedy? You used to look pleased to see me every day. Now you just look away each time I enter your house.’ ‘Sorry,’ said Feluda softly, still staring at the floor. ‘No, no, there’s no need to apologize. I am concerned about you, that’s all. I really want to know why you’re so upset. Will you tell me, please?’ ‘Letters,’ said Feluda, at last. ‘Letters?’ ‘Yes, letters.’ ‘What letters? What was written in them that made you so unhappy? Who wrote them?’ ‘Readers.’ ‘Whose readers?’ ‘Topshe’s. Readers who read the stories Topshe writes, all based on the cases I handle. There were fifty-six letters. Each one said more or less the same thing.’ ‘And what was that?’ ‘Feluda’s stories do not sound as interesting as before, they said. Jatayu can no longer make people laugh. Topshe’s narrative has lost its appeal, etc. etc.’ I knew nothing about this. Feluda received at least six letters every day. But I had never bothered to ask what they said. His words surprised me. Lalmohan Babu got extremely cross. ‘What do they mean? I can’t make people laugh? Why, am I a clown or what?’ ‘No, no. That’s not what they mean. No one tried to insult you. They just . . .’ Lalmohan Babu refused to be pacified. ‘Shame on you, Felu Babu!’ he said, standing with his back to Feluda. ‘I am really disappointed. You read all these stupid letters, you stored them away, and you

let them disturb you so profoundly. Why? Why didn’t you just throw them away?’ ‘Because,’ Feluda replied slowly, ‘these readers have given us their support in the past. Now if they tell me the Three Musketeers have grown old much before their time, I cannot ignore their words.’ ‘Grown old?’ Lalmohan Babu wheeled around, his eyes wide with anger and amazement. ‘Tapesh is only a